#pittfest

[apollossun19]

The pitt knew what they were doing when they cast Noah wyle and Shawn hatosy.

Praying on our daddy issues. Like we're gonna watch their show.

Well good for them it worked.

[margottenenbaum222]

post pittfest mean!robby - part one - part two

post pittfest robby who is turns into more and more of a sick freak the more depressed he is, the more he spirals the harder he fucks. pushing your head into the mattress as he fucks into you from behind. also loving to see you gag on his cock, putting pressure on your throat to see how far you would go for him. he loves seeing the tears streaming down your face, all for him.

he treats you like a one night stand, leaving before you wake up or even leaving straight after you’re both finished. at work he treats you tougher than the others, nitpicking the tiniest mistake. sometimes throwing comments about your ill fitting scrubs or ‘inappropriate’ conversations with the nurses during breaks. sometimes he sucks at your neck and collar bones extra hard just to comment on it the next day saying you look easy if you don’t cover them up, acting as if he wasn’t the one to give you them.

[trisarahtopssuh]

Dear God: No man's Land

Dennis Whitaker x Popstar!Reader

Masterlist Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Read this extra parts will make more sense for the future chapters

Summary: After being shot at Pittfest. You are not in great condition, your friends and doctors work hard to stay strong and save your life.

CW: Graphic violence, blood and gore, near-death experience, Medical trauma / emergency treatment (ICU, surgery, life support), Mass casualty event, Emotional distress and panic, mentions of potential death, injury to multiple characters

WC:~2.4k

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Bow… you have to… wake…. Keep your eyes open, okay.”  Your ears ring, over the ringing, a voice says in an unsteady voice, you open your eyes slowly, vision blurred over. You can make out the figure in front of you. The moonlight is casting a soft glow over them.

“Den-,” You attempt to say his name, but as you begin your sentence, you cough up blood.

“Shh dont try to talk, okay? S’me Jess.” Your vision clears a little; the lines of her face, her dark eyes, and her soft blonde hair are the only things you can make out. You feel a tight pressure around your upper thigh; it's only getting tighter. You whimper out in pain, “You’re bleeding, I have to stop it.” 

“W-what d’you mean? Wh- where am I?” You try to push yourself up off the stage, but your body refuses, pain shocking your system. You groan, blood gushing out of the 3 gunshot wounds.

“Were at Pittfest, you got hurt while performing.” She takes a shaky breath, takes off her shirt, and presses it on the wound just above your navel, “Were gonna get you some help, okay?” You scream out when she presses harder on your wound.

“W- are you hurt?” 

She looks down at her calf, a wound going through and through, pulsing in pain every time she adjusts her weight to keep the blood inside your body. “M’fine.”

Your eyelids begin to weigh thousands of pounds, slowly drooping lower and lower, threatening to close, “N… Bow… No. sta… wake… f… me..” You hear her scream for help, though it is muffled by you slowly drifting off, eyelids nearly millimeters from closing, your skin growing colder by the second in her hands. 

“Tell-” You begin to say, blood drying at the corners of your mouth, tears freely pouring down your face.

“No, no, no, tell them yourself, you're not dying.” She adjusts her weight, putting more pressure on your wounds. “No, not today, not tomorrow, or anytime soon.”

“Tell- tell Den- that im sorry.” You cough in between your sentences, “N’that I.. I still love him.”

“No, no your telling him that, cause your not dying.” Tears stream down her face, still looking around for help. “Where the fuck is a paramedic?” She yells out in panic and frustration. She continues to yell out for help while trying to keep your bleeding at bay. Even with your worsening vision, you can tell that her chest is heaving, up and down every fraction of a second. You move your hand, grabbing hold of her wrist. Her body jerks at the coldness of your hand.

“N-no one is coming.” Bringing your head up a little, the earth swaying left to right, you look her in the eye. “S’okay, m’fine, y-you’re hurt.” You bring your head down, every limb weighing thousands of pounds. As your eyelids finally get the relief of falling, you can hear Jess screaming, screaming for you or for help, you don't know.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You push your legs to run harder, faster across the vast farm land. “Im faster than you, Denny!” You yell out, not looking back at the young boy. You sprint past the invisible finish line, marked by a bloomed magnolia. You roll to the ground, laughing. A few seconds later, Dennis catches up, panting softly, walking towards you. He looks down at you lying in the grass.

“No fair,” The boy whines, lying on the ground next to you. “You are like 3 inches taller than me. I didn't even get a head start.”

“Well, maybe you should take this as a sign to grow your like 3 feet tall” 

He gasps in offense, “Im only nine, I have years to grow.”

“Yeah, yeah.. Whatever.” You huff out. Looking up at the soft blue sky, the magnolia petals are getting pulled off the tree by the wind, falling towards your face. “Den?”

“Hm?” He looks at you.

“Do you think we will be friends when were grownups?” You ask.

He thinks for a minute, “I think that when we are grown up we will be the best of friends.” He smiles when he looks at you again. “And in every other universe, too.”

“Really?” You laugh, “Every other universe?”

“Every single universe.”

You and Dennis lay there in silence for a while, talking about random things, whatever came to mind, the sun blends from blue to soft hues of pink and orange. Out in the distance, you can hear Dennis’s name and your name being called for dinner. “Race you back?”

“Can I get a head start?” He asks standing up. Leaving his hand out to help you up.

“Okay, you get two seconds.” You grab his hand, standing up, and wipe off remnants of grass clipping off your pants.

“Oh, come on, at least five.” He whines

“No, three.” You look at him, crossing your arms.

Knowing he won't win this, he takes the 3 seconds and sprints off. You gasp, “You didn't even say when!” You yell out, chasing after him.

“Oops!” He laughs.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Help! Someone- please help us!” Jess screams out. Tears are streaming down her face. Looking around, she sees no one around, not even another injured festival attendee. She starts to push herself up. Releasing pressure from your wounds. Limping towards the stairs to the stage. She groans when she makes it down the first step. Trying to walk-limp as fast as she can. Once she makes it off the stage and pushes past a barricade. She continues to limp across the festival. Minutes go by, tears falling down her face in splashes, staining her chest. The soft stinging coming from her calf turned into an intense stabbing pain, becoming impossible to ignore.

“Freeze!” Guns point at her, a hoard of police officers looking at her.

Her hands fly up, chest heaving, “Please, please help, my friend.” She says your name. “She was performing and she- she got shot. Please, please, she needs help.” An officer radios something, and one of them motion her to show them. She points towards the mainstage. 

“Please be fast, she is bleeding a lot.” Two officers ran off in the direction Jess pointed to.

Another officer tells her to come with her. Jess wraps her arm around the officer's arm, limping away towards the exit. 

Officers quickly scale the stage stairs, running towards your limp, bleeding body. “We have an unresponsive female on the mainstage, GSW to the right thigh, abdomen, and breast.” An officer sighs, reaching into their pocket, tearing open a quick-clot packet, removing the cloth covering your wounds, barely stopping the bleeding. The powder is poured over your wounds. Slowly stop your bleeding.

The other officer checks your pulse, “Pulse is barely there.” She then checks your skull, looking at the blood that cakes your face, she radios in, “Also possible head injury, we need an EMT asap.”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The ambulance siren wails as it pulls into the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, and cars move quickly to and from the ambulance, dropping off other victims from the shooting. The EMT hops out of the car, leaving it on, quickly opening the doors of the back of the ambulance. The 2 doctors in the bay, triaging patients, freeze when they see you.

“Holy shit..” The man gasps, looking at you cacked in blood, blood drying around your mouth, eyes, everywhere blood should not be able to reach. Without thinking, he slaps a red wristband onto your wrist. Pointing towards the entrance to the emergency department. 

The EMT rolls you quickly into the emergency department, shouting out your information, stopping right in front of a doctor. “Unresponsive unknown female, mid to late twenties, unknown downtime, found on the mainstage, GSW to the right thigh, breast, and abdomen, and possible head injury.”

“Jesus.” The old man mutters. He looks you up and down, your unconscious body covered with your own blood. Bruises are scattered around your face.

A female surgeon walks towards a small crowd of doctors surrounding you, a doctor drilling a port into your arm, attaching an IV to it. She hisses when she looks at your injuries. She points to the two wounds, “Nipple to navel.”

“No man's land.” He says, while they roll you into trauma two. Preparing for the worst.

“Okay, 1, 2 lift.” The team of doctors lifts your body and lays you on the bed. One of the doctors rolls you onto your side, assessing the gunshots. All through, the bullet wounds are through and through.

 Dr. Robby walks into the trauma room, “Jesus.” He mutters under his breath, and he quickly walks over to your side. You are barely breathing. “Okay, let’s do a chest tube.”

“But how do we know if she actually has one?” Trinity asks.

“We don’t, but she probably does, bullet right through the breast, if she doesnt surgery fixes our mistake.” After that, the man quickly walks out, rushing towards another injured festival attendee. “Dennis! We need extra hands in trauma two!” The student-doctor looks up from his patient, nodding and jogging towards trauma two. 

“Hey, Robby said you need extra hands...” He says quickly as he walks into the trauma room. He freezes when he sees his co-workers working on you. “Holy shit…” He mumbles, snapping gloves on. 

“Yes, famous girl, she's very injured too, so help us out.” Dr. Abbot says while he cuts an incision between your ribs, Trinity sticks a tube through the cut, and then a soft hissing sound, and then your vitals start to rise. 

“Sorry, Dr Abbot,” Dennis mutters. He walks to the head of the bed, palpating your skull, and he feels swelling. He looks at your nose, and a light reflects from a liquid on your nose. Dennis falters, knowing what these signs are, “Uhm.. there are signs of a skull fracture.”

Trinity hisses, “Shit.”

“Thats surgerys issue, we just stabilize her.” Dr Abbot mutters while he packs your wounds on the abdomen. “Okay, this is as good as it will be. We can't spend any more time.” The man snaps off his gloves, walking out of the trauma room and towards the surgeon, to tell her you are ready for surgery.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------

By ten o'clock, the emergency department calms, and day shift doctors linger. Just finally wrapping up charting left unfinished before the mass casualty incident. Dennis sits in a chair, staring at the computer screen. The words conjoin into one long, unreadable sentence. He lets out a long breath. Trinity walks by, “You heading out anytime soon?”

“Uhm, yeah, once I get this done,” Dennis says, not looking away from the screen.

“Kay.” She replies, walking out towards the waiting room of the hospital.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You have been out of surgery for roughly an hour and a half now.  Sun peaking softly through the blinds of your room in the ICU. The slow thump of your heart is reflecting onto the monitor, the beep turning into a hum in the background. Dennis sits in a chair right next to you laying in the hospital bed, holding your hand softly. The ventilator is breathing for you, with a tube sticking out of your mouth, connecting to a machine. IV’s sticking out from every vein the doctors could access has a port sticking out of it. Your skin is not as bright as it normally is. A bandage is around your head. Dennis takes the image in, you look small. Tears threaten to fall, but he forces them not to. He thinks about how he can’t cry, after all the hurt and embarrassment you made him face when you left. He wanted to believe he was okay, that even he doesn't have to think about you now, even though right now, you're at your worst. He knows when you wake up, it’ll only be worse. He wants to believe he doesn't love you anymore, but he knows that he has, and always will love you, even if you do not want his love anymore.

Dennis doesn't dare to speak out loud or move, thinking that if he disrupts this silence, you may stop breathing. He knows that if you were to wake up and see him here, you would ask him to go. He wants to stay till you wake up, get the tube out of your mouth, and then those words will come out, and he will leave. He would do anything for you. If it meant you were happy, he would cross the country on foot.

Disrupting his spiraling, a soft cough comes from the door. Three people stand there. “Uhm..”

Dennis quickly stands up from the chair, dusting off imaginary crumbs, attempting to make himself look presentable, though the eye bags and look of panic make him look more endearing. “M’sorry, I uhm- Im Dennis, I went to high school with,” He motions towards you, “N’ I also was one of her doctors, so I decided to keep her company since I didn't know if anyone would come, or come this fast.”

Manon interprets his tangent, “Yeah, we know who you are, we came as soon as we heard on the news, can you tell us what happened?”

“Oh- well, uhm, when she came in, she had three gunshot wounds, a cracked skull. She had a collapsed lung because she had two gunshot wounds on her abdomen, one right above her navel, and then one right below the breast. She also had a lot of blood loss, so we had to give her blood. The crack on her skull looks minor from the scans that were done, but we are keeping an eye on it.” Dennis goes straight into doctor mode, trying to explain your injuries as simply as possible. 

The three people in front of him have tears in their eyes, “W-well, is she gonna be okay?” 

Dennis sucks in a breath, “That’s uh, well, she will be okay physically, but she may have some mental deficits. You know- im gonna go get her doctor to explain all of this to you.” Dennis quickly exits the room, closing the door behind him. The cries of your friends can still be heard from down the hall.

A/N: I did actually rewrite this a couple times cause it was hard to figure out what made sense. But I enjoyed writing this, wish it was longer but it's fineee. Im probably not starting the next chapter till the weekend starts cause im pretty busy the next couple of days.

TAGLIST IS CLOSED!

Taglist: @kietourhrt @st4rgrl4ever @cassieslesboy @axelpudim  @priyesstuff @multiversejumper @3-smi @kiw-oui @trulycayla @zoleea-exultant  @ilove-tswizzle @whimsicalforestfairy @gennywennypenny @tomskookie @yzaelki @dilflover-3 @jasminecaskry85 @longfulforlee @meeeeeeee-stuff  @rheathesimp @sl-ut @beingniceisntahobby @spidderboy

[callm3otter]

Jack Abbot x Wife!Reader she took a sibling or friend to PittFest and Jack cannot get ahold of her. He’d be so distraught.

Oh so you're evil! I like it.

Content: Split POV (guys if I write Jack inaccurately I'm so sorry, actually just kill me pls), Lots of gore and all the yummy 'Murica type things :), very likely medical inaccuracies, oh and angst angsty angst angst!

Word Count: 2.1k

A/N: Hope this is what you had in mind Anon 😫 as always thank you for the request 🥰

Your friend, Danielle, won one-day tickets off one of those radio show raffles and begged you to come along. Her wife is a bit like Jack in the way that a music festival is quite literally hell on earth for them. Giving Jack the day to catch up on sleep, you pack water, sunscreen, and a few other essentials in a drawstring bag from the last concert you went to and head out.

Past the ticket takers, the party is in full swing at 5pm. Almost everyone has a $10 beer in their hand, the smell of weed and vape clouds hang in the air, and Danielle has to yell for you to hear her despite being inches apart.

"Yeah," You think, "Jack would be miserable here." You decide to quickly text him that you two have arrived and that you hope he's sleeping well.

"Ooh, fish tacos!" Danielle nearly bounces on her feet, pointing to one of the food trucks nearby at the same time you see a daiquiri truck. The two of you split up so you aren't stuck in two very long lines in a row and decide to meet up near the bathrooms.

It's nearly an hour later, but you swear it's been ten minutes. You and Dannielle are in the midst of the crowd, nodding along to a song the band is playing. Even though you're sweating from the body heat and bumping shoulders with strangers isn't exactly your favorite thing to do, you're having a great time. You feel the music thumping through you; Danielle keeps giving you a 'hey isn't this great!?' look. You're on a high- figuratively and maybe very slightly literally from all the secondhand floating in the air.

When you hear the first round of automatic bullets rip into the air, your first thought is something with the stage speakers was malfunctioning. But between action movies and the few times you'd been to a gun range- Jack keeps a pistol in a safe at home, he made you practice using it when you moved in-, your body caught up before your brain. You duck down, yanking Danielle with you.

Some are already screaming but the running doesn't start until the second round sounds off. The crowd surges, trying to rip you away from Danielle as people bolt in every direction. Your grip is tight, though, keeping you tethered as you're both forced into the flee.

JACK can't reach you and he's fucking panicking.

Of course he hadn't been asleep when you text earlier. He didn't reply for the sake of pretending, though. And he certainly wasn't asleep when the police scanner reported a shooting in progress at the very festival you were at.

He rushed through getting dressed, through packing his emergency bag for situations just like this. The entire time, he had his phone in his right hand, calling you. It went to voicemail a dozen times before he ran out to the car.

Are you okay

Are you okay

Are you getting these

Call me

I need you to call me right now

You better be safe

He had his Bluetooth try and call you while he sped to the hospital. Not much could rattle Jack. He was a goddamn veteran. He'd already lived most people's worst nightmares, and he'd done it all willingly. None of the other MCI's he'd worked through in his time at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical had even shaken him. Nothing could touch him that he couldn't shake off with a deep breath and a night in your arms.

Nothing but losing you. Since before he ever bought the ring, he knew you were the one constant he had to have. You kept him sane, you kept him centered. You made him whole in ways he didn't know he was empty and made him better in every way he did know. So, even as he's walking through the ambulance bay's sliding doors, he's trying your cell.

He knows he has lives to save, a team to lead through this. He can't have his mind back home with you. He can't have his mind out there with you. That's how soldiers die. And Jack Abbot isn't dying today. Not until he sees you safe and in his arms. He can't let himself even consider the other option here. He won't.

Because, as Robby's arms sling around him, Jack is reminded again that he is needed here. He, all of him, is needed right now, running triage by his best friend's side. So he stuffs his phone into his emergency bag, tasting bile as he, essentially, puts you and your life- the only life he really cares about in this shitty world- aside.

Danielle goes down and you think your heart is going to leap up out of your throat mid-scream, "NO!"

You throw yourself over her in a plank, already having seen lifeless bodies be trampled without thought.

"Are you okay?" You pant, trying to assess her.

Her face is a pained grimace as she shakes her head no.

A shoe crushes your hand, nearly making you crumble on top of her. "Fuck-" You're sure somethings broken, quickly tucking your hand in close to her shoulder. "We need to move. Where are you hit?"

"Leg- My leg. High up, I think." She cringes, tears rolling down her face.

"You're gonna hate me," You apologize, drawing yourself up and yanking her with you. She screams, clinging onto you. Looking down, you can see she's losing what has to be too much blood.

You're shoved aside by a panicked passerby, making you stumble. Danielle yelps as she's sprawled back out on the grass. She sits up, sobbing. "You have to leave me. You have to run."

"Don't be stupid." You say, probably a little harshly. "I'm not going anywhere without you." Kneeling, you yank off your jacket that had been around your waist for the last hour and a half. You've seen all of those first responder shows, even better, you had your own medical encyclopedia sitting beside you during them. You always took little mental notes when he'd scoff and tell the character, "Good job, jackass. You just killed your patient." So you know you have to stop the bleeding.

Shielding yourselves the best you can, you tie your jacket arms around her thigh as tight as possible. "We're going to run for the bathrooms, okay?" You nod to the brick building you'd met at earlier in the day. She nods, you help her to her feet, then run as best you can.

A sudden white-hot force rips through you, nearly making you stumble. You already know you've been shot so you don't let yourself look at your shoulder, worried some kind of shock would take over and lead you to make the wrong decision.

Danielle collapses against the women's side door, yanking at the knob. "Hey! Let us in!" She screams, pounding the side of her fist against the door.

"Please!" You press yourself close to the wood, hoping two were out of sight of the shooter. There wasn't a second that you thought you actually knew where he was, making all of this so much more terrifying.

The door opens slightly and a woman yanks Danielle in, letting you follow behind. Another slams the door shut with her body the second you're inside. Panting, you let yourself fall against the nearest wall, clutching your shoulder. You can hear Danielle telling the other women what little she knew through sobs. Opening your eyes you see eight women, all bloody in some way.

"Is everyone alright?" You have to ask.

"Oh, god," Danielle drags herself to your side, pulling your shirt collar aside to see your shoulder. "Oh, fuck. When did- Wh-what do I do?"

You shake your head. "I think I'm okay."

"Okay? None of us are okay." Her eyes are huge. "We've been shot!"

"Exactly." You look back up to the other six, blinking back tears of pain. "All of you, too?"

Four nod, two- the one who'd pulled Danielle in, and the one keeping the door shut- shake their heads.

"Ambulances will be on the way." You swallow hard, body trembling. "Everyone just tie something above where you're hit. Block the heart from pumping more blood to it. Hold as much pressure as you can."

Girls take off jackets and overshirts, ripping and tying for each other. You grab your drawstring, deciding it's better than nothing.

"As soon as we hear the shots stop, we run toward the sirens, okay?" You're talking to everyone but are only looking at Danielle now. "Okay?"

"Okay." She whispers.

JACK looks for your face in every patient that comes in. He's already told Robby to come find him if you're brought in. Dana, too.

He hopes if you have to be brought here at all, that you'll be taken directly to Yellow Zone. Minor injuries, injuries even interns and first year students can take care of. Really, he hopes you don't wind up here at all.

He knows he'll crumble the second you're carted in. Any injury, no matter how minor, would break him. And, as long as he doesn't see you, he can tell himself you're safe at home, trying to call him back. He can keep working, saving lives.

You and Danielle are able to get in the back of the same truck with a few of the other women from the bathroom. You're all given yellow arm bands- except for Janine, who passed out on the way- and put in wheelchairs.

Two younger doctors you don't recognize give you and Danielle IVs, blood bags, and fix you up as hastily as possible. She holds your hand on your good arm. Sniffling, she tries over and over to call her husband but, of course, the lines were overloaded with everyone else trying to do the same.

Jogging past, Donnie stops hard to take a second look. "Mrs. Abbot!?"

"Hey, Donnie..." You smile thinly, giving a pathetic wave.

"Oh, shit, does Jack-"

"No." You almost yell. "No. And please don't tell him."

He hesitates. "Ah man, I mean,"

"I'm serious. You guys need him so much more than I do." You frown up at him. "I'm in the all clear, right? Just, hold off until you guys have a chance to catch your breath."

"Yeah," He sighs. "Alright. I got you."

"Thanks. Good luck with... y'know."

He tries to give you a smile and resumes his previous task.

You're sure you're going to get away with your -thoughtful- little scheme when Danielle taps your leg. "What?" You look up, face quickly dropping to horror as you see your husband storm into the Yellow Zone. You can tell instantly he's pissed about something and you can only hope it isn't about a lost patient. "Fuck, just..." You shift in your back to him, almost sitting sideways in the wheelchair. "Hide me."

"Hide you? You're in front of me." Danielle chuckles, half giving you her blanket.

You groan. "Tell me when he's gone."

Tense seconds pass and she leans in, "Okay-"

"Danielle?"

You both wince at Jack's voice. "Shit."

Slowly, you look up, pained attempt at a gentle smile on your face.

"Jesus-" He nearly gasps, practically running and sliding into a kneel at your legs. "Are you okay?" His eyes shift between your wrapped arm and face. One hand rests on the left side of your neck, the other on your right thigh.

You nod. "I am."

"You-" He assess how well the other doctors did. "How long have you been here?"

"Um, maybe half an hour."

"Half-" He's nearly breathless. "Fuck, baby, why didn't you have someone tell me. Do you have any idea how worried I've been?"

Your heart breaks as he shakes his head up at you, eyes glinting with tears. "I'm okay." You run a quick hand through his curls. "I didn't want you thinking about anything but taking care of who needs you right now."

"I was thinking about you the whole time anyway."

"I know." You frown. "But you gotta go back out there."

He glances back the way he'd come from with a hateful grimace.

"Jack," You cup his face, making him look back up at you. "Other people need you right now. Robby and Dana and all the other people hurt a lot worse than I am. I'll be right here until you're done."

He nods and stands slowly, bending midway to kiss you. "I love you."

"I love you, too." You're able to actually smile at him- for him- now. "Go save some more lives."

Divider Cred: @cursed-carmine

[oopshenangians]

Jack Abbot sees individual patients. Michael Robinavitch sees the whole.

It’s why Jack is able to come down from the roof much easier. It’s why he’s able to stand on the roof and not take the last step. Yes, it’s cause for concern, but Robby never seemed all too scared. He’s always been able to get Jack on the right side of the railing. It’s just what he does when it gets too much. But Jack can see the separate lives he saves. He knows who he helps and he knows he’s made at least one persons life better. There’s losses, of course there are, but there are still people who get helped because of him.

Conversely, Robby can only see the chaos. He can only see the whole. There’s not individual people who he’s helped. There’s always a patient who needs something more. Always someone who needs more help. After Pittfest, that’s what gets him. They walk away from (one of) the worst day of their career, and there’s still more. There is always more. That’s why he’s up on the roof and why Jack cannot stop talking. If he stops talking, there’s a chance Robby is taking another step and he’s gone forever. The only thing left behind being his stethoscope and the lives he changed that he can’t see.

[thatfanficstuff]

Like You Mean It - Rabbot x Reader

18+ Only MDNI

warnings/notes: Our girl is taking care of her men post Pittfest so all applicable warnings apply. In this AU Robby dated Janey but did not stay in Jake's life for whatever reason. For all we know that means Jake didn't even go to Pittfest. I think that's it. Enjoy!

Chapter Eight: Nearly Break

when I can't love me today, she's there to carry the weight to pull me out the rain, pulls me out the rain and when it gets harder to breathe, she is right there next to me am I enough to stay? at the point I nearly break

You had the TV playing on mute in the background while you read through a grant proposal. A bright red banner reading ‘Breaking News’ crossed the TV screen and you scrambled to find the remote. When you finally unmuted the anchor, you sucked in a breath as your stomach churned.

“—Pittfest. Again, there is currently an active shooter at Pittfest. Reports are coming in from our people on site. Emergency personnel are advising everyone to avoid the area and to keep the streets clear. Injured are already being transferred to the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. Be advised PTMC is closed to all other patients. Again, there is currently—”

You didn’t need to hear anymore than that. Robby was already going to have a hard time with his shift today, now this on top of it. And you were sure that Jack would be heading in as well. You grabbed your phone, hesitating before opening the group chat.

I love you. Be careful.

It didn’t send, the networks already slammed. Not that they would see it anyway. Not when they were entrenched in the horrible chaos that was sure to follow the shooting. The thought of them working to save lives despite the horror unfolding around them made you incredibly proud and incredibly concerned for their own well-being.

You signed out of your work on the computer and placed your laptop on the coffee table. You slipped on your shoes and grabbed your bag. You couldn’t help them at the hospital but you could be ready for them when they made it home. Normally, you’d get an uber but you weren’t going to add to the traffic. The walk would be good for you.

Neverending sirens filled the air along with the frantic blasting of horns. The longer it went on, the more your heart sank. You put in earbuds and put on your playlist to try to filter it out as you walked. It helped with the noise from the environment but not the noise in your head. You couldn’t stop thinking about Jack and Robby and what they might be dealing with at that moment.

That was selfish you supposed. You should be thinking about everyone at that festival. The families that would never see a loved one again because they wanted to have fun and listen to music. God, this was horrible. What the fuck was wrong with people? You rubbed a hand over your face and sighed.

As you neared the house, you stretched your neck and took a fortifying breath. You couldn’t fix this. Couldn’t do anything meaningful to help, but you could take care of your men. You could make sure they had a clean house and clean sheets to come home to. A hot meal to put on their stomach before the succumbed to their inevitable exhaustion whenever they finally arrived home. They were small things, but it would help them and that’s all you could focus on at the moment.

As you stepped inside and flipped on the lights, your phone vibrated as it connected to the wifi. An email from Sam saying he couldn’t get through on the cell touching base with you and the boys. Shit you didn’t even know if Dom and Rick were alright. They’d talked about going to the festival but you weren’t sure what they’d decided. You responded you were okay and were relieved to see a response from Dom a moment later. Everyone was okay. You shot an email off to your grandfather while you were thinking of it letting him know your circle was safe.

You set your phone aside and looked around, making a mental note of what needed to be done. The house felt emptier than usual without them, the silence almost oppressive. First things first, you headed into the living room and put on the news, which wasn’t the best idea for your mental health but you needed to know.

“—still spotty coming out of Pittfest. The shooting appears to have ended according to one report but we have no word regarding the identity or the status of the shooter. Officials have yet to give a statement though reports put the number of dead at the scene in the double digits, the injured outnumbering them. This is a mass shooting the likes of which—”

You muted the TV but left it on. Right. Time to get to work.

You headed into the kitchen first to see what you could put together. Unsurprisingly, you found everything you needed to put together a hearty chicken soup. You liked to keep ingredients on hand for good meals when they were off. They ate like shit on shift so you tried to make up for it when they were home.

After the chicken was put in the pressure cooker, you got to work on the vegetables. Your brain kept circling back to the shooting so you paused to put your playlist on the house sound system hoping that would distract you. It wouldn’t help much but it was something. It didn’t take you long to put everything together and once the soup began to simmer, you turned your attention to the rest of the house.

You started a load of laundry then went through the house decluttering, keeping your eyes turned from the TV when you were in the living room. You’d watch later, find out how bad things actually were, but not now.

In the bedroom, you stripped the sheets and put on fresh ones, plumping the pillows as you did. You laid out comfortable clothes for both of them. Normally they slept nude or in their underwear, but when they’d had a bad shift they sought the comfort of soft loungewear. You made sure the shower was ready for them and looked around with a sigh realizing there was little else you could do.

So, you did laundry and stirred the soup and waited for them to come home. You kept your phone close but didn’t expect to hear from them. Eventually, you unmuted the television. Tears ran down your face as they listed the estimate of the dead and injured, feeling a rush of relief when they stated that the shooter had died of a self-inflicted gunshot. At least he wasn’t roaming around the city looking to do it again. Your back straightened when Gloria came on the screen.

One hundred and twenty-two patients had been transported to PTMC for treatment. Six of them had died. Those numbers were amazing. You were more than a little surprised when she mentioned Robby and Jack by name. She didn’t seem the kind to share the credit. You were so proud of them and so concerned about the toll this day would take on them. Hopefully they would both schedule sessions with their therapists without much prompting.

The sound of the front door opening just before 10:30 startled you from your thoughts. They were home. They had made it back. You turned the TV to a nature documentary before you went to greet them, wanting something peaceful for background noise.

Jack entered first, movements stiff and mechanical. Robby followed a step behind. Both were still in their scrubs, their shoulders slumped, eyes hollow. Jack’s eyes found yours, a flicker of relief showing before it faded again. Robby hadn’t looked up yet, head bowed toward the floor.

“Hey,” you said if nothing more than to break the silence. There was nothing you could say to them to make this better.

Robby looked up, eyes wide. “You’re here,” he said in a broken voice.

“Of course.” You stepped closer waiting for them to close the distance. You didn’t want to be too much in an already too full day.

His gaze moved past you to take in the straightened living room before he inhaled the lingering scent of the soup that had been simmering for hours. Then his eyes shifted to the basket of clothes you’d folded while waiting before he looked back at you as something in him broke. His mouth twisted and tears flooded his eyes as his shoulders began to tremble.

You said his name as you reached for him and he fell into your arms. A wretched sound between a sob and a gasp escaped him as his knees gave way. You held him to you, arms wrapping around him to support him the best you could. He buried his face in your neck as he sobbed, his entire body shaking with the force of his grief. His fingers dug into your back, clutching at your shirt desperately as if you’d disappear if he didn’t hold on tight enough.

“I’ve got you, baby,” you whispered against his hair. “I’m right here.”

Your eyes met Jack’s over Robby’s shoulder. Where Robby’s grief was loud and physical, Jack’s was etched into the lines of his face, the depths of his eyes. He gave you a small nod as he watched you hold his partner. You understood without words. Take care of Robby first.

Robby’s tears soaked through your shirt where his face pressed against you. His tears came without restraint, releasing the emotion he’d doubtless been bottling up all day. Each broken breath brushed against your skin.

“There were so many,” he managed between sobs, the words muffled against your neck. “I tried—I tried.”

You tightened your hold on him, one hand sliding you to stroke his hair. “You did so good, baby. So good. You saved so many people.” There was nothing else you could say to make this better, no words that wouldn’t ring hollow. So, you simply held him, letting him break against you, offering your strength now that his had finally run out.

Jack moved, his motions slow and deliberate as if every movement required conscious thought. He set his bag down by the door then hesitated. He looked lost in his own home, uncertain where to go or what to do next. The sight of strong, steady Jack looking so adrift made your heart ache.

You extended an arm toward him, keeping the other firmly around Robby. He hesitated and you thought he might refuse, might retreat in his grief. Then he stepped forward. His body was rigid against yours as you wrapped your arm around him. He didn’t surrender to your comfort the way Robby had, but accepted it nonetheless.

The three of you stood in the entryway as Robby continued to sob against you. Jack remained silent, his arm coming to rest on Robby’s back, his other hand finding yours where it rested on his shoulder.

Gradually, Robby’s sobs quieted to shuddering breaths. He didn’t pull away though, his face still pressed to your neck, his weight heavy against you but you gladly bore it. You could feel the exhaustion in him now that grief had burned through the last reserves of his energy.

“You cooked?” Jack said, voice flat, tired.

“Just soup. I did the laundry and changed the sheets. I didn’t want you to have to worry about anything.”

Robby lifted his head, eyes red-rimmed and swollen, face tracked with tears. He looked wrecked. His hand came up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek. “You’re too good to us.”

You leaned into his touch. “No such thing.”

Jack’s hand tightened on yours, a silent thank you that you understood perfectly. Robby drew in a shaky breath, some measure of control returning. He straightened slightly but kept an arm wrapped around you, unwilling to let you go completely. “I need a shower. I can still smell it. The—” He cut himself off, swallowing hard.

“Come on,” you said gently, leading him down the hall. “Let’s go get you cleaned up.”

Jack stepped back. “I’ll be here.” You glanced at him to tell him to come along but you swallowed the words. His eyes were distant as if some part of him remained in that hospital, hands deep in someone’s chest fighting to save a life. You’d take care of Robby then give Jack your full attention.

You nodded to him, a promise to return, then led Robby down the hall to their room. The bathroom light flickered on as you guided Robby inside, his steps heavy beside you. You started the shower, making it as warm as he would find comfortable. You reached for the hem of his scrub top and met his gaze. “Arms up, baby,” you instructed softly.

He complied wordlessly, allowing you to pull the shirt over his head. You undid his belt and helped him out of his cargos and underwear with gentle efficiency. He placed a hand on your shoulder as he stepped out of them.

“In you go,” you said as you guided him toward the shower. You tested the temp then steered him inside. He stood motionless under the spray, water flowing over his head and shoulders, eyes closed. For a moment you hesitated but when he made no move to wash himself, you stripped down and stepped in behind him.

The water was hot, almost too hot but he liked it that way, used it to wash away the invisible residue of the traumas that clung to his skin. You reached for the bottle of his shampoo and poured some in your palm.

“Head down.” He bent forward slightly, allowing you easy access to his hair. You worked the shampoo into a lather, massaging his scalp before working it into his beard as well. A soft sound escaped him as some of the tension began to leave his shoulders.

You guided him to turn and rinse the suds from his hair. Your hands never left his body until you reached for a washcloth and lathered it with soap. You started with his back. Long smooth strokes down his spine, across the broad expanse of his shoulders. Your touch was gentle but firm as you worked on the knots of tension you could feel.

“They brought them in so fast,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet. “There wasn’t time to…some were DOA but we tried anyway. There was this one girl…”

“Shh,” you soothed, pressing a kiss between his shoulder blades. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. If you do, I’ll listen, but don’t feel like you need to. Not now.”

He fell silent but his hand found yours where it rested on his waist, squeezing gently. You washed him from top to bottom. When he was clean you shut off the water and reached for a towel, wrapping it around him before grabbing one for yourself. You quickly dried off and retrieved the clothes you’d set out for him earlier. He dressed without protest as you slipped your own clothes back on. His movements were still slow, but less mechanical now.

You took his hand in yours. “You need something to eat before you crash.”

The scent of the soup greeted you as you entered the kitchen. Jack sat at the table, eyes staring at the muted TV on the wall cycling through images of the aftermath. He hadn’t changed yet or taken off his leg. He turned at your entrance, eyes tracking Robby’s clean, damp appearance before meeting your gaze. After a quick nod of acknowledgment, he turned his attention back to the screen.

You guided Robby into a chair then turned off the TV. Jack’s gaze snapped to you. “Leave it,” you said. “Please.” He studied you for a beat before giving you another nod. His eyes tracked you as you moved to the stove and ladled up two bowls of soup. You set the bowls in front of them along with spoons. “Eat. Both of you.”

When they both took a bite, you turned to get them both a large glass of water. You hovered while they ate, encouraging them to get some water in their systems as well. Neither spoke, but a little color returned to their skin and some of the emptiness left their eyes. You didn’t press them to finish, satisfied when they each had eaten about half of their food.

Robby’s spoon clattered against the bowl as he dropped it. His eyelids drooped with exhaustion. “Bed,” you said, taking his hand once more. You glanced at Jack. “I’ll be back.”

Once again, he did nothing more than nod. Robby followed you without resistance, his fingers laced with yours. You pulled back the covers and Robby slid between the sheets with a small sound of appreciation, his body sinking into the mattress. You climbed in beside him, propping yourself against the headboard.

“Come here.” You guided his head into your lap. Your fingers found his damp hair, stroking through the dark strands, nails lightly scratching his scalp in the way you knew he loved. His arm draped heavily across your legs, face turned into your hip.

“Thank you,” he whispered. “For being here.”

“Always. Get some sleep now.”

It didn’t take long for his breathing to slow. Your hand never stopped its rhythmic stroking, even as his body grew heavy against you. Once you were certain he slept, you repositioned Robby so his head was on the pillow and carefully slipped from the bed. You covered his shoulders  with the blankets before pressing a small kiss to his temple. He didn’t stir. You watched him for a moment longer, assuring yourself he was truly resting before making your way back to tend to Jack.

He had moved to the living room, sitting motionless on the couch. Thankfully he’d left the television on the nature documentary. His eyes were fixed on the screen not really seeing the fish swimming through the water. He didn’t turn when you entered but his shoulders tensed slightly.

“He’s asleep,” you said softly.

He nodded once, a barely perceptible dip of his chin. Unlike Robby whose emotions had poured out, Jack seemed to have retreated inward. You were sure he was trying to convey a strong exterior but you knew better. You could see the tension in his jaw, the slight tremor in his hands, the way his eyes didn’t track the movement on the screen.

“Let me take care of you now,” you said.

When he didn’t respond, you gathered what you needed. From the bathroom you retrieved a small basin filled with hot water and a wash cloth. From the bedroom you collected the clothes you’d set out for him and what you needed to care for his leg.

You returned to find him exactly as you left him, motionless except for the rise and fall of his chest. The room was dark save for the light from the television and you left it that way. Setting your supplies on the table, you knelt before him. His eyes finally broke from the screen to find yours and the pain you saw there made your breath catch. You reached for his right leg, your hands moving to the familiar fasteners of his prosthesis.

“I can do it,” he said, voice rough.

“I know you can.” You held his gaze. “Let me.”

His expression shifted and he nodded again. His hand moved to brace against the couch to support himself as you carefully unfastened the prosthetic leg. This wasn’t the first time you’d helped him, but it was the first time he’d seemed this vulnerable, this unsure. You set it carefully beside the couch within easy reach making a mental note to grab his crutches later. The sock covering his residual limb was damp with sweat. You removed it gently and set it aside to be washed. You examined his skin for any signs of irritation but found none.

“Arms up,” you instructed as you had with Robby earlier.

He complied without protest and you stripped his scrub top from him. You set it aside with the sock and moved to unfasten his belt. Jack lifted his hips to help you get his pants off. He sat before you in just his boxer briefs. You dipped the washcloth into the water, the heat still stinging your skin despite it having sat.

He closed his eyes as you brought the rag to his face. You wiped away the day’s sweat and stress from his forehead, his cheeks, down the column of his throat. You rewet the cloth and continued, cleaning his chest, arms and behind his neck. His breaths were deeper now, more relaxed as some of the rigidity left his muscles with your tender attentions.

When you finished, you rubbed lotion into his residual limb until it disappeared into the aching flesh. You helped him into the clean clothes. His hand caught yours as you smoothed the shirt over his chest, fingers wrapping around your wrist in a gentle hold.

“Better?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he answered with a ragged voice.

You sat beside him on the couch and guided his head into your lap, just as you’d done with Robby earlier. For a moment he resisted, before yielding slowly, allowing his head to rest on your thighs. Your fingers found his hair, stroking through your favorite curls, your touch gentle but grounding. His body remained tense against yours, a muscle working in his jaw.

“You’re okay, Jack. You’re safe here.”

A shudder passed through his body and then you felt the warm wetness of silent tears against your leg. He made no sound, his body barely moving but the tears came steadily now, soaking into the fabric of your pants. Your hand never stopped its gentle motion through his hair.

“I am so proud of both of you. I know today was hard, but you helped so many people. Now let me help you.”

His hand reached up finding yours where it rested on his shoulder, wrapping his fingers around yours. Still, he didn’t sob. Didn’t cry out. His grief was quiet tears and trembling muscles.

You continued to stroke his hair, letting him process the horror, letting it flow through and out. Strength wasn’t about never breaking. It was about trusting someone to put you back together when you did.

Jack’s eyes closed and his breathing gradually slowed, the trembling subsiding though a tear occasionally slipped from beneath his closed lids. Your own eyes grew heavy, the long day of anxiety catching up with you. The weight of Jack’s head on your lap was comforting. You leaned back against the cushions, one hand still stroking his hair, the other still clasped in his.

Your eyes had just closed when your phone vibrated on the table beside you. Jack stirred as you slipped your fingers from his curls to answer. The screen showed Max Caulfield, your grandfather’s attorney and friend. Worry shot through you.

“Hello?” you answered, voice hushed to keep from waking Jack further.

Max’s voice came through clearly, unusually tense. “You need to come home. It’s time.”

Next

[redwinevinegar47]

Jack returned Robby’s half-hug as he scanned the scene, taking stock of their progress towards set up for the incoming MCI.

Something seemed off. He saw new faces — fuck, it was Day 1 for a lot of these kids. And where was Collins? Where was Langdon? What the hell was going on?

It made a cold shiver run down his back. It was probably a bad sign that Robby was looking at him like he was the second coming.

Or that there was a kid trying to slip out of sight behind Donahue that looked oddly familiar.

It took his brain a few seconds to place him.

Oh, fuck.

26, bottom, can’t host. Sad eyes, skinnier in person than Jack actually liked. But he didn’t blink an eye at jack’s leg, mumbling something about farm accidents.

The boy had been tense when he showed up last night. Jumpy. Only stopped compulsively apologizing when there was something in his mouth. Only seemed to relax when he was fully pinned down.

This wasn’t the worst thing Jack had ever compartmentalized in a crisis.

Jack brushed by the boy later that evening as they were unpacking the bins. He should’ve kept his mouth shut and said something sensible like we can talk about this later and it won’t happen again.

“I can’t say I expected to see you here,” Jack murmured. “But I’m not unhappy about it. I know you’re good with your hands… And you can take orders.”

The boys eyes went wide. “Yes, sir.”

Jack gave him a theatrically stern look. “Good. Don’t prove me wrong.”

But then he snapped back to reality and softened. “Come find me at the end of this. It’ll be bad but I promise it will end.”

(If you want more Jack & Dennis, you can read my fic paper doll on aO3)

[revenge-is-dead]

Judgment doesn't have to be something someone else puts onto you. -- Ink and watercolor on watercolor paper, 9inch by 12inch