PITT WHUMP DAY THREE - Overwhelmed || Intubation || “Don’t touch me.”
Guess who didn't realize they didn't publish this? Anyways, Robby and Langdon fight. Disclaimer, Robby says some insensitive things in this.
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It was supposed to be a calm night in. They had been trying to reconnect some, slowly intertwine and learn to move past the dead vines. It was supposed to be dinner, some talking, just existing around one another again.
That's not what it ended up being.
In fact, at some point, the entire plant had gone up in flames, and Frank was having his nose rubbed in the ash.
Frank honestly didn't remember how the fight even begun. If that really mattered. All he could tell right now was an aching need to getout explain proveyourself on repeat over and over and over.
"How the fuck am I supposed to trust you again, Frank, huh? How am I meant to do that?" Robby put his hands on his chest, as if he was asking an actual question.
It only made him want to scoff. "Maybe by seeing all the work I'm doing? Actually listening to me or at least admin about my capabilities? You don't need to trust me as a person, man, but you have to trust me as a doctor."
Robby did actually scoff, a kind of incredulous thing that came across far too demeaning and made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. "No, actually I don't."
"We work together!"
"That doesn't mean I need to trust you, Langdon."
There was a new kind of edge, every time Robby said his name like that. Not like it was just what he was called anymore, it felt like a demotion.
Frank ran a hand over his hair, glancing away. "Okay, well, we need to be cordial."
Robby nearly chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm fine. Al-Hashimi got her whole- two attendings on days thing, just keep reporting to the other."
"That's not a long term solution, Robby!" Frank put his hands out in front of him, feeling a buried temper start to bang at his skull. "What do you want from me? I can prove myself however you want, I swear."
If it would get Robby to even look at him longer than thirty seconds, Frank would gut himself on top of Central.
Healthy? No. Not according to his therapist, but he needed Robby's approval still, desperately, and he knew he'd ever get it. It left him feeling like a dog chasing its own tail.
"I don't want anything from you."
"Then what do you need?" He pushed, breaking.
Robby raised his eyebrows, nearly looking at him. "What do I need? Nothing you can give, that's for sure."
"Oh my god, stop talking in riddles." Frank sat up, sat back some, tilting his head. "Just say it."
He regretted it faster than he thought he could.
"You have faced zero consequences for what you did, Langdon! None." Robby said it so fast, so stern, so honest. He genuinely believed nothing had happened, and Frank honestly wished he'd just been slapped. He took a breath, harnessing himself suddenly, clenching his jaw. "Nothing happened. You are fine."
"Do not act like you have any idea what kind of work it took to get here." Frank shook his head, tossing a hand up. "It wasn't easy for me, you know."
It was nights of sitting shaking in a room, feeling his stomach drop like a rachet with each decrease in his taper. It was relearning pain, pinned through his spine, riptide pulling him down and beckoning him to the seafloor.
It was staring his kids in their eyes, heart clogging up his throat, and saying he was so sorry but he couldn't pick them up.
"Shit, always making excuses. Always a fucking addict." Robby pressed a hand over his eyes before he seemed to register what he said, but it hit Frank straight in the chest like a sledgehammer carved from the Arctic herself.
Always a fucking addict.
It wasn't the gentle attempt at a mantra he was used to, a reminder that it was a conscious effort to stay sober, that it took work and want to keep that thing he worked so hard for. No, this was venomous. Spit at him in disgust of the very nature of what he was.
Robby wouldn't get over it. Not the betrayal, not the damn felony. No, Robby wasn't getting over that Frank having a crisis -- being an addict -- seemed to be a personal failing on him. On Frank. Hell, on Robby.
A bad reflection, more like. Molded over mirror.
"Wow." Frank huffed, stinging at the edges. "Um, okay. Fuck you, I guess, Jesus."
That's when it seemed to click, Robby sighing harshly and dropping his hand. "Hold on, that's not what I meant-"
"You said it though, didn't you?" Frank shook his head, wishing desperately for disbelief to hit him in the face. Wanting for this to have been horrifically unexpected, a splash of cold water that he never saw over the doorway.
Instead, he just felt resigned. He knew Robby was struggling to look past the beads on his wrist, but that didn't make it any easier to stomach.
He was quick to stand up, grabbing his backpack from the floor next to him. His escape plan was simple. Backpack here, jacket off the kitchen chair, shoes by the door. Straight shot.
Robby got up to follow him.
"Frank, seriously, wait a minute. Look, we can talk about that."
He didn't have to turn to hear the slight urgency, maybe forced, maybe real. He didn't have the energy to hear it, ears ringing with alarm, snatching his jacket just in time to see Robby reach for him.
"No don't- don't fucking touch me." Frank shrugged at the idea of a hand, almost batting at it.
Robby snapped back like Frank had hit him, and despite the quick run of excuses, all Frank could hear was that an apology wasn't amongst them.
Always a fucking addict.
He moved on to the entryway, Robby lingering with his jaw set, just staring. He didn't move after him this time, stubborn, just standing there with his arms now crossed, eyes following.
Watching. Like he tended to. Frank might as well have scars from where his gaze burned into him by this point. At work, at home, everywhere.
Frank pushed his feet into his shoes, deciding to fix the backs once he got outside and away from the sudden lack of oxygen. "I'll- see you on shift tomorrow, I guess."
He wanted to swear more. Wanted to tell him to fuck off again, wanted to hit him, wanted to cry. He decided on none of those, and the slightly less immature move of letting the door slam on his way out.
McRaider
Summary: An argument between Robby and Jack leads Dennis to an accidently flashback.
A/N: Pitt Whump Week day 3 | May 5th – Prompts used: Overwhelmed || “Don’t touch me.”. I don't love this fic, I may rewrite it at some point, and write more. But for now here it is.
Jack was still in his boots.
That, more than anything else, was what set Robby off.
“You said you were coming home to rest,” Robby said, standing in the narrow space between the counter and the sink. “Not to suit back up for someone else’s crisis.” He didn’t generally mind that Jack worked with the SWAT, but lately the man was burning the candle at every damn end and both Robby and Dennis were starting to worry.
Jack tugged at his jacket, movements deliberately casual. “I’m not suiting up. I’m assisting. It’s not the same thing.”
Dennis stood near the table, fingers worrying the hem of his sleeve. SWAT. The word sat heavy in his chest every time it came up—heavy with images he tried not to picture, with the way Jack sometimes came home too quiet, eyes still somewhere else.
“Like that one time you got shot at while you assisted? You were gone until three in the morning on your day off,” Robby continued. “Again. And today you jumped at your phone like it was a gunshot.”
Jack exhaled sharply. “I’m fine--”
“That’s not an answer, Jack” Robby said. “That’s a reflex.”
Dennis shifted his weight, trying not to draw attention. He remembered how Jack’s shoulders had been stiff at breakfast, how he’d barely touched his coffee. How stress leaked out of him in small, deniable ways. Something was going on with SWAT and it was leaving Jack more uptight than usual.
“It’s temporary,” Jack said. “They needed extra eyes. Experience. I can help.”
“And it’s costing you sleep,” Robby shot back. “And bringing that energy into our house.”
Jack’s jaw clenched. “So now I’m not allowed to help people?”
“That’s not what I said,” Robby replied, voice tight. “I said you don’t get to bleed this stuff into us and pretend it isn’t happening.”
Dennis flinched at the word bleed. His gaze dropped to the table—mail, a glass of water pushed too close to the edge, a chipped bowl he’d forgotten to put away. He wanted to say something reasonable, something that would de-escalate. He wanted to explain that loud radios and police scanners made his chest tighten, that the idea of Jack walking into violence made his stomach knot for hours afterward. But this didn’t feel like a conversation he really belonged in. He knew Robby was arguing out of worry and fear, Dennis felt the same way, but this was still a new relationship for him. He didn’t want to get involved and overstay his welcome. Still, he too hated Jack’s need to put himself into dangerous situations.
Instead of speaking, he reached to clean the table of the dirty dishes. But his hip clipped the table, nudging it just enough that the glass tipped. He tried to stop it, catch it as it fell. It happened in slow motion as Dennis watched it shatter across the tile, a sharp, echoing crack.
“You useless little, welp! You’re so fucking useless!” The voice screamed in his ear, a sharp crack across his face, instantly pain flared across his cheek and jaw.
The sound rang again in his ears, wrong, too loud. Raised voices overwhelmed him, shattering glass. The kitchen blurred, being replaced by an older, smaller kitchen. Dennis panicked and knelt, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he cried frantically, shaking hands starting to pick up the glass.
“Fucking idiot child! Get your ass up. I spend and spend and all you do is waste the food, destroy things. We should’ve tossed you out when you were born!”
Dennis choked as he ducked, trying to get away, the sound of his father’s belt being pulled from his pants.
“No! Don’t touch me! I’m sorry, dad, please.” He cried as he tried to get away from the shadows.
“Dennis?” Jack’s voice cut through his memories. Hands hovered in front of him, open, not touching as the kitchen returned in fragments to Dennis. The fridge was humming; Robby was crouched beside them with a broom and dustpan. “Can you put the glass down, baby?”
“I—I’m sorry—”
Jack shook his head and gently reached out to touch Dennis’s wrists. “It’s just a glass, sweetheart. No big deal. You’re bleeding, can you put the glass down?”
Dennis looked at his shaking hands for the first time and realized he’d cut himself a few times, slowly, he turned his hand and dropped the glass into the dustpan Robby was holding.
“Can you tell me what just happened?” Jack asked softly as Robby finished cleaning up the glass, while Jack helped Dennis to his feet and gently guided him out of the kitchen and into the bathroom off the living room.
“I—uh…” Dennis was still struggling to track, part of his mind still in the past, still waiting for the physical blows. “I’m—fine.” He lied, as Jack gently sat him on the toilet lid.
“Yeah, not believing that. Talk to us, Den. It was like you weren’t here for a moment. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you had a flashback.” Jack pushed slightly.
Dennis glanced up to see Robby appear in the bathroom doorway, looking equally concerned. “Was it us arguing, or the glass?”
The younger man shrugged, “Maybe both I think…”
“Okay, I’m sorry that Robby and I’s disagreement startled or scared you.”
Dennis shook his head quickly, “It didn’t…or it wouldn’t have normally. I don’t think.” He looked down where Jack was cleaning the couple small wounds on his hand and fingers, dabbing at them before applying some antibiotic cream and covering them with Band-Aids. “Where did you go, Den?” Jack asked quietly.
“My—my father wasn’t a kind man,” Dennis finally whispered. “It wasn’t a normal afternoon if I wasn’t getting belted, or smacked, or yelled at.”
“Kid, why haven’t you ever told us?”
Dennis shrugged, stroking his hands and fingers. “I didn’t want it to follow me anymore.”
“Okay, that’s okay. But if this happens again, would you consider seeing someone?” Jack asked, running his fingers across Dennis’s cheek.
“Sure,” Dennis whispered. “I’m sorry. I don’t mind that you work with SWAT, Jack. I just think both Robby and I are worried that it’s been a lot lately.”
Jack sighed, glancing back over his shoulder at Robby, before looking back at Dennis. “It’s a cartel situation; I can’t tell you much. But you’re right, it has been a lot lately. I’ll let them know I’m not available today, and I’ll talk to them about cutting back my hours.”
“At least for a little bit,” Dennis offered.
Jack stood, pressing a kiss to the kid’s hair. “Come on, Den, let’s go watch a movie or something.”
Pitt Whump Week May 5th: "Don't touch me" | McVadi
@pittwhumpweek
Victoria didn't know what to do. She hated not knowing what to do.
Cassie's car was messy and old. The outside was a dull blue; the inside was littered with crumbs and empty soda cans. It didn't even have a rearview camera. Victoria picked at the textured gray plastic on the door handle.
This wasn't the first time this happened. Cassie did this thing. Sometimes it would be after an awful shift, sometimes it would be after a great one. Vic would walk out of the ambulance bay to find McKay propped up against the hood of her car, hair down, playing with her keys like the hot guy in a high school movie. It shouldn't have worked as well as it did.
It never went far-- or maybe it did? Vic's never done this before. She's never done pretty much anything before. She doesn't really understand what's happening. Like, she knows that sometimes Cassie drives her home. Sometimes they stop for the fast food that Vic was never allowed to eat growing up. Sometimes they find a spot on the river and Cassie gets the blanket from her trunk. They sit and talk for hours. Sometimes Cassie's knee brushes Vic's thigh and it feels like touching sunlight for the very first time. No medical textbook explained to Victoria how skin could hold a memory like that: how she could feel it for days.
Usually, whatever they do makes Victoria feel... lightheaded, giggly, out of control in a nice way. Cassie was the only person that made Vic feel better, lighter after they'd hung out. It felt like a magic trick.
Today Vic doesn't feel light. She feels like someone filled her stomach with lead.
Cassie gripped the steering wheel, veins budging in her forearm. They weren't far from Vic's house. They also weren't far from a spot near the water they liked to go to. It was like Cassie couldn't decide.
She looked awful. She didn't even bother taking her hair out of its braid. Strands fell lose, slicing dark lines across her face and neck. Vic had heard in passing that today was hard. Cassie had some... nightmare case. Teenage girl, OD, coded her for an hour. She was semi lucid when she came in. Donnie mentioned that she was so, so scared. No family showed up, even after she died.
Vic had kept an eye on Cassie throughout the day; she caught glimpses of her going almost catatonic in between traumas.
"Today was a lot," Victoria said, breaking the silence. Not 'Are you ok?' Not 'What's wrong?' Get on her level. Build trust.
"Yeah, it was... Yeah," Cassie whispered. In that moment, Vic realized that she's never heard Cassie whisper like that. Every time the woman talked she sounded strong, resilient, dependable. Now, her voice was coated in defeat. It was so wrong; it made Vic's skin crawl.
Vic thought for a second about what to say next. She could do this. If she wanted to be in emergency psychiatry so bad, then she could manage talking to Cassie. She could help.
"Um." God, she sounded so nervous. "I-- uh. We could take about it. Or maybe just go do something else? Decompress a little?"
Cassie didn't look at her. She didn't say anything either.
"We-- we could also just sit here? It's ok too, if you just want silent company."
Vic tried to made eye contact with Cassie but the older woman's bangs hung low, covering her eyes.
"I--It can be really, um, helpful to process difficult events with other doctors." Shut up shut up shut up. "People in trauma-facing workplaces can gain a lot from talking with colleagues who understand the difficulties of the job." She fucking knows this. She's a doctor. Jesus. "I-- I mean, you already know that. Yeah."
Victoria made an effort to compose herself. She tried to take a breath but Cassie's motionless silence felt like a thousand-pound weight on her chest.
"I guess what I'm trying to say is..." Vic pauses, surprising herself. She thinks for a moment: What is she trying to say? What does she actually, really want to say? And then she makes up her mind. Victoria is, as always, braver than anyone else expects her to be. "What I'm trying to say is that I hate seeing you hurting. I know it's painful but I'm your... I want to be here for you."
"..."
"..."
"You are so...young." Cassie was looking at her now and it was awful. It was like an icicle piercing through Vic's body. It was like the whole world was on a dutch angle; Vic watching from outside the car like she was seeing a scary movie.
"I am young but that doesn't mean I still can't be here for you." Vic's voice was guarded. She's defended this point a million times in a million different ways. It hurt extra bad coming out of Cassie's mouth though.
The older woman let out a dry, hysterical laugh. "You don't get it."
"I do g-"
"No. No you don't," Cassie said sharply. Then, she turned to look out the window and the sharpness melted into pity. "You don't get any of this, Victoria."
It hurt because Cassie was right. Victoria didn't understand this. She tried over and over again to understand everything between them. She couldn't wrap her mind around it. Understanding slipped like oil, dripping through and around her fingers.
"I, I forget sometimes times. You're 21." Cassie sounded mad but she wouldn't meet Victoria's eyes. "You've never lived on your own. You've never gone to a party. You've never fucked up. Never made a mess! Never did anything you regret! And I mean really, really regret."
"Hey!--"
"Being a doctor doesn't mean you've actually lived." The pull in Cassie's throat betrays the fact that she's crying. "I forget with you because you're so... Jesus. You're a kid."
Victoria tried to hide the obvious crying in her voice too, in hopes she didn't sound half as petulant as she felt. "That's uncalled for."
"It really isn't."
"Fuck off!" Victoria spouted. She let out an exasperated gasp. "You're just trying to hurt me. Are you happy? It's working. Do you feel fucking better?"
"..." Cassie stayed silent. She was strong but she wasn't brave. Not really.
"Pushing me away, yelling at me. I get it. You're hurting. Way, way too much is being asked of you and it sucks. But I mean come on. You're just being mean, Cassie." They trade places: Cassie looks at Victoria, Victoria looks out her window. "I get to have boundaries. I won't let you speak to me that way. Don't pretend we're not equals. Don't pretend I'm a kid. You brought me here." The maturity in her tone shocks Cassie even though it shouldn't. Victoria was smart. She was excellent. She was more understanding and kind than she had any right to be. She always surprised Cassie that way. She had this... sense of direction: this internal compass that always lead her towards exactly where she needed to go. Right now, that meant dressing Cassie down like a schoolteacher. She was going to be a great doctor one day.
Victoria continued: 'You're right. I don't understand. But if you had the fucking guts, you'd teach me."
The air is dead between them.
"I can't," Cassie begs.
"I don't believe you." Victoria looks at Cassie now. Their gazes lock and Cassie's heart throbs seeing the tears in her girl's eyes. Her lashes clump together and it makes her eyes look, somehow, even bigger.
Cassie doesn't have any fight left in her and she doesn't know how to come back from this. Engine stalled, going nowhere. Her heart pulls her body in a million different directions. When she blinks she sees her patient on the bed: cold brown skin, thick dark hair, wide panicked eyes. She hears her patient begging for safety, for comfort, and Cassie isn't good enough to give it. She's sick to her stomach. She's going to explode. She's completely still.
Her hand comes up to Victoria's face, holding the soft, tear-stained skin.
"I can't, baby." It doesn't matter if it's true.
Victoria sobs. She sobs because she's stupid and she thought Cassie actually treated her differently. Saw her differently. She sobs because she never went to high school and never went to prom. She never had sleepovers or went on dates. She never learned what any of this means and she's going to spend her whole life being so, so confused.
"Don't touch me," she croaks. Quickly, she opens the door and climbs out. She feels like she's 12, throwing a temper tantrum. Every tear is another confirmation of how little pathetic she is.
Cassie hits her head on the rim of the steering wheel. Then, she drives away from the feeling.
#PITTWHUMPWEEK2026 @pittwhumpweek
Day 3 prompt - Overwhelmed + "Don't touch me." - 1,491 words
FIC COLLECTION TITLE: Suicide Machines
Written by @akathecentimetre, art by @agarthanlaboratory
Pairings: Rabbot, explicit / developing / implied
Excerpt, Day 3: "This is week two, I'm due back after week three. Then another week of fuckin' debrief. The state of my inbox, brother, you would not believe - everywhere from Quantico to San Diego wants intelligence on the Tuaregs. Pity that doesn't extend to actually funding MINUSMA, but that's apparently above my paygrade."
Robby squints. "You're gonna make it your problem, aren't you."
Jack's grin is sharp. "Aw, you know me so well."
As his head starts to pound marginally softer, Robby sees that Abbot is in desert fatigues, dusty, his temporary UN and USA patches already faded on his sleeve. The blue beret, though, is still sharp and painfully bright, and he's done something to his hair, high and tighter on the sides than Robby is used to. For a brief moment something in him mourns the memory of Jack's curls, though it eases a moment later when he sees some, still, sweaty, creeping out onto Jack's forehead.
God, he looks loveable, and Robby loves him.
Fandom: The Pitt
Characters: Jack Abbot, Michael 'Robby' Robinavitch
Word count: 1463
Warnings: contains descriptions of migraine
Summary:
Robby paused. He looked around himself at anything that could cause his feeling of unease. It took him all of five seconds to eventually see it: Jack.
Jack is having a migraine
A/N: this was written for day 3 of @pittwhumpweek, prompt: "don't touch me."
I realize this is a day late, but due to a medical emergency in the family (how very fitting 🥴😑), I wasn't able to post this on time.
Writing masterlist | Read on AO3 | Request a fanfic from me
Robby knew, right from the moment he set foot into the pitt that morning to begin his shift, that something was wrong.
At first, he didn’t know what it was. The number of people waiting in Chairs actually seemed manageable for a change, and the doctors and nurses on the night shift didn’t look overly stressed.
Still, something felt off.
Robby paused. He looked around himself at anything that could cause his feeling of unease. It took him all of five seconds to eventually see it: Jack.
The grey-haired doctor sat at one of the workstations, slightly hunched over, elbow resting on the desk and one hand supporting his cheek. He typed one-handed and almost lethargic on the keyboard.
Robby set his bag on the floor. He let his gaze glide over Jack as he quietly approached him, already making an assessment. Apart from his apparent lack of energy, Jack looked pale and Robby had the distinct feeling he was trying to cover up the fact that he was in pain.
"Morning, Jack." Robby clasped Jack’s shoulder. "How are we doing this morning?"
Jack winced involuntarily. "Don’t touch me, please," he grumbled.
"Whoa, sorry," Robby chuckled, "what’s going on with you?"
Jack slowly looked up at Robby. He didn’t even need to speak for Robby to see he wasn’t alright. Jack’s pale and somewhat sweaty appearance alone were enough to confirm that something was definitely wrong. The shiver that occasionally ran through him and the fact that he seemed to flinch at every sound around him, made Robby’s suspicions complete.
"So, what’s your diagnosis, doctor?" Robby folded his arms over his chest.
Jack sighed, placing his glasses on the little desk and burying his face in his hands. "Migraine," came his muffled reply.
"Yeah," Robby said slowly, "that would have been my guess, too."
"But it’s already getting better," Jack mumbled unconvincingly.
Without warning, Robby placed his fingers against the pulsepoint of Jack’s wrist. He was just able to feel the elevated heartbeat, before Jack pulled away. "Please, Robby, please… don’t touch me."
Touch aversion was a well-known symptom of migraines, so Robby understood Jack’s response to physical contact at the moment.
"I don’t want to rain on your parade," Robby said slowly, "but I think you’re not even at the worst of this migraine yet. Your heart rate is still slightly elevated."
"Yeah," Jack scoffed, "that’s because I’m in fucking pain."
There was silence between the two men for a few seconds.
Finally, Jack let out a pained whimper. His shoulders sagged a little further, almost as if he deflated.
"My head is absolutely killing me," he said in a small voice. "The letters are dancing on the screen, and every sound feels like I’m getting stabbed in the head. The slightest touch is agony. I… I actually feel like I could pass out at any moment. So, yeah, this migraine is still firmly kicking my ass."
"Alright, that’s it." Robby turned all business now. "Give me one minute, but then you’re coming with me."
"You don’t have to drive me home." Jack started to slightly slur his words.
Robby scoffed. "Bold of you to assume that I’m letting you go home at all like this."
Jack didn’t protest to that, which concerned Robby even more.
"Don’t move," Robby instructed, before trotting away to the staff break room. The personnel medicine cabinet stocked some migraine pills, which Robby quickly pulled from there, before hurrying back to Jack.
Jack still sat hunched over at the workstation, shielding his eyes from the light and the letters on the computer screen.
"Come on." Robby coaxed Jack into standing up, but made sure not to touch him.
Jack moved as if in slow motion. Every movement was agony for him, and he often whimpered and groaned under his breath. He was unsteady on his feet, but Robby hesitated to offer his support because that meant more touching.
"Where are we going?" Jack mumbled as he and Robby very slowly made their way to the nearest elevator.
"You remember that empty wing on the eighth floor?" Robby answered, "that should be nice and quiet and dark."
"Hmm," Jack hummed softly, "sounds divine."
He had completely surrendered to the fact that Robby wasn’t taking him home. And, frankly, all Jack wanted was to sleep, and whether that was at home or in some empty wing of the hospital, didn’t even matter anymore.
---
The eighth floor was blissfully quiet and devoid of people. The corridors were minimally lit, with all the patient rooms dark.
Robby held open the door of the first reasonably looking room. Six out of order hospital beds were crammed into it, but they were still perfectly usable to sleep off a migraine.
Jack stumbled over to the nearest bed and sat down on its edge. Robby pulled open the cabinets in search of spare blankets and finally found some on the fifth try. He grabbed a forgotten pillow off of one of the other beds, and turned back to Jack.
Jack looked even more pale and sweatier than before. He had already taken off his prosthetic leg, and now fumbled to get his shoe off his other foot.
"Do you need help?" Robby kept his voice as quiet as possible.
"No," Jack mumbled, "no offense, but even the slightest touch hurts right now."
Robby understood, and he surely did not want to cause Jack any more pain.
Finally, Jack’s shoe tumbled to the floor.
"Here." Robby handed Jack the migraine pills he had taken from the personnel medicine cabinet, along with a cup of water. Jack downed the water and the pills in one big swallow.
"Thanks," Jack mumbled, before he very gently lay himself down, whimpering as the smallest movement and the slightest brush of the blankets against his skin hurt. He turned on his side, curling up in misery.
Robby placed Jack’s phone on a small table within his reach. "If you need anything or if you feel your condition worsens, you call me immediately."
Jack hummed, barely audible, and Robby wasn’t sure he had even understood properly, but it would have to do for now.
Robby quietly retreated, switched off the lights, and hoped a long sleep would do Jack some good.
---
Over the course of his shift, Robby went up to the eighth floor several times. Each time Jack lay in exactly the same position as when he had first left him, fast asleep. He responded in no way to Robby’s presence.
Each time, Robby quietly observed Jack for a few minutes, checked his pulse, and, when he was satisfied Jack was still doing alright, he silently left again.
It was well past the end of Robby’s shift when he once again went upstairs.
He immediately saw something had changed. Jack now lay on his back, head lolled slightly to the right and one arm resting across his stomach.
Robby approached quietly and gently pressed two fingers against Jack’s wrist. He felt a calm, steady heartbeat.
"I assure you that I haven’t died." Jack’s voice sounded husky and laced with sleep.
Robby chuckled. "I sure hope not. That would have been a shitload of paperwork."
Jack opened his eyes just a sliver, but enough to look at Robby.
"How’re you feeling?" Robby asked. "At least you’re not recoiling from physical touch anymore."
"Yeah, that’s better. Headache’s mostly gone, too," Jack answered, "but I feel like I’ve been in a bomb blast and pieced back together."
Robby grimaced. "Yeah, a good migraine will do that to you."
Jack shifted. His muscles ached after being cramped up from the migraine. "What time is it?"
"Nearly 9 p.m. You’ve slept around the clock." Robby leaned against one of the other beds in the room. "And before you stress out: Dr. Shen is covering your shift tonight, so you can properly get rid of this migraine."
"I’m never stressed," Jack grumbled.
Robby snorted a laugh. "Good to know."
Jack took a deep breath before slowly blowing it out. "Now what?"
"I’m going home in about 30 minutes," Robby said, "you’re coming with me and I’m taking you home. No matter how hard you object, that’s what’s going to happen."
Jack slowly shook his head. "No objections."
Robby got back on his feet. He shortly clasped Jack’s shoulder. "I’ll come get you when I’m finished."
"I’ll be ready." Jack confirmed. "And, Robby?"
Robby had been about to leave the room, but stopped and looked back over his shoulder.
Jack pushed himself up into a sitting position. "I’m glad you’re the one who found me this morning."
Jack was getting back to his usual self, and Robby knew this was Jack’s way of thanking him.
"Yeah," Robby nodded with a slight smile. "Me, too."
Thank you for reading! Any and all feedback on my fics is highly appreciated 😇
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Jack Abbot/Michael “Robby” Robinavitch
Characters: Jack Abbot (The Pitt), Michael “Robby” Robinavitch
Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Established Relationship, Medical Inaccuracies, Medical Trauma, Terminal Illnesses, Hurt Jack Abbot (The Pitt), i’m putting this man on o2 for life and no one can stop me, mini bang/art included
Summary:
This could kill Jack. Robby had read the studies, had run the full research gamut as soon as he got home the day he found out. He knew the risks, and they were extremely high. Just shy of a death sentence.
But the alternative… Robby couldn’t bear to think of it, merely sidestepped it in his mind like it was a black, gaping chasm that he didn’t have the guts to peer into. He wasn’t ready. They weren’t ready, he thought.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
She’s so focussed on looking out for her friends she overlooks protecting herself. Suddenly her body isn't listening and the world is spinning. Then theres a man—hands...
Her friends find her. But of course they take her to PTMC. And—everyone’s gonna know.
Or
Santos is drugged at a club. Suddenly her vulnerability is on show for everyone
touch me don't touch me let's roll it back to one (1615 words) by Tobiko
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: The Pitt (TV)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Trinity Santos & Dennis Whitaker
Characters: Trinity Santos, Dennis Whitaker
Additional Tags: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Self-Harm, Vaginal Fingering, sex as self-harm, Flashbacks, Trinity Santos Needs a Hug, Trinity Santos-centric, Developing Friendships, Trinity Santos and Dennis Whitaker are Roommates
Summary:
A quickie in a bar bathroom becomes a window to the past. Trinity can't seem to escape herself.
The Pitt Whump Week Day 2: "Don't touch me."
