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DEAR GOD MASTERLIST

Dennis Whitaker x Popstar!reader

You left Broken Bow, after a year in nursing school. A dreadful, anxiety ridden year. You left without a proper goodbye, just a note, to the man you were hopelessly in love with; Dennis Whitaker. Love couldn't keep you in broken bow. You and him both put love on the back burner, each of you focusing on your careers. But one day, you roll into the ER, as a victim of Pithiest. Not only that, you were performing at it. What happens to the unprocessed emotions?

Leaving's the hardest part

Tonight

See you again

No mans land

Long road ahead~ coming soon…

#the pitt #the pitt x reader #the pitt fanfic #dennis whittaker x reader #dennis the pitt #dennis whitaker #dennis whitaker x you #dennis whitaker x reader #masterlist #ongoing #tbr

GIRL WHERE IS THE FINAL PARTTTT

school has burnt me out so much recently and I’ve had so much work… I’m also in the midst of moving currently. But once I get the chance to start writing I will!

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

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“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.