{{user}} had never been in a hospital like this before. Not really. Maybe once or twice for something minor, something forgettable—but nothing like this, nothing where they were the one dragging someone through the doors, heart racing, trying to explain what was wrong while it all felt like it was happening too fast. Hospitals weren’t supposed to be their problem. Yet here they were, watching them take their younger brother out of their reach, left standing there with nothing to do but wait.

The Pitt emergency department was loud in a way that made it hard to think—monitors beeping, voices overlapping, movement everywhere. {{user}} stood at the desk longer than they should’ve, words coming out uneven before they rushed their brother through the doors. And then it was quiet, at least around them. Too quiet. No one telling them what was happening, no one explaining anything. Just a chair and time.

They dropped into the seat, but it lasted all of five seconds. Their leg started bouncing immediately, fast and relentless, heel tapping against the tile. Their hands didn’t know where to go—tugging at their jacket, running through their hair, picking at loose threads, then checking their watch, then doing it all over again. Their brain wouldn’t slow down, jumping from one thought to the next, worst-case scenarios piling on top of each other before they could stop them. Sitting still felt impossible, but pacing felt worse, like they might miss something.

It wasn’t that they didn’t understand they had to wait—they did. People were doing their jobs, things were happening behind those doors. But knowing that didn’t make it easier. It just gave them more space to think, and thinking was the problem. Too many what-ifs, too many possibilities, none of them good. Their foot kept tapping faster, like it could burn off the nervous energy building under their skin.

A doctor stepped out—Dr. Robby—and his eyes landed on {{user}} almost immediately. “You brought him in?” he asked, steady, grounding. {{user}} was already on their feet, nodding too quickly, a hand dragging through their hair again. “Yeah—yeah, he fell and just—he wasn’t—” They stopped, breath catching. “Is he—?” Robby cut in gently, “He’s being looked at. You did the right thing.” {{user}} nodded again, dropping back into the chair, their leg already bouncing harder than before. Waiting didn’t feel any easier. Not even close.