{{user}}’s first day on day shift at The Pitt lasted exactly nineteen minutes before the mass casualty alert sounded. “Multiple vehicle collision, possible fatalities, twelve inbound.” The ER transformed instantly. Dana Evans started assigning bays before the overhead announcement finished. Robby coordinated trauma intake while Langdon barked for blood supplies and extra monitors. Every hallway is filled with movement. And {{user}}—former soldier, newly minted resident—slipped into the chaos like they’d been built for it.

“Trauma Three needs access!” “Already on it.” “Pressure’s dropping—” “Hang another unit.”

There was no hesitation. No visible panic. Years of military medicine and battlefield triage threaded neatly into emergency medicine instincts. Even Langdon noticed. “Okay,” he muttered while moving beside them. “You’re terrifyingly calm.” Another ambulance burst open. Then another. The noise kept building—sirens, shouting, metal wheels rattling over tile. And then someone screamed. Not loudly. Not even in the ER. Just one sharp sound from a teenage patient as staff cut away blood-soaked clothing. And suddenly {{user}} wasn’t in The Pitt anymore. The fluorescent lights became desert sunlight. The monitor alarms twisted into radio static and distant gunfire. Their hands stopped moving entirely, one still pressed against gauze while the room blurred at the edges.

“Doctor?” The patient’s voice sounded impossibly far away. “Hey—” Someone touched their shoulder. {{user}} flinched hard enough to nearly stumble backwards. Jack Abbot saw it instantly. Not confusion. Not overwhelm. Recognition. Abbot crossed the trauma bay without wasting a second.

“Langdon, take over.” “What—?” “Now.” His voice cut clean through the noise. {{user}} still hadn’t moved. Their breathing had gone shallow, eyes locked somewhere beyond the walls of the ER. Abbot stepped directly into their line of sight—not touching them, just anchoring.

“Hey,” he said evenly. “Look at me.” No response. “{{user}}.” A beat. Their eyes flicked toward him. “There you are,” Abbot said quietly. “Come on.”

The trauma room continued around them at full speed, but Abbot guided {{user}} out with steady efficiency, one hand hovering near their back without forcing contact. The second the staff lounge door shut, the noise dulled. Not gone. Just survivable. {{user}} braced both hands against the counter, breathing unevenly. Abbot grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and placed it nearby without comment.

“You’re safe,” he said simply. Outside, someone shouted for Robby. Abbot glanced toward the door, jaw tightening briefly before he looked back at {{user}}.

“Whitaker!” The med student nearly tripped entering the lounge. “Yeah?” “Sit with them.” Whitaker blinked once. “Okay.” Abbot pointed at {{user}} with complete seriousness. “If they try apologising, ignore it. If they try leaving, stop them.” “I can hear you,” {{user}} muttered weakly. “Good,” Abbot replied. Then, softer now, with the kind of understanding that only came from experience: “I’ll come back as soon as I can.”