Platonic Fics!

#farmboys of the ER

Twenty-Seven Minutes

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Your first shift at The Pitt lasts twenty-seven minutes.

You’ll remember that number forever.

The ER is chaos the moment you step onto the floor — alarms chiming, stretchers rolling, voices overlapping. Exactly what you expected from the busiest emergency department in the city.

What you didn’t expect was becoming a patient before you even learned where the break room was.

You’re halfway through helping an agitated patient settle into a bed when everything goes wrong.

He snaps.

One second he’s shouting.

The next he’s lunging.

You barely register the movement before something slams into you.

The world tilts.

Your shoulder hits the floor first, then the back of your head.

Someone shouts your name.

“HEY—!”

The patient swings again—

—but he never reaches you.

Two bodies crash into him from the side.

One tackles his torso.

The other takes his legs out from under him.

The man goes down hard.

When the chaos settles, security finally arrives and drags the patient away.

But the damage is done.

Because now you’re on the floor.

And two very panicked coworkers are hovering over you.

“Hey—hey—don’t move.”

The voice belongs to Dr Dennis Whitaker. His hair is a mess and his chest is still heaving from tackling a grown man.

Next to him, Mateo Diaz, who looks just as winded, hair a mess from wrestling the patient to the floor, and an expressions that says he’s about ready to punch a wall.

“You okay?” Mateo asks urgently.

You blink at the ceiling.

“…I think so.”

Whitaker winces.

“That is not a reassuring answer.”

Someone pushes through the crowd forming around you.

“Move.”

The sharp command belongs to Dr Cassie McKay.

She crouches beside you, already pulling out a penlight.

“Follow the light.”

You groan.

“I literally just got here.”

“Congratulations,” Victoria Javadi replies dryly. “You’re already making an impression.”

Behind her, Dr Trinity Santos is glaring toward the hallway where the patient was taken.

“If security had been faster—”

“They weren’t,” says Dr Samira Mohan calmly, checking your pulse.

Whitaker rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

“He swung at her,” he explains, like he’s still trying to process it.

Mateo scoffs.

“He shouldn’t have gotten that close.”

Dr Cassie McKay leans into your line of sight again.

“Well,” she sighs gently, “I guess I’m your doctor now.”

You stare at her.

“…You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

She gestures toward a gurney.

“Let’s get our brand-new nurse off the floor.”

Ten Minutes Later

You’re lying on a gurney.

Your head throbs.

You shoulder aches.

And apparently half the ER staff has decided to supervise your care.

At the foot of the bed stands Dana Evans.

She looks… furious.

Not at you.

At the situation.

“You’ve been here,” Dana says slowly, “less than half an hour.”

You raise a weak hand.

“Twenty-seven minutes.”

Dana closes her eyes.

Across the room, Dr Mel King mutters, “Well. That’s a record.”

“Mel,” Dana snaps.

She shrugs.

Cassie checks the back of your head again.

“Any nausea?”

“No.”

“Blurred vision?”

“No.”

“Desire to strangle the patient who hit you?”

“Maybe.”

Cassie smiles faintly.

“Good sign.”

Whitaker and Mateo are still standing nearby.

Neither of them has left your side.

“You should’ve seen him,” Mateo says, still angry. “Guy just snapped.”

Whitaker nods quietly.

“He swung at her twice.”

That gets everyone’s attention.

Trinity’s jaw tightens.

“He what?”

Mateo points toward you.

“If we hadn’t grabbed him—”

“Enough,” Dana says firmly.

The room falls silent.

“We’re not doing hypotheticals.”

She looks at Cassie.

“Tests?”

“Concussion protocol,” Cassie says.

“CT scan just to be safe.”

You sigh.

“I hate this.”

“Get used to it,” Mel says from the corner.

“Welcome to The Pitt.”

Later That Night

Night shift starts while you’re still in the department.

And the moment he walks in, someone fills him in.

Across the ER, Dr Jack Abbott freezes mid-step.

“…The new nurse got assaulted?”

Whitaker rubs the back of his neck.

“Yeah.”

Jack exhales slowly.

He walks over to your gurney.

Studies you.

Then shakes his head.

“Horrifying,” he mutters.

Then, after a beat—

“Unfortunately not surprising.”

From the nurses’ station, Dr Michael Robinavitch overhears.

He doesn’t look surprised either.

Just concerned.

“Security reports,” Robby says. “I want them.”

Dana nods.

“They’re coming.”

The ER hums around you.

But something has changed.

Everyone keeps glancing your way.

Checking.

Making sure you’re okay.

You sigh quietly.

“Well,” you mumble.

“Worst first day ever.”

Mateo pulls up a chair beside your gurney like he’s not going anywhere.

Whitaker leans against the wall nearby.

Neither of them argues.

Mateo smirks.

“Technically… You survived your first shift.”

Whitaker nods.

“Which means you’re officially one of us now.”

You groan.

“…That’s not comforting.”

Across the room, Trinity mutters, “She’s not walking anywhere in this hospital alone again.”

And somehow—

Jack's Advice

i love pseudo-uncle jack

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You find him on the roof.

Of course you do.

Jack Abbot has a habit of ending up here when things get too loud downstairs—when the noise of everything starts pressing in too close. It’s quieter up here. Not silent, never that, but… removed.

You push the door open, the cool air hitting your face immediately.

Jack doesn’t turn around.

“Door’s heavy,” he says, like that explains everything. “Hard to miss.”

You huff softly, stepping out and letting it close behind you. “You ever think about pretending you didn’t hear it?”

“Nope.”

Figures.

He’s leaning against the railing, arms folded, city lights stretching out in front of him. You move to stand beside him, not too close, not too far.

For a second, neither of you says anything.

“Alright,” he says, head tilting forward slightly. “What’s wrong?”

You huff a quiet breath. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Jack raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, nothing’s wrong, I just—” you hesitate, suddenly feeling a little ridiculous. “I need… an opinion.”

Jack glances at you briefly, then back out at the skyline. “That sounds ominous.”

“Hypothetically.”

“Worse.”

You roll your eyes, but your fingers fidget slightly against your sleeve.

“If two people—” you start, then falter. “If they work together. And their jobs are… a lot. Like—really a lot. And they don’t exactly have time to—figure things out properly—”

Jack leans back again, watching you carefully.

“And they’re young,” you add, quieter. “Like… maybe too young to be trying to make something work in the middle of all that.”

There’s a pause.

You don’t look at him when you say it.

“…Would that be stupid?”

Silence stretches just long enough to make your stomach twist.

Then—

“No.”

You blink, glancing up.

Jack’s already shaking his head, like the answer was obvious.

“No,” he repeats. “It wouldn’t be stupid.”

You frown slightly. “You didn’t even think about it.”

“I did,” he says. “For about half a second.”

You huff. “Jack—”

“Let me ask you something,” he cuts in, not unkindly. “Are they good to each other?”

You hesitate.

Then— “Yeah.”

“Do they make things harder,” he continues, “or easier?”

“…Easier.”

“Do they respect each other?”

“Yes.”

“Do they make each other feel like they can breathe a little, even with everything else going on?”

Your throat tightens slightly.

“…Yeah.”

Jack nods once, like that’s all he needed.

“Then it’s not stupid.”

You shift your weight. “It’s not that simple.”

“It usually is,” he replies.

You shake your head. “We work together, Jack. That’s—complicated. And we’re both busy, and—what if it just makes everything messier? What if it’s—too much?”

Jack studies you for a moment.

Then leans forward again.

“Life is already messy,” he says. “Your job is messy. Everything you deal with, every day—it’s not clean, it’s not simple, and it’s definitely not predictable.”

You go quiet.

“So if you find something,” he continues, voice steady, “someone, who makes it feel a little less like that—why would you walk away from it just because it’s not perfectly convenient?”

You swallow.

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy,” he adds. “It won’t be. You’ll both be tired. You’ll both have bad days. You’ll probably snap at each other sometimes.”

You huff a small laugh. “Reassuring.”

“But,” he says, holding your gaze, “that doesn’t make it wrong.”

There’s something firm in his tone now.

Certain.

“You don’t get a lot of things in this life that feel good and real at the same time,” Jack says. “So when you do, you don’t dismiss it as foolish. You take it seriously.”

Your eyes drop to your hands.

“…What if it doesn’t work?” you ask quietly.

Jack doesn’t hesitate.

“Then it doesn’t work,” he says simply. “And you deal with it like you deal with everything else. But you don’t preemptively ruin something good because you’re afraid of a ‘what if.’”

You let out a slow breath, shoulders easing just slightly.

“…Because I’m scared it’ll hurt,” you say quietly.

Jack nods, like that’s the most reasonable thing you’ve said so far. “Yeah. It probably will, at some point.”

You make a face. “Great.”

“But that doesn’t make it a mistake,” he adds.

There’s something firm in his tone again. Grounded.

“You don’t avoid something good just because it might not last forever,” he says. “That’s not how this works.”

Silence settles between you.

The city hums below, distant and constant.

“And for the record,” he adds, leaning back again, a faint hint of something warmer in his expression, “I know exactly which two people you’re talking about.”

You groan. “Of course you do.”

“I’m not blind.”

You drag a hand over your face. “This was supposed to be hypothetical.”

“Sure it was.”

There’s a small pause.

Then, quieter—

“He’s a good kid.”

You glance at him.

Jack shrugs slightly. “He pays attention. That’s rare.”

Your chest tightens a little.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “He does.”

Jack nods, like that confirms something for him.

“And you,” he adds, softer now, “deserve someone who pays attention.”

That hits differently.

You look away, blinking quickly.

“Don’t overthink it,” he says, not unkindly. “You’re allowed to have something that makes you happy. Even if it’s complicated. Especially then.”

Silence settles between you.

But it’s not heavy.

Not like before.

“Okay,” you say finally, voice quieter but steadier.

Jack nods once. “Okay.”

You head for the door, hand on the handle before you pause.

“…It was a good date,” you admit.

Jack huffs a small, knowing sound. “I figured.”

You glance back at him, a hint of a smile pulling at your mouth.

“It rained.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Of course it did.”

“And we—” you stop yourself, shaking your head. “Never mind.”

Jack smirks faintly. “Yeah. I don’t need the details.”

“Good.”

You open the door.

Then—

“Hey,” he calls.

You look back.

“It’s not foolish,” he says again, quieter this time. “Don’t treat it like it is.”

Something settles in your chest.

For real this time.

“…Okay,” you nod.

And when you leave—

Last time i've seen the sun."