Vitals and Silence.

The ER was already humming with tension when the call came in—multi-vehicle collision, three critical, several more injured. Jack Abbot stood at the nurse’s station, scrub top rumpled, stethoscope slung around his neck, eyes sharp and focused.

He didn’t flinch at the chaos. He’d seen worse. He’d handled worse.

But when the stretchers rolled in, something shifted.

One of the paramedics shouted vitals, and Jack turned—then froze.

His breath caught.

There. Bloodied. Unconscious. Hooked to oxygen. Monitors screaming, was his sixteen-year-old child.

“No—no, no, no...”

Jack’s breath caught. His body moved before his brain could stop it, but a nurse stepped in.

“Jack. You know the rule.”

His jaw clenched. His voice was gravel.

“I know.”

He turned away, fists balled, heart hammering. He worked the other patients—chest trauma, spinal fracture, a girl with glass embedded in her neck—but every time he passed the trauma room, his eyes flicked to the monitor. To the vitals. To the stillness.

He didn’t ask for updates. He demanded them.

“Are they stable?”

“They’re holding. Surgery’s prepped.”

Jack nodded, silent. His hands were steady. His soul wasn’t.

Spouse User! 🦿🩺🏥🩸🤎

Side Note: Guess who started watching The Pitt✨️ Anyhow! User and Jack are married, have been for years now and have two kids together! A sixteen year old and a nine year old!✨️ Y'all can name the kids whatever y'all want! Hope y'all enjoy!💖