Chapter Text
A few hours ago, Kate had felt unstoppable.
She had finally left Benny—something she should’ve done months ago. She had landed a new job, one that actually excited her instead of just paying the bills. And her new apartment? It was hers. No roommates, no secondhand furniture she hated. Just clean lines, open windows, and her own touch of character—plants dotting the shelves, the comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee in the air, and the city skyline stretching out before her like a promise of endless possibilities.
For the first time in a long while, everything felt like it was finally falling into place. The endless requests for money from her parents. And Benny, with his simmering cruelty and emotional games, was in the past. Here, in Pittsburgh, she was anonymous. She could walk through the streets, blend into the crowd, and let the weight of her past slip off her shoulders. No one knew her, no one expected anything from her. It was the kind of freedom she had been starving for, and she was savoring every moment of it.
She had walked down the street with a lightness in her step, the city buzzing around her, headlights streaking past in golden ribbons. The future felt open, limitless.
She couldn’t have been more wrong.
A wall of blinding light. The deafening roar of an engine. And just like that, everything shattered.
The moment she saw the headlights, she knew she was dead. No one can survive a car crashing into you at 90 miles per hour.
The roar of the engine drowned out her heartbeat. The pavement blurred beneath her feet, her muscles frozen, locked in the cruel limbo between fight and flight.
Then—impact.
A force like a wrecking ball, like the whole world had folded in on her. The screech of metal. The sickening crunch of bones giving way. The air ripped from her lungs as she was airborne—weightless for one awful, endless moment—before gravity yanked her back down.
Pain.
Explosive, all-consuming agony that swallowed everything else. And then—nothing. For a moment, the world faded.
But then, impossibly, she was still there. Still breathing. Albeit, barely.
The first thing she felt was the cold. It seeped into her, numbing her fingers, her limbs, dulling the edges of the pain but not nearly enough. Snow drifted around her, soft and silent, as if the world didn’t care that she was dying.
Her blood pooled beneath her, staining the white in deep, vivid crimson. It was almost beautiful in a twisted, horrific way—the contrast of life bleeding out against the purity of winter.
She was dying. She knew it, could feel it in the slow unraveling of her body, the way every heartbeat felt like it was dragging her further into darkness. She would have given anything to die a little faster, to escape this unbearable in-between where pain was the only thing keeping her tethered to the world.
God, it really fucking sucked to have survived Benny and then get taken down by a car.
The acrid stench of burnt rubber choked the air, thick and suffocating, mingling with the metallic tang of blood pooling around her. The distant wail of a car engine revving filled her ears, then the sharp screech of tires skidding against pavement. It was leaving.
Her stomach twisted, a deep, gut-wrenching realization settling over her like a death sentence.
The bastard was leaving.
The person who had torn through her, who had sent her hurtling like a discarded doll across the cold, merciless asphalt, was fading into the night—a shadow vanishing into the darkness.
“No—please,” she begged, her voice strangled and hoarse, barely more than a broken whisper. Pain bloomed in her chest, sharp and relentless, as blood filled her throat, warm and sickeningly thick, choking her with every shallow breath. Her vision blurred as the world tilted, the only thing sharp now was the sound of her own heart thudding painfully, slowly, against her ribs.
The car's taillights burned in the distance, twin red embers sinking into the dark like the last flickers of a dying fire—so close, yet unreachable. A fading memory of warmth. A promise of hope now slipping away with every passing second.
Leaving her. Alone.
A shudder racked her body, but it was so weak, so hollow, it barely registered. The cold crawled into her skin, soaking through her clothes, creeping deeper and deeper into her bones, until it numbed everything—the pain, the panic, the fear. She could still feel the throbbing ache of her injuries, but it was fading, distant now, like a memory she could no longer hold on to. Her fingers twitched against the ice-choked pavement, but they felt foreign, like they belonged to someone else, someone far away. Her body no longer seemed hers, lost in the dark stretch of nothingness, swallowed by the world that had turned its back on her.
Everything hurt. But in the same breath, nothing did at all.
Funny, isn’t it? The one thing she’d always wanted was to be left alone, and now, as the life drained out of her, the one thing she craved more than anything was for someone—anyone—to be there. To stop the cold. To stop the pain. To stop the silence.
Careful what you wish for.
Her vision blurred, a smudge of darkness and soft, swirling white. But then—footsteps.
Fast. Urgent.
Boots crunching through snow, each step carving into the frozen silence.
A voice—low, strained. “Jesus Christ—Hey! Can you hear me?”
A shadow fell over her, blocking out the harsh glare of the streetlight. A man. His dark jacket, beanie pulled low, blurred against the brightness of the snow. She couldn’t focus. Everything was spinning, hazy and distorted, as if the world was rotating too fast for her to catch her breath.
Her lungs didn’t seem to work right. Was she breathing? It felt like she wasn’t, but she could hear the sound of her breath rattling in her chest. Her body was heavy, impossibly heavy, and her skin felt too tight, like everything was pulling and stretching all at once. Her limbs didn’t feel like hers, like they belonged to someone else entirely.
Scattered around him, bright flashes of yellow and green speckled the snow—his groceries. Lemons, limes, a box of pads, a roll of plastic wrap. They had spilled from his bag when he dropped everything, the fruit rolling in lazy arcs across the pavement like forgotten marbles.
Kate’s lips parted, but no sound came.
His eyes darted over her, scanning, assessing. He muttered something under his breath—probably a curse—before pressing two fingers to the side of her neck. His touch was firm, clinical, the kind that knew exactly where to press, exactly how to search for life in a body hovering too close to death.
His hands scrambled for his phone, fingers slick with blood as he lifted it to his ear. “This is Dr. Robby. I need an ambulance at—” His head snapped up, scanning the street with quick, precise movements. “Corner of 54th and Lexington. Female, early twenties. Severe trauma. Suspected internal bleeding. She’s in shock, barely conscious.” A pause. His jaw tensed. “ETA?”
Kate barely registered the words. The world flickered in and out, like a radio signal struggling to hold. Sound came in waves—loud, then muffled, as though she were slipping beneath the surface of a freezing ocean. The ragged pull of her own breathing roared in her ears, a wet, uneven rattle.
Then—movement.
She blinked sluggishly, watching as he turned, lunging toward the fallen box of pads and plastic wrap. He ripped it open with practiced urgency, the cardboard tearing like fragile skin beneath his hands.
And then—pressure.
A white-hot agony erupted in her stomach as he pressed down hard, right where blood pooled beneath her torn clothes. The world fractured. A sound clawed its way up her throat, weak and strangled, not even a scream—just a choked whimper, barely a noise at all.
“I know, I know,” he murmured, his voice tight, urgent. “I need to slow the bleeding.”
One hand remained firm, unyielding, pushing down with just enough force to keep her from bleeding out while his other hand worked quickly, tearing away the plastic wrap. Blood seeped between his fingers, slick and scalding against the freezing air. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing as he shoved the first pad into the wound.
A fresh bolt of agony ripped through her.
She wanted to fight, to claw at his hands, to make him stop—but her body refused. She could barely move. Could barely think beyond the all-consuming pain.
Another pad. And another. Each press sent shockwaves of agony tearing through her insides, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.
When he was satisfied, he grabbed the plastic wrap, yanking it taut with a sharp, practiced pull. He wrapped it around her abdomen, tight and secure, the pressure unbearable but necessary.
His gaze snapped lower—to her leg.
The bone was shattered. A grotesque, jagged mess. Blood soaked the fabric of her jeans, spreading outward in dark, spidering veins against the snow. If she lost any more, she wouldn’t make it until the ambulance arrived.
“Stay with me,” he said again, his voice rough, but steady. Like he was trying to convince them both.
Kate wasn’t sure she could.
Because she could already feel it.
The way the world was pulling her under, the streetlights above blurring into hazy golden orbs, the sirens wailing in the distance like a call from another life.
Her fingers twitched weakly in the snow. She tried to hold on.
He yanked off his belt, hands moving with sharp, efficient movements despite the shaking in them. Sliding it beneath her thigh, he looped it tight, pulling with force until the leather dug into her skin.
Kate would have screamed if she had the strength. Instead, her body jerked weakly, her breath leaving her in a strangled gasp.
“I know it hurts,” the doctor said, his voice rough but steady. “But it’ll keep you alive.”
The belt bit deeper as he tightened it further, cutting off the blood flow. He checked her pulse again, his fingers pressing against her wrist. Too fast. Weak. His face was a mask of focus, but there was something beneath it now—something close to desperation.
The sirens were closer now.
His hand found hers, gripping tight, anchoring her to reality. “Help is coming. Just hold on.”
That was funny because she was already slipping. The streetlights above blurred into a soft golden haze. The snowflakes that drifted past became long, white streaks, like stars slipping through the sky.
The sirens were loud now. But Kate was already too far away.
And then—
Darkness.
The only thing that registered was pain—sharp, suffocating pain that ripped through her body with the force of a storm. It wasn’t just physical; it was all-encompassing, crashing through every inch of her, a fire that consumed her from the inside out. Her bones felt like they had shattered, splintered into a million jagged pieces, as if her body was something fragile and brittle, dropped from an impossible height. Perhaps they were broken. Maybe they were gone. All she knew was that her body was betraying her, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
A voice broke through the haze, cutting through the chaos with urgent clarity. "Get five units of O-neg to trauma one, and tell X-ray we need a cross-lateral C-spine!" Another voice, sharper, more clipped, added, "We need more blood! Give an amp of epi!"
Kate wanted to retreat into unconsciousness, to escape the agony that had become her entire reality. But no—she was too aware. Too aware of her failing body, of the weight pressing down on her chest, of the sickening realization that she was being held together by threads.
“She’s conscious!” someone shouted, and the sound sent a tremor of dread through her. God, she wished she wasn’t.
A blinding light flashed in her eyes, searing into her retinas, forcing her to squint against the sharp intrusion. She saw nothing clearly—only blurs, shapes moving around her in flashes of white and blue, steel and shadows. She could hear the frantic hum of the room, the bustle of life-saving actions happening just beyond her reach. Then, a voice—a man’s voice, calm yet laced with tension—cut through the noise.
“Do you know where you are?”
Her throat felt like it had been rubbed raw, thick and painful. The question barely registered, and when she tried to answer, her words were garbled and weak, as if they belonged to someone else. “The… h-hospital?”
The blurry figure nodded, his face still a mystery. “Good. What’s your name?”
“K-Ka—” She tried to speak but was cut off by a violent cough that sent a fresh wave of pain ripping through her ribs. A metallic taste flooded her mouth—copper, warm and bitter.
She struggled to focus on the man’s face. His outline was familiar, though his features remained a blur, like trying to recall a dream you’d forgotten the moment you woke. His presence anchored her in the storm of noise and confusion, but everything felt too distant, like she was floating outside of herself.
He leaned in closer, his voice threading through the chaos with quiet urgency. “How are you feeling, Kate?”
The question felt absurd, impossible even. What kind of question was that when every inch of her felt like it was being torn apart? She tried to take a breath, but the air was thin, like there wasn’t enough to sustain her. A laugh bubbled up from her chest, but it was hollow, wrong, like a sound that didn’t belong.
“I can’t breathe,” she rasped, the words scraping painfully against her throat.
Before he could respond, a woman’s voice sliced through the moment, crisp and no-nonsense. “Respirations 28, pulse 120.”
The numbers hit her like a physical blow. She didn’t need to be a doctor to understand the severity, and she could see it in his eyes—the flicker of concern, quickly hidden behind a mask of control. The medical team around her moved with rapid precision, their movements rehearsed, yet there was a flicker of panic in their eyes too, a crack in their otherwise calm demeanor.
“Let’s give her .4 nitro sublingually,” he ordered, his voice tight, methodical.
Kate’s throat felt like it was closing in on itself, a vice tightening around her airway. She tried to swallow, but the motion was impossible. The room spun around her, the overhead lights too harsh, too bright, and everything became a blur—a cacophony of voices and beeping machines, growing distant, fading into the background like she was being pulled under water.
“I feel like I’m dying,” she whispered, and the words barely left her lips. It wasn’t a plea; it was simply a fact she couldn’t deny. Wasn’t she? Every part of her wanted to let go, to stop fighting, but the pain... it was too much.
“Respiration’s 32,” the female doctor’s voice came again, flat and clinical. “She’s hyperventilating.”
Something cold and firm wrapped around her hand. A hand, rough and calloused, strong but gentle. It was an anchor in the sea of pain, grounding her in something real, something solid. Her fingers felt small, fragile against his grip, like a child’s. She turned her head, enough to catch his eyes. There was a steadiness in them, unwavering, but beneath that calm, something else flickered—a crack in the mask. Something raw, something human.
“Try to control your breath, Kate,” he said, his voice soft, coaxing, but beneath it, she could hear the strain, the barely-contained fear that she wouldn’t make it.
“I—” She gasped, a ragged sound. Every breath was an impossible task. Her chest tightened, each inhale sharp, painful, like a knife slicing through her. It felt like drowning, but worse. Drowning without water.
“Slowly,” he urged, and though his tone remained steady, she could hear the tremor in it now, the desperate edge that betrayed his calm.
“It hurts,” she whispered, the words barely forming, her voice ragged and broken.
“I know,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand, slow and gentle, a tether to the moment. His touch was the only thing that kept her from slipping away. Then his voice sharpened again, snapping into command. “Let’s get her some morphine.”
Kate squeezed her eyes shut, the world slipping away from her grasp. The darkness beckoned, a welcomed release from the pain. Maybe if she let go, it would stop. Maybe if she just didn’t wake up again, the agony would finally cease.
But then his voice, ragged and desperate, shattered through her fading consciousness, pulling her back from the edge.
“Kate!” he shouted, hoarse with panic. “Don’t close your eyes. Stay with me!”
Who was it? She couldn’t remember. His face was lost to the fog, but his voice, his desperation—it was real. She wanted to respond, but she couldn’t. Everything felt so distant, so cold.
“Dammit, Kate!” His voice cracked, the rawness of it, the fear, cutting through her like a jagged knife.
“We need to do a chest tube, Robby!” a voice barked from the periphery, urgent and clipped. "We need to intubate."
A chest tube? What…? Intubate?
“Everything is going to be alright,” he whispered, his words soft but firm, as if he could convince her, as if he could promise the impossible. They were the last words she heard before darkness overtook her, and her eyes finally fluttered shut.