Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Pony’s POV
The rain in Seattle had a way of making the world look washed clean, like someone had taken a giant eraser and blurred all the edges. The streets gleamed silver, the sky low and heavy, and for once in my life, I didn’t mind the gray. Tulsa always felt like heat, dust, and fire. Seattle felt like a breath we didn’t know we’d been holding.
Our new house sat on a quiet street, not far from the hospital, two stories tall, with white siding and a wraparound porch that Soda had already claimed as his morning coffee spot. We’d spent the last two weeks turning it from a bare-bones rental into something that almost felt like home. Darry hung the photos, Steve fixed the leaky sink, Two-Bit stocked the fridge with beer and cereal, Johnny set up a corner bookshelf, Dally broke a chair before noon, and Soda just grinned through it all.
And me? I tried not to overthink it, tried not to picture how wild it was that a bunch of kids who used to scrape by on gas station sandwiches were now about to start internships at one of the top hospitals in the country.
6:00 a.m. - First Day of Internship
Soda knocked on my door before the alarm even went off.
“You awake, kid?” Soda asked.
“Been awake,” I said, sitting up. “Couldn’t sleep.”
Soda grinned at me from the doorway, wearing scrubs that somehow looked like he’d been born in them. His hair was a little longer now, the edges curling behind his ears.
“C’mon, Dr. Curtis,” Soda said. “Time to make history.”
I laughed under my breath. The title still felt strange. Dr. Curtis.
When I walked into the kitchen, the others were already up. Dally leaned against the counter, black coffee in hand, smirking like he owned the place.
“If Bailey’s anything like she sounds in the orientation emails,” Dally said, “she’s gonna eat you soft ones alive.”
“She’ll eat you first,” Steve muttered, flipping through a worn anatomy textbook. “You’re the one who can’t take orders.”
“I take ‘em fine,” Dally shot back. “I just don’t take ‘em from people who think they’re better than me.”
“Which,” Two-Bit said between bites of toast, “is… everyone with a name badge.”
Laughter rippled through the room. Even Johnny cracked a smile from his spot by the window, tugging his scrub top into place. He looked nervous, the same way I felt, but there was something steady about him now, something solid. The kind of quiet you only get after surviving hell.
Darry came in last, adjusting his ID badge, every bit the big brother and unofficial house leader.
“Alright,” Darry said, his voice calm and sure. “We’re not in Tulsa anymore. No one knows us here. Let’s keep it that way, no fighting, no trouble, and no getting fired on day one.”
Dally raised his cup in mock salute.
“You take all the fun outta medicine, big man,” Dally said.
Darry ignored him.
“Everyone got their assignments?” Darry asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “Neuro for me, ortho for you, trauma for Johnny, trauma and plastics for Dally, general for Two-Bit, cardio for Steve, and peds for Soda.”
Soda threw an arm around me.
“And we’re all gonna crush it,” Soda said.
7:15 a.m. - Seattle Grace Hospital
The building was huge, glass and metal gleaming through the rain. People moved fast, all scrubs and clipboards, and for a second, I wondered if we’d made a mistake. We were just a bunch of street kids who’d clawed our way here. But Darry clapped a hand to my shoulder, grounding me.
Inside, chaos reigned. A voice came over the intercom calling for trauma consults, elevators dinged nonstop, and a group of interns huddled around the nurse’s station, looking just as lost as we were.
That’s when I saw them, Meredith Grey, George O’Malley, Izzie Stevens, Cristina Yang, and Alex Karev, five fresh-faced interns with shiny new badges and nerves hidden under bravado.
Bailey spotted us all at once, twelve interns instead of five, and her eyes narrowed like she’d just been handed extra work she didn’t ask for.
“I said I wanted five,” Bailey said to the chief, who was standing beside her. “What part of five interns sounded like twelve?”
Chief Webber gave that slow, calm smile of his.
“Special case, Dr. Bailey,” Webber said. “The Curtis group, transferred from Oklahoma City Med. They come highly recommended.”
Bailey’s eyes moved over us, unimpressed.
“They come from the streets, that's what they do,” Bailey said.
Dally smirked.
“We clean up nice, ma’am,” Dally said.
The room went silent.
Bailey’s stare could’ve cut glass.
“You,” Bailey snapped. “What’s your name?”
“Winston,” he said, grin widening. “Dallas Winston.”
“Well, Dr. Winston, you so much as breathe wrong in my pit, and I’ll have you mopping floors at the VA before lunch.”
Two-Bit snorted. Darry elbowed him so hard he nearly dropped his ID.
Bailey turned to the rest of us.
“Welcome to Seattle Grace Hospital,” Bailey said. “The game is simple: you’re interns, nobodies. You kill a patient, you’re gone. You show up late, you’re gone. You disrespect me, you’re gone. Any questions?”
Steve raised a hand halfway.
“Uh, what about coffee breaks?” Steve asked.
Bailey’s lips twitched, maybe almost a smile.
“You’ll need it,” Bailey said. “You’ve got forty-eight hours of hell ahead of you.”
Then she turned and marched down the hall, the whole intern pack scrambling to follow.
Bailey marched us into an empty conference room like a drill sergeant leading a group of misfit soldiers. Her clipboard snapped open, and the sound made Johnny flinch.
“Rule number one,” Bailey said, pacing the front of the room, her eyes sharp and unforgiving. “Don’t bother sucking up. I already hate you. That won’t change.”
Two-Bit leaned toward Steve.
“She’s like Darry, but with better posture,” Two-Bit whispered.
Bailey’s head snapped around.
“You got something to say, Dr. Mathews?” Dr. Bailey snapped.
Two-Bit froze mid-smirk.
“No, ma’am,” Two-Bit said.
“Good,” Dr. Bailey said. “Because if I hear whispering again, you’ll be on rectal exams until retirement.”
Steve muffled a laugh, and Dally elbowed him.
“Told you she’d eat you first,” Dally muttered.
“Rule number two: You answer your pagers every time,” Dr. Bailey continued. “Not sometimes. Not when you feel like it. Every. Time.”
I felt my pager like it was suddenly heavier on my hip.
“Rule number three: If you sleep, you do it standing up or not at all,” Dr. Bailey said. “Rule number four: If I’m sleeping, don’t wake me. Ever. And rule number five…” she stopped in front of me, eyes narrowing like she could read every bit of street left in me, and then towards her pager… “when I move, you move.”
Darry’s posture didn’t move an inch, steady as always. Soda gave a tiny nod beside him, the picture of calm confidence. But I could feel Dally’s restlessness; he hated being told what to do.
Before Bailey could say more, every pager in the room went off at once. A shrill chorus.
Bailey glanced down at hers. “All interns to the helipad. Let’s move, people.”
We followed her through the maze of corridors, the scent of antiseptic and adrenaline thick in the air. Elevators were too slow, so we took the stairs, seven flights up, and by the time we reached the roof, the rain had turned into a mist that clung to our hair and scrubs.
The helicopter was already there, blades slowing, noise echoing off the rooftop. Two paramedics rolled out a gurney with a young woman strapped down, blood pressure dropping fast.
“Twenty-year-old female, seizure on the ferry, unresponsive on arrival!” Bailey shouted. “Let’s move her, now!”
Soda was already at the patient’s side, helping guide the stretcher. His movements were steady, instinctual, like he’d been doing this all his life. Darry grabbed the chart from a paramedic without waiting to be asked, scanning vitals.
“BP’s tanking!” Soda yelled.
Bailey’s eyes flicked to him, impressed despite herself.
“Then get her inside before she codes, Dr. Curtis!” Dr. Bailey shouted.
Down the hall we ran, wheels rattling, interns shouting vitals in rhythm.
“Name’s Katie Bryce,” Meredith called out from the opposite side of the gurney, hair plastered to her face. “Seizure started thirty minutes ago!”
“O’Malley, Yang, Grey, Curtis, Winston, prep her in Neuro three!” Dr. Bailey shouted.
That meant me. My heart jumped.
Inside the room, the chaos sharpened. Dally was at the head of the bed, holding Katie’s jaw steady while Johnny hooked her up to the monitor. The flatline beep of the EEG made my stomach tighten.
“Pupils are equal but sluggish,” Johnny said, voice calm. He always got quieter when things got tense.
“Dr. Winston, step back before you break her neck,” Dr. Bailey ordered.
Dally threw up his hands.
“Hey, I was just helpin’,” Dally said.
“Help by not helping,” Bailey snapped.
Cristina and Izzie exchanged glances that said rookies.
Then the door swung open, and everything seemed to still.
Dr. Preston Burke walked in, the authority in the room shifting instantly.
“Talk to me,” Dr. Burke said.
Bailey stepped aside.
“Twenty-year-old female, seizure, probable aneurysm,” Dr. Bailey said. “Neuro intern Curtis was first to see her.”
My voice caught for half a second, but then the training took over.
“Seizures for the last six hours, BP unstable, possible rupture,” I said. “We’re setting up for a CT.”
Burke studied me for a beat, then nodded once.
“Good,” Dr. Burke said. “Move fast. If that aneurysm pops, she’s dead before you get her down the hall.”
“Yes, sir,” I said with a gulp.
Steve was already rolling the IV pole.
“She’s tachy, one-forty and climbing,” Steve said.
“Push two of Ativan,” Darry said without missing a beat.
Bailey raised an eyebrow.
“You’re in ortho, right, Dr. Curtis?” Dr. Bailey asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” Darry said. “But I know how to keep a patient from coding.”
Dr. Bailey almost smiled. Almost.
“Fine,” Dr. Bailey said. “You want to run this room, you better be right.”
Two-Bit was at the foot of the bed, double-checking her chart.
“She’s been having headaches for weeks,” Two-Bit said. “Says here she fainted at a concert two days ago.”
Dr. Burke looked up sharply.
“That’s not in the admitting note,” Dr. Burke said.
“It was scribbled in the margin,” Two-Bit said, squinting. “Guess nobody read that part.”
Dr. Burke’s expression changed, just slightly, but it was enough.
“Good catch, doctor,” Dr. Burke said.
Two-Bit’s grin split his face.
“Guess I’m not just comic relief,” Two-Bit joked.
Johnny leaned toward me quietly.
“She’s got something in her scan, doesn’t she?” Johnny asked.
I nodded, watching the rhythm on the monitor dance just a little too fast.
“Yeah,” I said. “I think we’re about to find out what.”
Bailey’s pager buzzed again. She looked up, eyes sharp.
“CT’s ready,” Dr. Bailey said. “Move her.”
We rushed Katie down the hallway, every second loud with squeaking wheels, shouted orders, and the hum of fluorescent lights. Soda kept her airway clear while I steadied the IV line.
When we reached the CT suite, Burke met us at the door, calm in the storm.
“Good work,” Dr. Burke said to Dr. Bailey. “Now let’s see if the girl’s brain is still in one piece.”
As the doors closed behind Katie Bryce, we stood there, drenched in sweat and rain and adrenaline.
Dally whistled low.
“And that’s what they call a good morning,” Dally said.
Bailey crossed her arms, giving us that piercing look again.
“That was your first test,” Dr. Bailey said. “You didn’t kill her.”
Two-Bit raised his hand.
“Does that mean we get breakfast?” Two-Bit asked.
Bailey’s lips twitched.
“You get charts,” Dr. Bailey said. “Five each. And welcome to hell, people.”
Dr. Bailey walked away, heels clicking.
Darry looked at all of us, rain-soaked, exhausted, and grinning like idiots.
“We did alright,” Darry said.
“Yeah,” I said quietly, looking through the glass where Katie lay still under the scanner lights. “We did.”