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sonotcopingatall · 2 days ago

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vacation gone wrong

sana x fem!reader

synopsis: you and sana, workaholic doctors, go on a vacation for a week. no phones, no surgeries, just the two of you. what could go wrong?

wc: 2.7k

warnings: i’d say none. it’s just really fluffy with chaos lol

it was supposed to be the perfect anniversary getaway.

sana, your brilliant and often frustratingly busy cardiothoracic surgeon wife, had been working her ass off for months. saving lives, performing surgeries, managing a department full of patients - she was damn good at it. but even she knew she needed a break. so, you’d both agreed: a week in a cozy, secluded cabin by a quiet lake. no phones, no surgeries, just you two, and maybe some wine and cuddling. a fucking dream, right?

you’d been married for five years now, which felt both like a lifetime and like it had all happened yesterday. both of you were workaholics, driven by the same damn passion for helping others. but this? this was about you two. about the break you both desperately needed.

but of course, the universe had other plans.

it started innocently enough. you and sana were driving through the winding mountain roads, music playing low in the background. you were laughing about something dumb - the kind of stupid, inside joke only long-term couples could understand. sana’s hand was resting on the gearshift, and you kept sneaking glances at her because, let’s be real, she was hot as hell, even after five years.

“can you believe we’ve been married for five years?” you ask, your voice dripping with affection.

sana smirks, eyes soft. “feels like just yesterday we were sitting in that little coffee shop, bitching about how insane our schedules were.”

you chuckle. “i remember you telling me you’d never have time for a relationship.”

“did i?” she laughs, glancing over at you, her eyes glinting mischievously. “i must’ve been lying.”

“damn right you were.” you poke her shoulder playfully, but just as you do, a sudden, bone-shaking screech fills the air, followed by the unmistakable sound of metal crunching. the car jerks to the side.

“hold on!” sana yells, her voice suddenly sharp and focused. she yanks the wheel to avoid a head-on collision with an out-of-control truck, its tire blown, veering into your lane.

your heart slams in your chest as sana wrestles with the wheel, your stomach flipping as the truck skids past. you blink, trying to regain your bearings, your pulse hammering.

“you good?” sana asks, voice tight, eyes scanning you. her hands are already checking the dashboard, her medical mind clicking into high gear.

you nod, trying to calm the hell down. “yeah, i’m fine. are you?”

“i’m good,” she mutters, still scanning the road. “i’m pulling over to check on them.”

you open your mouth to protest, to remind her that this was supposed to be vacation, but she’s already out of the car, her white coat flapping as she rushes to the truck. you can’t help but roll your eyes. “sana, seriously?”

you follow her anyway, because what else are you going do? you’re both doctors. you’ve seen your fair share of chaos. but when you see the truck driver, an elderly man sitting in his seat, looking a little dazed but otherwise fine, your worry shifts to something else entirely: a motorcycle zooming towards you from behind, clearly out of control.

you spin around, your stomach dropping. “sana! get down!”

but it’s too late. the bike rider is coming in too fast, and before you can even think, the rider crashes into a tree just a few feet from where sana is kneeling by the truck driver.

fuck.

sana’s on her feet before you can blink, already running toward the downed rider, her doctor instincts kicking in. you follow her, your own heart in your throat, your mind racing. the woman on the bike is unconscious but breathing, and sana’s hands are all business, checking for any injuries.

you try not to stare at her, but goddamn, you’re impressed. it’s always hot when she’s in “doctor mode,” but watching her save people like this? it’s next-level.

the next few hours blur together. you both take care of the elderly truck driver, call for an ambulance, and tend to the motorcycle rider, who thankfully wakes up, grumbling about how she’s going to be “so sore tomorrow.” you’re just glad she’s alive. by the time the paramedics arrive, you’re both covered in dirt and leaves, adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

you climb back into the car, still trying to catch your breath. “do you think we’ll actually make it to the cabin this time, or is that asking too much?”

sana glances at you, shaking her head and smirking. “you really think this is it? the universe’s done with us? babe, we’re not even close to being done yet.”

you laugh, but you both know she’s right. you’ve barely started the damn vacation and already the universe is giving you a full course of bullshit. but, as you glance over at her - tired but unshaken, a little dirt streaked across her cheek, but still radiant - you feel a surge of fondness. maybe this is it. maybe it’s not about the vacation. it’s about surviving this shitshow together.

the next day, after a restless night full of nightmares and whispered reassurances from your wife, you start the drive again. you’re both cautiously optimistic as you cruise through a forested section of the road, sunlight flickering through the trees.

but of course, just as you round a bend, there’s a loud cracking sound. a deer bolts out of the trees, eyes wide with terror, running straight into your path.

“sana, fucking stop!” you shout as she slams on the brakes, your heart nearly leaping out of your chest as the car skids across the gravel. the deer bounds away, a blur of brown and panic. the car comes to a stop, just barely missing it.

you both exhale like you’ve been holding your breath the entire time. “okay, okay, that’s it,” you mutter, hands trembling. “i think we should just go home.”

“no.” sana’s tone is firm, eyes steely, even though you know she’s just as rattled as you are. “we’re fine. we’ve got this.”

you both know damn well that you’re far from fine, but you also know that neither of you will let this stop you.

by day three, the frustration has started to settle in. another near-miss, another car accident. it’s getting fucking ridiculous. you’ve almost come to terms with the fact that this vacation is cursed when another damn van suddenly swerves into your lane, sliding toward you at a terrifying speed.

“sana!” you scream, but you know she’s already on it. the car swerves, just barely missing the van, the side mirror of the van grazing your bumper. a few seconds later, the van skids into a ditch.

another. fucking. near-miss. you’ve both barely processed it when you pull over once more.

“okay, okay,” you mutter, voice a little raw. “maybe we’re just not supposed to have a vacation, huh?”

sana turns to you, her expression softening despite the exhaustion in her eyes. “maybe we’re just meant to be together. no matter what.”

she’s right. no matter how many times life throws a curveball, you two always come back to each other. and honestly? you wouldn’t have it any other way.

finally, on the fifth day, you both make it to the cabin. you’re bruised, battered, but somehow, more in love than ever. you’ve survived every crash, every disaster, because you had each other. the cabin door slams shut behind you, cutting off the chaos of the world.

and as you sit on the porch that evening, staring out at the peaceful lake, you feel the weight of the world finally lift. the chaos is over. for now, anyway.

“five years,” you murmur, your hand in hers as you both look up at the stars.

“five more, and five after that,” she whispers, her voice like a promise.

“maybe ten,” you grin, nudging her shoulder.

the universe can keep throwing bullshit your way, but you’ve got this. together. and that’s all that matters.

bonus scene: dinner at the lakeside restaurant

after what felt like an eternity of mishaps, you and sana finally settled into a quiet dinner at a lakeside restaurant. the space was warm, intimate, with soft lighting and the hum of conversation filling the air. you could almost forget the chaos of the past few days - the truck, the motorcycle, the deer, and everything in between. tonight, it was just the two of you, enjoying a peaceful moment.

“here’s to surviving the chaos,” you joke, raising your glass of wine and giving sana a playful grin.

she chuckles, her fingers brushing yours across the table. “yeah, but i’m not tempting fate again. let’s just enjoy this for once.”

you laugh, feeling the weight of everything you’ve been through lighten, even just a little. for a moment, it feels like the world outside doesn’t exist - you’re safe here, tucked away from the madness. but then, as if the universe has other plans, everything changes.

a loud, panicked shout breaks the calm: “someone help! my wife— she’s going into labor! oh, god, please, somebody help!”

without hesitation, you both stand up, instinctively moving toward the commotion. a man is pacing frantically between tables, his hands running through his hair as his wife bends over, clutching her stomach in pain. her face is pale, her breaths coming in shallow, jagged gasps.

without a word, you and sana exchange a look, both of you already in motion. there’s no hesitation in the way you move, no panic. you’ve been through this before - you know exactly what to do.

you approach the husband first, your voice calm but firm. “i’m a doctor. we’re going to help her. i need you to take a deep breath. you panicking isn’t going to help her right now.”

he nods shakily, his eyes wide with fear, but he tries to steady himself. “she wasn’t due yet. she’s only 28 weeks. i don’t know what to do.”

“you don’t have to do anything right now. we’ve got this,” you assure him, your hand on his shoulder for a moment before you move toward the woman. “ma’am, i’m here to help. my name’s dr. y/n, and this is dr. sana. we’re going to keep you and your baby safe, okay?”

she nods but doesn’t speak, her breath quickening. another contraction hits, and she cries out, her grip tightening around the edge of the table. her husband’s face is stricken with helplessness, but sana is already beside the woman, her hands moving quickly, checking her pulse, assessing her condition.

“ma’am, i need you to focus on your breathing,” sana says gently, her tone soothing but authoritative. “in through your nose, out through your mouth. let’s take it slow. you’re doing great.”

the woman nods, trying to follow the rhythm. her face is twisted in pain, and her hands are gripping the table, knuckles white. you step in, kneeling beside her, offering her a soft smile to help keep her calm.

“you’re doing great,” you repeat, squeezing her hand. “just breathe with me. in through your nose, out through your mouth. focus on me.”

her eyes meet yours, full of fear. “please, is my baby going to be okay?”

“yes, we’re going to make sure you both are okay,” you reassure her, glancing up at sana, who’s already keeping an eye on the woman’s vitals. her expression is controlled, but you can see the urgency in her movements.

the husband steps forward, his face twisted with anxiety. “i don’t understand… she wasn’t supposed to go into labor yet! what do we do?”

sana glances up at you, her eyes narrowing in thought. “we don’t have iv fluids here, but there’s a first aid kit in the car. i’ll grab it. it’s not much, but it could help stabilize her for now.”

the husband’s eyes widen with disbelief. “a first aid kit? what good is that going to do? my wife’s in labor early!”

sana remains calm, her voice reassuring. “it’s not ideal, but it’s what we’ve got. i’ll be right back. stay with her.”

you nod at her, giving her hand a quick squeeze. “we’ve got this,” you say to the husband, keeping your tone firm but supportive. “we just need to keep her calm, keep her breathing.”

sana rushes out the door, and you stay by the woman’s side, speaking gently as another contraction hits. “you’re doing great. just breathe with me. in, out. keep your focus. we’re here with you.”

her grip on the table loosens slightly as she follows your instructions. she winces with the pain but nods. “it hurts so much…”

“i know, but you’re strong,” you reply, your voice steady. “you’re doing everything right. stay with me.”

the husband is still holding her hand, his own face tight with fear. “we’re going to be okay,” he mutters under his breath, trying to steady himself as much as he’s trying to steady his wife.

minutes pass, and the tension in the air is suffocating. the restaurant has gone silent, all eyes on the small drama unfolding in the corner. you glance toward the door, willing the paramedics to arrive. “the paramedics are coming,” you murmur to the woman. “they’ll be here soon. you’re doing great.”

another contraction hits, and she gasps in pain. the time feels like it’s moving slower now, the seconds stretching endlessly.

just then, the door bursts open, and sana rushes back in, the first aid kit in her hands. without missing a beat, she snaps on a pair of gloves, moving toward the woman with expert precision. you meet her gaze for a split second, and in that moment, everything falls into place. this is where you both excel - in these moments, when everything is on the line.

“check her cervix,” sana says, already preparing to assist. “we need to know how far along she is.”

you grab the gloves from her, moving into position immediately. the woman winces as you gently check, and you nod, your voice steady. “she’s two centimeters dilated. early labor, but still manageable for now.”

sana checks the woman’s vitals. “her pulse is stable for now, but these contractions are getting closer together. we need to keep her calm, and we need paramedics here fast.”

the husband’s anxiety spikes again. “but they’re not here yet! i called them forever ago! where are they?”

“stay with her,” you say firmly, offering him reassurance. “the paramedics will be here any second now. we’re doing everything we can. focus on your wife. she needs you now more than ever.”

as if on cue, the paramedics rush in, taking control immediately. one of them quickly kneels beside you, and you brief him on the situation. “she’s preterm, two centimeters dilated, contractions coming every few minutes. we’ve kept her stable, but she needs to be in a neonatal unit.”

the paramedics work quickly, moving with practiced efficiency. you glance at sana, and the briefest smile passes between you. together, you’ve done what you can, and now it’s out of your hands.

as the woman is wheeled out, her husband still holding her hand, she looks up at you, her voice barely above a whisper. “thank you. thank you so much.”

you squeeze her hand gently. “you’re going to be okay. we’ve got you.”

as the paramedics disappear with the woman, you and sana stand in the quiet, watching them go. the weight of the situation lifts just a little as you turn to her.

“well,” you say, your voice quieter now, “i think that was our adrenaline for the night.”

sana chuckles, a tired smile on her face. “i swear, you thrive on chaos.”

you shrug with a grin. “guess it comes with the job.”

but as the adrenaline fades, the exhaustion sets in. you take a deep breath and, with a quick glance at sana, you both rip the gloves off, tossing them into the nearby trash bin. you take a moment to catch your breath, before sitting back down at the table. the world is starting to slow, but you still feel the adrenaline coursing through you. the meal is cold, the wine forgotten, but it doesn’t matter. you look at sana, and in her eyes, you find a quiet comfort.

“even after all of that,” she says softly, “i wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, or do this with anyone else.”

you smile, squeezing her hand across the table. “me neither. no matter what happens, we’ve got this.”

and in that quiet moment, as the restaurant resumes its hum, you both find peace in the shared understanding that no matter the chaos, you’re always ready to face it - side by side.

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