Chapter Text
Danny always had a weird reaction around death. His sister would probably make him sit down and talk about if she knew it was happening, try to psychoanalyze why he tended to relax every time a person died, but— Well. The reason was much more simpler. And much more embarrassing to admit.
It made him realize how starved he was.
With ten time less ambient ectoplasm as he was used to back at home Amity, someone dying right in front of him nowadays was like waving a juicy steak right in front of a stray dog. Dead bodies, especially new ones, tended to produce a certain amount of ectoplasm at the time of their death; Either resulting in a new ghostling, or a free wave of, well, food for any passing hungry ghost. Hospitals, especially, were like beacons in the otherwise ectoplasm-free streets.
(Danny couldn't see any other specters, here, in Pennsylvania, except the usual blob ghosts here and there. It made everything quiet. Lonely. He wasn't expecting to ever miss the chaos he was used to during his teenage years, and yet…)
Maybe it was why, knowing he would never meet NASA's vitals criteria, and remembering his sister's many, many rants on the mortality rate in understaffed hospitals, that a 19-years-old Danny found himself interested in the world of medicine instead. Back at the shelter he was staying in, during the first few months after leaving, he even found himself falling asleep to the sound of medical shows, where everything went wrong, and people were dying left and right; It soothed the less-alive part of him, reminded him of how it felt to sleep a few dozen feet away from the entryway to the realms of the dead.
(Danny missed it so bad.)
And maybe it was those exact same shows, coupled with all the things he read to the side, that caused his Protection Obsession to focus on saving lives in, because it wouldn't have been funny otherwise, medical settings. He really only had himself to blame for that one. He had known losing his haunt, the very center of his Obsession, would cause it to shift to the next best thing— Every ghost he had informed of his depart to had, in turn, warned him of the fact. They kept telling him in worried tones how bad of an idea leaving his haunt was, no matter the danger the GIW was posing to his safety.
As if he hadn't already been aware of it! As soon as he even started thinking about leaving back then, as soon as they learned the GIW was aware of who he was, he could feel his core tugging, begging to stay there, leaving him in a feverish state every night during the first few weeks.
Still, while that very shift in his Obsession had caused a whole different set of problems than what he already had been dealing with, it also led him, four years later, exactly where he wanted, and needed, to be.
"As you can see, we have some new faces with us this morning," The ER's attending in front of him begun, body lax, coffee still in hand.
Danny found himself half-listening, eyes half lidded as he tried not to relax too much in case he fell asleep on the spot, the smell of death so potent here it made his core want to purr. He hadn't eaten that well from ambient ectoplasm in years.
As he noticed the girl on his left introduce herself, Danny's eyes fell back on the attending, Dr. Robinavitch.
"Uh, Dennis Whitaker," Danny Dennis straightened, smiling awkwardly to hide the drool he could feel start to trickle in the corner of his mouth. God, that was embarrassing. "MS4."
Trinity's new coworker was weird as fuck. Given, everyone was a new coworker to her right now, but Whitaker certainly was the weirdest one.
First, when she went to drain the wound he got on his finger, she almost mistaken the weird green liquid, that was mixed with the blood in his nail, as literal pus. Which, well, she found weird since he just got the wound a dozen minutes prior. She also certainly wasn't buying his 'Oh, I spilled some green paint (??? Literally what the fuck) on it earlier, haha' excuse, either, because… It was a horribly thought-out excuse, but whatever. She wasn't paid to worry about it.
Second, when they were all in the room with that DNR elderly lady, she saw him straight up relax as soon as she had officially died. Full on shoulder-dropping, content-sighing, relaxation. She also could swear she heard him mutter a way-too-happy sounding 'so cute…' right after they left the room, too, and then writing in his little notebook with a smile —seriously, what WAS he on??— on his face. Watching him was so jarring compared to everyone else's more serious expressions.
Third, she also saw him have a full on mental breakdown when he failed to resurrect his first patient— The difference between his reaction earlier that morning, and this one two hours later was jarring, especially when she saw how focused, and yet out of it he seemed. She saw him massage between his ribs after he got off the man, looking expectantly at the body, before his shoulder drooped, as if he had been expecting something to happen.
Which. Was definitely odd.
She hadn't much time to dwell on it, that being said. The ER rest for no one, especially not just because one of her coworker was a weirdo.
Man, this day sucked.
Don't get him wrong, Dennis loved being in the ER, this was exactly what his Obsession had begged for. He had spent the last four years working his ass off, living in shelters, in abandoned buildings, all to be able to be here. But, well, he had hoped to at least ease his Obsession into getting used to seeing people get hurt, that there wouldn't be some major event, for the first week at least, that would set off his ghost-half in a panic over being a bad protection ghost.
Honestly, he might have simply jinxed himself at this point. He had guessed it wouldn't be easy, but still! This was pushing it! He had a plan.
(… For once.)
Like, seriously? A mass casualty event, on his first day here? Ugh, Dennis should've watched cooking shows to ease himself to sleep all those years ago, maybe then his Obsession would've decided to cook cakes for people instead of saving their lives. Why did he have to be a protection ghost anyway? It was so painful.
All of his senses were acutely aware of the way many of those lives, people, laying on stretchers and gurneys were one step in their grave, ready to join the realms—
(Dennis watched as a small, big-eyed, round ball of green started to fly around him, coming from one of the patients being rolled in pedes. He tried to avoid petting it.)
—Or close to becoming adorable little blob ghosts, roaming earth.
He could feel nascent cores form in patients with both pink and red bracelets, ready to turn into ghosts —maybe even full ones, like him, if their will was strong enough— as soon as their mortal shell became useless, but more often that not, said cores retracted on themselves before dispreading, the patient getting better thanks to he hard work of all the health care workers in the building.
Dennis tried not too feel too sad about it.
(Danny, he, felt lonely. He missed talking to someone who knew.)
"Hey," someone snapped their finger in front of him. "Are you doin' your job or what?" They mumbled, settling back in their chair with a frown of their lips.
Dennis felt his core tug painfully at him, begging him to take care of, and soothe the human.
He cleared his throat awkwardly, giving them a half smile, "Ah, yes, sorry, uh," he looked back at the wound on their thigh, already has been treating it best as he could with their minimal supplies. His eyes flickered back to the small, round ghost that was now moving against his ankle, probably sensing the ectoplasm emanating from him, and trying to feed off some of it. How cute. He felt his lips curl into a smile as he watched it run in circles.
Blob ghosts in Pennsylvania truly were tiny. Barely palm-sized!
"Hello? Earth to the fuckin' medic? Jesus Christ. Can I have my fucking painkillers now, dude? I've asked you three times already," the person snapped, causing Dennis to blink back to awareness.
He stood back up, taking off his blooded gloves as he looked around. "Sorry," he apologized again in a wince. "I'll get a nurse to—" He turned back to the person.
"Whitaker!" Dr. McKay, called from behind, closer to where the 'pink' zone was. "Come here! I need you to help me access someone's back."
Dennis sent an apologetic expression to his patient, trying to convey a general feeling of sorry-we-can't-treat-you-better-people-are-dying, but by the annoyed glare he got in response, it was probably not well received.
He made sure to inform a nurse as he passed, but he was almost certain it will be lost in the influx of more patients arriving. He had to actively calm his own ghost half down to avoid walking to the triage area and take care of every new patients as he made his way to Dr. McKay.
The last time he had to reign in his Obsession that bad was years ago, back when the other ghosts used to invade his haunt every fucking day. But that he had gotten used to; He had been protecting a territory. Now, his Obsession felt responsible for every fucking person alive apparently.
("150,000 people die every day in the world—")
As he hurried to where Dr. McKay needed him, he felt the earlier blob ghost grab onto his pant leg, and he sighed as he resigned himself to having it accompany him for the rest of the night. He was lucky Pennsylvania's air was so low in ectoplasm no human could see it.
He should try getting it in pedes, honestly, it's probably like a buffet in there for the little thing, and it would maybe decide to stop gripping him so hard.
(An hour later, as he made his way in the makeshift morgue, using getting a blanket for a patient as the perfect excuse to go there, he didn't notice Santos narrow her eyes at him.)
"Oh, Jeez—" Dennis stopped himself, watching his boss having what can only be described as a breakdown on the ground. He stood awkwardly in silence for a few moments, watching the blob ghost lurching unsteadily closer to the dead bodies.
(Don't laugh, don't laugh, don't laugh— someone is crying right in front of you, Dennis.)
"Dr. Robby? You okay?" He approached slowly, taking off the protective glasses on his face, shuffling closer, before sitting down next to him at the lack of answer.
The following conversation felt awkward as he tried to simultaneously try to reassure(?) his own boss, all the while he was feeding off the room's ectoplasm. He was trying to get as much as he could so that he wouldn't have to stay behind too long after Dr. Robby left.
Words stumbled out of him awkwardly, unused to comforting someone that much older, and different, than him. Though, Dennis could guess he was likely crying for the same reasons Dennis' core yelled at him.
(Humans grieved so strongly.)
God, though, the longer he was busy talking, the more the little ball of green devoured all the good ectoplasm! Greedy thing. As if sensing his irritation, it ducked beneath one of the pieces of furniture in the room, out of direct sight.
As Dr. Robby pushed him away when they got up, Dennis stood awkwardly for a moment, watching him walk to the door. He sighed, glaring at the general spot he knew the blob was, before moving to get a blanket, listening to the door opening.
As he held the soft material against his chest, he waited a moment before moving closer to the body to his right breathing in deeply as he felt ectoplasm seeping into his body. He felt his muscles relax, the ambient energy making him fuller than he had been in months.
"Home sweet home," he mumbled to himself, the looming feeling of death around him soothing. Even his core, previously so tense, sent a wave of comfortable cold in him.
He reopened his eyes after a certain amount of time, ready to leave and go back to work. He took one step to the door before freezing, Dr. Robby still very much in the room, and staring at him with a stunned expression.
"Uh—" Dennis begun, excuse already on his tongue. He was cut off by the attending in front of him raising his hand in an universal 'stop' motion.
"You know what? Today was already bad enough. I really don't want to know." The man stood there for half a second more before shaking his head, passing through the door and leaving Dennis alone in the room.
"Ee!" He heard a tiny sound from his left, and he sighed, approaching his ankle to the tiny blob, letting it latch onto it.
"Couldn't even get rid of you," he grumbled. "You're lucky you're so cute."
Allowing Whitaker to stay at her place was probably the worst idea Trinity ever had, but, c'mon, the guy look too pitiful. Seriously, he was like a wet mouse waiting to be picked up. Thankfully, Trinity was a very generous person.
… And she also wasn't mean enough to let her visibly homeless coworker sleep in an abandoned part of the hospital of all things.
Ugh. She was really hoping he wasn't some sort of serial killer, or cannibal, or serial-cannibal-killer. She didn't peg him for a bad person, and she had amazing gut feelings, but she really wasn't 100% sure.
He definitely had something wrong him. She didn't know what, exactly, yet, but she knew something was definitely up. She was betting on him being from a weird death-cult, with how varied his reactions had been today. She should look into cults in Nebraska, hm.
"You can use the bathroom closest to the living room," she motioned to it in a lazy manner, leaning against her couch. He was standing in the middle of the room, half-empty duffel bag to his feet, looking like he didn't know what to do with his hands. He really looked pathetic. "And if you don't want something of yours to be eaten, write your name on it or let me know in advance." She finished, projecting as much nonchalance in her form as she could.
"Uh, do I have, like, specific time frames in the kitchen, or—"
Trinity rolled her eyes, moving off the couch's side, already making her way to her room, "I really don't care, just don't wake me up at ass-o-clock, is all I'm asking."
"Got it. By the way—"
She closed her door. She was exhausted.
Later, when passing through to living room to get to something quick to eat, she came across his ER notebook, which he had probably not noticed fell on the floor earlier—
Bennet Milton — No blob sdly :( Low 12% Ecto, vry peacful!
Vanessa Jones — Blob, very cute!! Very clingy tho. High 87%, idk why, but vry nourishing (almond butter flavor for her ecto? which is original!)
Leah—
…
What the fuck.
She stopped reading, shoving it back where she found it. Taking a deep breath, she smoothed over her shirt, looking to make sure the guest room's door was still close. Whatever was wrong with Whitaker, she didn't want anything to do with it.