Chapter Text
Even though his mom had died from it, it didn't mean that it was well-known. Sure, there were a few cases in larger communities that could get help, but that didn't mean doctors specialized in it. There was only one specialist stationed in California, that was all he had known but that didn't mean there was a doctor twenty three years prior, the number lowered once you considered he lived in broken Bow, small rural town of Nebraska.
There was no help for his mama, too timid to confess her feelings, too silent and broken down to even try to get rid of the guilt that if she confessed her feelings, it would be the same as admitting the praying wasn't working.
He had spent hours reading her journals, committing each one to memory, wondering why she couldn't just get over it, as cruel as that sounded. He stopped with those thoughts a long time ago, locking any negative feelings up in a lockbox to be stored in the nooks and crannies of his soul in fear of being too much like his old man. He got crueler after she died, the centerpiece of his ire transforming into the smaller version of his mother: Dennis.
Maybe he could see this scenario playing out in the future, Dennis wanting something unattainable and getting hurt. Maybe he could sense the possibility that Hanahaki was genetic; he didn't know the beatings and punishments wouldn't toughen him out, only make him more fragile like a cracked vase, instead of the unfeeling beast his father wanted him to become, he became another creature entirely. A sinner, a monster with a heart too big, craving affection yet is too afraid to try to take any of the steps needed to get it.
He was a copy of his mother, her legacy and rot spreading to him as well.
Dennis felt irritated by the sun streaming through the blinds, wishing that it would burn out instead of bother him. Well, maybe that was selfish, but he was currently trying to sleep and didn't have blinds. Trinity would be home sometime soon; he needed all the sleep he could get before that. She hasn't been home recently, spending the nights at Garcia's place and having a blast. He was just happy they were finally together. As much as he enjoyed impromptu ice cream and rom com nights, there was only so much strawberry ice cream you could eat until you felt like your brain was going to melt out from your nose.
He really was happy for Trinity, she was like an older sister to him. She deserved better things than what she had (than Dennis). Her now girlfriend treated her amazingly, matching her whit to a T. He was even happy they didn't come over to the apartment, he had been sick of hearing the bedframe slam against the thin wall of her bedroom for three hours every night he had a shift, he also didn't miss the awkward mornings of trying to cohabite with someone you didn't know that well.
As much as he was happy for her, he still felt alone sometimes. When the TV is going, and the sound of only one person's fork hits the side of the Chinese to-go box while you are hearing yourself chew, is often a very humbling experience for a creature as clingy as he is.
Dennis didn't want to check the time, knowing that if he were to check the time then he would just piss himself off. Dennis's breathing stuttered at the familiar tickle of a dormant cough messed with the back of his throat with a vengeance, he knew what he had, saw the signs, knew them like the back of his hand. He had Hanahaki: The killer Flower disease, an already freakish creature growing plants out of his lungs. He knew the symptoms; he was the closest to his mother after all. Knew how she had started to cough more and more, keeping a handkerchief near her with the excuse to embroider, no one else noticing the light blue fabric had been stained maroon a few months time.
She had tried to hide it from him, her own reason for it he didn't know or have access to, she never wrote about anyone in her journals, other than her.
The woman she had died for, had made countless sketches and poems dedicated to the wife of Pastor John. Lillian Carter, he remembered her briefly from a few sermons, blue eyed with long curly brown hair that always caught in the sun. Short, sweet, taught the children English and math, the complete opposite of his mama. When she had died it had become obvious who she had died for, his momma did everything with Ms Lily. Attached at the hip, ‘Sisters’ was their label for a very long time. Until the truth came out, the town had gossiped until Ms Lily had hung herself in the apple orchard, a spot they used to take Dennis to play marbles.
The scandal was put on the back burner after that, the older generations knowing to quiet once Pastor John took a younger, meeker wife. He had left soon after pastor John remarried, not able to look at the girl he used to sit next to during English. Though it wasn't just her, he left because of everything about that little broken place. The comparisons of him to both Ms Lily and momma from the old sourpuss, Mr Baker.
“You look just like ‘em Dennis! Could be their secret affair baby or somethin!” He would shout a little too close to his ear, his shop always smelled of chewing tobacco and stale piss from the man's lack of hygiene. Half deaf and half blind, yet still peddling booze for the towns folk despite his lack of customer service, he never knew how to shut up. It was why papa would send Dennis to get the beer instead of going himself. Mr Baker could tear anyone apart without consequences.
But that didn't mean he was wrong about what he said sometimes. He knew he didn't come from them both but he remembered how they treated him like their own. Ms Lily clearly being so in love with his mama too it made him giggle whenever she sang nursery rhymes, changing the lyrics to be ballads for his mama.
He wouldn't have that kind of love with his attendings, not the opportunity to love and make poetry and art for the couple he loved. He had some similarities, but he doesn't have a chance. Not like his Mama and Ms Lily did, not until-
“Huckleberry! You asleep still or what?!” Trinity's voice echoed around the apartment, bouncing off the walls until it reached his ears.
“In my room!” He called, a hand weakly trailing up to echo the sound so it went farther into the hallway.
Trinity peered around the corner, head peaking through the door checking he was fully dressed before stepping inside. “Are you jerking off? Why are you laying here doing nothing like a weirdo?” She joked, walking over to him to poke his forehead. He laughed, grabbing her wrist slightly before fake coughing on her hand.
There were brief times he heard Trinity scream, like the massive cockroach under the fridge from three months ago. The screech she had emitted had been so loud he had run out from the shower, towel around his waist and soap in his hair thinking Trinity had been in danger (what he thought he would do if she was, he still didn't know). She had been on top of the counter throwing knives from the knife block at it, he had killed it swiftly showing it mercy than than Trinity would have if she had managed to somehow cut it in half. He hasn't talked with her about it since then, holding onto that card in case he needed some kind of blackmail in the future.
She screeched like a banshee this time too, pulling her wrist away like he had burned her. He laughed when she gently hit him, sensing her humor in it because when she really was pissed she could leave a bruise that would last a month. She had to be tough growing up, though that would normally throw off others it wouldn't throw off Dennis who was raised by his father: the ultimate believer of ‘spare the rod, spoil the child’. Trinity, unlike his father, was kind, her heart was filled with liquid gold. They were good around each other, best friends until the end, or rather his end.
“Huckleberry? You good? Look, you're gonna shit yourself.” She asked, concern lacing her face, as she crossed her arms.
Oh, he hadn't even noticed he stopped laughing.
“Sorry Trin, just a bit tired. Think I'm coming up with something.” He gave, not going into much detail other than nudging his nose. She deflated with that, eyes softening as she uncrossed her arms.”Huck, we can always cancel if you're gonna get me sick, Yolo would be pissed if I brought that home.” She said, eyes trailing along the room and stopping on the leather box which he had left out, the dark brown stains of old blood staining the surface of the leather.
“No! I-i’m good to hang out tonight!” He said, putting on a smile as he arranged the covers enough to allow him to get up and stand beside Trinity. The girls eyes quickly refocusing on him, suddenly guarded again. She gave a stiff nod, before leaving his room.
Dennis sighed, grabbing onto the box and using as much force as he could to slide it back under his bad without moving. The box clanking slightly against whatever else was under there once it had finally reached it's destination.
Ready to turn back and face the music.
The music being Trinity and her barrage of questions she was bound to have just from the box alone.
“HUCKLEBERRY, GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE BEFORE I ORDER FOR YOU” Trinity’s gruff voice sounded out through the apartment.
“C-Coming!” He stuttered, taking one last look at the box, finally booking it out of his room before he became the source of Trinity's ire.
Though he may have been a minute too late from where she had been thumbing a countertop for dust. “What is this? Did you even clean when I was gone?” She spat, looking back at Dennis and holding her thumb and forefinger up as if she was presenting evidence. She was, but that didn't mean he liked it.
“I didn't have time.” Dennis said, willing his voice not to shake. He hated lying, hated lying to Trinity more.
“Oh bullshit!-” Trinity said throwing her hands up in exasperation. “You have been lying around doing absolutely buttfuck nothing! What has been going on with you?!” Her voice filled with worry she hadn't been to mask fast enough.
“Nothing has been happening, I've just been-” he was interrupted by her scoffing loud enough to make him stop, looking up at her.
“What down in the dumps because you found out your crush is married? Doesn't mean you mope over it forever, we can take you out clubbing or something to help you get over it! Just say the word!” She said hands trailing through her hair, as she started to pace back and forth in the small kitchenette. The uncomfortable tickle in his throat increased at the mention of the attending.
“I don't feel comfortable third wheeling you and Garcia.” he muttered, already uncomfortable with this interaction. He didn't like confrontation, especially about his own shitty actions.
“You would not be third wheel-”
“I would! You would just turn it into another date night I just happened to be around for!” he shouted, wincing at how loud his voice had gotten. Choosing to lower it for both of their sakes. Hoping to end this and eat shitty food and laugh at love island.
“I'm happy she loves you, but sometimes it just feels like your rubbing it in my face.” He admitted, a hand rubbing at his arm in an attempt to soother the uncomfortable feeling welling up in his skin
“.. That's how you feel?” she whispered, heartbreak filling her voice as she looked up at him. “My happiness is too much for you?” tears filling her eyes as she made eye contact with him.
“Trin no! I didn't mean it like tha-” his eyes widened at the implication, he could never be upset with her about that, though he couldn't directly express that as she continued.
“You want me to just be stupid old mopey Trinity Santos, eat takeout on the couch to help you feel needed! You feel wanted?!” She shouted, not pacing anymore but just furiously motioning with her hands as she did whenever she was truly upset.
“Trinity-”
“Let me tell you this Dennis! No one else was willing to help you when I found you! Not Robby, not Dana, not Mel, but me! Even at my worst I somehow found the energy to be your friend no matter how exhausting you were!” She shouted, eyes widening as she hugged herself. Silence settling around them, as Dennis's breath hitched.
“You-” he stopped, voice cracking slightly. “You think I'm exhausting?” he asked, clutching his hand to his chest.
“I-” she paused, turning away from him. “I'm going to Yolo’s place, don't wait up.” She practically ran towards the door, grabbing her purse and jacket and leaving the apartment like Dennis had lit her on fire.
The sound of the door slamming behind her sounded deafening in the still air.
“Okay.” He whispered to himself, choosing to return back to his room. Practically sprinting towards his desk while trying to get his wallet and nearly dead phone before returning to the kitchen.
His mother had journals, to keep track of the stages, of the rot, of her thoughts of her partner. He needed some, to be kept in the box. To account everything, not as an excuse but maybe as a reason for his terrible sinful behavior.
‘exhausting’
‘exhausting'
‘What down in the dumps because you found out your crush is married?’
The faces of his mother and Ms Lily filled his mind, smiling and leaning on each other. A sob wracked his body, curling in on himself as a wave of weakness spread through his body like wild fire. Face squished against the hard wood of the desk as he sobbed harder at the realization that even without knowing she has hit the nail right on the head, he was exhausting and selfish, wanted both Dr Robby and Dr Abbott with everything in his bones.
This wasn't like his Mama and Ms Lily, where they loved each other so clearly that how they couldn't have run away together was an impossible thought if he ignored the fact that it happened. This wasn't like that, he had no chance of getting either Abbot or Robby, let alone both.
He found his wallet under a yellow college book notebook. Pausing as the gears in his brain began to turn.
He needed journals, Dennis obviously couldn't outright tell people what was happening, the best he could do was explain in the journals similar to his mother did. Maybe after his death the journals would be donated to the specialist in California for study.
He could document it better than his mother had, he was a doctor for Christ sake. If he was dying then he could at least help other people.
Dennis wiped the tears off his face, willing the cough that wanted to emerge down. He couldn't allow the flowers to control him, not this early. He still had work to do, and he wasn't about to allow his own shitty body to fuck that up for him yet.