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Part 5 of Dennis Whitaker vs The Pitt
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Published:
2025-10-31
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2025-10-31
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3/3
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Meditations In An Emergency

Summary:

Trinity edges closer to him, hand poised to find feverish heat radiating from him.

Yet when she touches his skin, he’s cold and clammy.

“Dennis?” She whispers, hand moving down to probe under his jaw. His pulse is racing, much more than it should be for sleeping.

Panic creeps in.

Notes:

Hello! I’m back! Again! Rejoice!

This took so long to write mostly because it was meant to be 1 chapter lols. Hope you enjoy! <3

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: fear is cold

Chapter Text

5am, and Trinity’s alarm groans. She groans along with it, hoping that if she burrows into her blankets a little more, time will stand still and she’ll have a magical extra hour before she has to get up.

It doesn’t work.

Once the insistent buzzing begins to grate on her already aching head, she has no choice but to force herself up, heading for the bathroom to shower the sleep away. She leaves the bathroom feeling more lively and considerably mintier, with coffee on her mind.

It’s only when she gets into the living room, that she remembers that she has a roommate.

Dennis is curled up on the couch, scrubs still on, and crumpled to death. Trinity swears she can see a tear in the back of his top, but resolves to ignore it. Those little things still bother him, even this far into their cohabitation. The first time she’d hit a real nerve with him, he’d simply retreated to his room in silence and didn’t surface for three days. Trinity was so worried in the end that she camped outside his bedroom door, hoping to latch onto his ankle as he tried to leave for work so she could apologise. He was overly forgiving, which filled her with so much shame that she’d written a list in her notes app of things not to mention.

Her roommate has been working too hard these past few weeks, staying later than he’d deemed fair for Trinity to wait for him to head home. She was insistently shooed away with the promise that he’d take the bus instead of walking, leaving only when she’d forced Dana into being her less-than-secret spy.

 

Last night, Trinity had crawled through the apartment door at a respectable 9pm. She made a pathetic attempt at pasta, half-separated into a Tupperware for Dennis, and dragged herself to bed before 11pm.

She isn’t sure what time Dennis got home, he’s always quiet when he comes in late, but the pasta is still in the fridge when she goes for the oat milk.

It’s strange.

Dennis is a dustbin; he’ll eat literally anything on offer at any time. If he didn’t have dinner when he got home, he must have been exhausted.

In the very depths of her heart, Trinity wants to leave him to sleep for as long as she can. God knows he needs it. He’s not working until tonight, taking on a night shift or two through the week to cover for someone. But something is nagging at her.

He’s sleeping far too still.

From her experience of Dennis Whitaker, he sleeps like a feral cat. Half arched, arms thrown everywhere, pillows abandoned on the floor. She’s seen him asleep stretched out on the kitchen counter, found him pressed against his bedroom door with his head pillowed on his knees.

He only ever sleeps still when he’s sick. When he’s sick, he’s almost statuesque. As if he doesn’t want anyone to notice.

Trinity edges closer to him, hand poised to find feverish heat radiating from him.

Yet when she touches his skin, he’s cold and clammy.

“Dennis?” She whispers, hand moving down to probe under his jaw. His pulse is racing, much more than it should be for sleeping.

Panic creeps in.

She drops next to him on the couch, desperate to check his pupils but unwilling to move him if she doesn’t need to. She glances at his face, and his lips are tinged blue.

Fuck.

For a moment, she’s utterly frozen. She knows what this means, she does this all the time. It should be as easy as breathing to her. Yet hands hover uselessly over Dennis’ body. There’s no one around to nudge her in the right direction.

She falls back on panicky words.

“Okay, okay. You’re okay.” She tells him, despite how unresponsive he is. Not even a flicker behind eyelids, and she’s trying not to let it scare her more than she already is.

Ambulance, is her first thought. They don’t live too far from PTMC, and he’d be getting care on the way to the hospital.

It’s at least 7 minutes though. Which Dennis may not have.

“I’m so glad you have that crazy metabolism Whit.” She talks as she hauls him up to sitting. “Makes it easier for me to lift you when you’re having a medical emergency.” She manages to get him standing, ready to throw him over her shoulder like she knows she can do. He’s been paralytic drunk more than he’d probably like to admit to, and she’s developed the muscles to get him home.

Except if he’s hypoxic she can’t put any more pressure on his ribs, his lungs. She’s gonna have to carry him like a princess.

“Oh Dennis,” she tells him, “now would be a really great time for you to wake up and be fine. I don’t think now is the time for the prince and princess genderbend.”

No response. Nothing at all. Not a huff of laughter, no rolling eyes.

Just more unnatural stillness paired with that horrible rapid breathing.

She gets him down the stairs in record time, unsure if she locked the apartment and unwilling to wait for the elevator. It’s only one floor and her adrenaline is more than spiking.

He’s deposited in the car, seatbelt on because despite her worry about his breathing, flying through the windscreen is bound to be more dangerous.

There might be red lights on the way but she doesn’t notice them. She can’t really focus on anything other than the rise and fall of his chest, and the hospital getting closer.

“C’mon Denny, stick with me.” She demands. It’s not a request. He doesn’t get to worm his way into her life and then just go and fucking die. Not on her watch. “Keep that ineffective breathing up and we’ll be golden.”

She skids to a stop, as close to the hospital as she can get without being in the ambulance bay, almost running straight into Langdon. He throws his arms up, undoubtedly shouting some remark about her driving as she slams her door open.

“Frank! Frank!” She yells, rounding the front of the car and cutting him off mid-rant. “Quick, help me!”

Langdon’s face drops as she pulls Dennis’ car door open, nudging her out of the way to pull him up and out of his seat. He’s worryingly motionless, Frank thinks, the only movement being the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

“What happened, Santos?” He asks, rushing through the doors with Trinity trailing behind him. They’re easily noticed, a doctor carrying another doctor through chairs while his roommate follows barefoot. Mateo is waiting on the other side of the doors with a gurney and an army of nurses once they get through, clearly alerted by the reception staff.

His question becomes buried under all of the noise. Dennis is swarmed as they roll him to trauma 2, nurses calling out vitals through each other.

“How long ago was he injured?”

“He’s tachycardic, resps are high-“

“Abdomen’s distended, someone grab an ultrasound-“

“I don’t know! I left before him and he was on the couch when I woke up, I don’t know when he left work!” Trinity yells through the chaos. She’s so used to being in the midst of it that she can’t begin to think about what to do from the outside.

“I sent him off sometime after 3, what time did you find him?” Dr Abbot asks as he rounds the corner, snapping gloves on and getting straight to work.

“He was home when my alarm went off, about 30 minutes ago.” Yeah, probably bleeding internally while she was mulling over breakfast options in the shower.

“He’s got a good amount of glass in his arms, and a little gravel. I’m thinking he might have been run down. Car versus pedestrian.” Jack mumbles as he cuts Dennis’ scrubs off.

“Decreased breath sounds. Any car related injuries come in between 3 and 5?” Frank barks at Jack, stethoscope pressed to Dennis’ chest.

“Guy having a stroke came in just after 4am, EMS said he crashed his car into… fuck!” Jack’s urgency changes. Trinity watches, helpless as he switches from ‘moderately concerned but able to work’ to ‘oh shit this is bad we need more hands’.

He’s feeling down Dennis’ legs, shaking his head with the most furious expression.

“EMS said he hit someone with his car. They called, gave medical treatment and then left once medics arrived. Refused treatment. I can’t be sure it’s him but it’s a hell of a coincidence.”

“So what, we’re talking an hour at most?”

“Yeah, an hour with a traumatic pneumothorax. He’s already cyanotic, can’t wait for a chest x-ray if he’s hemodynamically unstable. Ellis, needle decompression or tube thoracotomy?”

“He’s too unstable to wait for the chest tube.” Parker answers, hands busy with an ultrasound wand.

“Exactly. 28 French and a lucky dose of cefazolin please.” A nurse, who Trinity knows often has coffee with Dennis hidden in the stairwell, hands them over to Jack.

“2cm incision on the anterior or mid-axillary line, 5th intercostal space.” Jack narrates as he works. Trinity wonders if it’s comforting to him, to calm himself by falling back on the technical. Attempting to soothe and save in tandem.

“45 degree angle over the top of the rib to avoid that pesky neurovascular bundle. Sweep and then in goes the tube.” He glances up, securing the tube with a dressing as easily as he blinks.

“Definite internal bleeding Dr Abbot. He needs to go up to surgery.” Parker calls out.

Jack hums in agreement, glancing at the ultrasound before turning to Trinity.

“Go and sit, Santos. Breathe. You look like you’re about to pass out.” She nods once, twice, and then they’re gone.

There’s a moment or two, between the chaos and the sudden silence.

It’s the absence of noise that takes her legs out from beneath her. Someone catches her halfway, lowering her safely and pushing her head between her knees. It takes her a minute to recognise the voice.

“Keep breathing Trinity, deep breaths.” It’s the kindest she’s ever heard Frank speak, to her or in general. She hadn’t even realised that he’d stayed in the room, clearly wanting to keep an eye on her.

“His head,” she gasps, “I don’t know if he hit it. I don’t know if it was bleeding or if he was starved of oxygen. I can’t remember anything.”

“You aren’t his doctor right now, you’re his friend. And that was a very scary situation to find your friend in.” He lowers himself next to her, hands tucked into his lap. She doesn’t want touch right now, and he’s seemingly noticed that.

“He’s gonna die. I could have just waited for him, or told him to call me when he was done. But no, I was selfish again and I left him and now he’s going to die.”

“C’mon Santos, you know he’s gonna get 5 star treatment. All the best surgeons, front of every line.” Frank tries. She knows he’s telling the truth. Dennis has a way of winning over everyone he’s ever met. It’s not that he’s this pure and innocent angel, it’s that he tries so hard to help everyone however he can.

This time, Trinity thinks, might have been too far.

“He could have died on my couch while I was making coffee and I’d have just left him there.”

Frank leans right into her space, and she finds that it’s more comforting than expected.

“Trinity,” his voice is low, soft enough to calm anyone. “You followed your gut. You knew something was wrong. You got him help right when he needed it. Everything you did was correct, and more than someone else might have done. He’s okay, he’s breathing, he’s safe.”

Trinity sobs openly into her hands. Guilt is still gnawing away at her, all of the coulds and almosts floating around her head. Dennis could have bled out internally while she burnt french toast. Dennis almost suffocated from the collapsed lung she couldn’t see. Dennis nearly died in her car because she wouldn’t wait an extra hour to drive him back to their apartment.

“Whatever you are telling yourself, you gotta knock it off.” She hears. Easier said than done.

“Seriously, Trinity.” She nods, knowing it’s a lie. It seems to work though. She lets Frank pull her to her feet, out of trauma 2.

Lets him lead her to the bathroom to splash some water on her face.

Lets him place her in a chair at the hub.

And it’s there, that she waits.

Chapter 2: regret is hot

Summary:

Robby is already on the way into the pitt when Dana calls him, so he ignores it.

If it’s urgent, he figures, she’ll call him again. If it isn’t, well he’s already heading in and it can wait 15 minutes.

When his phone vibrates again, dread begins to creep in like smoke under a door.

Notes:

tapping right into Robby this time! enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Robby is already on the way into the pitt when Dana calls him, so he ignores it.

If it’s urgent, he figures, she’ll call him again. If it isn’t, well he’s already heading in and it can wait 15 minutes.

When his phone vibrates again, dread begins to creep in like smoke under a door.

He waits until he’s at a crosswalk, the little red man still lit, to pull his phone out of his pocket. At first glance, his heart drops a little. There have been calls from Dana, texts from Jack, and a voice note from Frank? He’s still staring hopelessly at the lock screen when Dana calls again, familiar sounds of the ER filtering through his earphones.

“Robby,” Dana sounds apprehensive, voice tight in a way that hints at more than stress. “Dennis Whitaker is in, as a patient.”

He’s running before the road is even clear, Dana still in his ear as he tries to take in what she’s saying but can’t. Instead, his mind is running through each and every scenario.

 

The kid was mugged and is bleeding out in an OR.

He got punched by a patient and cracked his head too hard to come back around.

He had a sudden allergic reaction and is suffocating in respiratory distress.

 

They keep repeating until he finds himself sliding through the doors of the hospital, hyper aware of any puddles of blood that could be from Whitaker.

Instead, he finds Dana at central, phone still in hand. Langdon is sitting behind her, Santos next to him. She’s barefoot, a faded band tee damp around the collar from the drip of her hair.

“Where is he?” Robby tries to keep his voice even, attempts to control how his eyes scan every room desperately.

“He’s in surgery.” Dana probably repeats herself. He pretty much stopped listening to the phone call after the second sentence, far more focused on getting here as fast as he could.

“What surgery? What happened?” No one answers him.

“Come on,” he tries, “let me know what I should be prepared for here.” The wobble in his voice isn’t hidden even a little.

“The working theory,” Dana starts gently, “is that he got hit by a car.”

There are two or three seconds where no one speaks, moves, dares to breathe.

“Theory?” He asks, dangerously quiet. “You mean no one actually knows?” Jesus Fucking Christ! Not only is the kid a patient, but no one knows what happened to him. Which means something might get missed, something that could kill him.

Robby logs into his computer with a swipe of his card, peddling through results until he finds Dennis logged in the system.

He doesn’t get a chance to look at any results before a hand grasps his shoulder, tugging him away. The way that Santos’ head shoots up tells him it’s about Dennis, that it must be Jack behind him. He spins, relieved to see that his friend isn’t wearing the face he uses to deliver bad news. He knows it intimately.

“Jack, brother, I’m in the dark here,” Robby begs, running a hand over his beard.

Jack herds them into an empty room, Santos standing closer to Langdon than anyone ever thought would happen. Dana takes her other side, comforting hand wrapped around her wrist. Dana’s way of tracking her ducklings.

“He’s doing okay.” Jack starts, the tension in the room almost breaking but not quite. Okay isn’t good, but okay isn’t dead. Small mercies.

“He had a collapsed lung, probably punctured by the broken ribs, and they got his spleen too. He’s got a chest tube, and his spleen is being fixed as we speak. Abrasions on his arms, chest, back… pretty much everywhere. Arms and legs are intact, other than some bruising and glass shards.” Okay. Okay, Robby thinks. This is fixable.

“His head CT showed a small brain bleed. It will most likely resolve on its own, but he’s going to be heavily monitored until he wakes up.”

It’s relieving.

As far as injuries go, Dennis can completely recover if no complications arise.

“The only issue,” Jack continues, “we don’t know if he’s unconscious from shock, or the head injury, or the lack of oxygen. Because we don’t know what happened.”

“Well, when did he become unconscious?” Robby asks, arms crossed over his chest.

“We don’t know for sure. Santos found him on their couch this morning.” His eyes dance over to her, putting the pieces together. She looks completely undone, from the fine tremors that travel from head to toe, to the blank expression she’s projecting to the room.

“So,” Santos whispers, “it’s a waiting game. To know if he’s alright or not.”

Jack has barely finished nodding when she rushes out of the room, leaving nothing but grief in her wake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Robby is downright pissy for most of the day.

He doesn’t mean to be - the lady who came to the ER for her splinter isn’t entirely to blame for how cruel his words come out when he reminds her that all she really needs to solve this medical mystery is a pair of tweezers and a steady hand. She’s just the final straw.

“Fucking time wasters.” He grumbles as he throws himself into a chair at the hub. “People here need actual help and they aren’t getting it because Margie can’t put on a pair of fucking gloves when she’s ripping her porch up!” He slams his pen down onto the desk, basking in how the sudden clatter draws eyes away from him.

“Do you need to take a walk?” Dana asks him not unkindly, head tilted in a way that tells him she isn’t asking. He’s in time out, and he knows better than trying to fight back. He shoves his hands in his pockets as he rises from his chair, heading straight out to the ambulance bay.

Seeing Trinity out there is a surprise. She’s still in the same band tee, but now she’s wearing some tracksuit bottoms that he feels belong to Frank, and hospital grippy socks. Her hair is dry, and pulled back in a clip that must be borrowed from Dana.

He isn’t sure where she went when she left the room early this morning, but it’s evident that she hasn’t left the hospital since she almost crashed her car into it.

“You haven’t been home.” Robby starts, because he can’t think of anything else to say. It takes a few minutes before she answers him. He hadn’t been sure she’d even registered him standing behind her.

“I don’t think I can even look at the couch anymore.” She confesses quietly, staring down at her own socked feet.

Robby tries to take stock. He’s got one doctor in ICU, another too traumatised to do anything with. His night shift attending has been blowing up his phone instead of sleeping like he’s meant to. Frank has seen more patients than should be possible which means he’s channeling his panic through excessive redbull and will crash before the end of the shift. Everyone is on edge, with half the ER thinking that Dennis was hit on purpose.

And instead of trying to hold everything together, like he should be doing, Robby is stomping around under a cloud. He can’t help it. He’s never been good at things that he can’t control.

Might as well try to do some damage control before Dana runs out of patience.

“You holding up okay, Santos?” Robby asks, already knowing that it’s a ridiculous question.

She takes a second before answering, and he knows he’s about to hear the truth.

“No. Not even a little bit.” There’s a sense of humour in her tone, one so familiar to him that he swears he’s worn it before. “I froze. I forgot what to do, how to help him. I mean, I literally dragged him out of the apartment without thinking. He could’ve had a spinal fracture and ended up paralysed!” She stops suddenly, breath catching.

“If you ask me, and I know you didn’t, but let an old man impart some knowledge.” Santos rolls her eyes, but he knows she’s listening. She puts on a good show, but he’s known many doctors like her before. It’s the only layer of protection she has between herself and the world. He just hopes that one day she’s able to let some world in.

“At that moment, Dennis didn’t need a competent doctor in the room. He didn’t need you to clear his c-spine or track his pulse. He needed you to be familiar, and be near.” She glances back at him, with all the distrust the world has earned from her. He throws his hands up in surrender.

“Hey! I’ve been there! I crashed my bike years ago, gave myself a nasty concussion. Now I don’t remember Jack stitching my head up but I sure remember him holding my hand while I cried like a baby!” Trinity smiles a little at his recounting, just for a half second. He omits the part where Jack had yelled at him so much that he’d faked falling asleep to make him stop.

“I didn’t check his pupils. I was too scared.” It’s coming out like she can’t stop herself, guilt overflowing. She’ll drown if she can’t find a way to let it go.

“Well, I doubt you’d have been able to do a burr hole from your living room so the result would have been the same.” He replies, crossing his arms over his chest. She’s pulling everything out, waiting for him to take the bait. Tell her that it’s all her fault. He won’t do it.

She’s quiet again, and it hits Robby that this is probably the most vulnerable she’s ever allowed herself to be. It’d be a small honor, if the situation wasn’t so fucked.

“I can’t stop getting stuck on all the ways I messed up. All the things I did and didn’t do.” She’s facing him now, picking at her nails obsessively.

“I’ll tell you something, from experience. The self-flagellation isn’t worth it. For all the will in the world, you can’t change the past.” He turns to head back inside, feeling far more decompressed than before. “It’s only going to end with a whole bunch of unnecessary pain, and a lot of feelings on the floor.”

He heads back into the ER, walking slowly. Hoping that his words have offered a crumb of something. When he feels Santos follow behind him, it’s like the smallest of victories.

Notes:

again, trust me. I swear.

Chapter 3: love is warmth

Summary:

Dennis wakes up in a haze of cold-hot-ouch-ew.

It’s highly confusing, and he almost instantly regrets it.

Notes:

look! he speaks! I told you!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Dennis wakes up in a haze of cold-hot-ouch-ew.

It’s highly confusing, and he almost instantly regrets it.

Everything aches, like he’s done a thousand sit ups but in a pile of glass on the floor of a freezer. His head is thumping, skin is sore, and he decides that this being awake is miserable.

He resolves to go back to sleep.

 

Waking up the second time is somehow worse.

There’s more noise, irritating beeping and even more irritating panicking. Have they ever considered panicking quietly, Dennis thinks? This stress is surely not conducive to whatever his body is doing now, and actually now that he’s here it would be great if someone filled him in.

He forces his eyes to stay open, because Dennis Whitaker is not a quitter.

Dennis Whitaker, however, is currently weaker than garden snail. His shell has definitely been stepped on in the rain. He fights for a good minute which is really only a few seconds. Then he’s out again.

 

Third time lucky, he thinks. He’s immediately wrong. Night night.

 

Number four? Something like that. This one seems to be sticking. His eyes feel great, everything feels great, and he thinks he must be on a generous amount of morphine.

The yummy haze of medicine keeps him captive, though he’s distantly aware of how people keep looking at him. They might even be talking, but morphine Dennis is having too much fun counting each individual speckle on the ugly ceiling.

Eventually, he locks eyes with Frank Langdon. He smiles, though he thinks it might be a scary one from the reaction he gets.

“Are you cognisant, Whitaker?” He asks. Dennis shrugs his shoulders in response. Who’s to say? He doesn’t even know what that word means right now.

Frank seems to realise this, shaking his head minutely. He leans in a little closer, shines a very unnecessary light in his eyes, and is smiling when he’s finished the torture.

“Congrats,” he says, “you’ve still got a fully working brain in there.”

And isn’t that quite the achievement.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There’s a few more hours of what he’s calling ‘Fun Time Dennis’ before his normal personality makes a reappearance.

He doesn’t think it’s shift change, but there’s a plethora of night and day shift staring at him. Whatever he did, it must have been quite spectacular.

“Dennis? Are you back with us now?” Robby asks from the front of the crowd. It’s foreboding. It actually feels like he’s about to get fired. Way to kick a man when he’s down. Or supine.

He nods, then wishes he hadn’t. Someone in the crowd hisses for him.

“I don’t know what happened,” he slurs, “but I think it was probably not my fault?” It’s worth a gamble, and if he’s wrong then he can claim memory loss.

He thinks he hears Jack swear under his breath, and Trinity looks like she wants to give him eyeball acupuncture. Frank laughs though. He knew they had a soul bond.

“No buddy, this one wasn’t really your fault. It’s about 80-20 I think.” Robby tells him. Good odds to have. Hopefully he’s the 20.

“Do you remember being hit by a car, Dennis?” Jack asks him.

Oh yeah. That feels like that happened.

“Um, I think so.” He answers slowly. He’s really not sure these teams are fair. It’s literally everyone against him and he’s in an actual hospital bed. Even it up a little bit, let him have Cassie.

“Well,” Jack continues, “you did get hit by a car. Then you treated the driver and just. Went home.”

“Trinity found you unresponsive on your couch.” Dana finishes. She’s kinder with her tone, which he appreciates.

For a minute or two, he thinks. He remembers lights coming towards him, and an ambulance. Though by the sounds of it, not for him.

“I wasn’t thinking straight?” He tries.

Robby flips open his chart, glasses perched on the end of his nose as he begins to read. “You had a traumatic pneumothorax, 4 broken ribs, a brain bleed, 47 teeny tiny cuts, and a gory bit of road rash. Not to mention the bruising and the internal bleeding.” He looks up, handing the chart back to the nurse.

“Don’t forget the infection.” Someone chirps.

Robby smiles. “Your cuts got infected too.”

Everyone waits for a second, two. It’s kind of awkward if they’re waiting for him to speak. A little fucked up to expect the victim to apologise for being a victim.

Trinity breaks the silence first.

“Why the fuck did you not go to the hospital? Who does that?” Oh she’s angry with him. Understandable but she isn’t gonna get what she wants from him today.

“Look,” he starts, “if you want a coherent explanation, you aren’t gonna get it right now.”

That seems to be enough to clear the room. The show is over, though he isn’t sure it ever really began. He gets everyone’s well wishes as they leave, and a look from each attending that tells him that they will be back. Trinity remains, taking a seat at his bedside.

He looks at her, and really looks.

She’s exhausted. Pale skin, gaunt, bruised eyes. She’s wearing glasses, which she’d rather go blind than let anyone at work see, which means she’s been having headaches. There’s a very fine tremor running through her, and her face is open in a way that he’s never seen before.

“I scared you?” Is all he can think to ask.

“Yeah. You scared me.” A quiet voice from Trinity is always dangerous. “You were turning blue and unresponsive. I couldn’t wake you up, didn’t want to move you. I’ve been awake for 3 days. I’m wearing Frank Langdon’s clothes!” She breaks, tears streaming down silently. He grabs her hand, squeezing as tight as he can.

“I’m really sorry, Trin. I don’t really remember anything past the headlights.” She nods, wiping her face with her free hand.

“The police found your phone at the scene, there was camera footage from a building. That car really hit you.”

“Oh no.” he whispers. “Is it, like, really embarrassing?”

Trinity’s sobs turn into giggles. “Yeah. It’s like a ragdoll. They wanted to put it on the news.”

“Nooo!”

He’s laughing with her now, though it hurts his chest quite a lot. He fiddles with the oxygen mask pulling it on and relishing in the fresh oxygen.

“Abbot stuck his finger inside your chest.” She tells him. He almost gags at the thought, only just noticing the tube firmly stuck into his side.

“Trin!” He whines. “Don’t make me throw up and aspirate!”

Their laughter dies down as he grows more tired. He’s sure that when he wakes up next, everything will feel a lot more real and a lot less funny. His hand is still holding onto hers firmly, and it’s nice.

It’s nice to just have her here. In Langdon’s clothes, furious at him, too tired for contact lenses. His Trin, who once carried him home from the bar when he’d decided that jager was the right option over and over again.

Wait.

“Trin?” He asks hesitantly. “Did you carry me to your car?”

“Like the princess you are, huckleberry.” She whispers back. “Go to sleep, I’m staying here.”

He smiles sleepily, glad to have her, and fades off warm and safe.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How’re you getting home kid?” Jack asks him, weeks later when he’s back on shift. He’s finishing up his charts, the end of the night shift meaning chirping birds.

“I was gonna catch the bus.” He replies absently.

The ER freezes. This must be the way robbers feel when they shout ‘I have a gun’, he thinks.

“No offense, but last time you got the bus it didn’t end very well.” Well, Parker can have that one. She was there, she probably knows better than him.

“He can ride with me.” Shen offers, bag already slung over his shoulder. Dennis nods his thanks, as the floor returns to normal.

“C’mon Whitaker.” Shen pulls the chart out of his hands, slapping it down out of sight. “We can grab breakfast and you can tell me exactly how your brain functions.”

Dennis prays for another speeding car.

Notes:

okay everyone, wrap it up! It’s finished!

There may, potentially, possibly, be an additional chapter either tacked onto the end or published separately. Do keep an eye out if you want to know what happened during the three missing days!

Notes:

Listen, don’t read into why Dennis doesn’t speak in this Dennis fic. Just embrace it.

Series this work belongs to: