Work Text:
Dana corners Dennis in the break room like a woman on a mission.
“Huckleberry. Sit. I have pictures.”
“That sentence has never ended well for me.” He turns away from the life-giving machine that had crapped out on night shift. Shen had been a zombie when day shift arrived, and no one bothered to say ‘good morning’ to Abbot or Ellis.
She’s already sliding her phone across the table. “My oldest, Marisol. Accountant. Smart. Funny. Thinks men who alphabetize their spice racks are cute.”
Dennis winces. “That feels…targeted.”
“Santos told me you organized the kitchen. Twice.”
“Her way made no sense functionally.”
“Mm-hmm. Marisol also loves—why are you making that face?”
Dennis stares at the coffee machine like it might rescue him. “Dana… I need to tell you something before this goes any further.”
Her expression softens instantly. “Okay. Shoot.”
He exhales hard. “I’m gay.”
There’s a beat. A long one. Dennis braces for the awkward pivot, the apologies, the weird silence—
Dana nods once. “Okay.”
“…okay?”
“Yeah. Thank you for trusting me.” She takes her phone back, swipes a few times, then turns it around again. “New plan. My nephew Damien—"
“Dana.”
“What? I pivot quickly.”
“I just came out to you.”
“And I heard you,” she says gently. “And now I’m adjusting my matchmaking strategy. Growth.”
He presses his palms over his eyes. “You are unbelievable.”
“He’s a physical therapist, volunteers with adaptive sports, makes homemade tamales, and—”
“Stop selling your relatives like used cars.”
“Low mileage, excellent emotional availability—”
Dennis laughs despite himself, shoulders finally dropping. “You’re not… weirded out?”
She reaches across the table and squeezes his hand. “Honey, the only thing I’m weirded out by is how long you thought you had to stress about telling me.” A beat. Then, brightly: “So are you free Sunday? Family dinner. Casual. Only twenty people.”
“Twenty—?”
“Are you in the group chat? I’ll have my granddaughter add you really quick.”
Two days later, Dennis is sitting in Trinity’s car, muttering to himself. “Okay. Smile. Make eye contact. Don’t mention the rat incident.”
He starts at a knock on the window.
A man is bent at the waist peeking in, his brown curls falling into his face. “If you drive away right now, I’ll tell Aunt Dana you had an emergency and needed to go.”
He rolls down the window slightly. “…you’re the nephew.”
“Damien, and you must be Dennis. I’ve seen three group photos and a PowerPoint.”
“There was a PowerPoint?” When did Dana have the time to do that?
“Transitions. Sound effects. Whole nine yards, man.”
Dennis gets out of the car, clutching dessert like a shield. “Do I… shake your hand? Were you warned about this? Aw man, I didn’t mean to have it dumped on you, but Dana is-”
“-Is hard to say no to. Nah, I get it, broki.”
“I’m sorry? Brokey?”
“Euch! Broki! Like, a friend. I mean, since you’re here because of emotional manipulation and probably a threat or two, I think we’re friends.” Damien looked at the sad smile on the blonde’s face. "Hey, tranquilo broki. Don't feel like coming in? You can leave. But you should decide before Aunt Dana sees us."
Now that he's not sitting, Dennis can see Damien is tall—enough for him to look up. His green jacket brings out the hazel in his eyes, and he has multiple piercings in each ear. Dennis considers leaving but feels it'd be rude. He's already here, and he even made Oatmeal Pie—a popular Amish dish his moi taught him.
“No, I-I’ll stay. It’ll be rude for me to leave. Plus, my roommate invited her fling over for the evening. And I don’t really feel like sitting in the parking garage for hours.”
Damien laughs. “I get that. Well, don’t say I didn’t try to give you a way out. But if it does get to be too much, I’ll pull you into trash duty with me.”
Before Dennis can say ‘thank you,’ a familiar voice cuts through the air from the porch. "What are you doing standing out there like some door-to-door salesman, Huckleberry? Get your ass inside before you freeze to death. The last thing I need is Robby chewing me out because you caught pneumonia at my dinner table!"
Damien laughs as Dennis feels his face warm.
“Huckleberry?”
Dennis follows the taller man up the driveway. “I grew up on a farm. I got the name my first day in the Pitt. Kinda gave up on stopping it.”
Inside, there’s a pile of shoes underneath a bench riddled with jackets. It’s warm, and it smells like cinnamon and happiness. Dennis follows Dana into the kitchen, where there’s two other women sipping wine as reggaeton blares from a speaker, food simmering on the stove.
“That’s my oldest, Elena.” Dana points to the woman with big curly hair. “And that’s her Aunt Lourdes.” A stout woman with salt and pepper hair waves from the counter. “Wash your hands and get your butt over to the stove. Need that bloodhound nose to see if it’s missing anything.”
“Uh, I don’t think I’m the right person for that, Dana.” Dennis says quietly, Damien taking the bowl from his hands; the taller man’s hands are soft, and Dennis mourns the warmth.
“Nonsense.” The older woman scoffs. “I’ve smelled the lunches you make Santos, and I know for a fact that girl burns water. So wash your hands, and get your ass over here.”
Dennis does as he’s told before awkwardly standing just behind Dana. He tastes the spoon she’s holding out, smacking his lips. “Maybe a bit more vinegar? Like,” he grabs the bottle and pours some before giving it a stir.
Dana lifts the spoon to her lips. “Well, damn, Huckleberry. That’s pretty damn close to how my grandma made it.”
“Y-your grandma? Ohmygod ohmygod Dana! You didn’t tell me it was your grandma’s recipe!”
“Calm down, kid. I’ve been trying to figure it out for years; never once did I think to add vinegar. Now, go sit with the other young people in the living room. Get to know Damien.” She adds with a wink.
Dennis knows his face is red but does as he’s told.
In the living room Damien is being wrestled to the floor by three younger boys; his green jacket now thrown across the bench next to the door. He sits on the couch next to a girl who seems to be a few years younger than him, but she looks exactly like Elena. He waves awkwardly when she smiles at him, hoping it’s a smile on his face and not a grimace.
“Hi! I’m Cathleen.”
“Dennis.”
“I know; I had to help Aunt Dana add you to the group chat. You’re much cuter in person.”
If he wasn’t red before, he definitely is now; he can feel it down his chest, and he’s upset Trinity talked him into wearing a lower neckline.
“I, uh, I-I-”
“Relax, she threatened to sic the dog on us if we got in between you and Damien.” Cathleen smirked. “I also think Damien would fight me over you.”
Dennis laughed quietly. “We just met.”
“And I’ve seen how he looks at you already.”
A tall, dark-skinned man walks over, saving Dennis from tripping over his words.
“Dennis, right?” He holds out his hand, shaking Dennis’s enthusiastically. “I’m Mark. I’m Elena’s husband; I see you met our daughter.
Dennis nods as Mark sits next to him. “How was work? Dana said today was rough.”
“Yea, yea, it was tough.” Dennis thinks about the kid that coded, who took too much Adderall for his upcoming finals. He was a lot like Dennis: from a religious background and was probably shunned, with no relatives to bury him.
Mark hums. “Well, if you ever need to talk, have Dana get ahold of me. I’m a therapist.” He adds on when he sees Dennis’s confused face. “I won’t tell anyone what we discuss, and you don’t have to pay me anything.”
Before he can answer, Elena’s voice calls out from the kitchen: “Angelo! Julian! Get off of Damien and go wash your hands! Dinner’s ready, y’all!”
Dinner is delicious. Aunt Lourdes piles his plate high, adding everything after making sure he doesn’t have texture aversions. "Ay, bendito, ¡qué flaco está el nene!"
“So, Dennis, how did you get wrapped into coming to family dinner?” Marisol asks as she fills her glass, motioning if he wants more. “It’s been a few years since she brought home a stray.”
“Robby is not a stray; he’s a friend.” Dana chastises from the other side of the table.
“Dr. Robby’s been to dinner?” Dennis asks around a mouthful of garlicky spinach. Shit, that’s good; he needs to ask for the recipe before he leaves.
“Here and there over the years.” Dana passes another plate that smells like onions and herbs. “Ever since his Bubbe died, well, it’s not my story to tell. But he makes the occasional appearance.”
“Sometimes Jack comes with him; from there it’s who can drink the most. Jack always wins.” Damien laughs from next to Dennis. “My uncles always come up with games to trip him up, but he always manages to win.”
“Have you ever drunk with them?” he whispers when the attention shifts away, unable to tear his gaze from the tanned man—the way he tilts the beer bottle, the slow rise and fall of his Adam's apple. "When Jack and Robby come around?"
Damien hums. “Sometimes? My uncles like to think I can outdrink Jack because of my age. But really I’m such a lightweight. The first time I drank with them, I ended up in the hospital and had to get my stomach pumped.”
“Holy shit.”
“Yea, you’d think a house full of medical professionals would know better, but alas, I nearly died.” Damien’s eyes crinkle as he watches Dennis snort.
All in all, it’s a pretty good dinner. Dennis gets roped into a conversation with one of the younger kids, Theo, about video games.
“What do you mean, you never played Call of Duty?” Theo’s yell gets the attention of the table. “It’s the greatest first-person shooter game ever!”
“I, uh, I-I grew up in a very religious community? So, I-I never really got to play video games or watch TV, really.” Dennis mumbles out, keenly aware of all the eyes on him. “Trinity only really watches reality shows, and with work I don’t really have time to see anything lately.”
“OK, so we’re fixing that,” Damien announces. “We’re going to watch the first two Avatar movies, then wait for Blood and Ash to come out; oh, and then Avatar: The Last Airbender is a must-see show. And-”
“Alright mijo, calm down.” Damien’s dad, Tito, pats his sons’ arm. “One thing at a time; you don’t want to scare the chamaco.”
Damien looks sheepish as he apologizes to the blonde.
“Ooh, can we go show Dennis how to play CoD? Please, Mami?” Marley, one of the teenagers, asks Elena.
“Oh, I don’t want to impose.”
“Nonsense, you’re family now.” Elena finishes her wine before standing up. “And family helps clean up. Go take out the trash; Theo, help Angelo take the dishes to the sink and then wipe down the table. Cathleen, help Aunt Lourdes wash the dishes. After that, we’ll see about the games.”
“Come on, I’ll show you where the trash cans are.” Damien pulls Dennis up, navigating him through the kitchen.
Outside is much colder now that the sun has gone down. Dennis is glad he had the foresight to grab his jacket on the way out the door, but he still uses the excuse of not knowing his way around to press closer to the tall man.
They toss the trash but don’t move away, instead taking in the crisp air and night sky. Damien lights a blunt he pulled from his pocket.
“So, how did you enjoy your first family dinner?” He hands the now lit blunt to Dennis. “You didn’t run out.”
Dennis laughs, coughing as he inhales too much. “No, I did not. It was fun and loud; not as loud as Trinity’s family dinners. But I enjoyed it.”
He takes another hit, inhaling deeply; the strain tastes like citrus, kinda like an orange. “That Sour Diesel?”
Damien looks at him in surprise. “Yea, I have depression. Helps bring me out of my headspace when I go too deep. Didn’t take you for a smoker.”
Dennis snorts. “I can’t sleep without it. But even though it’s legal, my license would be at risk if I got caught. Ice Cream Cake is my favorite, but I’ll take whatever my roommate’s brother can get me, as long as I can sleep.” He kicks at the patch of weed in the dirt. “Plus, it reminds me of home.”
“Where is home?”
“Broken Bow, Nebraska. Or, a few miles north, really. Grew up in an Amish community that didn’t have electricity, but we sure can grow marijuana.” Inhale. “I was shunned when I turned eighteen. During Rumspringa, I had to go to the hospital with a friend who got food poisoning; I saw the doctors and decided that’s what I wanted to do. I wanted to help people in ways that didn’t involve building a barn or carrying bales of hay.
“Of the eight of us, I was the only one who decided to not join the church. Wasn’t so bad at first, you know? But as time went on, as holiday after holiday passed, I became depressed. So Trinity enlisted her brother into getting me high.”
He lets out a surprised humph as he’s yanked into a hug. Damien’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, head buried in the shorter man’s neck. It felt nice, so Dennis brought his hands up to his waist, relaxing against the other man. They stood like that for minutes, hours—he doesn’t really know—but it was nice.
“Thanks for telling me.” Damien’s muffled voice sent vibrations through Dennis’s body. The taller man pulls away, keeping his arms around his shoulders. “And I’m sorry if I came on too strongly earlier. I got excited thinking about spending more time with you.”
Dennis smiles. “I’d love that. I’m busy with the Pitt for the next few days, but then I have a three-day weekend; you can come over, I’ll make you some apple dumplings, and you can show me all your favorite movies. And maybe show Trinity something other than Love Island Australia.”
The smile that breaks out on Damien’s face could rival the sun. “I’d love that, cariño. Can I take you out for dinner after one of your shifts? There’s this taco truck that has a heated sitting area, so you can be warm until we get some more meat on your bones.”
Dennis barks out a laugh. “Oh really? That’s how you wanna start off this relationship? Man, get away from me.” He playfully shoves away the other man, smiling so hard his face hurts.
Damien leans in slowly, like he’s giving Dennis the chance to back up. Dennis pushes up to meet him, the other man’s lips soft against his own. Damien’s hands come to rest on his waist, pulling Dennis flush to his body. Dennis smiles, breaking the kiss as he leans his head against Damien’s chest. He can smell the laundry soap the other man uses; the spice of his cologne tickles Dennis’s nose.
“You know they’re watching us from the window, right?” He mumbles. “Dana just gave me a thumbs up.”
Damien snorts. “Ay, te juro, esa tipa… Well, I guess she got what she wanted. What do you say we get outta here, cariño?”
“Sorry, no can do.” Dennis pulls away, smiling at how Damien pouts slightly. “I promised your cousins I’d play that game with them, and I’m going to need some help if I want a chance at winning.” He starts to walk up the driveway, watching as the curtains close quickly, when a hand around his pulls him back.
Damien presses one, two, three more kisses against his lips before letting the blonde take the lead again, hands snugly entangled together. Dennis does not win the CoD match, but Damien’s thumb rubbing across his knuckles takes out the sting of the younger boys’ crowing.
A few days later, after a hard shift, Dennis walks out of the hospital to the sight of Damien leaning against a motorcycle, an extra helmet dangling from one hand. They make their way through North Shore, over the bridge into downtown Pittsburgh. They stop at a little truck on Fourth Avenue.
Dennis blinks. “You’re unbelievable.” They’re sitting in the heated seating area surrounding the truck, waiting for their order.
“Mi amor, you just spent twelve hours fighting death,” Damien replies, leaning forward, elbows on the metal table. “I am fighting sadness with the Bee Gees. Now the first disco song you heard.”
Dennis rubs his eyes, shoulders loosening a fraction. “We Are Family. It was our middle school graduation, and it was the first time the Elders let us listen to music. I probably looked like a heathen, dancing to it.”
Damien grins softly. “You are cute, cariño. Even when you look like you could fall asleep in your tacos.”
The food arrives — steam rising, warm tortillas, cilantro sharp in the cold air. Damien immediately starts pulling apart Dennis’s tacos, blowing on them before handing one over.
Dennis takes a bite and closes his eyes. “This is… really good.”
“I know,” Damien says smugly. “I only court exhausted doctors with the finest street cuisine.”
Two weeks after their first date, Dennis sinks into the couch like gravity doubled the second the movie starts. Damien stretches out beside him, arm automatically curling around his shoulders. “You are made entirely of bones,” Damien mutters. “We need more arroz in your life.”
Dennis leans into his side. “I ate three tacos.”
“That was an appetizer,” Damien replies.
From the kitchen Trinity calls, “If you two start flirting louder than the movie again, I’m turning on Love Island!”
Dennis groans. “Please don’t weaponize reality television.”
Damien snickers, pulling the blanket over both of them. The movie flickers across the wall — some ridiculous action film Damien insisted was a classic. He thinks it’s called Die Hard.
Ten minutes in, Dennis’s breathing slows, heavy and tired. Damien lowers the volume without comment.
“You’re gonna miss the best part,” he whispers.
“Wake me if there’s a disco montage,” Dennis murmurs against his chest.
Damien chuckles softly, fingers tracing slow circles on Dennis’s forearm. “Ay, Carino.”
Dennis shifts closer, tucking his face into Damien’s neck. “You talk too much during movies.”
“Lies,” Damien gasps quietly. “Slander.”
“You just explained the entire plot like I can’t see the screen.”
“I am enhancing your cinematic experience.”
Dennis’s lips twitch. “You’re warm.”
“High praise,” Damien whispers, pressing a kiss into his hair.
A few minutes later Dennis’s hand finds Damien’s shirt, gripping it lightly — not wanting to drift too far. Damien keeps talking softly about the movie even when Dennis falls half asleep, voice low and steady like a background hum.
From the kitchen Trinity peeks around the corner, sees them tangled together, and quietly turns off the overhead light.
The movie keeps playing. Dennis doesn’t remember the ending — only the steady rise and fall of Damien’s chest under his cheek and the unfamiliar, gentle feeling of being completely safe.