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Growing up in the kind of household Dennis did means he’s pretty good at telling when people are about to explode.
Has gotten good at telling when someone’s at the end of their rope. When venom-laced words are about to turn into barbed wire wrapped fists. And the man in front of him right now is just about there. Can tell from the way he keeps huffing, making snide comments about the wait and useless doctors under his breath. His son, lying on the bed, doesn’t seem to notice, though. Which tells Dennis this isn’t his default. That he isn’t always like this. A saving grace, a small one, but one nonetheless. The boy’s still crying, even after the pain relief they gave him for the broken arm that brought him in. Not because of the pain anymore, Dennis is pretty sure, just because he’s young and the ED is overwhelming.
“Mel, can you do me a favor and go gather the supplies for the cast? Then we can get Jimmy here squared away.”
Because Jimmy’s dad is almost at the end of his rope, and he wants Mel out of here. Call it habit. Left over from years of trying to keep his Pa’s temper away from his Ma. From trying to be the one to take the hit because better him than her. Wants Mel out of the room, on the off chance this man’s temper suddenly flares. Grows teeth and fists. Doesn’t want Mel anywhere near that. Dennis, he can take it, has a lifetime of practice. But not Mel, no, she needs to be anywhere but here. Just in case. Doesn’t tell her why he wants her to leave, because she’ll go get someone. And there’s no need for that. Nothing’s happened, and hopefully nothing will. Just, better to have her go. For his own peace of mind.
She nods, scurries from the room. He was hoping it would help, fewer people in the room. A clear indication that his son was going to get help. Would smooth the edges. Doesn’t think it does. But he ignores it, pays it no mind. Because he knows that if he points it out, it’s liable to explode. No, better to just pretend he doesn’t see the pot boiling. Jimmy doesn’t seem to notice. Too focused on everything else going on around him.
“What color cast would you like, Jimmy?”
“Red?”
“I can do red. Is that your favorite color?”
“Yeah. Raphael likes red.”
“You like the ninja turtles?”
“You know the ninja turtles?”
“Of course I do. Donatello was always my favorite.”
“You’d have a purple cast then.”
“I guess I would.”
“Why aren’t you helping him?” Jimmy’s dad cuts in, anger lacing his tone.
“I’m waiting on Dr. King to get back with the supplies, sir.”
“We’ve been here for hours.”
“I know. He needed an X-ray before we could set and cast the arm, to ensure he didn’t need surgical correction. I promise you we’re going as fast as we can.”
“It’s not fast enough.”
“As soon as Dr. King returns, we’ll get the cast on, sir. Just a few more minutes, I promise.”
“He needed it ages ago.”
“I know, but to avoid complications down the line, we had to X-ray it first. You guys will be out of here soon.”
“Help him now, you’re a doctor. Do it now.”
“I need the supplies first. Just a few more minutes.”
“No. Now.”
It catches him off guard. The punch to the thorax. Knew he was at the end of his rope, but he really didn’t think he was going to get physical. Should have known. Should have seen the signs. Guess being away from his Pa all these years has softened him. Taken away that little voice in his head that saw any quick movement as a threat. Old Dennis wouldn’t have been blindsided; he would have known it was coming. Current Dennis didn’t, though. Current Dennis doesn’t anticipate it at all, and the punch steals all the air from his lungs. Jimmy must not have seen it coming either, given the way he gasps in shock. Like, this is the first time he’s ever seen his dad be violent.
The sound seems to snap his father out of whatever rage came over him, though, because his face crumbles immediately, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t, I don’t know why I did that. I’m sorry. Please, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“It’s not. It’s not okay. I’m so sorry.”
“I understand. You’re worried about your son. It’s been a stressful few hours. I understand.”
“That’s no excuse. I’ll stay, if you call the police.”
“I’m not calling the police.”
“Violence against healthcare workers will not be tolerated,” he says, like he’s quoting something, and it takes Dennis a second to realize he’s parroting the poster on the wall behind him.
“I’m not calling the police. But I am going to step out for a few minutes. Give you a chance to calm down, let me catch my breath. Then Dr. King and I will come back in and get Jimmy his red cast. Sound good?”
“Yes. I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t have kids, but I do have nieces and nephews, I get it. I’ll be back in a few, okay? Hang in there, Jimmy.”
He steps from the room, tries to slow his heart rate down as he walks from Central 10 to the hub. Tries to convince his body that he’s fine, that the adrenaline can wear off now. No need for the fight or flight, it’s all okay. No need for the accelerated heartbeat, the tight chest. Dana and Robby are both at the hub when he gets there, Dana looking at paperwork, Robby on the computer. His chest is still tight, like he needs to cough. Clears his throat. Focuses on calming his respiration, realizes he’s still breathing too hard even though the threat has passed. Always did take him a minute to get it together again, after. Doesn’t have a bed to hide under now, like he did back home. Clears his throat again, the tightness still there. Clears it a third time when it still won’t go away.
“Need something, kid?” Dana asks, eyes not looking up from her paperwork.
“No, no, I’m-”
Stops mid-sentence to cough. Expects it to clear whatever it is stuck in his throat. Panic or his heart or whatever it is that’s jammed its way in there. Doesn’t expect the explosion of copper that comes up. Metallic, and a little sweet. Chokes on it for a second before he can spit it out. Feels it run down his chin, down his front, into his hands. Laments his clean scrub top. Now he’ll have to change it. Not that that’s the most pressing worry right now. No, the blood is. Cause that’s not supposed to happen. Feels the tightness in his chest shift, turn to pain. Tries to take a breath, realizes he can’t get a full one.
“I think something’s wrong,” he says, because he isn’t sure what else to say.
“What’s wrong?” Dana wonders, still not looking up.
“I don’t. Know.”
“What do you mean you don’t-,” Robby starts, looking up from the computer, “what the fuck happened to you?”
His voice goes up about three octaves mid-way through his sentence. Something that Dennis would normally make fun of him for. Will make fun of him for, later. When he can breathe again. When his chest hurts less, when it doesn’t feel like there’s an elephant parked on him. When his heart has slowed down, when his breathing isn’t so short. When he can get a full breath in again, because he can’t right now. Registers, dimly, Robby scrambling up from his seat. Sees Dana racing around the hub, both heading towards him. Wants to tell them that he’s okay. Other than the fact that he can’t breathe, that is.
Robby has his stethoscope out, listening to Dennis’ lungs. Good. His boyfriend is so smart. Didn’t even have to tell him where the problem was. He just knew. He’s so smart. Dana and Jesse appear from somewhere, a gurney with them. Dennis tries to move to it, but his legs give out as soon as he attempts it. Robby catches him, scoops him into his arms. Lays him down. And he’ll yell at him for that later. Cause he already knows his back isn’t going to appreciate that. But later, when he can breathe again. Not now.
“Trauma one is open,” Dana calls, and then they’re moving.
Dennis feels a hand in his. Realizes it’s Robby’s. Squeezes, just to let him know he’s still there. That he’s awake, aware. Robby squeezes back, harder. He looks around, tries to meet his eyes. There’s a flurry of movement. Tests done, wires connected, monitors beeping. He wishes they’d stop; he wants to sleep. Hadn’t noticed how tired he was until now. Could really go for a nap. Just a quick one. Robby’s here, and Jesse, and Dana, and Mohan, and Mel. He can sleep; he’s in good hands.
“Eyes open, sweetheart, eyes open,” Robby’s voice cuts through the haze, sharp pain over his sternum.
“Tired.”
“I know, but you need to stay awake.”
“Numbing,” Mohan calls, and he feels a burning in his side.
“Doing great, almost done.”
“And it’s in.”
There’s a wet sound, fluid hitting the floor. No more follows, though, a good sign. Means there’s no bleeders. The relief that follows is instant. Pressure gone. Dennis takes a breath. A full one. Coughs, a little. Winces when it pulls on the tube, but it’s worth it to be able to breathe again. Mohan is still at his side, sewing the tube in place. Dana is hovering nearby, looking like she’s aged ten years in the last ten minutes. Jesse is fiddling with hooking up the chest tube to the Pleur-evac. Mel is in the corner, hands twisting together. Overwhelmed. Reaches a hand out to her.
“Hey, I’m okay.”
“You’re covered in blood,” is all she says back.
“But I’m okay. It’s okay, we’re both okay.”
“Don’t ever do that again,” she says, heads for the door, pauses before leaving, adds, “please.”
“I agree with Mel, kid. Scared the hell out of me,” Dana chimes in.
“I’m sorry.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Suppose that bruise is from nothing too.”
Shit. He forgot that they’d have cut off his top to place the tube. And there it is, right over his ribs. A bruise, clearly a fist. The cause of all this. Must have been hard enough to collapse his lung. Didn’t think it was. But adrenaline is a hell of a drug. Wouldn’t be the first time in his life it’s covered an injury, probably won’t be the last. Dana raises an eyebrow, and he raises one back. She sends him an unimpressed look, and he recognizes that gleam in her eye. The one that says she wants a name, wants blood. Won’t give her any, not when the man who did it was genuinely horrified by what he’d done. Not when he didn’t mean to cause the damage he did.
“Who did it, kid?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“The hell it doesn’t. I want a name.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Dennis Whitaker,” and he jumps because it isn’t Dana that says it, it’s Robby.
He kinda forgot he was here. Hasn’t said anything since the tube went in. Since his stats all went up. Since it was clear he was going to be okay. That he wasn’t about to die in the ED from a collapsed lung. Has just been standing there, hand still in his. Looks at him, sees the strain around his eyes. Looks back at Dana, flicks his eyes to Robby. Knows she’ll understand what he means. She always does. She glances at Jesse, who nods at Dennis before following her from the room. Mohan ties off the last stitch.
“All done. You know the drill.”
“I do.”
“Good. And I want a name before I leave tonight.”
“I don’t remember.”
“You have a collapsed lung, not a concussion, but nice try.”
And with that, she breezes from the room, pulls the privacy curtain closed behind her. Leaves him and Robby alone. Dennis gives his hand another squeeze. Waits, smiles when he does it back. Tugs loosely until Robby realizes what he wants. Moves closer to the gurney. Sits delicately on the edge. Well, as delicately as a six-foot-one man can. He wants to keep tugging, wants to pull until he lies down with him. Doesn’t, cause there’s no way in hell they’re both going to fit on here. As much as he wants to curl up in his arms and sleep for the next several hours, he can’t. They won’t fit, and Robby has an ED to run.
Settles for reaching up, cupping his face in his palm. Robby leans into the hold. Always does. Always leans into physical affection like a flower leans into the sun. Reaches up with his own hand, holds Dennis’ to his face. And he doesn’t miss how his finger rests on his pulse point. No doubt counting, confirming that the heart rate monitor beep, beep, beeping away next to them is in fact accurate. Confirming for himself that Dennis is okay. And he lets him, knows if their places were switched, he’d be doing the same thing. Can’t fault him for being thorough.
Robby stands without a word. Moves to the corner, shuffles through the supply cabinet. Comes back with some moist towelettes. Rips one open. Sits back on the edge of the bed. Gently, so gently, tips Dennis’ head up. Wipes the blood from his face. Right, he’d forgotten about that. Tries to take the cloth from him, to do it himself. Only gets a sharp ah-ah in response, and he’ll make a joke later, about clicker training him. Doesn’t think Robby will find it funny right now, even though he should. But later he might. Let's him clean him up, because it’s another thing he’d want to do, if their places were reversed. Watches, as a small pile of bloody wet wipes appears on the bed next to his hip.
“I,” Robby starts, stops, starts again, “I never want to see you like that again.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“I mean it. You can’t, you can’t do that to me. I’m too old for it, my heart can’t handle it.”
“It was just a collapsed lung.”
“But I didn’t know that. I looked up and you were, there was blood all down your front. You were barely breathing.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What happened?”
“I, I took a punch. I didn’t think it damaged anything.”
“And were you going to tell me? Tell anyone?”
“No. Didn’t think it was important.”
Robby inhales, slow, like he’s trying to understand Dennis’ perspective instead of just getting mad right away, “And why would you think it isn’t important?”
“Because he didn’t mean to hurt me. It was an accident.”
“But he did. He did hurt you. You should have come to me, or Dana, or, or anyone as soon as it happened.”
“I will. Next time, I will.”
“You better. And I want a name.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Dennis Whitaker.”
“Two full names in a day, I’m in trouble.”
“You’re gonna be if you don’t tell me who did this, you little-”
“Hey, I’m injured, you have to be nice to me.”
“Oh, I’ll be nice to you.”
They’re both laughing, when their lips meet in the middle. And bless Samira Mohan for closing the privacy curtain when she left. Because he knows there’s no way Robby would be kissing him like this if it was open. Not that their relationship is a secret. It’s not, but even still, they don’t flaunt it. Do their best to keep PDA to a minimum, only breaking it out for life or death situations. Reassurance after losing patients, nose kisses after Robby has to deal with Gloria for the third time in a week. Those kinds of things. Guesses this counts. Knows everyone in this ED has walked in on them kissing at one point or another. Is pretty sure there’s a bet going about it, actually. Even still, he knows Robby would not be slipping him tongue if the curtain was open.
“Hope you're decent,” Dana’s voice rings out, two seconds before she enters the room.
They spring apart like they’ve been shocked, like they’ve been caught doing something wrong. Well, Robby jumps back. Dennis doesn’t, on account of the tube in his chest. Robby clears his throat, face going red. Dennis puts on his best innocent face. Knows it’s fooling no one but tries anyway. Dana only shakes her head, small smile on her face. Dennis wonders if anyone bet on this; if so, they’re about to win. Assuming Dana tells. Unless there’s some clause, life-affirming kisses don’t count. The thought makes him laugh, an action he regrets as soon as he does it when it tugs on the tube.
“Sorry to break up the party, but we need the room. MVC, eta five minutes. Moving him to south 15.”
“Right. Pull Langdon, he can lead the-”
“No,” Dennis cuts him off, “You can lead it. I’ll be fine.”
“You need me.”
“They need you more. I’m fine, I promise.”
“You sure?”
“Positive. Go save some lives.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“We got him, Cap.”
Dana disconnects him, kicks off the brakes, starts to roll him from the trauma room. Esme will be in to flip the room any second now. Will have it ready for the MVC by the time it rolls in. She always does. Is a wizard, he’s pretty sure, for as fast as she is. Robby keeps hold of his hand as long as he can, only lets go when he absolutely has to. Knows it must be killing him, that he can’t come with him. Can’t stay by his side. Has to work, has to run the ED. But whoever is about to come through that door is 100% having a worse day than Dennis is and needs him more.
“Grant Wilson.”
“Who?”
“Grant Wilson, father of Jimmy Wilson. He’s the one who did it.”
She jerks her head in the direction of the hub, past it, where Ahmad is waiting outside Central 10. Jimmy’s room. He’s standing to the right of the door, posted. Keeping anyone from getting in. Or, Dennis suspects, from getting out. He wants to argue, deny it. But he knows there’s no point. They’ve figured it out, somehow. Remembers how everyone was when Dana got punched. Knows they’re going to be just as bad about this, no matter what he says. They arrive at South 15, hook him back up to the monitors.
“I don’t want the police called.”
“Too late, they’re on their way.”
“Call them back.”
“Can’t do that, kid. We aren’t who called them.”
“What?”
“We didn’t call. Wilson did. Mel and Langdon went in to do the cast on his kid. He asked where you were, and Mel told him that you had a collapsed lung from a hit to the chest. He told them it was him. Called his wife to come pick up Jimmy, then the cops to come pick him up. They’ll come get your statement when they get here, I’m sure.”
“I don’t want to press charges.”
“You should.”
“You didn’t.”
“Yeah, well, do as I say and not as I do.”
He huffs a laugh, and she joins him. It hurts, laughing. Tugs on the tube in his side in a way that is less than pleasant, even with the area still numb and pain meds on board. Dana steps closer, brushes his hair back from his forehead. It’s a small gesture, one that probably doesn’t mean anything to her. But one that means everything to him. One that’s so motherly it steals the air from his lungs again. Makes tears spring to his eyes. Because it’s been years since he’s had that. Since someone has touched him in that way that only a mother can. Never thought he’d have it again. And yet he does, in a way. Has it from a charge nurse who takes no shit and makes sure he remembers to eat and worries about him when he’s injured. It’s nice, in a way he doesn’t have words for.
“You don’t have to decide right now.”
“Okay.”
“Get some rest. We’re around if you need us.”
“Thank you.”
“Any time. We care about ya, kid.”
And even though there’s people yelling and machines beeping and a tube in his chest, Dennis thinks it might be the best sleep he’s ever had.
Because he has people who care about him.