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“Another one of whatever this is and a Michelob Ultra, please,” Dennis yells to the bartender.
Gets a nod in response. Watches as the man turns his back on him to start making the drink. Has no idea what it is. Something fruity that Trinity ordered for him. It’s good, whatever it is. Citrusy and sweet. A tequila sunshine or, something. He thinks. It doesn’t matter. It’s good, that’s all he cares about. Much better than the beer he would have ordered for himself, if left to his own devices. Somehow, because she’s a witch or too perceptive for her own good, Trin has noticed that he only ever orders beers even though he kinda hates the way they taste. Has made it her personal mission to make him try every fruity little drink she knows the name of when they go out. He doesn’t mind; she has good taste.
Takes a look around while the bartender mixes his drink. Mohan is on the dance floor, trying her hardest to get Mel to dance too. Mel is, doing something close to dancing. A little too stiff, a little too tense, but she’s trying, and that’s what matters. Trinity is holding the booth for them, making eyes at some girl across the room. She’ll take her home, he’s willing to bet $20 he doesn’t have on it. She always does, when she decides she wants someone. Javadi is at the bar too, further down. There’s a man next to her, chatting away.
It takes him a second to recognize the look on her face. That wide-eyed someone please save me expression. Has seen it on Mel enough times, on Mohan a few, on Trin exactly once. Makes eye contact with her, lifts an eyebrow. Gets a subtle, barely there nod back. Get me out of here, please, now. Takes his drink and the beer the bartender hands him. Makes his way towards her. Squeezes his way in between her and the man. Sets the drinks down on the bar, keeps his back to the guy, like he didn’t see him.
“Hey, V, Trin was looking for you.”
“Oh, okay.”
She takes the out for what it is. Flashes him a grateful look, scurries off to their table. Doesn’t take her drink with her, smart girl. He’ll order her another one, bring it with him when he goes back over. Watches her, makes sure she makes it to the table okay. Breathes a little easier when she slides in next to Trinity because she’s safe now. Out of the way. Where she can’t get hurt. Good. Feels the man next to him go tense at being blown off, isn’t surprised. Is just glad that Javadi’s not there. No chance of him taking out the rejection on her. It’s always better that it happens to him than someone else.
“What the fuck, man,” the guy spits, voice slurring a little.
“Oh, sorry, man, I didn’t see you there,” he did, “Our other friend was looking for her.”
“She was into me, man.”
“I don’t doubt that, dude. Hey, how about I buy you a round to apologize? Huh?”
The man looks from him to Javadi, eyes narrowing, “No man, it’s alright. Actually, next ones on me.”
Growing up in the house Dennis did, he has a lot of experience with people and their tempers. Managing them, avoiding them, and recognizing when they’re about to explode. Dennis has about two seconds to think oh shit before all hell breaks loose. Two seconds to recognize the alcohol soaked anger turning to white-hot rage. Not enough time to do anything, to stop it, to try to de-escalate the situation. Has enough time to think oh shit, followed by thank fuck I got Javadi out of here before there’s a flash of movement and pain. Sharp and hot over his head.
Someone’s screaming, who he has no idea. Only knows that something hurts and his face is hot and the room is spinning. Why is the room spinning? It shouldn’t be spinning. It wasn’t a second ago, and now it is and his head hurts. Why does his head hurt? Takes a step back, stumbles. Feels pain sear up his shoulder. Fell, he fell. Why did he fall? Why is his face so hot? Who is screaming? Blinks up at the ceiling in a daze, tries to make sense of whatever it is that’s happening.
“Hey, Dennis, look at me.”
Mel, Mel’s in front of him. Why is Mel over here. She was, doing something. What was she doing. Why does his head hurt so much. Someone is still yelling, he wishes they’d stop. Cause his head hurts and that’s not helping. There’s a click, and then a light is shining in his eyes. He flinches away from it. Bright, too bright. Hurts. Hears Mel say something to someone, doesn’t process a single word of it. Then there’s hands on his shoulders, tugging him to sitting. He tries to tell them to stop, because the floor was nice and sitting up makes his head hurt more but either he doesn’t actually say anything or they ignore him.
“Shit, Dennis, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” and that’s Javadi, and she’s crying, why is she crying?
“Hurt?” He asks, because he has to know.
Doesn’t know why it’s important to him, but it is. That she isn’t hurt, that she’s okay. Looks past her, sees the broken remnants of Trinity’s beer bottle on the floor. Sees security, pining a man down. He looks familiar, and then he realizes. The man, the one he got Javadi away from. He’s who security has on the floor. Looks between him and the busted beer bottle. Feels his own throbbing head, puts two and two together. Hit him, he hit him with the beer bottle. Reaches a hand up to his face. Realizes that’s why it's so hot, it’s covered in blood.
“Yeah, Den, you are hurt,” Javadi says, still crying.
“No, no, you hurt? Did he hurt you?”
“What? No, he didn’t hurt me.”
“Okay, good.”
Is satisfied with that answer, because that means he did good. He got her away from the danger. Kept her safe. Took the hit that could have ended up aimed at her otherwise. Nods, smiles at her. Doesn’t understand why that makes her look more upset. She shouldn’t be upset; she should be happy. He did his job, did good. He kept her safe. Put himself in harm’s way so that the only one who ended up hurt was him. Like he’s always done, like he’s supposed to. Because that’s what he’s good for. Taking the hits, the pain. Did it for his Ma, way back when. Did it for her now, would do it again, for any of them. Because he protects family.
“Dennis, follow my finger,” Mel instructs, and he tries, he does, but based on the frown on her face, he doesn’t think he does a very good job.
“He needs to go to the ED,” That’s Trin, wonders how long she’s been standing there.
“I texted Jack, he said to bring him in the ambulance entrance," Mohan’s here too, when did that happen, she was dancing.
“I’m okay, I don’t need to go to the, I’m okay.”
“Dennis, you’re slurring your words. You have a concussion. Not to mention the lac that needs cleaned and stitched,” Mel tells him, voice gentle.
“No, no, I don’t, I don’t need to go to the, some ice and a nap, and I’ll be good to go. Promise.”
“The person with head trauma doesn’t get to decide what happens next,” Mohan says, like it’s already settled, “We’re taking you in. Come on, up.”
Trinity and Javadi brace him on either side, heave him into standing. Feels his face go pale from the change in position. Breathes heavily through his mouth, tries not to throw up. Leans too hard on them as they guide him from the bar. Wants to stand on his own, but he can’t. His head still hurts, like really bad. And the movement makes him dizzy. So he just lets them half drag, half carry him to the car. Bundle him in. Focuses on not tripping on his own feet. Or vomiting. Ends up in the backseat, between Javadi and Mel. Leans his head on Javadi’s shoulder because keeping it up is a lot of effort. Feels fingers in the hair at the back of his neck. Realizes it’s Mel, petting him. Soothing him as best she can. It’s nice.
They pull up to the ED, and between Javadi, Mel, and Mohan, they get him inside while Santos goes to park the car. They try to get him into a wheelchair, but he refuses. He can walk fine. Well, mostly fine. Okay, he can walk with significant help. But he can still walk. Abbot and Ellis are by the hub when they make it inside. Both their eyes widen at the sight of him, and he wonders what he looks like. Knows he’s still covered in blood. Wonders how bad it is. Wishes he had a mirror.
“Jesus, kid, what happened to you?” Abbot steps forward as he talks, eyes concerned.
“You, other, guy.”
“Yeah, you’re dropping a few too many words there. Let’s get him in a room.”
Dennis doesn’t even bother arguing. Because he knows a room will be quieter, darker. Nicer. Damn, his head hurts. And the blood drying on his skin is starting to get itchy. Uncomfortable. He’d forgotten, how dried blood feels. Crusty and irritating. Had forgotten how much he hated the aftermath of all this. When the pride of being useful fades, and he’s left with flaky blood and crashing adrenaline. Concussions and bruises and injuries he has to tend to all by himself. Guesses, as he looks around the room, he doesn’t have to tend to them alone anymore. Is spoiled, in that way, now. Has people with him in the aftermath, to make sure he’s okay. It’s nice.
“You sure you want them all in here?” Ellis asks, slipping on gloves.
“Is fine,” he flaps a hand, “Just a head thing. They can be here.”
“Just a head thing, right. Look down for me.”
Hears her suck in a breath when he does. Must be real bad then, to have Ellis reacting like that. Winces when she starts poking around. Doesn’t feel good, not at all. Wants to tell her that, but the words get lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth, and he’s too tired to try to find them again. Just lets her poke and prod and do her doctor thing. Abbot is in the corner, typing away at something. Making a chart, probably. Odd that he’s here. Like the attending has nothing better to do than play assistant. Ellis asks him questions as she looks over the laceration, and he has no idea what answers he gives, but judging by the looks on the girls' faces, he doesn’t pass. Ah, well, he tried.
“CT and MRI, just to be safe. And we’ll stitch this up before we send you over. Gonna take a minute to pick all this glass out,” Ellis says, pulling back from his head.
“I can do it,” Mel offers, and he smiles at her, she loves doing stuff like that.
“Would that you could Mello Yello, but you aren’t clocked in. No working without getting paid,” Abbot says from across the room.
“I don’t mind.”
“Ellis can handle it. You all hang tight while I go call his emergency contact.”
“No, don’t do that,” Dennis objects, looking up so fast it makes the room spin.
“Whoa there, careful.”
“Don’t call him. I’ll, I’ll tell him when I get home.”
“I’ll tell him now.”
“There’s no need to bother him with this.”
“It’s not bothering him, Dennis. He’d want to know.”
Dennis just shakes his head, because he doesn’t want him to call Robby. Knows that he’s his emergency contact. And some part of him knows that he’d want to be called. Knows that he’d want to be bothered at whatever time it is. Would want to be here, because Dennis is hurt and he loves him. But he doesn’t want that. Because he’s had five twelves in a row, two of which turned into sixteens, and he’s exhausted. Bone tired, and he’s off tomorrow. Which means he’s passed out, dead to the world for sure. And he doesn’t want to disturb him. Not when he needs the rest.
“It’s late, he’ll be asleep. Don’t wake him up. He’s, he’s so tired. I’ll tell him as soon as I’m home, I promise.”
“He’d want to know now, not later.”
“He needs his sleep.”
“If it was mine,” his eyes cut to Mohan, “I wouldn’t care about sleep, kid. I’m calling him.”
He leaves then, doesn’t even let Dennis try to argue more. Which seems, unfair. Not like he can chase after him right now. Not when he can barely walk. Unsportsmanlike way to win a fight, if you ask him. He looks to the girls for backup, but they all nod like they agree with Abbot. Even Ellis bobs her head in agreement from where she’s collecting supplies across the room. Attacked. He’s feeling very attacked right now, and he doesn’t like it. Grumbles under his breath, ignores the way they all laugh.
“Alright, look down. Pinch and burn.”
He squirms a little, while she injects the lidocaine into his scalp. Not because it hurts, so much. More so because it’s weird, knowing that something is being shot into his head. The girls start guessing how many pieces of the bottle Ellis’ll pull out of his scalp. He looks up at them through his lashes, watches them volley numbers around. Trinity says seventeen. Mohan says twenty-two. Javadi says twenty-five, and then looks like she’s about to burst into tears again. Mel looks at him, tilts her head to the side, before saying, fourteen.
“And Mel-eficent wins. Fourteen,” Ellis announces, when she’s done picking the last piece out.
“Nice,” she cheers before freezing, “I mean not nice that you were hurt, I meant nice that I was right.”
“I knew what you meant.”
There’s a knock on the door, and an “incoming,” from Jack before Robby is there.
He freezes in the doorway, eyes darting all over his face. Taking it all in. And Dennis realizes only in that moment that getting the blood off of him probably should have been step one. Only thinks it now because Robby’s eyes widen, big and alarmed. Knew it was bad, judging by everyone else’s reactions, but seeing Robby’s only makes it clearer. Opens his mouth to tell him that he’s okay, because he is. Other than the laceration, and the nasty concussion, and the blood all down his face, he really is okay. Will need, like, a week in bed to get over the head trauma, and then he’ll be fine. He’s sure of it. Is sure the CT and MRI will agree with him.
Doesn’t get the chance; between one blink and the next, Robby is across the room. Hands cradling Dennis’ face, eyes roaming all over. Looking for the source of the blood, no doubt. Wonders how much Jack told him, how much information he was given over the phone. Is sure it was more than a Dennis is hurt, get here because Jack is his best friend and wouldn’t do that to him. Thinks that, however much warning he was given, whatever he was told, it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.
“Sweetheart, what happened? Are you okay? That’s so much blood, Jack, you didn’t tell me he was bleeding that much. Does it hurt? Of course it hurts. What happened?”
Robby’s hands continue to move as he rapid-fire talks, stroking over his face. Cupping his cheek. Holding the back of his neck before starting the whole circuit again. Never pausing, never stopping. Just continuous movement. Dennis catches his eyes, sees the panic there. The worry. The anxiety. Glances at the girls behind him, who seem just as shocked by his reaction as Dennis is. Realizes that in this moment he isn’t looking at Dr. Michael Robinavitch, chief of emergency medicine. This is Robby, emergency contact of Dennis Whitaker.
Panicked boyfriend who was woken up from a dead sleep to a call from his best friend telling him his boyfriend was in the ED, injured. This isn’t the man he’s used to seeing when he’s in these walls. Calm and collected, in control, for the most part. This is a man who is barely holding it together. This is a man who is scared he’s about to lose the one good thing he’s managed to keep and is terrified. This is a man who has been left behind over and over and is so sure that it’s about to happen again. Brings his hands up, cups Robby's face in between them. Tugs him down, ignores the blood on his face to press his forehead to Robby’s.
Doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything. Just holds him there. Breathes in and out, slow and measured. Purposeful. Makes sure to do it hard enough that Robby can feel every exhale. Every proof of life. Can feel it fan over his skin. Knows in this moment that’s what he really needs. After being woken in the middle of the night to a call no one wants to get, after coming in to Dennis looking like a walking crime scene, he knows this is what he needs. Confirmation that he’s okay. That he’s alive and breathing and safe. That he’s alright, and mostly in one piece. Taps a hand to Robby’s chest, a sign to him to match his breathing. Keeps doing it until he does. Until he’s inhaling Robby’s exhale, exhaling into Robby’s inhale.
“Better?” he asks, voice low.
“Better,” Robby pulls back, looks around, “They left.”
Dennis looks around the room, realizes that the girls and Ellis and Abbot are all gone. The door is closed, the privacy curtain drawn. Huffs a laugh, thunks his head forward into Robby’s chest. Feels arms come around him, give him a squish. Then hands in his hair, looking over Ellis’ work removing the glass. Still needs irrigated and stitched. It still hurts a little, even with the numbing. But it’s manageable. Sighs into his shirt, because he’s tired and his head is killing him, and he wants to go to sleep. Knows he can’t, concussion, but he wants to. Keeps his chin on his chest, but tips his head up so he can look at Robby. Tries not to feel guilty about the bags he can see under his eyes.
“I’m sorry, for waking you. I told him not to call.”
“I’d have kicked his ass if he didn’t, and he knows it.”
“You need to sleep.”
“And we will, as soon as they cut you loose.”
“You two better be decent,” Trinity calls as the door to the room opens, and what sounds like a small army's worth of footsteps comes in.
“We were never not decent,” Robby snarks back as Trin, Mel, Javadi, Mohan, and Ellis reenter.
“You were so indecent you cleared the room, brother,” Jack teases, bringing up the rear.
“I think making out would have been less gay,” Trin says with a shit-eating grin.
“I’m still your boss, you know.”
“Not right now, you’re not. Right now, you’re just my friend's boyfriend. You’re one of us now, Robinavitch. Embrace it,” behind Trinity, the others nod their agreement with what she’s saying.
“I’d rather not.”
“Don’t be such a downer, being one of them is fun. How’s the head, kid?” Abbot asks.
“Aces.”
“Gay,” Trinity coughs.
“Stitches, and then off to imaging. We won’t hold you for observation, since,” Abbot waves a hand vaguely at Robby, “But we will hold you till the results come back.”
“And since we already spend too much time here,” Javadi adds, “We’re gonna dip. Call us if you need anything, but we trust Robby not to let you die. Mostly.”
“Thank you for the vote of confidence.”
“Anytime. And don’t worry, we gave the bar our numbers, not yours, so they wouldn’t bother you right away. We’ll give them yours in a day or two.”
“Thanks, guys.”
They all wave, filing out of the room one by one. The plan had been to crash at Trinity’s place tonight, after drinking. Wonders if they still will. Hopes they do, because it’ll be fun for them, even if he can’t join. They all deserve a fun night. No reason some drunk asshole should ruin everyone’s good time. Mohan pauses long enough to kiss Abbot on the cheek as she leaves, hears a I'll text you. Slips from the room after the others, shuts the door behind her. Abbot moves to the supply drawers in the corner, pulls something from it. Tosses it to Robby, who catches it in one hand.
“Clean your boy up. Don’t hover while Ellis does his stitches.”
And then Abbot is gone too. Robby chuckles, rips open what Dennis now realizes are wet wipes. Ellis tells him to turn, so he’s facing Robby, and tip his head back. So he does. Looks up at the ceiling while she does his stitches, and Robby wipes the crusty dried blood from his face. Tries to take the wipe from him, just to hear him go ah-ah. Does it because he knows it’ll make Robby smile, beams when it works. Wants him to have the further confirmation that he really is okay. Fourteen glass bottle pieces and five stitches aside.
Ellis and Abbot try to bump him to the front of the imaging line, but he protests. There’s people who have been here much longer than him, in much worse shape than him. No reason he should get to skip the line, especially since he can’t even go to sleep for the next few hours anyway. So they add him to the queue, and he waits the two hours it would usually take. Robby doesn’t come with him while he goes to get his scans, at his insistence. Because his hovering won’t make the process go faster. Leaves him behind, head tipped back against the wall, like he’s about to fall asleep right where he sits. Tries not to let the guilt eat him alive.
All clear. No fractures, no intracranial bleeding. No soft tissue damage. Just a nasty concussion and orders for a week off work. Possibly longer, depending on how it heals and what his follow-up with neurology says. But he’s been awake long enough that he can go right to bed when they get home. Which is exactly what they do. Robby is still in his pajama sweats, something he doesn’t realize until they get home. All he has to do is take off his hoodie, and he’s ready to sleep. Dennis is wearing jeans and a grey t-shirt that has his blood on it.
Sits on the edge of the bed, lifts his arms when Robby tells him to. Let's him strip him, being careful of his stitches. Stands so he can undo his jeans for him. Wants to make a joke about getting into his pants, but he’s too tired. It’s like, three in the morning. Too late, or early maybe, for sex jokes right now. Later, he’ll make it later, after they’ve slept, and Robby’ll laugh. For now, he lets him remove his clothes. Lets him help him into a pair of sweatpants. Neither of them has the energy for more than that. Skips brushing his teeth and everything, too, falls into bed instead.
Curls into Robby’s side because he can. Isn’t sure he knows how to fall asleep any other way anymore. That’s a lie. Wrapped in his arms, or Robby wrapped in his. But he wants to cuddle into his side tonight, so he does. Feels Robby wrap an arm around him. Laments the fact that he can’t play with his hair like he normally would. Stupid stitches. Stupid drunk people, actually. Settles for bringing his hand up, draws a random pattern into the hair on Robby’s chest. Feels a rumble go through him, and knows that means Robby’s laughing. He always does, when Dennis does that. Or gets all red and flustered. Both are cute.
“I’m sorry, about waking you. I really did try to get him not to call.”
“I’m glad he did. Nowhere else I’d rather be.”
“Really?”
“Really, really. And we have all week to sleep in, so it’s no problem.”
“We do?”
“We do. Called in some favors while you were getting your scans. I am all yours for the next seven days.”
“Really?”
“Really, really. Seven days of me, I’m sure we can think of some ways to pass the time.”
“I’ve already got a few in mind,” and presses a kiss to the closest patch of skin he can reach.
“None of that tonight. Tonight we sleep. Goodnight, sweetheart.”
“Night, baby.”
And it’s the best sleep he thinks he’s ever gotten, followed by the best week ever, concussion aside.