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Dennis processes it too late.
Hears someone across the street scream watch out but doesn’t have the time to realize that it’s directed at him before all hell breaks loose. Feels an impact. Sees a kaleidoscope of colors as whatever it was that hit him sends him flying. Lands, hard, on the pavement. And then, pain. Blinding and sharp. The kind of pain that takes your breath away, leaves you gasping for air you can’t get. Rolls onto his back, wheezes. Looks up at the sky, watches a cloud shaped like a cat float lazily across his vision. Focuses on that instead of the pain. Hopes that it’ll help it hurt less. It doesn’t.
“Shit, are you okay?” A guy he doesn’t recognize asks him, head appearing in his field of vision.
And he wants to snap at him. Wants to say, I think I was just hit by a car, no, I’m not okay. But he can’t because he can’t get enough air to form words. Knows that isn’t good. Focuses on his body, takes inventory. Broken ribs, he’s sure. Has had them before, knows what they feel like. Is about ninety percent sure one of them punctured his lung, which is why he can’t get a breath. Why it feels like someone’s slipped a knife between his ribs, why he can’t draw in enough air. Thinks his wrist is broken too, from when he landed, but that’s not as important to him right now as the not being able to breathe thing.
“An ambulance is on the way,” the guy tells him, phone up to his ear.
Wants to thank him, for calling. Can’t. Weakly holds up a thumb, hopes he gets the message. Hears someone crying. Hears my brakes went out, I couldn’t stop, I tried to stop, I swear I did. Turns his head to see who he assumes is the driver. Can’t be older than twenty, if she’s even that old. He wants to tell her it’s okay, that it was an accident. Her car failed, she did her best, he’s sure, not to hurt anyone. Not her fault Dennis was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or right time, he supposes. Better she hit him than some little kid or old lady. Can’t tell her anything because he still can’t get enough air.
Hears sirens, in the distance. Ambulance sirens, he can tell. Hears enough of them to know. Someone’s crying, and he hopes that the ambulance gets to them in time. They must be in a lot of pain, if they’re crying like that. Like the world is ending, like they just witnessed something terrible. Blinks up at the sky. The cat is gone now, shifted enough to no longer be a shape. Stares at it anyway. Attempts to sit up, stops when he feels a hand on his shoulder, when someone says no man, don’t do that, they’ll be here soon, just lie there. Wonders who they are. The ambulance, he hopes, for whoever it is that’s sobbing.
“Sir? Sir, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?” Another voice asks, and he opens eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed.
“Hmm,” and that was meant to be words. It wasn’t, but it was meant to be.
“Sir, can you tell me your name?”
“Dennis.”
“Hi, Dennis. My name’s Jordan. We’re going to take you to the hospital.”
Hospital. The word jumps out at him. Hospital. That’s important. Why is that important? Feels hands on him, lifting him. Forgets about anything that isn’t searing pain for thirty seconds. Thinks maybe he screams. No, he definitely does because his throat hurts now, and it didn’t before. Someone’s still sobbing, louder now. Flaps a hand in that direction, tries to say help them, not me. They don’t, just load him into the back of an ambulance. Clip monitors to him, start reading off numbers that he thinks should mean something to him. A mask over his face and breathing gets a little easier, not much, but a little. Hears one say PTMC to the other. PTMC, he knows that too. PTMC, hospital. Both important. Why are they important?
“Robby,” he mutters, when it clicks.
“Who’s Robby, Dennis?”
“Hospital,” he answers, even though he doesn’t think that makes sense.
“We’re almost to the hospital.”
“Robby,” he repeats.
“Is Robby at the hospital?” Jordan asks.
Makes a noise, an affirmative. She nods, turns her attention to the monitors next to her. He wants to tell her who Robby is. Wants to tell her he’s Dennis’, his, he’s his, Robby is his, his. Doesn’t because he can’t think of the word right now. Gives up on trying to find it. Is too tired to think right now. Jordan says something, Dennis, can you open your eyes for me, but he doesn’t. Because he’s tired and breathing is still hard, and he doesn’t want to. Feels something on his sternum, and it hurts. Grumbles, but still doesn’t open his eyes. Thinks if he ignores it, it’ll just go away.
Feels the ambulance stop moving, hears the doors open. Feels the gurney under him start to move. Wishes they’d stop so he can sleep. They don’t. He grumbles, opens his eyes. Hears Jordan telling someone about him, and he wants to say something. Don’t talk about me like I’m not right here. But he can’t because the oxygen mask is gone now, and breathing is hard again. Thinks that means something, what he has no idea. Nothing good, probably. Breathing is good, so not being able to must be bad, right? A countdown and he’s airborne, he thinks he screams again, then he's on another bed. Feels hands on him, doing something, but he can’t follow what.
“Dennis? Dennis, can you hear me?” A familiar voice asks, but he can’t place who it is.
“Lung,” he answers, the word a herculean effort without the oxygen mask.
“Mel, E-FAST, please.”
Mel, he knows that name. He likes Mel. Forces himself to look around. Sees Mel, pressing something into his abdomen, his chest. Looks past her, sees, really blue eyes. Langdon, sees Langdon. Realizes that’s who was asking him questions. Langdon puts an oxygen mask over his face, and he sighs in relief. It’s a little easier to breathe again. Thank fuck. Looks to his other side. Sees one of the nurses, can’t tell which one. But not Robby. Wants Robby there. Knows he’s there somewhere. Wants him here with him. Because Robby is his, his, his, Robby is his, and he wants him here.
“-bby?”
“Someone’s getting him,” Langdon tells him, “can you tell me where you are?”
“Hospital?”
“That’s right. Do you know why you’re here?”
“Something happened.”
A laugh, “Yeah, something did happen. Do you remember what?”
“Car.”
“Right again.”
“What the hell happened?” Robby asks as he enters the room.
“Robby,” Dennis answers, lifts his good hand towards him.
“Hi, sweetheart,” Robby greets, making his way towards his head, demands again, “What the hell happened?”
“Something,” Langdon answers, winking at Dennis, who laughs.
Realizes his mistake two seconds after he makes it. Feels a shift in his chest, sudden and sharp. Pain flares, at the same time he realizes he can’t breathe at all. The monitor next to his head blares to life, alerting the whole room to the fact that his SATs dropping rapidly. The heart monitor increases, as his heart does its best to compensate for the lack of oxygen. Mistakenly thinks if it pumps harder, it’ll get him the oxygen he needs. A good idea, if he was getting any air at all, which he isn’t. Even with the oxygen mask, nothing is happening.
He knows what that means, but he can’t think of it right now. Nothing good, he knows that much. And even if he didn’t, the way everyone reacts would be enough of a sign. Robby shifts, like he’s going to move away from him. Panic surges through him, because Robby is his, his person. And he doesn’t want him to go, doesn’t want to do this alone. Reaches his good hand up, clutches at his sleeve, pleads with his eyes. Wheezes, attempts to force out words. Tries to say stay, don’t leave me please, I’m scared, and I need you. Can’t, of course, but he tries anyway. Because he’s in pain and he might be dying and he doesn’t want to do it alone. Knows it’s selfish, to want Robby with him if he is, to make him watch that if he is, but he can’t help it. Robby takes a step further away, and something akin to a whine breaks from his throat.
“You can’t help us, so stay with him,” Langdon snaps, hands a blur of movement.
“I-”
“We’ve got him, Dr. Robby, he needs you up there,” Mel says, gloves snapping into place.
Dennis whines, agreeing.
That gets Robby’s attention, and he murmurs to him, “Shh, shh, I’m here, you’re okay, you’re gonna be okay.”
Dennis tugs on his sleeve, a silent come here. And Robby must understand what he’s trying to say, even with no words coming out, because he does. Takes his good hand in his, brings it up to his face. Presses his lips to the back of it. Mutters, it’s okay, focus on me, it’s all okay, into the skin. Dennis ignores the flurry of movement in the rest of the room. Focuses on Robby instead. Looks up into his eyes. Because he still can’t breathe, knows at this point he’s probably going blue. At least a little, lips and fingers. Isn’t getting any oxygen at all, not even the minuscule amount he was before. Is pretty sure he’s dying, thinks if he is going to die, that doing it while looking into Robby’s eyes wouldn’t be the worst way to go. Even if he does have to see the panic in them as he fades, it’s still a nice enough view.
A whoosh and then, relief. Sweet, blissful relief as air rushes into his lungs again. Gulps in air, because he can now, and it feels so, so good. Watches the panic in Robby’s eyes get replaced with relief of a different kind. Has no idea what he looks like right now, but given that he was hit by a car, he’s guessing not good. Is guessing he looked even worse cyanotic. Can see the way he slumps, just a little. Like the worry was a physical thing he was holding up, and now he doesn’t have to anymore. Atlas, no longer condemned to hold up the whole world.
Feels better, now that his lung isn’t collapsed anymore. Which, yeah, no shit, he can breathe. Of course, he feels better. Feels, more aware too. Less like he’s swimming through honey, thick and hazy. Didn’t even realize he was feeling like that until he isn’t anymore. Looks down to where Mel and Langdon are, notices Langdon has blood on a single finger. Ah, so that’s how they did that so fast. Finger thoracostomy. Nice. Well, not nice, but kinda cool. Mel has a chest tube in hand, ready to fit into the hole he now knows Langdon cut into his chest. Didn’t feel the incision, too focused on worrying about dying.
Mel does numb him for the tube. Feels the needle go in, feels the lidocaine spreading. Decides not to pay attention to that, looks at Robby instead. Because it’s weird, being the patient and not the doctor. Weird that he knows exactly what Mel is doing to him, even though he can’t feel it anymore. Brings his good hand up to Robby’s face, pats his cheek. Smiles when Robby turns his head, kisses the inside of his wrist. Takes that as confirmation he must look bad. Robby isn’t big on PDA in the ED. Must look like he’s on Death’s door if he’s showing affection in front of other people. Is blurring that line between Dr. Robinavitch and Michael.
“I’m okay.”
“You are,” Robby says, like he needs to say it out loud for it to be true.
“I am.”
“Is your wrist broken?” Mel asks, as if to prove him wrong.
“Oh, yeah. I think so. Just like a little though, it’s okay.”
He’d kinda forgotten about it, too worried about the whole can’t breathe, might be dying thing. Realizes now, though, how much it hurts. Robby actually facepalms in response to his words, which isn’t something he thought people did in real life. Only in like movies and stuff. But he does it. Smacks his hand over his eyes, drags it down over his nose, his lips. Sighs, loud and deep and heavy. Mel shakes her head, thinks maybe she’d be doing the same as Robby if her hands weren’t full with inserting his chest tube. Langdon actually lets out a little snort, a look of shocked disbelief on his face. Robby pinches the bridge of his nose, shoulders shaking. And for a second, alarm grips him because he thinks he’s crying. But then he realizes he’s not, he’s laughing. His shoulders aren’t hitching with tears, but with mirth. Langdon chuckles, Mel cracks a smile.
“These are things you tell your doctors,” Langdon says, still laughing a little.
“I just did?”
“I’ll put in an order for an X-ray,” Mel says, tying off the last stitch on his chest tube, “and a CT, in case he hit his head. E-FAST was negative, except the lung. And the broken ribs.”
“For fuck’s sake.”
“I was gonna mention them.”
“Next time, try ‘my wrist is broken’ or ‘I think my ribs are busted,’ not ‘I’m okay,’ alright?”
“Got it, next time I get hit by a car, I will report my injuries promptly and in detail.”
Robby mutters something under his breath that sounds an awful lot like sarcastic little shit. Langdon laughs, pulls off his gloves. Mel does the same, goes to the computer to put in orders for tests. Langdon waits for her, and they leave together. Dennis calls a thank you after them, smiles when they both turn to flash him thumbs up at the same time. Wonders how long it’ll take for transport to come get him. Knowing Dana, she’ll pull strings to get him seen right away. Will jump him in line because he works here. And because of him and Robby, he knows. Privilege of sleeping with one of her best friends, he thinks with a chuckle.
“What could you possibly be laughing at right now?” Robby questions, coming to sit on the edge of the gurney.
“Hey, you were just laughing.”
“At how ridiculous you are.”
“Mean.”
“Accurate.”
“Mmm. Maybe. I really am good now, though.”
“Sure.”
“I can breathe again, so I’m aces. Better than good, I’m great.”
Robby doesn’t respond, just reaches out to him. Cups his cheek in one of his massive hands. Rubs his thumb back and forth, back and forth. Dennis leans into the touch. It feels nice. Makes his eyes droop. Reminds him how tired he is. Now that the adrenaline is wearing off, the crash is hitting. And Robby isn’t helping, hand going from his cheek to his hair. Petting the sweaty strands back from his forehead. Nails scratching at his scalp. He blinks his eyes, hard. Doesn’t want to fall asleep. Knows he probably should, sleep is healing and all that. But he doesn’t want to, isn’t ready to leave Robby yet. And by the look in his eyes, he doesn’t think Robby is ready to leave him yet either.
Brings his hand up, snatches Robby’s hand from his hair. Laces their fingers together, brings them to his face, nuzzles into them. Beams when Robby smiles at him. Watches the smile fall off his face like someone yanked it away. Dennis furrows his brow, rubs his cheek against his hand in lieu of asking what’s wrong. Doesn’t like the expression on his face, not at all. Like someone ripped his heart out but left it connected so they could show it to him, still beating, before tearing it out completely. Like he’s being gutted, slowly and painfully. Hates it, wants it to stop. Makes a questioning noise, presses a kiss to the back of his hand.
“You were turning blue,” is all Robby says, voice almost inaudible.
His eyes do that thing they do when he’s trying not to cry. When they get wet and kinda red. Where tears well up but never actually break his water line. Knows that if he spoke right now, his voice would waver. Would sound watery and thin, would break as he tried to hold back the tears that want to fall. Does the only thing he can think to do. Uses his hold on him to tug and tug until he folds forward. Knows he’ll complain about his back later, but can’t bring himself to worry about that now. Not when it’s clear Robby needs something. A hug or a cry or to scream. Something. Drags him down until his head is pressed to Dennis’ chest. Is mindful of the tube there, because he knows if he screws it up, Mel will kill him.
Wraps his good arm around Robby’s shoulders. Crushes him to his front as hard as he can. Breathes in, out. In and out. In and out. Makes sure to do it with enough force that Robby moves with each one. Rises and falls with each inhale and exhale. Ignores how it makes his ribs ache, how it pulls at the tube a little. Because Robby needs the reassurance that he’s alive right now, so he’s damn sure gonna give it to him. Knows the monitors help, hearing the constant beeping of his heart. Also, know that feeling it will help even more. Having that undeniable proof that Dennis is alive and well, rocking him gently with each breath, will help more than any monitor ever could.
Robby shifts, just a little. Presses his ear over his heart. Listens to the glub-glub of it. Hears it for himself, not secondhand from a machine. Counts the beats, the proof of life, with his own ears. Dennis lets him, brings his good hand up, tangles it in the hair on the back of his head. Pets him, gentle and calm. Can hear sniffles, under the beep, beep, beeping of his heart monitor. Is happy to hear it, even if it makes him sad. Knows the only reason he’s letting himself cry is because his face is hidden. No one can see him. If anyone looked in, they’d think he was just lying on Dennis. Two lovers sharing a moment after one of them was injured. Only Dennis knows he’s crying, only knows because of how close he is. Hates that Robby feels the need to hide it.
“We’re okay,” Dennis whispers.
“We’re okay,” Robby agrees without lifting his head, voice watery.
“I’m not blue anymore,” Dennis adds, just to get Robby to laugh, grins when it works.
“If you weren’t injured, I’d smack you.”
“I love when you talk dirty to me.”
“Uh, transport?” another voice cuts in before Robby can reply.
And Dennis almost breaks another rib cackling at how red Robby’s face gets, but it’s totally worth it because they’re okay.
They’re both okay.