Work Text:
Dennis wakes slowly.
Always does these days. So different from when he was homeless. Back then, sleep was never deep, and going from asleep to awake had to be something he did in a split second. Because being woken up by something usually meant something was wrong. Meant someone was trying to take his stuff, meant someone was trying to mess with him. Woke up to hands on him or his pack more times than he cares to remember.
But not these days. Not since a girl who cares more than she likes to admit found him at his lowest and took him in. Not since he found the sister he never knew he needed. Not since he found a man who loves him, just as he is. Not since he found a home, a family. Home isn’t Trin’s apartment anymore, hasn’t been in, shit, a year now. Little more than. Home is Robby’s place, ours now, sweetheart. With both their shoes by the door and both their mugs on the counter and both their toothbrushes in the holder by the sink. Home is a king-sized bed, and Robby snoring in his ear.
Hears a thrill before a small weight hops up onto the bed with them. Protein Bar meows, annoyed that breakfast has yet to be served. Heaven forbid his dads sleep in on their day off, and not get up at dawn to feed the royal highness. Grunts, when PB climbs onto his chest. Scritches behind his ears, grins when his motorboat purr starts up. Holds a hand out for him to rub his chin on, traces the lines of his tuxedo pattern with his other hand. Giggles, quietly, when PB all but loses his balance because of how hard he leans into the touch.
“Mmmm,” Robby groans, buries his face in Dennis’ shoulder.
“Our son is demanding his daily sacrifice.”
“Mmmm.”
“So eloquent, I can see why they made you chief.”
“You just woke up,” Robby complains, “How are you so coherent already?”
“Farm kid. I’ll feed the free loader before I shower.”
“Mmm. Give me five, and I’ll make breakfast.”
“Or,” Dennis drags out the word, “you could go to the bagelry down the road and get those breakfast sandwiches I like?”
“You want me to put pants on on my day off? I thought you loved me.”
“I do love you. I just also love those sandwiches.”
Makes his eyes big and round when Robby looks over at him. Uses what Trin calls his puppy eyes because he knows they always work. Robby sighs, that sigh he does when he’s about to give in. Dennis beams, leans in to press a kiss to his lips. Makes a startled noise when Robby deepens it instead of ending it like he expects him to. Feels teeth on his bottom lip, groans. Chases his lips when he pulls back.
“Ah-ah. The king needs fed, and you wanted a sandwich.”
“He can wait, oh, twenty minutes. And so can the sandwiches.”
“Afraid not. They stop serving them at ten thirty, and it’s already ten. I need time to get there before they switch. Come on, up.”
Dennis groans, but does as he says. He really does want a sandwich. Hasn’t been able to get one in ages. Him and Robby get them before work, sometimes, but that involves getting up earlier than normal and that’s, not something either of them like to do, so they normally don’t. Sandwich Days are a day off thing, and all the more special for it. Licks his lips as he thinks about it. Bacon, egg, and cheese. Doesn’t have bacon often, anymore, because Robby doesn’t eat pork. Doesn’t mind it, he didn’t eat it often before anyway, but sometimes he gets a craving. Like now.
Goes downstairs to feed the cat while Robby gets dressed. Knows he’ll only throw on some sweatpants and a t-shirt. Something comfy he can lounge in when he gets home, can sleep in later so he only has to change once. PB jumps up on the counter, screams while Dennis digs out his food. Sings the stupid song he made up about how it’s time to eat, the one he sings at every mealtime. The Soups On Song, which Robby loves to make fun of him for. Strokes a hand down his back when he dives in. Thinks how nice it must be, to be so excited to eat the same thing every single day. How wonderful life must be, when everything is so simple.
Goes back upstairs. Robby’s brushing his teeth when he goes into the bathroom. Presses a kiss to his shoulder blade. Smiles when he sees he’s in sweatpants and a t-shirt. Checks the water in the mug by the sink, the one PB drinks out of. Tops it off. Brushes his own teeth, crosses his eyes at Robby in the mirror when he looks over at him, because he can and because it makes him laugh. Finishes brushing, rinses, spits. Turns to face Robby, where he’s leaning against the door frame.
“Bacon, egg, and cheese?”
“Always.”
“I’ll be back soon.”
“I’ll be here.”
Robby blows him a kiss, and he pretends to catch it. Mimes putting it in his pocket, even though the pants he’s wearing don’t have pockets. Does it just to see Robby roll his eyes, which he does. Hears him mutter, I thought I was the one in my fifties, as he leaves. Cackles, does it loud enough that he knows Robby hears, so he knows Dennis heard him. Hears laughter from the other room. Rolls his eyes, flips on the shower. Calculates how long he can take. Figures ten minutes to walk there, ten to wait for the food, ten back. That’s at least half an hour he can soak under the frankly obscene water pressure. Also knows if he takes longer, and is still under it when Robby gets home, he won’t care.
Hops in, gets the showering part of his shower done first and fast. Washes his hair. Washes his body while his conditioner sits. Rinses everything. Reaches up, flicks the shower head to the massage setting. Turns so the water pounds on his shoulders. It’d been a good week at work, with the only deaths being the expected ones. The living dead, mostly, ones they weren't allowed to save, or ones they knew weren't going to make it. Little death outside of that, for once. No children, no surprises. A miracle. A good week, but still a long one. He’s sore, lets the hot water and the aggressive pressure work out the knots that have formed in his upper body.
Has no idea how long he stands there, shifting slightly to aim the shower head at the worst of the knots. Thinks it’s about half an hour, switches the shower off. Snags his towel off the hook. Dries off, takes a few seconds to put his curl cream in, if only so his hair doesn’t dry looking completely stupid. Goes into the bedroom, puts on sweatpants and a t-shirt. Glances at the clock. Realizes that it’s been almost an hour since Robby left. Stops, listens. Doesn’t hear anyone else in the house. Huh.
“Baby? Are you back?” he calls, even as he goes over to the nightstand to grab his phone.
It is a Saturday. It isn’t out of the realm of possibility that the bagelry was slammed, and it took longer than he thought it would for the food. It’d be, odd, sure, because he doesn’t think he’s ever really seen that place super busy, but it could happen. Knows it’s also possible that Robby ran into Mr. Rowe on his way back and lost track of time talking about the Penguins' odds this season. Figures either way, he’ll have a text from him letting him know he’s running late and why.
Unlocks his phone, doesn’t see a text. Just a missed call. But it’s not from Robby, it’s from work. Missed call: PTMC - fourteen minutes ago. Wonders why they’re calling him on his day off. Please don’t need me to come in. Clicks the contact, brings the phone to his ear. Listens to it ring, ring, ring. Hears it click, hears the noise of what he knows to be the ED before a voice comes on the line.
“PTMC Emergency Department, Al-Hashimi speaking.”
“Hey, uh, it’s Dennis? Whitaker, Dennis Whitaker. You called? Do you need me to come in?” Please don’t need me to come in, it’s my day off.
“Ah, Dennis. Yes, I did call. You’re listed as Robby’s emergency contact.”
“I am.”
“You need to come down here, please. As soon as you can.”
Feels dread, cold and visceral, creep up his throat, “Why?”
“I think it’s best I tell you about it in person.”
“Al-Hashimi, what happened?”
“The important thing is that he’s going to be okay. I’ll fill you in on the details when you arrive. Get here as soon as you can, alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, alright. I’ll, I’ll be there soon.”
“Be safe, Dennis.”
“I will. See you soon.”
Hears the click that tells him Al-Hashimi hung up. Lowers the phone from his ear. His emergency contact, they called his emergency contact. He wasn’t late getting home because of a crowded bagelry or because Mr. Rowe wouldn’t stop yapping, he was late because he was in the ED. Why was he in the ED. What happened. He’s going to be okay, that’s what she’d said. Not, he is okay, she said, he’s going to be okay. Which implies there was a time he wasn’t okay, a time when they weren’t sure he was going to be okay. What happened.
The hospital, he needs to get to the hospital. Because Robby’s going to be okay, and he needs to know why. Needs to know what happened. Needs to know how going to get bagel sandwiches turned into a trip to the ED. Grabs his phone, heads downstairs. Slips sandals on, because he can’t be bothered trying to find socks. Collects his wallet, his keys. Heads outside, locks the door behind him. He’ll take Robby’s car, because it’s faster. And he needs to be at the hospital now.
Drives like someone who just got a call that the man they love is in the hospital, but who also knows what the aftermath of a five-car pile-up looks like. Which is to say faster than he probably should, but slower than he wants to. Parks in the employee lot, barely remembers to lock the doors before he’s rushing into the building. Enters from the ambulance bay, because Al-Hashimi called him, which means she’s the one he needs to talk to, and she’ll be in the ED. Can’t help but notice how everyone stops talking when he walks in. Feels eyes on him, as he walks from the doors to the hub. Doesn’t see Al-Hashimi, but does see Dana.
Knows she saw him too when her face does something complicated. Runs through too many emotions for Dennis to keep up with, so he doesn’t bother trying. She fiddles with something next to her for a second. And then she’s coming around the desk to meet him, sweeps him into her arms. Hugs him to her, pats his back. And he appreciates it, he does. But he doesn’t want a hug, he wants to know where Robby is. Hugs her back, for a second. Sees Al-Hashimi coming from across the floor. Realizes that’s what she was fiddling with. She was paging her for him. Squeezes her, thank you. Feels her squeeze him back, you’re welcome.
“Where is he?” Dennis pulls back from Dana as he asks.
“Upstairs, Garcia took him to surgery right before I called you.”
“Surgery?”
“There was a shooting.”
Dennis blinks at her, knows his face must be doing something stupid. A shooting. There was a shooting. What does that have to do with anything? What is she talking about, a shooting for, he asked about Robby. And it takes him what is probably too long to piece together what that has to do with Robby. There was a shooting, and he’s in surgery. Which means Robby was shot. Shakes his head because no, no, he had to have misunderstood that. Feels Dana’s hand on his back, trying to offer comfort. Hardly registers it, though, because there was a shooting and Robby’s in surgery.
“What, what happened?”
“From what we’ve been able to piece together, he interrupted a robbery. One of the robbers panicked, and fired. The bullet entered his abdomen, and didn’t exit. He’s in surgery to remove the bullet, as well as repair the damage to his liver.”
Feels like none of those words make sense to him either. Interrupted a robbery. He was going to get sandwiches, how did he end up involved in a robbery. Unless, unless the robbery was at the bagel place. Which, it had to have been, right? Because that was the only place he was going. Didn’t have plans to swing by anywhere else, which means he walked into a robbery going to get Dennis his stupid fucking sandwich. Which means, which means, which means…
“This is all my fault.”
“Don’t do that, kid. This was a freak accident,” Dana says, attempting to soothe him.
“No, you don’t understand,” Dennis says, because she doesn’t get it, “I wanted a sandwich. He was, he was only there because I asked for a fucking sandwich and now he’s, now he’s in, and it’s all my fault.”
He’s sobbing by the end of his sentence, feels arms come around him again. Is aware, in some distant part of his mind, that they’re still standing in the middle of the ED. Still standing where everyone can see them. Doesn’t care, can’t bring himself to. Not when Robby’s in surgery, not when it’s his fault. He went there for Dennis, because he loves him and wanted to make him happy, and now he’s upstairs fighting to stay alive. It’s not right, it’s not fair. Why did he ask for that stupid sandwich? Why, why, why.
Feels a hand on the back of his hair, guiding his head to a shoulder. Dana, it’s Dana. She’s the one holding him, the one letting him cling to her while he sobs like a child. Feels like one. She’s rubbing circles on his back, in that way he’s seen moms do to kids when they’re sick. Cries harder at the gesture, because he doesn’t deserve it. The comfort, he doesn’t deserve it. It’s his fault, it’s all his fault. Feels another hand on his shoulder. Realizes it’s Al-Hashimi. Turns his head enough he can see her, sees her offer him the same reassuring smile he’s seen her offer patients' families. Realizes in this moment that’s all he is, a patient's family. Because Robby’s in surgery. He’s in surgery, and it’s all Dennis’ fault.
“He’s gonna be fine, you hear me? He’s gonna be just fine.”
Dana says it into his ear, and he wants to believe her, he does. But how can he? A simple trip to get breakfast turned into surgery for a gunshot wound, how can he believe her. Opens his mouth, tries to say how can you be sure, but all that comes out is more sobs. Buries his face in her shoulder, because he doesn’t know what else to do. Thinks if he doesn’t, he’s going to start screaming and if he does that he doesn’t think he’ll ever, ever stop. She lets him, makes a shushing sound in response. Al-Hashimi pats his shoulder, offering what comfort she can, too.
He doesn’t deserve it. It should’ve been him. He could’ve gotten his own sandwich. Or, or they could’ve gone together. They always go together. Can’t remember the last time one of them went alone. Isn’t sure it’s ever happened before. Has no idea why it happened this time. He should have been there. He should have gone with him. He was enjoying a hot shower while Robby was, while he was. He should have gone with him. Why didn’t he go with him? Why didn’t they go together? They’ve always gone together.
He, he didn’t even say I love you before he left. He let him go alone and he got shot and he didn’t even tell him he loved him before he left. What if, what if he, if he, he, and he didn’t even tell him I love you before. What if Robby, if he, if he and he thinks Dennis didn’t, doesn’t love him because he didn’t say it. Why didn’t he say it? He should have said it. Because he does, he loves him more than he thought it was possible to love anyone and he tells him all the time but he didn’t today and what if now he never gets the chance to.
“Dennis, Dennis, I need you to breathe.”
That’s Al-Hashimi, and she sounds worried. But she shouldn’t be worried about him. He wasn’t the one that was shot. She should be worried about Robby. Robby is the one who’s hurt. She should be worried about him, not Dennis. Dennis is fine. He’s totally fine, he is. He’s fine, but Robby isn’t. Because Robby was shot. Robby was shot and it’s all Dennis’ fault and he didn’t say I love you before he left and now he might not ever get to tell him again. Might not ever get to see the way the tips of his ears turn red when he hears it, even after all this time.
“Come on, kid. Breathe.”
Dana sounds worried for him, too. But she shouldn’t be. Because he’s fine. He might not ever get to tell the man he loves how much he loves him ever again, but he’s okay. He wasn’t shot today. Wasn’t shot because he didn’t go with him. Why didn’t he go with him? He should have gone with him.
“Come on, kid, Robby’ll kill us if something happens to you while he’s out of commission.”
And something about hearing Robby’s name snaps something in him to attention. Makes him realize that, no, he isn’t breathing actually. Stands up straight, gulps in air. Sees the relief on Dana and Al-Hashimi’s faces. Blinks, when the rush of oxygen goes to his head. Wonders how long he wasn’t breathing for. Hadn’t even realized he was holding his breath. Hadn’t realized how badly he was panicking. Can see now, that it’s over, that that’s what he was doing.
“I’m good, I’m okay.”
“Good,” Al-Hashimi says, “I called ahead to let surgery know you’d be in the waiting room. They’ll update you from here.”
“Right, yeah, okay.”
“Dennis,” she pats his shoulder again, “He’s going to be alright.”
“He will.”
“He will,” Dana agrees, “Now go wait for him upstairs.”
Nods, thanks them both. Hopes they can tell how much he means it. Not just for being there for him, but also for helping Robby when he came through too. Can tell by the way they both smile at him that they know what he means. Dana makes a shooing motion with her hand, and he nods again. Turns towards the elevator. Knows he’ll feel embarrassed later, for clinging to Dana the way he did. Knows he’ll try to apologize for it, knows she’ll brush him off with a you needed it, kid.
Takes the elevator up to surgery. There’s no one else in the waiting room, which he supposes is a good thing. Takes a steadying breath, sits in the chair directly across from the double doors. Settles in to wait. Knows he could be here awhile. Shoots off a text to Trin, just to let her know what happened, so she doesn’t hear it from someone else. Knows she’d never admit it, but she cares about Robby. Gets a you need me to come wait with you back. Smiles at his phone, tells her no, no reason we should both be anxious. Gets let me know if that changes, love you in response. Tells her he loves her too, that he’ll keep her updated.
Leans back in the chair, keeps his eyes on the doors. Watches people go back and forth behind it through the little window. Isn’t kidding about the anxious thing. Wishes he had something, anything, to distract himself with. Because here, in this room, he’s a patient’s family. But he’s also a doctor, knows everything that can go wrong with this type of injury, this type of surgery. Is trying so fucking hard not to go over every worst-case scenario in his head right now, because he knows that isn’t helpful. And Dana and Al-Hashimi aren’t here to talk him out of another panic attack.
Takes out his phone, at one point, because he thinks he might go crazy if he doesn’t. Watches a few of Javadi’s videos, before the guilt hits him. Because Robby loves Javadi’s videos, but he can’t watch them because he’s in surgery. It's Dennis’ fault he’s in surgery, his fault they’re not at home, curled up with Protein Bar and watching TikToks together. Puts his phone away, after that. Doesn’t get it out again. Just stares at the doors, stares long enough his vision blurs. Watches the people behind the door walk around, doesn’t focus on them though. Just let's them be blurry. Just stares and stares and lets the time pass. Has no idea how much time passes, but it must be a lot because the next thing he knows, the doors are opening.
“White chocolate?” Garcia calls, and he looks up, notices the grin on her face.
“Yeah?”
“Surgery went great. Grade two, so not as bad as we were expecting. Had a bleeder, but we got it taken care of. Got the bullet out while we were in there, too. We’re moving him to recovery now. Someone will come grab you when he’s settled, okay?”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Anytime, Funky Music.”
And then she’s gone. He’s gonna be okay, he’s actually gonna be okay. Feels tension he didn’t even realize he was carrying leave him all at once. Slumps forward, elbows on his knees. Holds his head in his hands, lets the tears that well up fall because he’s gonna be okay. He’s gonna be able to see him soon, will be able to tell him he loves him. He’s gonna be okay. Takes a deep breath, pulls out his phone. Texts Trin the news first. Then sends a message to the day shift group chat. Is immediately flooded with messages from everyone, like they were all waiting on an update, on news. Tells them he’ll update them again after he’s seen him, silences his phone.
A nurse comes and gets him he has no idea how much later. Leads him to the recovery room, tells him he’s coming out of it, but don’t be surprised if he’s groggy, dear. Nods, thanks her, enters the room. He looks, small, in the bed. Which is ridiculous, the man’s six foot one. But he looks it, in the too-big hospital bed, surrounded by white sheets and wires. The heart monitor in the corner beep, beep, beeps and Dennis is thankful for it. Is thankful for the proof that he’s alive, that his heart is still beating. He’s pale, blood loss. Looks too, not alive, for Dennis’ taste. Is happy the monitor is there to tell him with each beep just how alive he is.
Takes a seat in the chair by the bed. The one that’s supposed to be ergonomic or whatever, but just makes your ass hurt if you sit in it too long. Takes Robby’s hand in his. Has no idea how long it’ll take for the anesthesia to start to wear off. But wants to make sure that the first thing Robby’s aware of when he wakes up is that he’s not alone, that Dennis is there. Wasn’t, earlier, when he should have been, but he is now. Plays with his fingers, for lack of anything better to do. Traces the veins in the back of his hand. Jerks his head up when Robby groans.
“Hey, easy, you’re okay,” he says, voice calm, low.
“Eh ge sa,” Robby mumbles.
“What, baby?” reaches for the water on the table by the bed, helps him take a sip.
“I didn’t get your sandwich.”
“What?”
“I didn’t, I didn’t get your sandwich.”
Lifts startled eyes to meet Robby’s. He’s looking at him with an impish smile, like he honestly thinks Dennis is going to be more upset about that stupid fucking sandwich than he is about the fact that Robby was shot. Has no idea what to do with that other than laugh. Because of course, of course, Robby would get shot and be worried about a sandwich. Would be worried about disappointing Dennis. Of course, he wouldn’t care about the surgery he just came out of, or the hole in his liver. No, of course he’d only care about the fact that he told Dennis he’d get him his sandwich and failed to do so. This absolutely ridiculous man.
“I love you,” Dennis says back.
“What?”
“I love you. I didn’t say it before you left, and I should have because I always do, but I didn’t this time, and you could have… I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“I know you do, you silly, silly man.”
Brings a hand up to push his hair off his forehead, kisses the skin there. Leans in, presses his own forehead to Robby’s. Closes his eyes. Listens to the heart monitor. To Robby’s breathing, in and out. Feels Robby’s hand come up to cup the back of his neck. Brings his own to Robby’s cheek. Stays there, just like that. Forehead to forehead, just holding each other. Because Robby’s going to be okay, and he got to say I love you, and he feels, for the first time in hours, like he can breathe again. Kisses his forehead once more, pulls back. Slides the chair closer to the head of the bed, sits back down.
Laces his fingers with Robby’s when he reaches for him. Texts an update to the group chat. Watches Robby as the last of the anesthesia wears off. Can tell he isn’t one hundred percent there yet. But he’s alive, and he’s going to be okay. Smiles at him, when he looks over. Chuckles when Robby shoots him a thumbs-up with his free hand. Robby shifts, a little closer to the edge, closer to Dennis. Leans towards him, instead of lying in the middle of the bed. Like he wants to be close to him. Dennis wants to be close to him, too. Stands, sits on the bed instead, throws his legs up. Robby immediately falls to the side, head landing on his shoulder. Dennis tips his head to the side, rests his cheek on the top of Robby's hair.
“Sweetheart?”
“Yeah?
“I owe you a sandwich.”
That stupid fucking sandwich, but if it’ll make him feel better, “Yeah, baby, whatever you say.”