Chapter Text
Robby never bothered to feed off Frank, determined to keep that single line between them no matter how close he got to the mortal boy. Robby had worked so hard to keep Frank in his box, no matter how much he wanted to drag Frank to his side, pin him down and drink from him, to drink in all the little gasps and moans that would pour from his plump lips. Robby had refused to claim the kid who had so desperately and clearly wanted to belong to Robby.
The revelation of his addiction and theft ripped whatever bond they had. Robby was hard and unforgiving, knowing logically it was a disease, but Frank was supposed to be better than that, stronger than that. Frank hadn’t come to Robby, the man he claimed he loved and respected, and Robby threw that in his face, hard, and felt a little swell of satisfaction at the hurt look on Langdon’s face. Robby, against his better judgment, let Langdon come back and work on the PittFest victims, and the anger grew even hotter when Langdon called “gun” and leapt on top of the man.
Langdon was determined to get himself killed, and Robby washed his hands of him.
He blocked his number and refused to talk about any part of him with Jack, with anyone, unless it was with Gloria and the board. He knows nothing about what Frank is doing or even if he’s alive, and the sense of relief slowly gets eaten by the acidic sense of worry and unease of not having Frank by his side. Jack stops trying to talk to him about Frank, and Dennis is warm and sturdy beneath his hands, the human slotting into the place Frank once occupied. Robby tries not to let it bother him; the kid doesn’t fit in the same way that Frank did, and he doesn’t feed from Dennis either.
He pulls Dennis close, holds him close and the rumours swirl. Dennis looks at him in confusion when he hears one, and Robby gives a little chuckle and a head shake when he overhears Dennis, a little too loudly in a scandalised voice, telling someone that Doctor Robby wasn’t even his type.
The accident is fast, too fast: Dennis hitting his head far too hard, hitting the cement of the park path when attacked by a high vampire while on the street crew, and Robby doesn’t hesitate to sink his teeth into him to keep the boy alive, to save him in a way he couldn’t save Leah and Adamson.
The way he couldn’t save Frank.
Robby decides to take a sabbatical to get the fuck out and get some space the moment he knows Dennis will not only live but will survive the transition with perfect success. His fangs are sharp and new, and Robby and Jack spend seven months with the fledgling, teaching him, keeping him safe, and the Pitt explodes with even more rumours, and Dennis goes from being some intern fucking his bosses to a nepo baby, and the heir to the Pitt. They make lighthearted cracks, calling Robby dad, and genuinely complimenting Robby on his boy, how smart he is, how he’s making the bearded vampire proud.
He really is, and Robby ignores the little stabs in his chest when someone calls Dennis his boy, his guy. Dennis tries to deny it, but he clings to Robby and Jack like a child does to his parent, the need to be by his sire still strong in the first few months. Dennis finally pulls away by the time Frank gets back, and that stabbing in his chest is tragically and unmistakably painful while he avoids him.
The pain and anger are still too much; the blame and the anger are too strong, and he sees the hope and life drain out of Frank’s startling blue eyes when he tells him he’s not sure he wants him in his ER.
“Robby, you need help.”
Robby leaves as silently as a ghost, the feel of the abandoned baby heavy against his chest. He texts Dennis and Jack on and off, letting them know once again he was alive. He still has Frank blocked, and one too many nights when he’s buzzed, the taste of alcohol infused blood still fresh in his mouth, he nearly unblocks him.
Frank looks pale and too skinny when Robby finally sees him again, and there’s a flash of white on his neck that makes Robby’s stomach sink; the undershirt he’s wearing is a familiar shade of brown.
“Welcome back.”
What the fuck?
“Thanks.”
“Right.” Frank doesn’t look at him, brushing past him once more when Robby doesn’t say more than that one word, and the interaction starts to bother and eat at Robby. It’s still bothering him an hour later, when he first starts to notice. Frank still looks pale, shaky and sweaty in a way that Robby would automatically assume was withdrawal, but he keeps playing absently with the bandage on his neck.
He’s not expecting Dennis to reach out and smack Frank’s hand away with a look, and Frank pouted at the young vampire.
He had pouted, eyes going large and round and that bottom lip sticking out.
And Dennis acted completely unfazed, with a little roll of his eyes, actually pulling Frank with him when he’s done looking at the board, grabbing hold of Frank’s brown undershirt and Frank protests but follows the boy Robby sired all the same. An hour later, he sees Dennis shove Frank into a chair, and Jesse is more or less shoving two protein bars and a sliced and peeled apple into Frank’s mouth, without blinking, and everyone around them is acting like it’s an everyday occurrence.
It’s too much for Robby, and he doesn’t outright avoid them for the rest of the shift, but he pushes everything down deep, and Dennis doesn’t offer any explanation on his way home- the sire and fledging carpooling, Dennis not having a car, and Robby refusing to let the boy walk. He pushes it out of his mind until Frank comes in the next morning with a smaller, more colorful bandaid and and wearing a blue hoodie that swallows him whole. The blue is too familiar.
Dennis was wearing that sweatshirt yesterday.
He doesn’t mean to have his words come out as a low rumble, a dark, annoyed growl, but they do anyway. “Frank, what are you wearing?”
Frank looks down and back up at him with blue, guileless eyes, confusion on his face. “A hoodie?” He asks, cocking his head, and it hurts how suddenly young he looks. “I know the sleeves are a little long, but I’ll roll them up.”
Robby pinches his nose and takes a breath, the vampire not liking whatever is rolling low in his stomach. “
Why are you wearing Whitaker’s hoodie, Frank?” He bites out, and Frank lets out a soft “oh,” and his cheeks turn a shade of pink that is both adorable and drives a part of Robby, a part he refuses to acknowledge, a little wild.
He wraps Dennis’ hoodie a little tighter around him, and his blush deepens. The rolling of unease turns into jealousy, deep and ugly and something Robby can no longer fight.
“I get cold and needy after a feeding,” Frank explains like it's common knowledge. Robby can only blink.
Feeding? Who is feeding off his resident?
“Apparently I’m spoiled as hell, according to Jack, but eh. I figured it’s fair trade. You drain my life force, and I get to raid your closet.”
“... I’m sorry, Jack? Hold on, Dennis is feeding from you?”
Robby’s head is spinning, and if he were still human, he knows he would be sick to his stomach, but instead there’s a low cramping at the thought of Jack and Dennis feeding from the boy Robby had refused, had pushed away, was trying to protect.
“Yup,” Frank nods, with a little smile. “Don’t worry, not at work unless it's an emergency. Sometimes, Jesse, but that’s more on an emergency basis. Anything else?”
Robby can only shake his head, can only stand there as Frank moves to Dennis's side, like he belongs there and not next to Robby and the older vampire doesn’t miss the way Dennis reaches out and pulls Frank closer, fussing and adjusting the hoodie and Frank’s blush is bright pink and enticing and Robby wants nothing more to force them apart, to lock Frank away and burn that sweatshirt.
He really hates that hoodie. Hates it more as the shift goes on.
He can’t help but notice it: every undershirt, every hoodie suddenly way too familiar, not fitting Frank quite right and his senior resident is constantly sandwiched between Dennis and Jesse. His breaking point comes during handoff. Frank looks horribly sweet and soft, his pupils blown, and he’s giggly and spacey, pouting where he sits in the hub with those too-big blue eyes, looking at Jack, who looks healthy, energised, freshly fed and sated.
“Jackie?”
Robby’s attention snaps to Jack, who lets out a little coo. “Yes, baby?”
“I’m cold…”
“Princess, you’re already wearing my shirt.”
Frank gives a little whine, and Jack turns with a satisfied grin, and Robby’s stomach sinks. “But Jackie….I’m cold… please?”
The look on his face and the spoiled note in Frank’s voice are burned into Robby’s brain, seared there for eternity, and Robby has the sudden desperate need to know what Frank sounds like when he begs, really begs, begs on his knees with Robby’s name fat and heavy on his lips.
“Oh baby boy,” Jack coos, and Robby has to fight the urge to punch his companion. “You really are a needy little thing after a feeding, aren’t you?”
“Don’t tease” He raises his hands and clenches both hands in a clear ‘gimmie’ gesture, and Jack gets up and takes off his hoodie, walking over and dressing Frank, who was already wearing Jack’s undershirt, like a doll, and the boy beams at him.
“You smell nice.”
“Not as nice as you, angel. Denny wants to know what you want for breakfast.”
Robby is rooted in the spot before he’s beaming again. “I want waffles. They’re like pancakes with pockets.” He lets out a little giggle, and it occurs to Robby that Frank is high as a kite. Unlike most people, when they are fed upon, turning tired and a little clingy, Frank turns into a high, spoiled little thing, and something possessive starts to fill his veins.
Jack looks at Robby, his eyes meeting Robby's, and he has the nerve to wink at Robby.
He actually fucking winked.
“Anything you want, angel.” Jack coos, and Frank gives a satisfied sigh. “I want to be buried in this hoodie, Jackie.”
“Nope.” Jack shakes his head. “You’re staying very much alive.” He goes back to charting. “Twenty more minutes, baby, and then we can go home.”
Robby jumps when Shen appears next to him, the Kitsune taking a sip of his coffee, watching the pair with a bored expression. “The army brown hoodie with the slight rip in the pocket is Frank’s absolute favourite.” He informs Robby dryly, and Robby just turns and looks at him, the fox shrugging.
“In case you want to burn that one first.”
Robby keeps that in mind and smiles when it goes up in flames a week later, when Frank wears it for three days straight, leaving him to choke when it has Abbot in printed letters at the bottom on the back, right above the hem.