Archive of Our Own

There is no real reason that Dennis Whitaker should have to be afraid of the dark. 

Not really. 

He’s a farm boy for fuck’s sake, the countryside gets much, much darker than Pittsburgh at night, so it’s not like he shouldn’t be used to it by now. 

It’s not that he’s like — super afraid of the dark as a concept… it’s more… what it represents, more than anything. It’s the solitude of night, the fact that the security of day is stripped away from him, the fact that the dark brings out the worst of humanity, that’s what scares him. 

(Or at least, that’s what he tells himself). 

When he’d been a kid, he’d been scared of the monsters under the bed and in the closet, he’d been scared of things from storybooks and the horrible tales his brothers told of the creatures that lived out in the fields and the barns and would steal their livestock and then come and steal Dennis away too. 

But when he’d gotten a little bigger (barely bigger, still a child, still a baby), he’d forgotten all about those monsters. He stopped fretting about them being under his mattress, or hiding away under his clothes to come and get him in the night. He stopped worrying about monsters as a whole… not because monsters no longer existed to him, but because the one that scared him the most no longer had a great warty, scaly face and long sharp teeth and beady little eyes. It no longer had wings or talons or a tail or a beak… no. Those things didn’t scare him anymore. This monster wore the clothes of his father. His face too. It brandished his belt and stunk of booze and terrified Dennis more than any little comic-book creature ever could. 

Because he could understand the wrath of some abomination, some warped and mangled amalgamation of nightmares that might come and eat their sheep or steal him away. He could forgive the anger and the hatred it might hold, having been cast away from the light and love of God. If these monsters killed out of hunger, he could understand and forgive them. 

But not his father. 

He prayed for him at first, would pray until his legs went numb and his hands ached, and yet God never listened. God never cared enough to save him from this nightmare. 

So he must have deserved it. What his father said about saving them from sin, that must have been true. 

So he stopped praying to be rescued, stopped praying that his father would stop, and instead just… accepted it. Accepted his punishments in the name of faith. 

And the fear changed. It morphed into something new, something he couldn’t understand properly. Because when he’d gotten bigger, properly bigger, it had lingered. Away from his father, at college (for the first time), he wasn’t so much worrying specifically about his father’s wrath appearing in the dark, but it was God he feared. He’d lived through his father time and time again, so without him here then what would happen to him if he sinned?

It became a confusing thing then, his relationship with religion. Studying theology suddenly made him doubt his own faith. Because did God truly exist? Did the things he’d witnessed point towards there being some omnipresent and all-loving figure?

Well… no. 

But that didn’t mean he could shake the hypervigilance of something watching over him, something that knew what he was thinking and feeling and doing. 

So he found himself fretting about every bump or knock or voice or whatever other little noise echoed in his tiny dorm room. Everything they could mean. 

But eventually, that eased up. With the nature of shared halls like that, a silent night couldn’t possibly be a guaranteed thing, and so Dennis learnt to drown out the little noises — the ones that came from other people just living their lives. It didn’t stop the flicker of discomfort that came every time his roommate would switch the lamp off, but there again enough light came through the crack under their door that their room could never really be considered dark. 

Not like back home had ever been, free from the pollution of street lamps and shop signs and the perpetual movement of cars and trucks and people living their such different, busy lives. 

And then he’d finally gotten his first taste of independence, his own apartment, his own space. 

He’d started his medical degree, and he didn’t think about his fear (although he’d now demoted it to more of a… minor discomfort at best) because his space never had to be dark. He could keep a little lamp on in the hallway and justify the electric cost for it, and with his door open then his room was never dark and the hall was never dark and the bathroom was never dark and his space was safe and his. 

Free from the monsters.

Free from judgement. 

Until it wasn’t. 

Because first he lost his apartment. 

Lost his sanctuary, his fortress, his safety from the world.

Sleeping in his car was okay, but even with the makeshift window covers he’d tried, there was no way to escape how entirely unprotected he was. 

Sure, it wasn’t dark dark under the street lamps or the floodlights of the parking lots, but it was that terrifying kind of not-light where he was exposed and vulnerable, shadows stretching and enveloping every little detail, stripping the colour from everything around him and leaving Dennis unable to sleep (curled up in his sleeping bag and blanket on the folded down back seats) for fear of every single footstep and vehicle and little noise that passed him by. 

And then he lost the car. 

The shelters weren’t dark, but they were busy, full of people that he didn’t know and sounds he didn’t recognise. There, his father seemed to loom around every corner, and if it wasn’t him then it was someone else from his new repertoire of monsters — these people (men) that he’d since had the misfortune of experiencing and blessedly escaping from that haunted him now. And Dennis found himself praying again. Found himself praying to a God that he couldn’t truly say he believed was there. And yet still, he prayed anyway, prayed that someone — anyone — was listening. 

The shelters weren’t dark, but the streets were. 

And the streets made him miss the shelters. 

And his car. 

And home. The farm. His father. 

It was a bitter-sweet sort of missing, though, when it came to his father. Every time he’d curled up in a doorway or a quiet back-alley, coat pulled right up over his face, he’d thought of him. Of his disapproval, of his anger, of his sermons, of everything he’d ever taught them growing up. 

What had always stood out had been his insistence that Dennis would never amount to anything, that by turning his back on his family for some pipe dream like being a doctor (because really, ‘Whitakers were farming people who did real jobs, who provided for their family and communities, not quacks who handed out drugs to the prostitutes and bums’), that he’d have nothing when he realised he couldn’t do it and he didn’t have his family to turn back on. 

It wasn’t that Dennis felt that he couldn’t do it, because he’d gotten this far, but it was more the fact that it didn’t seem to matter how smart he was or how much effort he’d put in… at the end of the day, he was sleeping on the fucking streets, he was homeless in his twenties because he wanted to be a doctor. 

That kind of felt like failing, even if objectively he wasn’t. 

Dennis doesn’t really like to think about that part of his life. 

He doesn’t like to think about what happened between losing his car and finding the eighth floor. Hell — even the very fact that he’d been living on an abandoned ward in the hospital was something he very purposefully tried to ignore now. Not because of the shame, or the trauma it had brought… no, because of the fact that all of that had proved his father right. 

So he doesn’t. 

He just doesn’t think about it. Not ever. Not unless he can help it. 

And he doesn't talk about it. 

He doesn’t bring it up to Trinity, when she finds him and brings him home. He’s already so indebted to  her, he can’t weigh her down with more, not when she already knows about his homelessness and has done so much for him. 

But he finds he doesn’t have to. 

Trinity’s apartment is never dark, and when he buys himself a little plug-in night light, she doesn’t bat an eye at it or bring it up when she obviously notices it. She spends far too much time in Dennis’ room bugging him not to notice, after all. And it helps, it helps so much. 

Trinity’s apartment becomes somewhere safe, somewhere he can relax.

And then he meets Jack — or rather he doesn’t meet him, because he already knows him, but they get to know one another on a… new level. 

And then they start dating. 

And then Dennis starts spending a lot more time at Jack’s and sleeping at the bungalow and… his fear doesn’t go away, but it also doesn’t rear its ugly head any more… weirdly, he finds it gets a bit easier to manage. 

Because with Jack, when they’re sleeping, they’re actually sleeping through the day most of the time. 

And that’s fine, because Dennis isn’t scared of the dark inside the bedroom when he knows the sun is shining right outside. They don’t often end up together at Jack’s bungalow overnight: if Jack’s working and Dennis isn’t then he’ll pretty much always be back at the apartment. They’ve not been together long enough for him to really feel comfortable at Jack’s by himself — not because Jack would mind, but it’s just the principle of it all. It’s only been a couple of months they’ve been together, not anywhere near enough time for him to allow himself to treat his boyfriend’s space as his own. Despite how much Jack insists. 

It’s a shame, because he knows Jack stocks up on his favourite foods and snacks, but still he can’t even go into a cupboard without asking to make sure it’s okay first, so…

Besides, he’s not sure he’d even be able to relax by himself overnight. It’s not that Jack’s place isn’t a safe space, but it’s the unfamiliarity that he worries about. It’s not being quite used to all the little sounds and bumps and noise of the roads yet, that’s what makes him all flighty, that’s what sets off the discomfort. 

But it’s fine. He’s fine. He’s not had any issues with it just yet, and so he doesn’t have to think about what he’s going to do about it later on or if Jack has to find out or whatever. 

Besides, he doesn’t get freaked out about it when he’s working nights either. 

Because… well, it’s not the fact that it’s night, or even that it’s dark that scares him, the absence of daylight is not what freaks him out. It’s the solitude, it’s what comes with it, it’s the helplessness. When he’s working nights, he’s not alone (and it’s also not dark in the hospital like… ever). He’s surrounded by people he loves and he’s too busy to be nervous when he heads out to meet crews in the ambulance bay or whatever. 

It’s odd, but it kind of makes him feel better about it, because if he’s working when it’s dark and sleeping during the day then it’s really never dark in the way that scares him, and he never really has to confront his fear. Not like this. 

It’s not the best way to handle it, he knows that. But it’s working well enough for him. 

Until it isn’t. 

Because right now, Dennis can’t sleep. 

It’s been such a nice time spent together today, one of the rare days in the rarer strings of consecutive days off that he and Jack end up with together, and they’ve been having fun. They went out to the park, played tennis, went out for dinner, had excellent sex (as always), and he should be fast asleep curled up safe and secure in warm and muscular arms, but he’s not. Not anymore. 

Now, he’s wide awake. 

It’s not that he’s not tired, because he is, he’s exhausted… but he can’t sleep with the way his heart is pounding and his mind is racing, the prickling discomfort of fear surging through him despite the fact that Jack is right here holding him so close. He’s not even had an actual nightmare or anything (which has been how his fear has taken to manifesting itself as of late). He’d just… woken up fairly soon after he’d drifted off — suddenly all shaky and trembly and his skin all tingly with having woken up on the wrong side of content. It isn’t the same feeling as having woken up from a nightmare (so he can’t have had one) but it’d obviously been something moderately troubling that he’d dreamt up (despite his denial), because it’s left him unsettled and paranoid, breath hitching as his ears pick up on a quiet creak from down the hall. It’s nothing, but it sends a pang of horror through him, arms wrapping reflexively around himself as he takes a sharp, shallow breath in. 

He tries to focus on calming down, tries to focus on just chilling out and being sleepy (because oh he’s so tired), but no matter what little tricks he tries, no matter how many sheep he counts and square breaths he takes, he absolutely cannot get back to sleep. 

And he can’t get to sleep because he’s scared. 

He’s kind of really scared right now. 

But he can’t wake Jack. He can’t ask for comfort or reassurance about it because it’s really kind of just so embarrassing, the fact that he’s scared, because literally what the fuck does he have to be so nervous about? He knows full well that he’s safe here, he’s being held by the man he loves and he trusts completely. He knows that the door is locked and that Jack has a good security system, so it’s not like he has to worry about intruders or anything. He knows (despite how his brain tries to convince him otherwise sometimes) that he’s not out on the streets or in a shelter or anywhere where he’s not got doors to lock to protect himself and give himself some privacy — no, he’s warm and comfortable and fed and he's hundreds of miles away from his father. So he’s got no justification to wake his poor boyfriend, doesn’t deserve to ask for reassurance or comfort or whatever over something so insignificant. 

The room is dark but there’s a little light coming in through the windows from the street lamps outside. So he’s literally fine. And yet… he feels like he’s losing it, terrified by nothing and somehow also everything. And that’s what’s so fucking stupid. 

Jack doesn’t know anything about this phobia of Dennis’, because as previously mentioned, it’s embarrassing to admit that he’s twenty seven and afraid of the dark. Although — Jack’s never said anything about the little nightlight that he keeps on the bedside table. So maybe he knows. Maybe he doesn’t. It’s not exactly new, the nightlight, but then again Dennis has only debuted it for the past few days. So maybe Jack’s not said anything about it yet. It’s a little battery powered little orb thing, not super bright, not like the one in his room at Trinity’s, but it glows different colours if it’s tapped and it’s not super distracting. It’s just a comforting kind of thing, something Dennis had found Jack hadn’t really demanded an explanation for. 

When he’d brought it out for the first time and hesitantly put it on what has become his bedside table on his side of the bed, Jack had asked what it was, but he’d not pushed any further at Dennis’ flushed cheeks and awkwardly reluctant answer of it being a nightlight. He’d just nodded, kissed his cheek, and they’d snuggled up, little light glowing a soft yellow behind Dennis’ head. 

He’s been using it every time they’ve slept on their weird schedule the past few days (both during the days between night shifts and now during the night on their days off), and frustratingly as they’d cuddled up in the dark this evening, both warm and satiated from several good orgasms, his little light had flickered out. 

He reaches out tentatively, tapping the little light to see if it’ll turn on. He’s had it before, where it’d die and then come back to life even just for a little, but it doesn’t even so much as flicker. 

Shit. 

Shit. 

It sounds stupid, but he’d kind of been banking on it having a little juice left in it ever since he’d woken up. Even if he turns the flashlight on (which he won’t, there’s much too much risk of waking Jack), for some stupid reason, his phone never counts as enough light to stave away the darkness. It had once, but when his troubles had been having to conserve his phone battery so he could make sure he could eat and try and get somewhere safe to sleep, it’d somehow warped in his mind that it wouldn’t be enough, like using his flashlight meant sacrificing something to do so. It’s dumb, but as much as he’s tried, it doesn’t work. 

He needs his nightlight. Needs some sort of real light. 

Stupid fucking thing. 

He’d not even considered changing the batteries until now, hadn’t considered that like all batteries always do, they might eventually run out of charge.  

Jack had even actually offered to go find some new ones for it when it had first dimmed and sputtered out earlier, Dennis had felt too guilty to disturb him for something so silly when they’d just gotten so comfortable that he’d just downplayed it, telling Jack not to worry. And it’d just have been rude to dislodge himself to go and try and hunt for some himself, so he’d swallowed back the initial nerves and tried to ignore it. 

Tried to make do. 

He regrets that now. 

Had actually regretted it from the moment Jack had nodded and kissed the corner of his mouth and closed his eyes, settling down to sleep. 

Because now he’s so acutely aware of the absence of his little light, glancing lovingly towards the plastic lump it is now, greyscale and dull in the dark, bereft of its usual comfort. 

It’s not really a panic attack that he’s suddenly caught in the thrall of (at least not quite), but he kind of feels like he’s close to one. His hands have started shaking (even though he’s balled them tightly up into fists), and he can’t seem to quite catch his breath, his heart seemingly skipping every other beat. 

Shit. 

He can’t stay here. He can’t stay lying in bed a minute longer. He’s been trying for so long, but there’s no way he’s going to be able to calm himself down like this, not without either waking Jack or turning on a light — and those options seem to be one and the same really because Jack’s not exactly going to sleep through Dennis switching the lamp on at… he glances over at the little clock on Jack’s side of the bed, and the little red lights glowing on it. But the numbers aren’t glowing. Or maybe it’s turned so he can’t see it but it doesn’t seem to be on or showing the time or… working? Whatever, it’s definitely far too late to justify waking his boyfriend because he’s a bit freaked out by the dark. Like a kid. 

He can’t stay in bed, that much is obvious, he’s done what he can to get himself together but he’s failed miserably. But he doesn’t want to wake Jack if he can help it, and knowing what a light sleeper he is, he can’t necessarily get out without his partner noticing. He tries to slow his breathing down one more time, breathing in for eight… holding for four… exhaling for… six? Oh god, he can’t even remember what he’s supposed to do, can’t remember the numbers or how he’s supposed to breathe or anything. 

So he abandons that, tries to focus instead on the big hand resting on his hip, but it’s like no matter what he does (just as it’s been all fucking night) he cannot seem to even begin calming down. If anything, it seems to have been getting worse, the rising bubble of panic now expanding in his chest, compressing his lungs and his heart. 

It’s actually making him a little dizzy now, and kind of nauseous too, his whole body in flux as the worry grows. It’s suddenly growing in leaps and bounds, not the steady like it has been for the past however long. 

It’s fine. He’s fine. He’s fine. He just needs to keep breathing, just needs to get up and get out and not wake Jack. 

Gingerly, Dennis lifts the bed covers, wriggling out from underneath Jack’s arm as he swings his legs off of the edge of the bed. 

The first touch of his feet to the floorboards distracts him a little from the fear, the wood cold as he curls up his toes reflexively, before he gets the courage to stand. It drags him out of it for a fleeting moment, the surprise at the temperature against his feet, but the distraction doesn’t last long as he pushes himself up off of the mattress. 

Thankfully, Jack doesn’t seem to stir as Dennis withdraws, nor as he creeps towards the bedroom door. 

Despite the panic attack now making his fingers and toes a little numb, Dennis is careful to make sure that Jack is still asleep as he gently opens the door, and he makes sure the latch doesn’t click as he shuts it. 

Now without the threat of actually waking his boyfriend he relaxes a little (which feels ironic given that he is still so very much anything but relaxed), heading down to the lounge where he can finally, finally flick the lights on. 

Except the switch doesn’t do anything. 

It just clicks, and the light very much doesn’t turn on. He tries again, suddenly frantic as he attempts to get something, but it resolutely doesn't turn on. Clumsily, he stumbles over to the lamp, almost walking onto the table despite the fact that his eyes have long been adjusted to the dark this evening. 

But the lamp doesn’t turn on either. 

Nor does the television, when he snatches its remote up from the table. In fact, the room is absent of any light at all, even the little plugs and stuff all not glowing like usual. 

Even the usual hum of electricity seems to have disappeared, the bungalow strangely more oppressively silent than it’s ever been before. 

Dennis doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how to help himself anymore — so he collapses down onto the couch, curling up into a ball as he presses his face into the rough fabric of the couch cushions. 

Fuck. Fuck. 

This is the worst it’s been since he and Jack got together. Or maybe it’s the worst it’s been in a while. He can’t think straight, still can’t breathe normally, can’t slow down his racing heart or make it beat in any sort of rhythm that makes sense. It’s so dark, it’s so dark, and the fact that the light won’t turn on is so scary, he’s so scared. He needs Jack but he can’t move and it’s dark and there’s no light and this has to be some sort of divine fucking punishment for abandoning his faith and his family and his father is here and fuck. Fuck this. He needs to pray. This is god punishing him for leaving home and renouncing his faith. He’s been evil and sinful and he should never have left Nebraska, he should never have tried to leave his family and his hole and god. 

His hands have somehow ended up in his hair, fingertips digging into his scalp so hard it hurts but his fingers are numb and so are his hands and he cannot breathe and he cannot think and —

A warm hand startles him as it lands on his shoulder, and his head whips round in panic as he tries to see who it is, screwing his face up as he makes out their features through the dark. It’s his father, it’s his father, he’s here, he’s here.

But it’s not. It's Jack, obviously, because who the hell else would it be? 

He’s somehow sitting on the couch next to him, crutches leaning against the cushions as he stares worriedly at Dennis, brows knitted as he scans his face. Dennis doesn’t even know how he got here, doesn’t know how he’s managed to miss the familiar sound of crutches coming down the hall or the couch dipping as his partner had sat down next to him. 

“Oh sweetheart,” Jack breathes, “what’s wrong?”

Dennis takes one look at him, at the concern on his partner’s face, the fact that he’s obviously not even fully even awake yet, but here he is because he’s followed him out because he cares, and embarrassingly he immediately bursts into tears. It’s dark, he’s afraid, but Jack is here now. 

Dennis isn’t normally a massive crier. Which apparently goes against expectations. Sex excluded, Dennis finds that he just doesn’t really cry that much. He personally chooses to blame it on the testosterone, but frankly he thinks he’s just so emotionally repressed and fucked up that something went wrong somewhere in his wiring. 

So it’s been a while since he’s cried like this, tears streaming down his face as his whole body shakes with frantic sobs: everything that’s been building up inside of him since he first woke up now suddenly spilling out all at once. 

Jack’s eyes widen in concern before he’s sweeping Dennis into his arms, pulling him right against his chest despite the awkwardness of how they’re both sitting. 

“Oh Angel,” he murmurs, pressing his face into the side of Dennis’ head. “Why are you crying? What’s wrong?”

Dennis wants to answer, wants to try and tell him that it’s nothing and that he’ll be fine, but no words escape him. It’s like he physically can’t talk, not with the intensity of his tears, any attempts at words getting turned into choked sobs as he claws helplessly at Jack. 

The position they’re in is really so uncomfortable that Jack does retract a little, but just enough so he can turn to face Dennis. He settles himself down, and then heaves Dennis so he’s pretty much in his lap, then wraps his arms tight around him again. Like this they can press much tighter together, Dennis held so secure and firm in Jack’s arms as his partner begins to gently rock them from side to side. 

“Oh baby,” Jack murmurs, now taking advantage of their new positioning to kiss the side of Dennis’ head. “Just let it all out, you’re okay, you’re okay. I’ve got you, you’re safe.” 

It seems kind of silly, but just the reassurance that Jack’s got him, the combination of the security of the fact he’s physically holding so tight and the insistence that he’s here and he’s got him… it feels good. It loosens the vice-grip on his heart, just a little, something so small already beginning to soothe some of the discontentment and anxiety inside of him that Dennis couldn’t do himself. 

Jack rubs a hand in big, slow circles across Dennis’ back, and the sensation of it forces him to focus on his breathing again, chest still heaving raggedly as he struggles.

And of course Jack’s noticed his struggle, because just as Dennis starts to panic a little again about it, he hums, taking a long, deliberate breath of his own. 

“Let’s slow that breathing down a bit, sweetheart.” He murmurs, and he takes another deep breath of his own, his chest expanding against Dennis’ side. 

He tries to match it, but it seems to stick in his throat all wrong and he chokes on a sob instead. 

That doesn't stop Jack though. No, he continues breathing slow and steady, still rubbing circles over his back. 

“You’re doing so well, sweet boy, so so well. Keep copying me, okay? Keep doing what I’m doing. Deep breath in, okay?”

Dennis doesn’t know how long this goes on for, doesn’t know how long they sit like this, but Jack never once stops guiding him through it. And it works. Eventually.

His panicked, frantic sobs ease up, and the tingling in his hands and feet begins to fade away too. The tears don’t stop, still leaking down his cheeks all hot and fat and wet, but he finally, finally starts to breathe normally again. 

Jack holds him the whole way through, never once stopping his gentle rocking. 

When Dennis seems to no longer be hyperventilating, he kisses the side of his head, arms still tight around him. 

“What happened?” He asks gently, breath tickling the hair above Dennis’ ear. “Did you have a nightmare?”

God, Dennis can’t tell him. 

He can’t admit the fear that still has its claws buried deep inside of him, can’t admit that the fact that it’s dark in the lounge here now is still scaring him, even with Jack here with him. 

He takes a shaky breath, fingers flexing against the bit of Jack’s bicep he’s apparently latched onto, but the words don’t seem to come. 

“I— I uh—“

Jack doesn’t rush him though, even as it sticks in his throat and makes his chest spasm in a sort of hiccup. He just stays there, such a warm and comforting presence at Dennis’ side. 

“I’m…” 

And he knows Jack will never judge him. They may be fairly early into this relationship but Dennis knows it to be true. Jack’s made it so clear, that there’s nothing he finds silly or shameworthy or anything. Not when it comes to Dennis. 

So, Dennis takes a deep breath, squeezing his eyes tight shut as he conjures up what little strength he has and blurts out:

“I’m afraid of the dark.”

It’s the first time he’s actually ever said that outloud, he’s pretty sure. 

But Jack doesn’t laugh, or call him stupid or childish or any of the things Dennis calls himself over and over again. 

He just nods, and then he kisses Dennis again, and reaches for the lamp. 

Which obviously doesn’t turn on, because Dennis has already tried that. 

“You didn’t turn the big light on?” Jack asks softly, and Dennis shakes his head. 

“Didn’t— didn’t work.”

“Oh, oh, shit — is the power out?” Jack asks, and Dennis nods miserably, his shoulders jerking as he hiccups. 

Jack nods though, giving Dennis a tight squeeze. 

“It might be that something’s tripped the fuse, I can go and check and fix it if it has.” He says softly, bringing the hand not still rubbing his back up to give his shoulder a firm squeeze. “You want to be somewhere with some light though, huh? Is that gonna help a bit?”

Dennis nods, and Jack rewards him by kissing his head again. 

“Okay. Okay. Fine. How are you doing right now? You think you’ll be okay by yourself for a sec?”

Selfishly, Dennis wants to say no. He wants Jack to stay holding him and the lights to magically fix themselves and he can be safe and secure and not in the dark. 

But also… he knows that’s silly. He knows that the lights aren’t going to just turn back on, even if it’s not just a tripped fuse. 

So he nods again, smaller this time. 

“Yeah, I’ll be okay.”

Jack considers this for a moment (no doubt trying to figure out if Dennis is lying), before he gives him another firm squeeze. 

“Okay sweetheart, give me two seconds, okay?” He asks, “I promise I’ll be right back.” 

Dennis really doesn’t want to be on his own right now, but he does trust that whatever Jack’s doing is going to help, because that’s what Jack does. He helps. If the lights aren’t going to just turn back on and his trauma isn’t going to miraculously resolve itself… yeah, he can let Jack go.  

“Can we — um, can we go back to the bedroom though?” He asks as Jack stands up, drawing his knees up to his chest. “ ‘s …comfier.”

The bedroom is safer, more familiar even in the dark and Dennis feels guilty for waking Jack already, would feel guiltier if he keeps him away from their bed and the chance to sleep. 

“Yeah, of course we can. Why don’t you head back to the room, I’ll get some stuff, okay?”

Dennis is unsteady on his feet as he heads down the hallway, the fact that the house is still dark working against him, and he almost trips again as he makes it inside. He throws himself straight onto the bed, curling up in the middle as he grabs his phone for some sort of relief. 

God, it’s not even two in the morning. 

All of this has escalated over like — an hour at most, this stupid not-panic attack panic attack. 

He scrubs a hand over his face, wiping away the sticky residue of drying tears, illuminated by the white light of his phone screen. 

The door is open, but it creaks open a little wider as Jack suddenly reappears (and Dennis would be lying if he said he didn’t immediately feel a flood of relief at his boyfriend’s return), a bunch of stuff shoved into a tote bag slung over his arm as he crosses over to the edge of the bed. 

Once he’s tucked his crutches into their spot, he’s quick to pull out a torch shaped thing, and he switches it on. One of the large camping ones, like the one Jack keeps in the trunk of his car. 

It’s a bit too bright, sharp white light like the beam of a torch (obviously), but Dennis watches as Jack twists something, and instead of shining out of the end, the body lights up, like a lamp. 

It bathes the room in light, and Dennis feels like the pressure on his lungs suddenly releases and he heaves a deep breath in. 

Jack notices, obviously, and he smiles as he settles the lamp in his bedside table, reaching out to squeeze Dennis’ hand. 

“I’ve got some more, too. I was gonna put these up at some point…” he starts, pulling something stringy out of the bag. “When I saw your little light.”

He fumbled with something, then unclips a little white box at the end of it. In that, he puts two batteries (and Dennis has no idea where the hell he produced those from), and flicks the button. Immediately the bag lights up, and Jack produces a long string of fairy lights out of it, careful to keep them from tangling. 

“I thought we could hang them up somewhere? I uh... wanted to surprise you.”

And lit by the gentle golden glow of the lights, Jack looks so sincere, so sweet and hesitant and loving and wonderful that Dennis can’t help but lurch forwards, throwing his arms around him. 

The tears he’d thought had stopped begin anew, and he buries his face in the crook of Jack’s neck as he clings onto him. His skin is sleep-warmed and soft, a little prickly where his stubble is growing through, and he smells so familiar and safe that the fear finally releases Dennis from his hold. 

“I love you.” Is all he manages to choke out, “I’m so sorry.”

Jack breathes in, a short sharp inhale which he cuts off at the confession of love, before he’s clinging onto Dennis just as tight, squeezing him as close as he can get. 

“Oh sweetheart,” he breathes, “I love you too. So much.”

They sit there like that for a moment, before Dennis finally pulls back, wiping at his tears with the palm of his hand. 

He feels like a little kid, in a weird way. Weirder for the fact that he’s just told his boyfriend he loves him for the first time. 

But Jack doesn't mind. He takes Dennis’ face, wipes the tears from his eyes with the pad of his thumb before he smiles. 

“We can talk about what’s going on in your head tomorrow, okay? Or never, if that’s what you prefer. But if you’re scared of the dark then it doesn’t ever have to be dark in here, okay? I want you to be comfortable and happy and safe, Angel. Don’t ever let yourself be scared because you’re worried about me.”

He’s so genuine that it makes Dennis’ vision blur as he stares at him, the soft lighting making his face into sort of a blob, but he just blinks them away. 

“You’re sure?”

“I was in the army, kid. I can sleep through a bit of light.” Jack brushes another tear away. “I’m not the biggest fan of the dark myself, so think about this as being for both of us, hm?”

Dennis nods, then turns his head to kiss the wrist of the hand on his cheek, before he looks down at the string of lights in their lap. 

“Where should we put them?”

Jack shrugs. 

“Wherever looks best. I’m not sure. But I brought some batteries for your little night light too if you wanted to use that until the power comes back on instead, whatever you’d prefer.”

A lot of very kind people have done a lot of very kind things for Dennis since he came to PTMC, but for some reason this is the one that hits the deepest. He feels so seen, and so loved, even over something so silly. 

“Maybe we just drape them over the headboard for now?”

It’s not hard to get them set up, really just a matter of laying the string of lights so they’re all pointing upwards, and Jack sorts his nightlight as he does so.  

The room is filled with light by the time they’re done, bathing the space in something soft and warm, and Dennis is no longer scared. 

He worms his way back into Jack’s arms, the two tucking themselves back under the covers, and he finds himself finally completely calm again as he settles into the warmth. 

“I love you.” He says again, and Jack hums, drawing a little heart against his back with the tip of his finger. 

Or at least it feels like a heart. Maybe it’s not. Dennis’ back pattern recognition isn’t exactly a skill that he excels at. 

“I love you too. You don’t ever need to be scared of anything, Dennis.” Jack replies, “seriously. Even if you think it’s silly, let me keep you safe.”

It’s a little too much for Dennis to tell him just how safe he already makes him feel, how he’s chased away so many of the monsters without ever realising it… so he just nods, leaning closer into his warmth. 

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me sweetheart, I love you, that’s what I’m here for…” he pauses, then Dennis feels him smile against his hair, “you should get some sleep.”

And this time, Dennis does. 

No longer scared, sleep comes easier to him now than it has in a while, so exhausted from it all that it’s like as soon as Jack tells him to, he’s out. 

Safe, and warm.