Chapter Text
Dennis Whitaker was tired. Not regular, “long-shift, too-much-coffee, spite, and three-hours-of-sleep” tired, but that deep-in-the-bones exhaustion that made the fluorescent lights feel like a personal attack.
The Pitt was loud as usual — gurneys rattling, someone shouting for a crash cart, the air thick with the scent of the alcohol disinfectant and the cheap coffee from the break room. Dennis’s scrubs were wrinkled, ´his tag slightly crooked. It didn’t really matter, everyone was used to looking rough in some shifts, tho Dennis still felt like he looked like shit. Santos had kindly confirmed it unprompted that morning.
“Whitaker,” came Dr Robby’s voice — sharp, familiar, cutting through the haze he was in. “You’re with me on Trauma Two. Chest wound from a bar fight. Let’s go.”
“Yes, Dr Robby,” Dennis said automatically, already following. He didn’t miss how Robby barely needed to look back; he already knew Dennis would follow when called.
It was almost easy — the rhythm of work. Orders, vitals, tests, charts, the hums of the machines around the ER. Dennis liked it, he thrived on it because it allowed him to not think about his body or the static building under his skin.
Everything was going fine until halfway through suturing, the tremors started. Small. Barely there, but ridiculously annoying. His fingers twitched once, twice, and the light above him flared like it wanted to blind him.
“Whitaker?” Robby’s tone shifted, lower now. Using his concerned dad voice. “You good, Kid?”
Denis blinked hard. “Yes, sir. Just — Just a bit lightheaded.”
Robby frowned, his hand settling on Dennis’s nape. “When was your last break?”
Dennis didn’t answer fast enough.
“That's what I thought,” Robby muttered. “Finish up here, then go drink something that isn't coffee. Five minutes.”
“Yes, Dr Robby.”
He wanted to argue. He wanted to say he was fine, although it wasn’t true. Instead, he nodded, because he was too tired to give a fuck about arguing.
He made it to the staff lounge by muscle memory and pure luck, not really seeing where he was going. His head was pounding now, the world tilting a bit too much for his comfort.
He locked the door and leaned against the counter, forcing slow breaths. He could feel it coming — that soft electric hum under his skin, the one he’d pretended not to feel all day. In retrospect, maybe he should've called in sick, or asked trinity to throw him down the stairs to finish his suffering. His muscles started to tingle painfully, like someone was stabbing hundreds of microscopic needles in his body.
Fuck fuck fuck. Not here. Not now. Not-
He reached for his bag, shaky hands fumbling for the little pill bottle buried at the bottom. It was too late to stop it, but maybe it could ease it, or make it shorter, or- the bottle slipped out, clattering to the floor.
“Shit,” he whispered. He bent over to grab it. Bad idea. Fucking terrible idea. His hands gripped the counter harder, trying to hold on so he wouldn’t collapse on his knees. Of course, that was when the door clicked open.
“Whitaker?” Robby. Of course. Just his luck.
Dennis tried to look normal, whatever that meant. “I— I’m okay, Dr Robby. Just needed air.”
Robby stepped in, shutting the door behind him. “You don’t look okay.”
“I promise I’m fine,” Dennis said, and immediately hated how weak his voice sounded.
Robby’s eyes caught on the pill bottle at Dennis’s feet. “What’s that?”
“Nothing,” Dennis blurted. Then, quieter: “Medication.”
“For what?”
He didn’t answer. His hand found the counter again as the world swam. He sucked in a breath, trying to not puke at the sudden wave of nausea.
Robby crossed the space fast, one hand steadying Dennis’s shoulder. “Whittaker. Sit your ass down. Right now.”
Dennis wanted to argue, but his legs didn’t care about pride. He sank to the floor, back against the locker, trying to keep his breathing even.
“Talk to me,” Robby said, crouching beside him. “What’s going on?”
Dennis’s voice cracked. “I’m about to have a seizure.”
For a second, Robby froze. He was debating whether he wanted to shake Dennis for not saying anything sooner, or cradle him against his chest because what the fuck does he mean by seizure? Then the training kicked in. “Okay, okay, I’ve got you. You’ve got meds? You already took them?”
Dennis nodded, barely, slumping further down. “Too late”
“Right.” Robby’s tone went steady, calm in a way that should’ve been comforting and wasn’t. “I’m staying here. Don’t try to fight it.”
Dennis’s laugh came out half-hysterical. “Wasn’t planning to.”
He hated this part — the waiting, the inevitability. The loss of control. Robby gently moved him to a better position. He pulled the chair away, slid a folded hoodie under Dennis’s head. “You safe like this?”
Dennis nodded again, blinking hard, vision already tunnelling. “Sorry,” he whispered.
“Don’t apologize, kid,” Robby said softly, rubbing Dennis’s back in an attempt to comfort him. “Just breathe.”
And then the world went white.
The seizure hit like a switch flipped in his brain — everything jerking and twisting all at once. Robby’s voice became distant, words blurring into noise.
He’s vaguely aware that he’s making noise, that he sounds like he's in pain, that he's probably looking pathetic. He didn’t feel the moment he stopped being aware, but he felt when the world came back.
It was slow. His muscles ached, his head throbbed, and his throat was raw like he’d been yelling. Robby’s voice came back first, quiet and close.
“Easy, kid. Don’t move yet. I’ve got you.”
He blinked up at him, disoriented. “Robby?” He asked, his hand moving tentatively towards the voice, holding onto the fabric of his sweatshirt.
“Yeah.” Robby’s hand tucked his hair back, clearing Dennis’s face before gently whipping his mouth with a tissue. “You’re okay. Seizure’s over. About two minutes.”
Dennis groaned softly. “That’s… good time.”
Robby almost smiled, shaking his head. “You always time these?”
“Habit,” Dennis mumbled. “Had ’em since med school.”
Robby’s expression flickered, first surprise, then worry. “You didn’t disclose that on your chart.” He sounded too much like his father when he didn’t immediately tell them the first few times. Robby leaned back against the lockers beside him, still keeping a steady eye on Dennis. “You should’ve said something.”
Dennis laughed quietly. “Would it have changed anything?”
“Yeah,” Robby said. “I would’ve made sure you weren’t exhausting yourself every shift.”
Dennis blinked at him, confused. “That’s… not your job.”
“Sure it is,” Robby said, and something in his voice softened. “You’re my resident. Means you’re mine to take care of.”
Dennis didn’t know what to say to that, so he stayed quiet. He looked down, hoping he could get away with the blush invading his face. They sat there in the dim light, the hum of the vending machine filling the quiet. Dennis curled around himself, shivering. Robby noticed and took off his sweatshirt, draping it over Dennis.
“Here,” he said.
“Thanks, Dr Robby.”
Robby hesitated like he wanted to say something else, then didn’t. “You think you can stand?”
Dennis nodded, tried, failed, and immediately found Robby’s hand steadying him. His knees wobbled until Robby’s arm came around his back, careful, supportive. Dennis has to try very hard not to think about it, he doesn’t feel like getting an HR report.
“You need Neuro to check you out,” Robby said.
Dennis groaned. “No, I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You just seized in the break room.”
“Yeah, but I’m conscious now, so that’s progress.”
Robby gave him a look — the don’t -push-me kind — and Dennis shut up.
“Observation,” Robby said firmly. “Twenty minutes. Then we’ll talk about you going home.”
Dennis stared at the floor. “I don’t want anyone to know.”
“Then they won’t,” Robby said quietly. “I’ll handle it.”
That threw Dennis off. “Why?”
“Because you deserve some damn privacy,” Robby said. “And because we don’t need Perlah to start the rumour mill.”
Dennis looked at him. “Okay,” he whispered.
Robby helped him to the cot in the on-call room, made sure he was settled, then sat down in the chair beside him. He crossed his arms, pretending he wasn’t staying to keep watch.
Dennis smiled faintly, eyes already closing. “You don’t have to babysit me, Dr Robby.”
Robby huffed. “Good thing I’m not doing it for you, then. I’m just catching up on paperwork.”
Dennis’s voice was slurred with exhaustion. “Then shouldn’t you be near the desks?.”
Robby looked at him — this pale, too-thin kid wrapped in his sweatshirt— and sighed. “Just sleep, Whitaker.”
“Yessir.”
An hour later, Dennis woke up to the sound of typing. Robby was still there, reading something on his tablet. His coffee abandoned near the auxiliary table.
“Why’re you still here?” Dennis asked, voice raspy.
Robby didn’t look up. “Told you. Paperwork.”
Dennis sat up slowly, groaning softly. “Dr Abbot was right. You really don’t quit.”
“That’s rich coming from both of you.”
Dennis smiled, small and tired. “Touché.”
Robby finally looked at him. “How’re you feeling?”
“Like I got forcefully rebooted.”
“Sounds about right.” Robby’s tone softened. “You should go home.”
“Shift’s not over.”
“It is for you.”
Dennis hesitated. “You’ll tell the Chief?”
“No,” Robby said simply. “But you’re seeing Neuro tomorrow. That’s not negotiable.”
Dennis nodded, too tired to argue. “Thank you.”
Robby shrugged. “Just doing my job.”
Dennis gave him a look. “Not exactly standard attending behavior.”
Robby smirked faintly. “Then don’t tell anyone.”
Dennis laughed quietly, the sound softer than usual. “Yeah, wouldn’t dream of it.”
He got up slowly, tugging on his jacket. Robby stood too, hands in his pockets, watching.
“Text me when you’re home,” Robby said.
Dennis blinked. “Text you?”
“Yeah. Just so I know you didn’t pass out on the subway.”
Dennis’s ears went pink. “Yes, Dr Robby.”
Robby rolled his eyes, but there was a ghost of a smile. “You don’t have to keep calling me that off the floor, you know.”
Dennis tilted his head. “Feels wrong not to.”
“Suit yourself.”
He hesitated at the door, then said quietly, “Thank you. For staying.”
Robby met his eyes. “Anytime, Whitaker.”
Dennis left, the door swinging shut behind him. The hum of the hospital swallowed the silence again. Robby stayed there a moment longer, staring at the empty cot.
He told himself it was a professional concern.
He almost believed it.