Work Text:
Dennis knows it’s going to be a bad day the moment he steps into the hospital for the start of his shift.
His alarm hadn’t gone off, so he had woken up later than he had liked, with his heart beating frantically as he haphazardly got himself ready. Trinity had already showered and eaten a proper breakfast by the time Dennis had shrugged on his scrubs and stumbled out of his room.
He was already shaken up, he realized, from a phone call from his brother the night prior. The fact that his brother had called in the first place had been a genuine shock to his system.
His family had made it quite clear they had no pride in them for Dennis’s career choice. His father had told him, with no room for interpretation, that no son of his would be a queer. That if Dennis wanted to live in sin, allow the devil into his heart, he would no longer be welcome as part of the family.
So Dennis had left, with tears in his eyes, a broken arm, a fractured cheekbone, and a wicked black eye. His mother hadn’t even been able to look him in the eyes. Her sobs had been harrowing, bone-chilling cries about how she must have done something wrong in her past life for her son to turn out gay.
Not the first time his father had hit him, but most certainly the last, if Dennis had anything to say about it.
The moment Dennis had stepped foot in Pittsburgh for undergrad and medical school, his family cut ties with him entirely. During the moments of weakness, where he was sick and alone and aching for his mom to hug him, for his older brothers to ruffle his hair and lay with him, his calls went right to voicemail.
So, safe to say, his phone ringing at the end of a long twelve hour shift with the caller ID being Elijah was maybe the most confusing thing that had happened to him in a long while. More confusing than Trinity Santos finding him living in the hospital, more confusing than her offering her place, more confusing than them becoming friends (family, even), more confusing than the other staff at the Pitt genuinely caring about him and wanting to hang out with him out of work.
The phone call was short and awkward. Elijah pretending their family hadn’t ghosted Dennis for the past four years, Dennis pretending he hadn’t cried so hard for Elijah to stop their dad from hurting him that he’d thrown up.
Both of them pretending Elijah hadn’t played tag with Dennis around the farm, pretending Dennis hadn’t run to Elijah to bandage up the scrapes on his knees after his other brothers got too rough with him.
The point of the phone call had been to inform Dennis that his father had a stroke. He had been out on the farm, high heat, high humidity, started talking weird and all of a sudden he collapsed. Now he was in the hospital - not dead, but basically dead. On life support.
Elijah had made it clear that he was only telling this to Dennis because he felt obligated to. Because even though Dennis had disgraced God, they were still related by blood, and Dennis could marginally respect the small bit of guilt Elijah seemed to have over the radio silence.
There was no talk of Dennis visiting. Of Dennis saying goodbye to his father before they inevitably took him off life support. Dennis could understand subtext well enough - the moment he stepped foot in Broken Bow he was certain Isaiah and Caleb would point a shotgun right at his head, and Elijah would stand back and watch silently like always. His mother would look at the scene with a sad, mousy expression, one that Dennis knew he had inherited from her.
She wouldn’t do anything. Neither would Elijah. And Caleb and Isaiah would take it as God’s will to kill Dennis, or maim him at the very least, would treat it as executing their fathers last wishes.
No one would mourn him. Because to his family, in fact, to the whole town of Broken Bow, Dennis was already dead.
So Dennis had slept like shit. He had ended the phone call with Elijah and stared down at his phone for a long few minutes before pushing down every possible emotion that could even have a chance to arise.
He had woken up multiple times throughout the night, gasping breaths as his mind replayed the worst moments of his entire life on repeat every time he tried to sleep.
Trinity had eyed him in the car all morning. That was what kind of sucked about having a roommate you actually liked and were friends with - they could sniff out your bad mood before it even had the chance to develop.
“What’s up with you this morning?” She asked as she parked her car. They were a few minutes early, meaning they had time to spare for her to grill Dennis.
“My brother Elijah called last night.”
She gave a sideways glance at him.
“The one who hasn’t answered your calls in years?”
Trinity knew, sort of, about Dennis’s family. He’d spilled details here and there, when they were both super drunk and trauma dumping to each other on the bathroom floor. Never the full story, but enough for her to know it was weird for Dennis to get a call from Elijah.
“Yeah.”
She hummed.
“Anything important? Probably, right, if he’s finally talking to you after being an asshole.”
Dennis just sighed heavily, glancing out of the car window.
“Yeah. I’m handling it, though.”
Trinity didn’t look like she believed him. Not that Dennis could blame her. He was certain with what she knew about his family and with the way he looked right now, no part of him appeared as though he was sufficiently ‘handling it’.
“You’ll say something if that changes?”
Dennis nodded, mainly to appease her.
“Yeah.”
As they got out of the car and walked into the hospital, they both knew Dennis was lying.
And now he was in the Pitt, with absolutely no time or patience to deal with his own personal issues. So even though he felt a deep sense of dread at how this shift was going to go, he determinedly pushed it down and focused.
The day went by. Broken bones, lacerations, every possible variation of illness, crying children, tired parents. Dennis took a small sense of pride in his ability to help people when necessary.
Because for the hours that Dennis was at the Pitt, he could forget about his own family problems. For as difficult and emotionally draining his work was, Dennis loved being able to practice medicine.
The losses were hard. But the wins were fulfilling in a way he couldn’t even begin to describe.
He had been able to tell a woman that she would fully recover from her nearly life-threatening condition. Watched as she hugged her son and husband, the three of them thanking Dennis with teary eyes.
Dennis was starting to think maybe his shift wouldn’t be so bad after all. That maybe his dreadful feeling upon stepping into the ER was just that-a passing feeling.
Of course, he had gotten too hopeful. He should have known better, with his luck.
He had three hours left in his shift, when everything started to go to shit.
A father and son. The dad, Brian, had collapsed all of a sudden, hit his head, then started seizing. The son, Josh, had called 9-1-1 and rushed with him to the hospital. Luckily Samira had been assisting Dennis with the case, she was much better at talking to people than Dennis was.
She’d been the one to empathize with Josh while Dennis patched up Brian’s head wound so he could be sent to get a CT scan. Apparently Josh was visiting with his husband, they made time twice a month to visit Brian and stay with him for a few days.
It was extremely lucky that this had happened to Brian while with someone else. Unfortunately, not lucky enough.
So here Dennis was, about to tell Josh that his father hadn’t made it. The man had been in his eighties, history of high blood pressure, and Josh had reported that upon thinking back, Brian had been talking sort of weirdly and half of his body wasn’t really moving all that normally. In addition to that, he had a brain bleed from where he had hit his head while falling.
Dennis’s arms ached from the burn of doing CPR. He’d spent what felt like a never-ending nineteen minutes doing everything he could possibly think of to get that monitor beeping again.
Samira had looked right through his soul, when he called time of death. Dennis just felt exhausted, beyond emotion.
But he had a job to do, no matter how much it fucking sucked sometimes.
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Dennis said quietly, emphatically.
Josh looked angry. Dennis couldn’t blame him.
“I thought you could help him. You guys are doctors, aren’t you? What fucking good is that when you couldn’t save him?” His voice got louder and louder, and Dennis tried to wrack his brain for what he should do next. He vaguely registered Samira opening the door to the room and gesturing to someone.
Dennis hung his head.
“I know. I really am sorry. I promise we did everything we possibly could. If you’d like, I can contact our social worker Kiara for some resources-”
Dennis was cut off by a sharp pain blooming in his face. He stumbled back a bit, blinking a few times. His neck ached from the way the punch had whipped his head to the side.
“I don’t want fucking resources, or your apologies. I want my fucking dad back. I thought you could save him, but you couldn’t. I wish it had been you on that table instead of him.” Josh yelled. His fist was poised above Dennis, prepared to strike again, and Dennis could see tears on the other man’s face.
For a moment - just a moment, Dennis wasn’t at PTMC anymore. The world froze, and for maybe all of one second, Dennis was back at the farm. He was age thirteen, cowering on the ground, his father standing in front of him. Tall, big, strong, the epitome of masculinity. Everything that Dennis wasn’t.
He had been tasked with bringing his dad a bottle of beer from the house while he worked on fixing up their tractor. And Dennis had slipped on a wet spot on the ground and dropped the bottle.
The sheer fear that coursed through him when the glass shattered. The way he froze. The way his dad’s face got all red and the way his spit flew everywhere. Just for a second, Josh’s body blended with his dad’s, and all Dennis could feel was the same pure terror he had felt way back when.
Someone stepped in between him and Josh. Dennis blinked. He was at PTMC. He was a grown adult. He was at work. His dad wasn’t going to smash his head in with a beer bottle, because his dad was in the hospital, probably dying sometime in the next few days, and Dennis would never see him again.
God, his head fucking hurt.
Vaguely, Dennis registered hands on his shoulders, ushering him out of the room. He could see Dana and Ahmad handling Josh. He felt a little bad - he had just received news that his father had died, after all.
He felt like he was walking through sludge, like he wasn’t even in control of his own body. Someone was talking to him, but Dennis couldn’t get himself to focus on anything other than the slight ringing in his ears.
He wished his mom was there. Wanted her to caress his face as she gently wiped away the blood he was certain was trailing down his nose. Wanted her to hug him tightly the way she did when he was a toddler.
Dennis knew he had no right to wish for that privilege anymore. Not when he was the one who left.
“Dennis, Dennis?!”
Blinking a few more times, Dennis finally registered who was in front of him. He was seated now (when had that happened?) and Trinity was standing in front of him looking uncharacteristically worried.
“Trin?” Dennis managed to blurt out. His throat felt dry.
She relaxed minutely at his verbal response, bringing a hand up to run through her hair before letting it fall back to her side.
“Jesus, Huckleberry, you scared the shit out of me. You weren’t responsive at all for a few minutes. Never fucking do that again, okay?”
Dennis managed to weakly salute at her, mustering up a lopsided smile.
“I’ll try my best not to. What exactly happened after…?”
Trinity exhaled, raising an eyebrow.
“After a patient’s family member decided to use you as a punching bag? I wasn’t there for all the commotion, but I heard from Samira. The guy who punched you is being escorted out by security. You freaked everyone out.”
Dennis winced, shifting a little.
“He was just…upset. His dad passed. Couldn’t save him.” Dennis murmured. He glanced down at his lap, ignoring the way the motion made his head spin.
Trinity looked unimpressed.
“Yeah, well, that doesn’t give him the right to assault a healthcare worker.” She said dryly. She leaned over and opened up the privacy curtain just a sliver, beckoning for someone currently unknown to Dennis to come over.
“Listen, I have a patient I have to get back to, but I’m getting Dr. Abbot to come in here and examine you. And don’t even think about ditching or lying about how you’re fine. You’ve winced, like, every time you’ve talked. And you’re actively bleeding. Plus, I know you don’t wanna miss a chance to get Abbot’s full attention. You aren’t subtle, Whitaker.”
Dennis groaned, cheeks flushing. He wanted to sink into a puddle on the ground. Today was just one sin after another, reminding him over and over and over that he would always be impure.
He’d had a crush on Dr. Abbot since day one. Something about him-his voice, his build, the way he was blunt yet caring, his sarcastic humor-all of it. Dennis was enamoured.
It would never go anywhere. He knew it would never amount to anything, and yet, his stupid fucking brain couldn’t seem to get over the older man. If it was just their ages that would be the issue, then maybe. But the reality was that it would be an HR nightmare, and Abbot was also probably not into scrawny sort-of-ugly men named Dennis Whitaker.
Santos had of course figured it out. Because she gossiped like no one’s business with Princess and Perlah and had the social awareness of a hawk.
“You suck.” He mumbled, sending a half-hearted glare at her.
Before she could respond with something likely explicit and not at all workplace appropriate, the curtain opened.
In walked said man of the hour, looking as handsome as ever. Trinity just gave him one last knowing grin before leaving.
Now it was just Dennis and Abbot, who was looking at Dennis’s face with a stoic expression.
“You really don’t have to examine me. I’m fine, seriously.” Dennis insisted. Dr. Abbot just looked at him, extremely unimpressed.
“Why don’t you let me decide that?”
He snapped on a pair of gloves and pulled a stool over, sitting in front of Dennis. Dennis tried to ignore the warmth of his hands through the glove.
Abbot started to palpate the area around Dennis’s eye and upper cheek, and Dennis couldn’t help but wince when he pressed on a particularly painful spot.
He knew nothing was broken or fractured - Dennis had been socked in the face enough times to know what that felt like, but he had a feeling explaining that to Dr. Abbot wouldn’t really go over well.
Abbot gently wiped away some of the blood under Dennis’s nose before pulling away, stripping the gloves off.
The gesture, for some reason, caused Dennis to tear up. It was humiliating, the way his eyes started watering, the way his chest swelled with emotion.
It was just…
When was the last time someone had done that for Dennis? Examined his injuries, cleaned his face of blood, held him gently as though he was something fragile, something worth keeping.
It was made worse by the fact that it was Jack Abbot of all people. If it had been Trinity or Samira, Dennis doubted he would be feeling this way.
But Jack was an older man who Dennis expected to be like his father in every way, but he was disproven over and over again. Because Abbot was kind. He cared. Even when he didn’t have to.
Much to Dennis’s deep deep despair, the tears that he was desperately trying to hold back started dripping down his face, one by one. It doesn’t stop, and all of a sudden his chest is aching with the intensity of his sobbing.
Dr. Abbot just pauses. He doesn’t say anything. Just sets his hand on Dennis’s thigh, as though reminding him that he’s there if Dennis needs it.
It made Dennis cry harder. He brought a hand up to wipe away at his non-stop tears, trying resolutely to maintain any semblance of professionalism. He’s still on the job. Dr. Abbot is literally his attending.
Dennis feels pathetic.
“Sorry-sorry, I don’t, I don’t know why I’m doing this right now.” Dennis managed to weakly blabber out. He let out a little self-deprecating laugh.
“I’m okay. I’m fine. Sorry about this. Seriously.” He sniffled.
Abbot eyes him carefully. There’s something on his face - Dennis can’t quite pinpoint what it is - empathy? Concern?
“I’m going to need you to explain what exactly you’re apologizing for right now.” Abbot said dryly. Dennis glanced at the man through his tears.
“For, um, crying in front of you? It’s…unprofessional.” Dennis managed to squeak out, though it sounded more like a question than a statement.
Abbot handed Dennis a handful of tissues, managing a little lopsided smile. Dennis resolutely ignored the way it made his heart flip around in his chest.
“Dennis, you just got physically assaulted by a patient’s family member after losing said patient nine hours into a twelve hour shift. And you’ve looked off all day. I think I’d be a little more concerned if you were perfectly fine.”
Dennis flushed. He couldn’t help it. The way Abbot said his name, it made him feel like a schoolgirl, the way butterflies fluttered in his stomach.
He wiped away at his face with the tissues. Despite trying to be extra gentle, he still couldn’t help the wince when he wiped over the part of his face that had been punched. It would definitely turn into a nasty bruise.
“I think this day was a test from some higher power to see how much I can handle. And it’s not even over yet.” Dennis said sullenly.
Abbot hummed.
“Want to talk about it?”
Dennis felt the curl of shame well up in his stomach like it was a pit of rotten food. He was being ungrateful, complaining in front of Abbot. The man who had been in the army, who’d lost a leg, who’d likely worked through worse shifts in worse states than Dennis was currently in.
“Oh-I, um, I don’t want to waste your time. You probably have patients to get to. And I should probably get back to work also, instead of sitting here crying.”
Abbot leveled him with a look so judgemental that Dennis could feel it all the way down to his bones.
“I don’t have any patients to get to, first of all. You’re my priority right now. Everyone out there can wait. And I think everyone out there would kill me if they saw you walking out crying. Santos barely managed to convince everyone to give you privacy before checking on you. There is no shortage of people who care about you, Dennis. I care about you, you just have to let us.”
Dennis glanced down at his lap. He tried to wrap his brain around the concept. That these people knew him, as Dennis who went to gay clubs, as Dennis who sometimes painted his nails with Trinity, Mel, and Javadi, as Dennis who sometimes needed to be covered at a restaurant because he didn’t have the money, and they loved him anyways.
Abbot said he cared. Abbot, who in Robby’s absence, had seen Dennis at his best and worst.
And he was still here anyways.
They made it seem like Dennis was easy to love. And it made him wonder-had it always been that easy? Dennis had been convinced that he was a difficult child, that he grew into a difficult adult. That he was too much, too sensitive, too soft, that no one would love him unless he fit into a certain standard.
But Abbot made it sound like it was as easy as breathing.
“I got a phone call last night.” Dennis started. He hesitated, glancing up at Abbot, who gave an encouraging nod. He looked like he wanted to hear what Dennis had to say.
“It was from my brother. We haven’t spoken since I left Nebraska for undergrad. Turns out my dad had a stroke. He’s in the hospital. Life support. Probably won’t make it until next week.”
Abbot blinked a few times, staring at Dennis incredulously.
“Well shit, Dennis. I would’ve given you today off if I’d have known. No wonder that last patient was difficult for you. Jesus, talk about unlucky. Do you need PTO to go back to Nebraska? Because I’m more than happy to give you however much time you need, no matter what Gloria has to say about it.”
Dennis smiled. It was bitter.
“No, it’s okay. Even if I had the money for a flight back home, I’m not welcome back anyways. I think if my dad somehow managed to wake up and saw me at his bedside, he’d kill me.”
Abbot stared for a long moment. His face made a weird expression. Dennis decided not to read into it too much.
“I hope that’s a joke.”
He sounded…angry? But not really at Dennis. Dennis debated on how to respond. He figured he didn’t have much left to lose-he’d already sobbed his eyes out in front of the older man, anyways.
In for a penny, in for a pound, as they say.
“It’s not. Last time we saw each other I was seventeen, and he broke about five bones, pistol-whipped me across the face, and told me if I was still gay when I came back he’d kill me himself.” Dennis said casually.
He’d long since made peace with the events of leaving Nebraska. It was just how his family was, and he was aware that objectively it was wrong, but it was also just…normal, for him.
Abbot cursed under his breath. He looked at Dennis super seriously all of a sudden.
“I’m going to say something very unprofessional right now. That man should consider himself lucky I’m not flying to Nebraska and killing him myself.”
Theoretically, Dennis should be disturbed by Jack Abbot threatening to kill his dad. The reality was, though, that Dennis just felt awed. The protectiveness was a reassurance all on its own.
Dennis’s father would not have a place in the Pitt, physically or metaphorically, not when Abbot was around. The words felt like a warm blanket. Like a bulletproof vest.
(They also, just a little bit, made heat course through Dennis’s lower half, which he most certainly did not think about. God, a therapist would have a field day with him, he was sure.)
Dennis couldn’t help but laugh a little.
“I appreciate that, Dr. Abbot.” Dennis finished his sentence before immediately breaking off into a yawn.
The few hours of uninterrupted sleep he had gotten combined with the emotional and physical intensity of the day was starting to take a toll on his body. Dennis used to be good at surviving on little sleep - he had to be, when he had been homeless.
But his stupid body had gotten used to the luxury of a bed every night, of a full breakfast in the morning. It was reminding him the hard way that he was going to crash soon.
Abbot frowned.
“Go home, Dennis.”
Dennis looked up in alarm.
“I can-I can still work. I still have, like, two hours left in my shift.”
To prove his point, Dennis shot up to his feet. His vision immediately swam and he stumbled a little, right into Abbot.
Immediately, Abbot’s arms shot out to hold him up.
“Not really proving your point, there.”
Dennis pulled away quickly. He was convinced his face was bright red. He tried to immediately erase the feeling of Abbot’s muscles under his shirt, the faint smell of cologne, the way his voice rumbled when he spoke.
It did not work.
Luckily, Abbot didn’t mention the flush on Dennis’s face. If anything, he looked fond.
“C’mon, Whitaker. Let everyone fawn over you and check if you’re okay and then go home and rest. Seriously. And if you ever want to talk, you have my number. Use it. I like talking with you.”
The blush, which had been on its way to fading, was back in full force.
“Y-yeah. Okay.” Dennis stammered. He felt like his brain had decided to forget every word in the English language, all of a sudden.
He took a deep breath. Get it together, Dennis. Chill.
As he walked out of the little makeshift privacy room, he was immediately swarmed. First McKay, and then Javadi, and then a few minutes later Mel and Samira. And then Dana, who tossed a protein bar his way insisting he was too skinny, and Ahmad who assured him Josh was no longer on the premises. Hell, even Langdon checked up on him.
And the whole time, Abbot was standing behind him. A silent, calming presence.
Once everyone dispersed, Trinity walked up to him. She glanced at Abbot before switching her focus to Dennis.
“You heading out?” She asked casually. Dennis was certain she would pry him for details later about why, exactly, Dr. Abbot was standing so close to Dennis and why Dennis was red in the face.
“Yeah. I tried to finish my shift, but Dr. Abbot insisted.”
Trinity once again shifted her gaze to Abbot.
“Thank you. This stubborn idiot would work himself to death if we let him.”
Abbot’s mouth quirked up in a little smile.
“Lucky he has us then. You’ll make sure he ices his face and rests?”
Trinity eyed Dennis with an intensity that made him deeply uncomfortable. He felt very ganged up on right at that moment.
“Yes.”
Dennis held his hands up in surrender.
“Okay, okay. I’m not that bad at taking care of myself.”
Two disbelieving stares bore into him.
“Yes, you are. I’ll see you later, okay? After you’ve eaten, and taken ibuprofen.” Trinity emphasized both points, waiting for Dennis to nod in affirmation before walking away.
Dennis glanced at Abbot.
He hesitated.
“Before I go, um, thank you. For talking with me, and for taking care of me.” Dennis said shyly.
Abbot just gave Dennis a warm smile, quickly glancing around before reaching out and ruffling Dennis’s hair.
“You don’t need to thank me, Dennis. It’s not hard, not when it’s you.”