Chapter Text
Dr. Michael Robinavitch—Robby to his friends—is a fucking coward.
Not that any of those friends who deem him as Robby would agree with that sentiment, but that is exactly what he is and he knows it. It’s what landed him in bumfuck nowhere.
He’d fucking broken and, instead of relying on his friends or calling the damn therapist that Jack had suggested, Robby had gotten in his beat up truck and said fuck it to the world. No notice. Just a bag with the things he needed the most in the world, a full tank of gas, and a plan to go west.
He is definitely, one hundred percent fired, that much he knows is true. They don’t exactly look kindly on attendings who just… Vanish.
His phone had finally stopped ringing and pinging nonstop and he isn’t sure if that is because everyone has finally stopped trying to contact him or because in bumfuck nowhere, where the population is more crop than person, there isn’t much cell service to be had.
Robby doesn’t feel any better, surrounded by wide open fields and blue sky, the thoughts of Pittsburgh and the mounting pressure of the emergency room long at his back. He can feel that tension still strung tight under his skin and… Maybe he hasn’t broken. Maybe he’d just run away, pulling his leash tighter and tighter, his breaking point still to come.
That’s what made it hard to breathe right?
He finds his chest getting tighter and tighter and he pulls over in the only parking lot he sees for miles. Some shitty, mostly-dirt-but-handfuls-of-gravel parking lot of a church that looks as though it’s out of every religious horror movie set in the Midwest. Robby isn’t religious but he finds himself stumbling his way out of the car and into the barren church like a dying man looking for salvation.
Collapsing in one of the first few pews in the back, he is finally able to put his head between his legs and takes deep breaths, staving off another panic attack. In through his nose, out through his mouth. In through his nose, out through his mouth. In through his—
“Um… Hello?”
The sound of a timid voice in the silence of the church lit only by the large stained glass windows has Robby’s head shooting up and his heart racing a mile a minute more than it already was. So much for attempting to calm himself.
Standing near the front of the church, by the altar, is a doe-eyed younger man. He’s dressed in a black shirt and slacks, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows, but has a bright pink checkered bandana on his head to push his curly hair back out of his face. There's a broom in his hand; Robby having clearly caught him mid-sweeping.
“I’m– Sorry. Sorry. I just– I needed a minute and—”
“Well, the church welcomes all,” the younger man says, a soft smile on his face that speaks of genuine welcome, not some obligation that he has to uphold church doctrine.
Robby watches as he sets the broom to the side, his eyes tracking the way the man’s hands slide down the broom handle before he comes over to sit in a pew two in front of Robby, giving him his space without asking.
“I’m sorry,” Robby says, the words constantly falling from his lips these days. “I don’t want you to get in trouble letting strangers in and—”
The younger man holds his hand up to stop Robby and he promptly shuts his mouth.
“No one’s getting in trouble. Like I said: the church welcomes all.”
“But your boss—”
Oh and that pulls a laugh from the younger man, a smile spread wide across his face as he ducks his head in embarrassment. Robby doesn’t get what’s so funny but hey, at least he doesn’t feel like he’s going to crash his fucking car by hyperventilating? In fact, his chest feels… Better. Relatively, that is.
“I’m uh… I’m the boss?” It’s phrased as a question and Robby’s eyes trail up to the pink bandana that the man in front of him quickly yanks off his head, sending curls flying forwards over his forehead. “Well, technically, he’s the boss,” the young man amends, throwing his thumb over his shoulder to the pulpit where an obnoxiously large cross with a Jesus figure (that must be at least a hundred years old and carved out of wood) is the centerpiece.
The addition is so unexpected that it yanks a breathy laugh out of Robby, forced and strangled, like he’s forgotten how to laugh. Still, it makes the younger man’s smile widen, clearly pleased that he seems to be able to soothe this stranger in some way or another.
“Reverend Dennis Whitaker,” the younger man says, extending his hand to Robby who takes it without question.
“Doctor Michael Robinavitch. Just Robby is fine.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Robby.”
“Just Robby is fine,” he repeats, trying to ignore the sound of flatlines and respirators that echo in the emptiness of the church.
“Robby,” Dennis repeats, almost as if he’s testing the name on his tongue.
“Aren’t you kind of—”
“Young to be a reverend?” Dennis finishes for him, flashing that grin once again that says this isn’t the first time he’s had this question, nor will it be the last. “Youngest one they’ve ever had. I don’t exactly think there were many people scrambling for the position here anyways,” he admits.
That is something he believes.
“Do people even live here?”
“Oh yeah!” Dennis chimes in far too chipper for Robby’s liking. “I mean… It’s a little bit of a drive for them. But we get a nice congregation here. Mostly older folks. Their kids have y’know…” He waves his hand and Robby supplies the rest of his sentence.
“Gone somewhere there’s cell service?”
“We all have our vices,” Dennis says, but it’s clearly said as a joke. “Are you a religious man, Robby?”
He gives another puff of a laugh, as if wondering how he finds himself in these situations.
“Once. Maybe,” Robby admits. “Though I doubt you have a synagogue close by.”
Dennis gives him a warm smile and Robby feels like hellfire is nipping at his feet with how much he enjoys seeing the reverend in front of him smile.
“Like I said—”
“The church welcomes all, yeah,” Robby finishes for him.
“Bingo.”
“Though, I have to admit, I think you’re the only one that’s ever been so welcoming.”
Dennis shrugs. “The church is more than just preaching from the pulpit. It’s also action. There’s a lot of places that forget that little piece of our work. Especially being a place of respite. Which… I’m assuming is what brought you here today?”
Robby hates this look from the reverend. It reminds him too much of the young med students looking at patients they are assessing. It’s as if Dennis is assessing him to diagnose him with some chronic spiritual illness.
“I’d rather not get into it.”
To his relief, Dennis doesn’t push him on it. Instead, he flits on to the next topic of discussion.
“I’m guessing you’re just passing through?”
“I don’t even know where I am,” Robby admits. He hadn’t had a plan when he started except for west. He’d only gotten off the interstates in order to get food or gas, once to sleep in a dingy motel, until he came to… Wherever this was.
“Harrowfield, Nebraska,” Dennis supplies helpfully.
Jesus… He supposes that makes sense. He’s still taking in the information when he notices the way that Dennis is still eyeing him like he’s trying to figure out all of the things wrong with the man in front of him. To his relief, at least, Dennis doesn’t seem to be interested in converting him or saying hellfire will rain on him… Just yet.
Before he can excuse himself, Dennis speaks up again.
“Do you need a place to stay?”
The question comes from out of left field and it leaves Robby reeling for a minute. For all the things that Dennis could have said, it’s not at all what he expects. His eyes look up to meet the wooden Jesus as if asking him “Did he just say that?” before he turns his attention back to Dennis, who is looking at him with his brows furrowed ever so slightly.
“Uh… What?”
Now Dennis looks uncomfortable, as if maybe he’s just realized he may have overstepped a boundary he didn’t realize had been drawn in the pews between them.
“Sorry, I just— You seem lost?” Dennis offers. “I uh… Grew up on a farm in Broken Bow, not super far from here. I found that when everything was too much, if scripture didn’t help, then the open air did.” He makes a motion towards the windows. “Lotta open air around here.”
Robby didn’t doubt that. He was pretty sure open air was all that was around here.
“I don’t really think there’s a Motel 8 around here,” he finally settles on.
Dennis ducks his head, a laugh escaping his lips again and Robby wonders if Dennis is supposed to be the angel or the devil on his shoulder.
“No. Sorry. You’re not going to find any hotels or motels for miles,” Dennis admits. “But… Well. I have a farm now. My own farm, I mean. There’s a whole guest house? That you could stay in. If you’d like.”
“You get a lot of guests?” Robby can’t help but ask.
Another laugh. That damn smile.
“No. Kind of another reason I’m hoping you’ll take me up on the offer? Gives me an excuse to say that having a guest house is worth having a guest house.”
“I can’t pay you.”
He could. Robby had the money. Hell, if Jack, Heather, or Dana really want to find him, it isn’t as if he hasn’t given them a paper trail through his credit cards or his phone and it’s only been, what? Two days?
Dennis shrugs as if it’s no big deal at all. “I never asked for money,” he points out. “Really. It’s no problem at all.”
“I could be a serial killer, you know?”
“You could be,” Dennis concedes. “But at least I’ll meet my heavenly father knowing that I did all I could to help.”
“You’re not going to take no for an answer are you?”
“I’ll take no for an answer,” Dennis says with a shrug. “But I’ve also been told that I’m very persuasive.”
Which is exactly how Robby finds himself driving up a long dirt road, Reverend Whitaker by his side in the cab and a bicycle that’s seen better days in the bed of his truck. He pulls up to a rather nice, though just as weathered as the church, looking farm house and parks next to a vintage car that he’s unsure whether it’s supposed to be working condition or one of those ‘project cars’ that make up the front and back yards of so many country houses. Robby takes in the house in front of him as he turns off the truck and he thinks it's exactly what he would pick whenever he retires.
If he gets to retire after simply vanishing.
The house is two stories. It’s small—quaint—with a porch that spans the width of the front of the house. The house was, at one time, painted white, but now it’s in sore need of a refresh. There’s a swing on the porch and Robby can hear it calling his name along with a mug of coffee. In the distance, next to a field that contains cows from what he can see, is a barn and attached to the house by a covered walkway is a smaller house that Robby guesses must be the guest house.
“I didn’t realize that reverends make so much money,” he admits as he climbs out of the cab to retrieve Dennis’ bike from the bed of the truck as Dennis laughs in response.
“Because they don’t. Not normally. It was, ah, gifted to me. One of our parishioners,” Dennis starts to explain as he takes the bike once it’s firmly on solid ground again. “It was their family farm. He was going to pass it down to his children, but his wife and son died. Car accident. He didn’t have anyone to pass the property down to once he died and he was a devout attendee to the church. He insisted that a reverend shouldn’t live with their parents their whole life and he left the place in my name when he passed.”
“I’d say you were lucky, but I don’t think luck had much to do with it.”
“No, not much at all. I’m eternally grateful to him. I get a meager salary for running the church but, honestly, most of that money just goes into the upkeep of the church,” Dennis admits. “I make most of my money by selling extra produce. I have chickens, cows, and some sheep. I also have horses that the neighbor kids ride in the summer. Like a… Summer camp sort of thing.”
Robby raises a brow at the mention of neighbors and Dennis can’t help but laugh again.
“‘Neighbors’ is probably a strange term for you out here, huh?” he asks. “I’m guessing you’re from the big city?”
“Pittsburgh,” he supplies, though he’s not sure why the information left his mouth. He’d had no intention of giving Dennis any of that information, but he finds he can’t even be upset when he sees how Dennis lights up at the slightest nugget to answer his question of why.
Why is this stranger in Nebraska?
“Can’t say I’ve ever been there,” Dennis says and Robby braces for the follow up questions.
They don’t come.
Instead, Dennis is pushing his bike up to the front of the house, settling it against the porch. “C’mon, I’ll show you around. It’s not much but it’s a roof over your head.”
This time, it’s Robby’s turn to tilt his head, assessing the younger man in front of him. Dennis is everything he doesn’t expect. Honestly, he can see how Dennis keeps a flock. The man is so effortless in his offerings. It doesn’t seem as though it’s a chore or an obligation for Dennis to help out, this is just who he is.
Robby follows him into the house, the wooden floors creaking under his weight. Dennis goes through his motions of putting his keys in a small dish by the door and makes an aborted move to take off his shoes; clearly a part of his routine. He suspects that Dennis leaves his shoes on to give him the full tour, inside and out, of the house. Robby’s eyes scan the living room they’ve walked into. It’s clearly older, hand me down furniture, but there’s a warmth about it. It’s the kind of feeling that interior designers attempt to mimic but they can never achieve. There are pictures hanging about on the walls that catch his eye and he finds himself walking over to them, investigating them. They must be Dennis’ family from the way he beams in all of them, arms wrapped around a few, and the strong family resemblance.
“My family,” Dennis supplies, though the younger man looks sheepish, as if he knows that Robby has already deduced that. He rattles off the names of his parents and his brothers, names he doesn’t expect Robby to remember; it’s just simple conversation.
Dennis takes him around the house then. The kitchen, something that he could imagine his grandmother in. The bathroom, something that reminds him of his college days. Dennis’ bedroom, simple but well loved. A study, filled with books that could rival the best libraries. There are two guest rooms upstairs and a storage area, but Dennis helpfully supplies that he thought Robby would want his own area, thus the guest house.
The guest house is clearly a newer addition versus the main house. It’s not one that Dennis put on, it's older than that, but he suspects that the previous owners of the house may have built it to be a mother-in-law suite. It has its own amenities and really is just its own one-level simple home, the only connection to the main house being the covered walkway. The area between the houses, and spilling out just behind them, is a private garden where Dennis has clearly lovingly tended to all sorts of fruits and vegetables (probably another way he cuts down on costs).
“Yeah. So. That’s the place,” Dennis says, letting his hands extend to his sides for a moment before dropping them. “Oh. Uhm. You don’t really have to worry about locking the place. The last robbery we had around here was probably forty years ago. Honestly, I kind of forget my keys all the time so it helps.”
Dennis rocks back and forth on his heel before he seems to remember something suddenly.
“Oh! And... I do have Wi-Fi?”
Robby quirks up a brow, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “What was that about vices earlier?”
"For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God,” Dennis replies almost immediately in his defense. “Romans 3:23. It’s… Also the 21st Century. I think that God can forgive us for needing to send emails.”
He grins and motions for Robby to follow him back into the main house. Dennis shows him where the Wi-Fi information is and thankfully moves on without questioning why Robby isn’t pulling out his phone and tapping in. Instead, Dennis leads him into the kitchen and to the fridge, pulling out two beers, holding one out to Robby who promptly raises another questioning brow.
“Give intoxicating drink to one who is perishing, and wine to one whose life is bitter. Let him drink and forget his poverty, and remember his trouble no more. Proverbs 31:6-7,” he pauses to look at the cheap beer. “Unfortunately, this is about as intoxicating as my wallet can afford.”
Robby can’t help but give another huff of a laugh, finding that laughter soothes his soul more than whatever piss tasting beer this was, but he understands the sentiment. Still, he takes the can from Dennis who lights up at the fact he’s taken the peace offering. He opens his own can before reopening the fridge, assessing what he had to eat that he could share with Robby.
“Are you a vegetarian, Robby?” Dennis asks, looking up at him over the door to the fridge.
“God no.” A pause. “Sorry.”
Dennis grins. “It’s okay. You’re forgiven.” He goes back to assessing the contents of his fridge before humming. “I need to go to the grocery store but… How does bacon and eggs sound?”
Robby can’t help himself as he replies, “Like heaven.”
It earns another grin from Dennis as he begins to pull out the supplies needed to make the meal. “Just, make yourself at home,” Dennis instructs. “How do you like your eggs?”
“Sunny side up. Thanks, Reverend.”
“Just Dennis,” he reminds, just as Robby had at the church.
Robby leaves him to cook and heads out to his truck. He grabs the black duffle bag he’d brought with him, the only remnants of his past life, and brings it into the guest house. It’s there, in the bedroom of the guest house, with the duffle bag on the bed next to him, that he dares to pull out his phone and look at it.
The battery on his phone is pleading with him to plug it in, but there’s still a sliver left that won't last the night, maybe not even the hour. He’s got forty-three missed calls, mostly from Jack, a couple from Heather, a few from Dana. There’s even one from Langdon which is shocking, to say the least. It puts into perspective just how desperate Jack must have been to try and get ahold of him, knowing that Langdon most likely wouldn’t have attempted to reach out to him unless instructed. Robby refrains from opening the hundreds of missed texts, knowing that the moment he does, it’ll change them to Read.
He’s not ready to read them yet. If ever.
What he can see are the previews of messages, the last ones sent from his coworkers. That’s more than enough for him.
[Jack Abbot:] Let me know you’re safe, brother. Please.
[Heather Collins:] Robby, I swear to god this isn’t funny. Answer your phone.
[Mel King:] I hope you’re okay, Dr. Robby.
[Frank Langdon:] Seriously if you don’t come back I’m going to take every last pill out—
The last message preview is cut off due to the length, but he knows it’s an empty threat from Langdon. He’d put in the work. As much as Robby is still fucking burned by that, he doesn’t think that the asshole would put in months and months of work to just throw it all away. There are a few more messages, Dana and the med students, and it hurts, but in ways he can’t even start to unravel. Instead, he feels his chest beginning to tighten and he throws his phone onto the bedside table where it begins to ring again.
INCOMING CALL: JACK ABBOT
Fuck, how many times has Jack tried to call him? Did Jack think he’d finally done it? Taken his own leap off the fucking roof? Who is making sure that Jack doesn’t jump off the fucking roof? The phone buzzes on top of the table, vibrations making it move closer and closer to the edge before it finally falls face down on the floor, giving its remaining buzzes before the call goes to voicemail.
Robby’s head is held between his legs once again and his breathing is coming in irregularly. Out of habit, he starts to recite the Shema, attempting his best to calm down, but it’s not helping. He’s trying to suck in gulps of air but he’s coming up empty.
There’s a hand that settles gently on his upper back and he jumps at the touch.
Is it the hand of God?
“Match my breathing, Robby. In… And out. In… And out.”
No, it’s just a young, doe-eyed reverend.
Dennis sits next to him on the bed, one hand on his back, his thumb gently brushing up and down as his other hand grips at Robby’s wrist, fingers pressed over his pulse. It takes far too long for Robby’s breaths to become normal again, shaky, but normal. Dennis seems pleased as he feels the racing thudding ease to a normal pace under the thin skin of his wrist.
“I’d ask how you’re feeling, but I’m going to wager not good considering this is the second panic attack you’ve fought off today,” Dennis says. It’s not judgmental, but it is filled with more worry than should be afforded a stranger.
Robby is fully expecting Dennis to start to question him on how he got to where he was, but instead, once again, Dennis surprises him by simply standing up, picking his phone up from the ground, and putting it on the nightstand face down without looking at it.
“C’mon. Breakfast— Er. Dinner is ready. Let's see if we can get a few bites in you before you go to sleep,” Dennis says, holding his hand out to Robby as if he’s the dove bringing an olive branch.
Robby takes it.
He stands and follows Dennis out of the guest house, their hands dropping the moment he’s on his feet. Dennis launches into some story about debating on getting a dog or a cat, but he’s not sure which one he wants or maybe he should just get both, but Robby tunes him out. He knows that Dennis is doing it to add a sense of normalcy and to drown out the silence between them.
The smell of bacon and eggs hits him the moment they walk into the main house. It makes him realize that he doesn’t remember the last time he ate. Was it that morning at the gas station? Or was it last night at the vending machine in the motel? Robby sits at the unoccupied plate on the table once Dennis sits wherever he’s used to.
“Thank you,” he mutters out, picking up his fork.
Robby finds himself distracted, testing the weight of the fork in his hand, letting his mind drift for long enough that when he comes back to his body, Dennis is looking at him with concern on his face and it’s clear he must have been calling his name for a while.
“—obby? Dr. Robby?”
“Just Robby,” he reminds and he sees the way that Dennis lets out a breath of relief.
“Sorry. I thought maybe if I called you that, you’d answer. At the very least to tell me off,” Dennis admits.
He pushes his food around on his plate and Robby knows what’s coming before it’s out of Dennis’ mouth.
“If you want anyone to talk—”
“No.”
Dennis gives him a smile, but it’s sad and Robby immediately averts his eyes. He knows it's the same look that his friends in the Pitt would give him right now if they could. He sees Dana in Dennis' face and he's trying his best not to spiral again.
“I’m sorry,” Dennis responds. “I know you know, but… I just wanted to let you know that I’m an open ear. If you want to talk. I mean that. If. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.”
Robby gives a stiff, awkward nod, like it’s the last thing that he wants to do, but he can see Dennis’ smile upturning into something more warm with that motion. Then, once again, Dennis is launching into some story about the farm that Robby tunes out so quickly, he can’t recount anything about it. Instead, he works on picking at the food which is… Probably the best food he’s had in a long time.
He still feels as though he’s fraying at the edges, but he also feels as though the tugging in his chest has eased. He doesn’t feel as though he’s going to be pulled apart anymore. Robby knows the possibility is still there but he doesn’t actively feel like he’s unraveling with every mile he puts behind him.
There’s a hand, gentle on his shoulder. It’s a touch that normally he would flinch away from in the Pitt, but for some reason, with the reverend, he leans into it. He's not even sure when Dennis had stood up or moved next to him.
“You should probably have a nice, hot shower and go to sleep,” Dennis says, with all the confidence of a man who has used that same tried and true technique to get through his own struggles.
“Earlier,” Robby starts. “You helped me through my panic attack. How?”
A puff of a laugh escapes from Dennis’ lips. It’s sad and painful and it makes Robby want to wrap the younger man in his arms and tell him it will all be okay.
“As I said, sometimes things get to be too much. The scriptures and open air can only do so much,” Dennis says, letting Robby fill in the blanks. “I imagine that knowing all the medical procedures and terms in the world sometimes isn’t enough. Just like sometimes reciting verses isn’t enough. Knowing the ailment and the treatment are easy, especially diagnosing and treating someone else. Putting them in practice on yourself? Well, that’s another battle.”
Robby doesn’t understand how this man, who has to be half his age, is so wise beyond his years.
There’s a pat to his shoulder, another reassuring smile, and then Dennis is finally letting him go to wash the dishes. He finds himself missing the warmth of his hand.
“I’m just doing some chores around the farm tomorrow. If you wake up and are looking for me,” Dennis supplies. “Would I be pushing boundaries if I asked for a ride into town tomorrow to pick up groceries for us?”
It’s clear that Dennis is planning for Robby to stay for a while and Robby finds that he needs his ship to be moored, if only for a few days.
“Yeah. I mean— No. No you wouldn’t be pushing boundaries and, yes, I can drive you into town. I take it the car outside doesn’t work?”
Dennis lets out a laugh at that, warm and like a breath of fresh air as he dries his hands off on a dish towel, leaning back against the counter.
“No. That would make things so much easier. It was here when I received the property… Part of the things I was left with. I was hoping I could get it fixed up in order to have a working car instead of relying on others to help me get groceries but…” Dennis trails off and waves his hand in the direction they both know the car is sitting outside. “Thankfully my parishioners are extremely kind. With it being such a small place, everyone tends to look out for everyone else and they help me with rides or bring groceries here.”
“And not one mechanic amongst them?”
“I’m sure there are one or two. Old folks like to tinker with things, you know?” Dennis admits. “But, well, like I said… As easy as it is for me to tell people to ask others for help, it’s a little hard for me to do the same. Plus, I feel like there’s an ethical boundary somewhere too. Like… If you were to treat a patient who you found out was a mechanic and asked them to work on your car.”
“I guess we’re both doctors.”
Dennis ducks his head, a shy smile on his face, but there's also something unsaid there. “In a way, yeah. We both treat ailments, though I’m afraid yours might be much easier to treat than the cases I see. I could never claim to be an actual doctor, no matter how many bandages I might give out.”
He tosses the dish towel on the counter before moving to walk past Robby. He gently pats his shoulder once again and Robby swears Dennis’ handprint will be seared into his flesh.
“I’ve got a sermon to work on, I’ll see you in the morning?”
Robby nods at this. “Yeah,” he says before pausing. “And… Thank you again, Reverend.”
“Just Dennis is fine,” he reminds him, squeezing his shoulder before heading off, leaving Robby to his long cold food.
Robby discards what food is left before washing his dishes. He walks out of the kitchen and sees that the study light is on where Dennis must be working on the sermon he mentioned. Instead of heading to the guest house, he heads outside to the porch and the swing that had called his name when they first arrived. He tentatively pushes on it to make sure it will hold his weight and when he finds the creaking level to be acceptable and not life-threatening, he takes a seat.
The sun has just set below the horizon, leaving the world around him in the sort of bright darkness that comes with such events. He can make out the dusty road they’d travelled up, which is bordered by trees here and there. There’s some sort of crop growing around them (corn? wheat?), but Dennis never mentioned being one to grow the crops there, so he wonders if Dennis lends out the land to another farmer for a percentage of the spoils.
Summer is finally fully giving way to fall and it brings a chill on the wind that hasn’t scared off the fireflies quite yet. They dot the empty area in front of the house, blinking here and there. There’s a calm serenity about the place and there’s something about that, in itself, that causes Robby’s eyes to start to water. Maybe it’s because he knows he’s going to spiral or maybe it’s because he knows that he can finally break here. He’s not sure which it is before the tears are falling hot and fast down his cheeks.
The one thing he does think about is that Dennis was right: a dog would be nice to have around the farm.