Chapter Text
It’s not like he cared.
That’s the mantra he kept repeating. The one he whispered to himself, muttered in the mirror, and chanted over and over in his head like a Sunday prayer. Maybe if he said it enough times God would let it become truth.
I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t-
Every morning when Dr. Robby came into the ED, fake wind swept look, helmet clanking against his backpack, Dennis told himself he didn’t care.
He didn’t care about the donor bike parked out front. He didn’t care that he watched the helmet practically collect dust as the clip rusted from disuse. He didn’t care that there was no helmet hair evident of usage.
Dennis excelled in his psych rotation for a reason. He knows the signs, he knows the patterns. He knows what to look for when someone’s right on the edge of the end. When someone is going to jump and not look back.
But it isn’t his place to give a shit.
That’s what Dr. Abbot was for. Dana, too, when she was around. To yell at the man who can’t get it together. To tell him off. To get him in check. They were the ones that held him together with false hopes and jokes that are filled with more dread than humor.
It wasn’t Dennis’s place.
His place was taking the praise of the attending without blushing. Teaching the med students with the same practiced confidence that he mimicked from other doctors. Giving his full attention to the man whenever he was talking. His place was at the right hand of the attending, the right hand of the Father.
No one needed to hear what his thoughts were on the entire situation. No one would care about his personal ties to all of it. That wasn’t what Dennis was here for.
Motor vehicle accidents were the number one cause of death in his hometown. There were far too many drunk drivers on the road, too many kids who learned how to drive on a farm, too many cops that didn’t bother to write speeding tickets.
Dennis had prayed for too many families at church when their sister or brother or child passed. He had attended too many funerals where the caskets had to be closed to not upset the viewers when the body couldn’t be embalmed properly. He’d heard too many horror stories, and been a participant of even more.
Before he’d even started his career he’d already seen more than enough MVC injuries and deaths to last a lifetime.
So it’s not surprising to him that the knowledge of Dr. Robby cruising around the city without protective gear makes him feel sick to his stomach. He’s not shocked that every single time the man comes into work safely there’s a weight lifted off of his chest.
Dennis knows what trauma does to a person, and he knows why he reacts the way he does. He knows how to breathe slow enough to ward off a panic attack and how to tap his skin in areas to keep calm. He knows why those small things that he shouldn’t care about send him into a spiral.
He’s surprised that something not quite like dread but not quite like excitement either floods his system when someone mentions the break. He’s shocked that there’s something heavy that sits in his chest for days.
The whispers of a break start drifting through the ED like a fog before they even get confirmed. Clouding everyone’s motions and heads as they wait with baited breath to see what their fearless leader is about to do. Robby spends more time upstairs in the ivory tower, taking time out of his day to go talk to Gloria of all people. Rumors run amuck, betting pools are silently started, and everyone has an opinion.
Dennis has to avoid looking at Robby in the eyes when it’s officially announced. He has to pretend that he doesn’t give a fuck that he won’t be around for months. He stares at a wall in his bedroom for hours, trying to reconcile the surprise and the dread and the feelings he can’t put a name to.
It’s humiliating. It’s career ending. It’s inappropriate. It’s fucked up.
And it’s kind of reciprocated.
In the touches. The praise. The cases handed over because he trusts Dennis not to fuck up. The way he lets the med students follow Dennis around to be trained. The way that his eyes tend to linger for a second too long on Dennis.
Or at least, that’s how it feels. It feels like Robby sees him beyond the bumbling med student he was on day one. He feels like Robby looks past the tired eyes, the awkward jokes, the body he’s never fully fit into and understood. He feels like someone is finally seeing him for who he is, and not faulting him for all of his shortcomings.
When their fingers touch, Dennis wonders if the man can feel the way his skin tingles. The way his body reacts to him as if Robby’s a beacon, pulling him towards his frame, towards his light in any given room.
He has to. Because the touches don’t stop. They don’t stop when Dennis finishes his rotation, when he slips downstairs to wait for Trinity to go home. They don’t stop when Dennis stops by for orientation for his first day as an intern and they sure as hell don’t stop when Dennis is an actual resident.
The hands of the Father, the hands of Robby, are always on him.
Dennis feels so fucked in the head for it. It’s not a God thing, it’s not a power thing, it’s nothing like that. He’s not ashamed of who he is, how he is. He’s learned how to live with himself being a sinner and prays for forgiveness anyway.
He just knows that it can never happen in a way that actually matters. In a way that’s real and fulfilling. Not when Robby barely wants to be alive anyway. It’s doomed before it even begins. It’s a story full of tragedy and woe and Dennis just wants something to not end in flames for once in his life.
It's selfish, he knows. And yet he still catches himself staring at Robby when he shouldn’t be. He wonders what it would be like to lay beside him in bed, to be with him during the good times and the bad alike.
He wonders if it would matter that Dennis wants to be present for both. To be around when Robby has a good day or a bad day. That he doesn’t care what it takes to be beside him, as long as Dennis isn’t alone either. As long as he’s beside someone.
It doesn’t help that Robby is such a fucking good teacher.
Confident, reassuring, steady. He knows when to snap and correct. He knows when to encourage and tell a stupid joke.
Dennis wants to be him. He wants to be next to him as if he can soak up the knowledge and wisdom just by being near him. Part of him thinks that if he can show Robby that his career has created someone in his own image, it can convince the man to stay.
Look at me, Dennis wants to scream. Look at all that you have made me. Don’t abandon your creation.
He doesn’t say anything. The sabbatical creeps closer. Rumors turn into jokes and that stupid fucking helmet keeps collecting dust.
The last day Dr. Robby works, all signs point to an end.
Dennis knows. He knows. The jokes, the energy, the unwillingness to get into fights or have difficult conversations. The avoidance of things that are too much and the fight to stay upbeat.
It’s all the signs Dennis is familiar with, the ones he’s learned to keep an eye out for at all times. All of the warning alarms are blaring in his head.
Robby sees light at the end of the tunnel and it scares the shit out of Dennis.
He doesn’t know what to do about it. Dana’s sick of being here and he doesn’t want to look like a fucking idiot by telling her. He doesn’t want to add another thing to her plate anyway. Abbot’s not in and how would he even have that conversation with the attending?
Hi, Dr. Abbot, I know that you and Dr. Robby have that weird suicidal pact friendship going on, but I think he’s about to fulfill his end of the bargain. Oh, who the fuck do I think I am? Great fucking point.
Robby’s circle is small and tight for a reason and Dennis wants to pull his hair out by the roots as he watches the man walk around like everything is completely fine.
He’s already over the day when he’s stuck with a simulation training. It only gets worse as Garcia mocks him and the med students crowd him. Trinity’s pissed and something’s wrong with Dana and Langdon is here and Dennis can’t breathe.
Patients die and people get hurt and he can’t do anything to stop the flow of pain and misery that leaks like poison through the cracks of the building people are supposed to be saved in.
It’s why he glances when Dr. Robby and the new attending walk by. It’s why he sticks close to Robby during different patients. Why he can’t look away from every sweet line of praise or encouragement. Why there’s a small bubble of panic or maybe bile when he can’t locate the man.
But he can’t manage to find a moment alone to talk to him.
Letting Bostick go silently sends him into a different kind of panic. Hearing about the DOA cyclist makes it worse. Knowing that Robby could end up in a bed somewhere, and going in a bloody, noisy way.
He’s chewed his lip into a mess by the time that Robby finally catches him for a second. The med students are off doing something he doesn’t care about because he has a second to panic alone. He doesn’t even care if they fuck up a procedure that he’ll have to spend an hour fixing. He just needs a breather.
So, of course, that’s when Robby finds him.
“Is everything okay, Whitaker?”
Dennis pretends that the sound didn’t scare the fuck out of him and nearly drop his pen. He turns slightly to look up at the man. “Oh. Yeah, everything’s fine.”
Dr. Robby tilts his head, looking over his frame from head to toe and back again. “You sure?”
He’s always been terrified of how Dr. Robby looks at him. Those knowing brown eyes, the smallest creases forming as he stares down the intern, the rapt attention that he gives when he speaks to Dennis. He’s never been able to hide anything from him because of it.
Dennis has spent his whole life wondering what it felt like to have the eyes of the Lord stare upon you in every way. What it would feel like to be the center of attention for a moment. To have a God actually watch over you and guide you.
He finally learned what it meant when he wandered into this place.
It’s a beat too long for a response and Dr. Robby presses further. “Is there something bothering you? Someone?”
He sees the way his eyes flicker to Langdon, jaw already taut, irritation evident. It’s a good sign, almost, maybe. That he’s irritated, that something is bothering him. It means he might still care a little bit. That he might still have some fight left in him.
Dennis shakes his head. “No. I’m fine, Dr. Robby. Really.”
His response must be confident enough or decent enough for the attending. He nods, rapping his knuckles against the workstation Dennis has deposited himself at.
“Alright. Well. Ask for help if you need it.”
Repeated phrases from his rotation into his internship. Promises of being there if needed that Dennis isn’t sure he understands, let alone trust Robby to keep them.
They’re terrifying to hear. They’re a lie at this point.
But he can’t find the words he needs to in order to call the man out on it. He just watches him walk away to go be distracted somewhere else. To go make the day pass faster before leaving.
He tries to find the strength to talk to him all day. He just needs to ask Robby if he’s okay. He should talk to him about his plans, and make it clear that Dennis isn’t a fucking idiot. That Robby may have everyone else fooled, but when it comes to being aware of the attending, Dennis sees everything.
He wants to make it clear that someone is paying attention. Maybe that could help. Maybe it would do something. Stop him.
Maybe it’s a reach. He’s just an intern, he’s nothing special. But Dennis knows what happens when you don’t speak out. He knows what happens when you don’t call someone out on their bullshit.
But he just wants to ask, just once, before the day is over.
Instead, the ED goes through one nightmare after another. Dennis barely has time to blink, let alone confront his boss. He’s wrapped up in saving lives of people who want to stay, who aren’t ready to leave the Earth behind quite yet. In losing people who he’s going to spend a very long time remembering. In nightmares and daydreams and moments of silence.
The ghosts that will haunt Dennis multiply by the hour.
He doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life dealing with the phantom of his boss because he wasn’t man enough to speak to him.
Dennis finds Robby in the ambulance bay. He’s already about to hop on the bike, helmet untouched and swaying against the fucking backpack. Ready to leave and not look back, not worry about it, not think twice.
“Dr. Robby?”
He sees the way that the man’s shoulders tense, the way his fists clench when he’s held back from leaving. The agitation of one more thing, one more problem getting in his way.
Some of it dissipates when he turns to see Dennis. Some of the anxiety over being caught trying to leave when it’s just him. Just the intern. His dear protégé, a title Dennis never fucking wanted and sometimes feel like he unfairly stole. Robby’s never too irritated to see Dennis.
And it shouldn’t go straight to his head but it does anyway. Every fucking time.
“Hey, Whitaker. You need something before I head out?”
Always eager to help. Always ready to step in.
Dennis is still trying to find the words. Trying to figure out what he’s supposed to say, what the best course of action is.
How do you tell your boss that you know the sabbatical isn’t a three month break, but the end? How do you tell your boss that the midlife crisis taking the shape of a motor and wheels is the stupidest thing you’ve ever seen?
How do you ask him to stay? How do you ask him to reconsider?
His tongue is heavy in his throat and the words are stuck somewhere between his head and his heart.
Robby tilts his head, looking over his clearly conflicted student. “Whitaker?”
“You asked me if something was bothering me. Earlier today? You asked if I was okay.”
Robby’s watching him like he doesn't understand what he’s talking about. With the day that they’ve had, he’s not surprised. Dennis can’t remember much after a day like today. They come back in pieces, and in nightmares.
“Is there? Something bothering you?”
Dennis stares at the helmet that’s still clipped on the backpack. The one that Robby clearly has no intention of using.
He thinks of roads and cliffs and wheels that can’t stop. Shattered glass on pavement and bloodstained clothes. Hospital chapels and pastors who tell you God still has a plan. Righteous pain and the hands of the father.
Dennis has always had a horrible habit of loving the sick.
“Yeah. Yes, there is. But I can’t - I need to show you. I have to show you it.”
Dennis puts his hand up first. Points at the jagged mark on his palm, so light and faded it’s barely visible. “I got this when I fell out of a truck hauling feed for the cattle. I tried to catch myself and it bled for hours.”
He remembers the blood being so sickening to see. Bright and beautiful and not where it needed to be. The stark contrast against the grass and the rock that he had caught it on. The first time that his own mortality frightened him.
Robby just looks confused. “Is it hurting?’
He almost laughs. None of them hurt anymore, he wants to say. Not many things hurt like they used to. Sometimes nothing hurts for days and he’s half convinced he’s just a ghost and not a person.
Instead, Dennis lays himself out like a diagram.
“This one?” He said, pointing at his arm. It’s faint, almost gone, a sharp line from his elbow to his wrist. “This is from stopping an airbag when my dad had a heart attack at the wheel and crashed into someone else. He’s fine. But I had to have surgery when I was ten. Really fucked up making friends in school for a while.”
He lifts the bottom of his scrub top, showing a jagged, red, fucked up piece of flesh by his hip. “Drunk driver. Seatbelt syndrome.” He points to another spot. “Motorcyclist spun out. Crashed into the passenger side. I couldn’t go swimming with my brothers that entire summer because of the risk of infection.”
He can’t stop. He leans down and tugs the left pant leg up slightly. Just enough to show the raised, jagged, leathery flesh.
“And the skin here? On my leg? Burned. Never healed right and it looks like that now. It hurts to stand sometimes. Sometimes long shifts are harder than they should be.”
When he glances back at the attending, there is a very sickening, grotesque understanding look on the man’s face. A dawning of realization that should be a sign for Dennis to stop.
Maybe he should. Maybe he’s fucked up for telling Robby off when Dennis can’t make it into a therapist’s office without feeling panicked. Maybe he’s just plain fucked up.
It doesn’t matter. The words just fall out of him, tired of being hidden away for weeks, months, years.
“You remember that first day? My first day? When I dropped the gurney and smashed my finger? I hadn’t been to PT that week. After I got hit by a car and tore my bicep. That was less than two years ago.”
All he had done was try to go home. Just a trip for the summer break, and someone had fallen asleep at the wheel and crashed into him, running him off of the road. He’d watched his medical career end before it ever even started. He’d added more debt to his name to try and fix his hands. Trying to make himself in a new image.
Dennis still had days where he couldn’t stop that spasm in his arm from existing.
“I would show you the worst one. But my brother’s buried six feet under because when we got into the wreck that nearly paralyzed me and killed a six year old girl, he put a bullet in his head because he couldn’t fucking deal with it.”
He hadn't been able to attend the funeral. His doctors wouldn’t sign off on it and when he yelled and pleaded and cried, they’d upped the sedatives until he slept through the whole thing.
He’d never forgiven his parents for that and he’d never made it to his brother's grave either.
Dennis doesn’t carry any scars from that one, not ones that he can see at least. They’re one that he has to twist in the mirror to see, in order to remember he had been there and had almost been gone before his brother. That he had a brother at all.
And he refuses to sit idly by to see if Robby disappears too.
Dennis doesn’t know when he started crying. Robby’s a blur in front of him. He can’t even see the fucking bike anymore. He doesn’t know what he’s trying to accomplish.
“I don’t want to guilt trip you,” he said, voice shockingly even. “I’m just-I don’t even know what I’m saying. What I’m trying to do.”
“Dennis-” Robby reaches out and Dennis flinches. He doesn’t want to be touched, he doesn’t need that. He’s been fine without having someone hold him before. He doesn’t need to be held by hands now.
“I get it. This place is a lot. This place can be hell sometimes. I know you’ve been doing it way longer than I have, but I’m still aware of how shitty it can be. But this little-” Dennis wiped the tears away angrily. “This break? This breakdown? You need to think about the other side of it.”
“It’s just a short break.” Robby’s face is impassive but Dennis has been watching him too closely to not recognize the tightness of his jaw. The irritation in his stare. “It’s a sabbatical. That’s all.”
Dennis laughs. “Sure. Sure it is. You think I haven’t heard that before?”
I’m just going to go home and take a nap, Dennis. I’ll come visit you tomorrow, okay?
Just a little break from mom and dad. They’re hovering and I need a second.
I’ll see you soon.
Dennis takes a step back, towards the building that will eat him alive and ask for more. The one that will make him in the image of Robby, made in the image of Adamson, made in the image of a line of doctors who have been trying to play God since Jesus walked out of the tomb and overcame death. If God could do it, why can’t they?
He has to go back inside. Before he says something stupid, or asks for something idiotic. Like asking the man to stay. Asking him to reconsider.
He turns slightly, cheeks still stained with tears, and looks back at Robby. There’s pity in his eyes but Dennis doesn’t want that. Dennis wants to scare him, to humble him, and to knock some fucking sense into him. He wants him to feel guilty for ever thinking about leaving Dennis behind.
“Just remember. You aren’t the only person that can get hurt in a wreck. That do no harm oath? It also applies to the people you crash into.”
Dennis leaves him standing in the ambulance bay.
He doesn’t care to wait and see if Robby leaves on the bike or not.