Chapter Text
Whitaker was known for being unusually gifted in many things, it was the perk that came with being the youngest of four children. Not to mention being suddenly overshadowed by seven nieces and nephews—four of them being born by the time he was fifteen.
Because of this, others were never surprised when they found out he was going to pursue a life of medicine even if his family couldn’t really afford it. He tried working at the butchers his parents would send the ‘meat’ to (it’s how he found out he wasn’t made squeamish by blood or organs). But that certainly wouldn’t cover even half the year.
He settled for studying theology at college and somehow managed to make it to the University of South Los Angeles. He was convinced that no one had actually realised he had gone because the first time he came back his paps had asked him “how was the butchers, Petes still need some more poultry?”.
It’s his seventh and final year doing theology and Dennis certainly cannot do it anymore. He managed to get a merit-funded scholarship so he took full advantage and took the master’s pathway as well. But he’s had enough of reading the Bible and talking about the gruesome history of religion.
Winter break was much different to that in Nebraska. It was nice and warm, almost like Summer, whereas he’d find himself in at least four layers back home on the farm and it still wouldn’t be enough. He supposed it came down to the amount of fires that occurred in the area, which initially surprised him seeing it was Winter time. It became almost routine to see the local fire-station at the local coffee shop. There was this one firefighter that they called ‘Bobby’ who really caught his attention, but he looked like he was in his 40s so Whitaker knew better than to approach him.
It had been a good while since he had been able to afford the morning coffees, and he didn’t get his paycheck until 4:30pm so he procrastinated on going out until his stomach was rumbling and it was 6:00pm. He knew some pretty good Thai places but he had had Thai food for three weeks in a row, most being frozen leftovers.
Dennis didn’t really make any worthwhile friends in the duration of his course so he found himself walking alone, hiding his hands deep into his coat pockets for any extra warmth. His luck seemed to be running thin, because by 7pm he still hadn’t found an affordable meal and his favourite burger shop was closed due to renovations. And if that wasn’t good enough, the universe thought it would be even funnier for him to get lost and wind up in a field.
The worst part of it all had to be that he was an excellent navigator, he just let himself get lost inside his mind. What became most bizarre was the relief that washed over him when he smelt cow manure, but then he remembered where he was. Los Angeles, at least downtown Los Angeles, doesn’t have farms. Well, none that kept livestock anyways. So, he was either ghastly close to a petting zoo or he was going insane from starvation. Which was entirely possible according to one of several medical books he spent the only money he has on.
Quickly the sickening odor was merged with a more overwhelming smell…fire? When he looked to the direction the wind was coming from, surely enough a thick black fog puffed into the air. He could see the flickers of orange bursting from behind the rows of trees blocking his view of the source of the fire.
Maybe it was the insanity he was suffering from not having any food since breakfast, or it was a god–complex he could’ve developed from being the forgotten youngest (which he read about in a self–help book once). Or maybe it was the memory that flashed in his mind of the very first barn–fire he saw when he was seven. He had felt so helpless then, but now he was 25 and well–versed in how to deal with fires in such a capacity.
He ran through the field and trees that were in his way and came face-to-face with the blazing mess. He could hear the sirens in the distance, but he could also hear the voice of a woman crying out. So naturally he raced into the building, he couldn’t exactly tell what it had been considering half of it had caved in.
Whitaker knew he was going far beyond his capabilities, he wasn’t a firefighter, hell he wasn’t even a doctor yet. However, he couldn’t ignore the desperate cries of someone terrified in the face of death.
He made it to where the screams were coming from and was able to make out what was going on; a woman clung to a man who was stuck under a beam which had fallen in the midst of part of the building collapsing. She began to address him the moment she saw him.
“HELP PLEASE! MY HUSBAND, PLEASE!” Her face was dotted with ash and she most likely had inhaled too much smoke.
“Here, take this and get out.” He gave her his fleece, holding it to her face to hopefully help with the smoke.
“But my husband!” She began, but Dennis was already dragging her away. And yet he hated leaving the man there alone, so he left her half-way to turn back. He wasn’t necessarily planning to die but that was starting to seem more likely the longer he was surrounded by the flames which had consumed most of the building already.
The man was laying helplessly on the ground with the wooden beam locked stubbornly on his legs. They were probably crushed, meaning that even if Whitaker were to lift it off—which he could most definitely do—he’d still have no way of getting him out from under the beam.
Mercifully, he could see the light from torches waving about towards their direction. Three firefighters in full-gear appeared in front of him. One handed out an oxygen mask, a gesture he was grateful for, though it was technically his job to do.
“Sir, thank you for your help with getting Mrs Garner out, but we’ve got in from here.” The firefighter shuffled Dennis to the side whilst the other two rushed to the man’s, who he assumed is Mr Garner’s, side. He hesitated whilst he watched the pair struggle to lift the beam high enough to drag Mr Garner out from underneath.
“Hey, man, you really need to get out of here and let us do our jobs.” A voice called from behind him as another pair of firefighters in much larger uniform rushed past him towards the beam.
The problem with Dennis Whitaker is that he knows what he can do. He also knows what he can’t. The thing is he just doesn’t care. He learnt from a very young age that he couldn’t care about what he thought he couldn’t do. Being on a farm with livestock, he watched and heard animals being slaughtered whether it was by his pap’s hand or by a coyote or a jackrabbit. He was known for being the sensitive and soft Whitaker brother. He buried animals that met an unfortunate end and couldn’t be used by the butchers. He spoke to the horses, he gave all the sheep and cattle names. It was the sensitivity that made him care too much. That’s why he couldn’t move and watched as the firemen were struggling to lift a beam that he and one of his brothers could lift in their sleep.
So, he ran up a long side the smaller of the pair, forcibly taking his place. Though this only got him in even more trouble with every firefighter there, he knew Mr Gardner’s time was running shorter with how much smoke he was inhaling.
“ON MY COUNT LIFT AND DRAG!” He shouted over to the firefighter opposite him.
“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING! YOU NEED TO GET OUTTA HERE—”
“1!”
“BOBBY DO SOMETHING—”
“2!”
“BUCK!”
“3!” And with the final count, both he and the frantic man in uniform opposite him lifted the beam. The weight was unevenly distributed, with his end being lifted higher, so he quickly adjusted it to the other man’s level. It wouldn’t do good to drop it now just to crush the man’s feet too.
The others managed to get the hint and drag Mr Garner carefully away from any danger. They put him onto a portable gurney and carried him out of the building. One of the firefighters grabbed onto him quite harshly, Dennis could already feel the anger seething off of him.
Well shit.
The fresh air felt better than it ever did. Luckily Whitaker didn’t inhale too much of the ash and fumes so it was only the minor burns that danced up his arm that needed to be taken care of. At first, he didn’t even realise he had them, the adrenaline did well to cover up the sharp pain that has now come to fruition with his heart finally able to rest. He recognised the stone-cold, angry face that was heading towards him, though he never really saw it take that shape. It was Bobby.
“Do you understand how reckless, and I’m sorry, stupid that was?” Suddenly, a wave of guilt replaced the adrenaline and rushed through his body. “You stopped a firefighter from doing his job just so that you get to play hero. If that had gone wrong in any way we all would have died, you realise that, right?”
“I knew I could lift it!” Whitaker protested, he had grown tired of people underestimating him, “I wouldn’t have been reckless if I had any doubt that I couldn’t. I’ve lifted heavier things and been just fine. I wasn’t trying to play the hero. I was trying to help.”
He had probably inhaled too many chemicals, because he could swear that this Bobby guy almost looked taken aback. Even if he had, it was only for a second before he was back to a stern expression.
“I’m sorry.” He breathed, “I am glad you were able to help, I don’t think we would have been able to perform a field-amputation and have everyone survive it. But that doesn’t mean what you did was any less rash.”
“I know, I’m sorry too I didn’t mean to scare anyone, I just like to help people.” His head dropped lower and lower the more he spoke. He wasn’t really shy, the crippling fear of disappointing people and his starved need for praise tended to force him into a protective shell when faced with any type of chastisement.
“You know with an attitude like that, you might as well be a firefighter. We could do with someone like you on the squad.” The familiar voice from before seemed to match perfectly with the person it was coming from. His name badge read ‘Diaz’ and his arms read ‘Military Man’. His muscles were only enhanced by the uniform he wore even if they were covered by sleeves. Whitaker gathered that it was winter so they wouldn’t wear the short-sleeved uniform for a while now which really was a shame. But it was weird to think like that so it focused on something else—anything else.
“Thank you, really, but I am going into Med School, I wouldn’t be a very good firefighter. Trust me.” He awkwardly laughed, but this Diaz was intent on pitching some strange type of recruitment.
“Ha, I don’t believe it, I mean you really saved that guy back there—and us. But, hey, if you become a doctor that’ll just make me feel better when we make the drop offs. Any hospital truly would be lucky to have you.” Diaz paused for a moment, searching Whitaker up and down for a reason he was unsure of.
Dennis really wished he’d stop looking at him in the way he was, because it was making him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. A feeling that always makes him feel nervous, so nervous he can hardly get his words out.
“Y’know, I really owe you for that.” He smiled earnestly.
“No, no, don’t worry about it really.”
“Hey, how about I get you a coffee sometime.” He paused again, “Y’know to just pay you back and all for helping us out, I can even invite the others so you can get a coffee out of each of us because you technically helped us all out.” Diaz chuckled nervously.
“Honestly, I’m fine, Mr Garner being alive after all of that is reward enough for me.”
“Fine, at least take this.” He handed Whitaker a small, rectangular card with a number written on it, “If you ever need help just call, it’ll be faster than any 9-1-1 service, and I won’t go crazy knowing I—we—owe you a favour.”
Whitaker tucked the card in his pocket, offering thanks as they departed and he was taken on-route to the hospital for special care. He sighed, the bill was going to be expensive.