Chapter Text
“Dr. Robby?” His voice cracked on the syllables. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Dr. Robby? Are you ok?” Past the noise and the chaos of the pitt, he can hear prayers in a language he doesn’t know. The scent of blood was sharp on his nose, his gums had ached in response. He stumbled a little as he’d traveled the distance between them, sliding down the wall next to the doctor. There’d been a tense silence in which he had studied the broken side profile of his superior.
“They need you out there. Go.” He couldn’t speak for a moment, his voice stolen by the palpable grief surrounding Robby.
“We need you out there.” A sharp pinch in his lip had him snapping his jaw shut. The hunger had been gnawing at him, cramping his stomach and burning up his throat in ways he hadn’t experienced in a while. He’d quickly risen from the floor, outstretching his hand. He had been lost for words, actions, anything to help a man who clearly was at his breaking point. He’d only known him for a day, but there had been an unexplainable tug in his gut towards him. And the way Robby looked at him, touched him even, had made his ever-cold skin feel warm under the points of contact. Robby had looked at it, his eyes so dull and hopeless that Dennis had really thought this was it. That Dr. Robby had gone to the place no physician came back from.
“I can’t.” he whispered, broken.
“You have to.” It was no longer Student Dr. Whitaker asking his Attending for help, it was Dennis begging Michael not to go somewhere he couldn’t follow. “Cause we are fucked without you.” I am fucked without you had been on the tip of his tongue. But it was too soon, too much. In twelve hours Robby had invaded his senses and consumed his mind. And Dennis wasn’t ready to let him go. There’d been a fragile pause, then Robby had taken his hand. The contact had felt like sparks, spreading heat through his hand. But it had been brief, contact cut almost immediately. Robby had snatched his hand back like the touch had burned, then pushed Dennis back by his chest. Somehow that had hurt his non-beating heart more than seeing his superior broken down next to people they couldn’t save. Robby had kept a wide berth as he passed, like even getting close to Dennis repulsed him. As the door to pedes opened and Robby had stepped out the waves of sound had crashed over Dennis. His head pounded and pain stung sharp in his gums. He was covered in blood, fuck, the whole hospital was covered in blood. It was like perfect torture designed just for him. But people were dying, and they would die without the blood they needed. His hunger could wait, be pushed down and taken care of when lives were no longer at stake.
10 months later
“1, 2, 3, move.” The patient thuds onto the hospital bed, machines going erratic and voices blending together. The patient had been awake and talking just seconds ago when the paramedics had brought him in.
“Mr. Jones?” Dennis rubs his fist into the man’s sternum, but it illicites not reaction. “No response to pain.” He pulls out his pen light as he med students hook up the patient to the machines. “Pupils fixed and dilated. Does anyone know what that means?” He calls out.
“Mydriasis. Severe cerebral hypoxia and possible loss of brainstem function.” Ogilvile responds, a small grin on his face.
“Good.” Dennis says, checking the pulse and listening to the monitore flatline. “Bag him, start CPR immediately. Joy push 0.5mg of epi every five minutes.” His other–favourite–med student follows his directions and hooks the patient to an IV. “Pause CPR.” He listens to the flatline and sighs. “Asystole. Resume compressions.” He hears the trauma bay door open behind him, then feels more so than sees Dr. Robby’s presence.
“Bring me up to speed, Whitaker.” A strong hand falls on his shoulder, warmth seeping into his skin.
“Um, David Jones, 55, came in with chest pain and collapsed as soon as we brought him back. No response to pain, pupils fixed and dilated, we began compressions and are pumping epi every five minutes.” Dr. Robby squeezes his shoulder then releases it. Suddenly he’s right up by his ear.
“Will he make it?” Dennis gives a small shake of his head. Asystole was too hard to come back from, and the epi and compressions weren’t improving his condition.
“Push one more round of epi then call it.” Dr. Robby announces, then departs just as quickly as he arrived.
“You heard him.” Dennis says, then takes an unneeded steadying breath. He nods at Dr. Mohan, who’s observing just outside the room, and she comes to his side. “Can you, um, handle this? I, um, need a minute.”
“Of course. Take a quick breather.” He hurries out of the room towards the ambulance bay, passing Robby who’s typing away at the computer. The doors slide open in a burst of sharp cold air and he slumps against the brick wall. He pulls a pack of cigarettes from out of his pocket and shakes one free. He mumbles a quiet prayer for the man they lost as he pulls out his lighter.
“Those’ll kill you.” He stiffens at Robby’s presence, the flame briefly flickering out before it manages to catch the end of his cigarette. He takes a deep inhale before responding.
“I’ve got worse things to worry about.” He mumbles. Robby siddles up close to him, their shoulders almost brushing. Dennis can smell the perspiration on his skin, hear the steady beat of his heart, almost taste the blood running through his veins. He’d always been aware of Robby, even the very first day together, but over time it has only gotten worse. He couldn’t walk into the hospital without smelling him, hearing the thump, thump of his heart.
“What’s going on with you?” He says quietly, and Dennis freezes.
“Nothing. Just swamped today.” he responds, his tone clipped. Robby huffs in disbelief.
“Don’t bullshit with me. You’re quieter, paler, thinner. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re barreling straight to a breaking point.” Robby’s words are true. He’s a good fucking doctor, and he can clearly see that Dennis is not ok. But it’s not like Dennis can do anything about it. He can’t steal blood from the hospital–not after what happend at pittfest–so he’s had to make do with small rodents and animals every other week. The hunger gnaws at him daily, wearing him thin–too thin. But he can’t do anything about it. He would never take blood from a living person,it was against everything he’d been taught. And the blood in the hospital is exclusively for people who need it, not someone like him.
“I’m fine, Dr. Robinavitch.” He hears the sharp intake of breath from Robby at the use of his full last name.
“Whatever you say, Whitaker.” Denis listens as Robby’s footsteps depart, then he slides down the wall to cradle his head in his hands. Cigarette burnt out he stomps it beneath his shoe, then slowly rises.
“Get your shit together, Dennis.” He mumbles, giving his cheeks a light slap to hopefully ground him.
His little peptalk keeps him going for another few hours, then he crashes. Hard. He’s nearly dizy with hunger with a little less than an hour of his shift left. He just needs to make it through, then he can go out and eat a bunch of rats that’ll barely fill him up.
“Call it. Resuscitation efforts stopped at 18:55.” One of the nurses turns off the monitor and the silence fills the room. A young man hit by a car, his injuries too severe for them to save him. It always hit Dennis hard when he couldn’t save someone, no matter how hard he’d tried. All the deaths stuck with him, but all he can think about right now is the blood smeared all over everyone. There’d been an arterial bleed that had soaked through everything they’d tried. And now the aftermath was making Dennis tense up in barely constrained hunger.
“Whitaker?” Dr. Robby’s voice is close to his ear, making him startle.
“Sorry, what did you say?” He quickly realizes the room has emptied out, leaving just him, Robby, and the body.
“I said there’s a new patient for you. But I’ll get him started with your med students. Take your time.” He squeezes his shoulder gently, then he too leaves the room. The thin sheet they’d put over the body was already being spanked through with blood, and Dennis could feel his feet moving towards it before he could even think to get the fuck out of here. The guy’s arm is a mess of mangled tissue and white bone steadily dripping blood onto the floor. He’s crouching beofre he can think, raising the arm to his lips, sinking his fangs into the tender flesh. It’s all wrong, the taste, the texture, but he can’t stop. Hunger forces him to keep drinking even as his body protests against the dead blood. He only stops when his stomach starts the cramp, threatening to expel everything he’d just ingested. He leaps back from the body, his sleeve being used to wipe the evidence from his face. He might throw up. The wrongness of it all as his hands shaking, breaths coming out fast and irregular even though he doesn’t need the air. He’d just fed from a person, someone who had once been alive. He feels sick to his stomach and wracked with guilt. He steadies himself against the wall as a wave of dizziness washes over him.
“Huckleberry! Trauma bay three, now!” Trinity calls for him and he forces his feet to move. The blood sits heavy in his stomach, makes his head pound and his vision a little fuzzy. But he pushes through. He needs to keep going, repent for his sins by trying to save someone's life. He joins the rest of them in the trauma bay, sweat dripping from his skin and an uncomfortable heat enveloping him.
“You good?” Trinity asks him, but her voice sounds as if she’s talking through water. His eyes unconsciously slide over to where Robby is, a mask of concern on his face. His fingers spasm as his head pounds.
“M’sorry.” He mumbles as blood bubbles into his mouth. He doubles over in pain as his stomach contents force their way out, spilling thick blood onto the floor.
“I need a gurney in here, now!” Someone calls, but the world around him is fading fast.
“Dennis!” His name sounds nice coming from Dr. Robby’s mouth. His legs give out, but Robby catches him before he can hit the floor. He sinks to the floor with Denis and cradles his head on his lap, petting his hair and whispering encouraging words. Dennis coughs up more blood as he feels his body start to shut down and his muscles spasming uncontrollably.
“He’s seizing. Get me Versed and have Keppra on deck.” Seizing? Dennis thinks wildly, there’s no way he’s seizing. But his body does feel weird, and he’s pretty sure he’s about to–