Chapter Text
Dennis Whitaker was a man of faith. He majored in theology during undergrad, and kept a rosary in his locker in the ER for when things got bad. A habit he formed after PittFest.
He had explored all different denominations of Christianity after moving away from home, but knew his parents would shoot him dead for leaving the Southern Baptist Church. They’d kill him again if he ever told them he was queer. But Dennis himself was still trying to deny that one.
He didn’t mind living with a lesbian. He had no issue with other people’s sexualities—even if he was a bit concerned by several patients admitted to the ER for having strange objects in their anal cavity. Dennis had never even thought about what he wanted to do with his own cock. Pre-marital sex meant damnation. He wouldn’t risk that. He wasn’t sure about marrying a woman, so he’d get damned for that too. He would always deny being a gay man, even though he would frequently be called faggot when walking through Broken Bow, Nebraska, and in downtown Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. He didn’t masturbate either, too fearful of what he might think of.
He tried. Once.
He thought of Michael Robinavich.
Dr. Robby was 30 years older than him and his boss. Not to mention, he’s a man.
Robby was always putting his hands on Dennis. Those big, strong hands, that had saved countless lives.
Those hands were going to be the death of Dennis Whitaker.
It was only his second week in the Pitt, with six weeks remaining in the rotation. After this, all he had left was Pedes.
When he walked in to the ER locker room with Trinity Santos, he could already hear murmurs about what was hidden inside Doctor Langdon’s locker. He didn’t want to know. It wasn’t his business.
He got changed into his scrubs and hurried to the nurses station before being rushed into the trauma bay. There was Isaiah Waters, a thirty-four year old male whose left arm got crushed by a falling HVAC unit. Gnarly.
Mr. Waters was tachy and unconscious, but that wasn’t surprising. Made it easier to sedate him before the damage to his arm was assessed. Prognosis? Horrible. Degloved and shattered, the limb was damaged beyond repair. Amputation was necessary—something Dennis always hated watching, even if it was essential to his education as a medical student.
Lucky for Dennis, he wasn’t Javadi, so he didn’t pass out.
Afterwards, Robby pat Dennis, who was now just Whitaker, on the back. “Good work, kid,” he said.
Dennis never knew what to say when he was praised other than “thank you ma’am” and “thank you sir.” Not very helpful right now. It slipped out anyways.
“Thank you, sir.”
“You don’t need to call me sir, Whitaker. Just Robby is fine.”
“Sorry si- Robby. Sorry Doctor Robby.”
They walked their separate ways, Dennis severely uncomfortable. He always hated when it became apparent that he wasn’t a city boy, but instead a rural farmer-turned-doctor (who isn’t even a doctor yet) from Buttfuck, Nowhere raised with impeccable manners and a fear of mistakes.
Robby loved it, but he’d never show that.
Dennis continued treating patients for the following 11 hours, no severe trauma cases, somehow. Mostly mild burns, fevers, psychotic breaks, and, for some reason, scurvy. Who even gets scurvy in the twenty-first century? He thought.
It was time to go home. Well, to whatever semblance of a home Dennis lives in, also known as Santos’s spare bedroom. He made his way to the locker room. What he wasn’t expecting was to walk in on Robby taking off his scrubs, his shirt accidentally getting pulled up when he lifted his arms, revealing his belly. Dennis looked away. It was non-sexual, but he had a tendency to freak out whenever he saw anyone even slightly naked. Growing up modestly, and all.
Robby didn’t seem to care. His abdomen was exposed, speckled with salt and pepper hair. His necklace wasn’t visible, due to his shirt not being fully off, but Dennis knew it was there anyways because of PittFest. They had a mutual, unspoken agreement to never talk about the state Dennis found Robby in. It was for the better.
With his face still turned away from Robby, he tried to open his locker, but failed miserably.
“Whitaker—you need help opening that?”
Dennis paused.
“Oh. Um. No, sir.” There it was again. Sir. Dennis cursed himself internally for managing to forget to address Robby as just Robby or Doctor Robby or Doctor Robinavich or literally anything else. Dennis wished he could call him Michael. But he’d never say that. Michael, the archangel, protector against evil. It was a fitting first name for Robby, protecting his patients against harm. Dennis wished his name had meaning like that. It meant follower of Dionysus—not biblical at all. He wished he was Michael. Whitaker just meant wheat field, which was meaningful enough, he supposed.
Robby’s shirt was back on now.
“You seem stressed, Whitaker”
“We have a stressful job,” Dennis chose to emit a title or name this time.
“No shit, kid,” he laughed a bit. “Sometimes the nurses, some of the residents, and I go out for beers after our shift is over. Helps us de-stress. You in?”
Dennis didn’t drink. It was yet another thing that would damn him, the little, annoying voice in his head would always say. But he was raised polite, so he said “Sure, thanks.”
He had no clue how he was going to get home tonight. Santos always gave him a ride since he was ‘between cars’ at the moment. Whatever.
He finally unopened his locker, his plain gray tee shirt and jeans inside, along with his rosary and a sandwich he stole from the snack cart. He barely owned any clothes, especially not ones meant for going out. They would have to do. Robby looked inside the locker from the spot he’s been standing, noting the contents. He knew Whitaker was religious, vaguely, but not too much about it. The only time he ever mentioned it was after PittFest, when he recited Isaiah 40 to Robby.
He quickly got changed after asking Robby to turn away for a moment. Dennis didn’t bring any belongings to work other than his clothes and rosary, so he didn’t need a bag or anything. He didn’t own many material things either. He had a laptop for his schoolwork and that was about it. Worked for him.
Once Robby was given the okay to look at Dennis again, he wrapped his arm around the student’s shoulder and led him outside to the little spot in the park where all the ER staff would usually drink after work.
Nobody else was there yet, but Robby opened up his backpack and handed Dennis a beer. Being the polite boy he is, he grabbed it, not making an effort to tell Robby he doesn’t drink.
They both cracked one open.
Dennis took a sip and immediately felt like he was going to throw up. It’s not like he had alcohol poisoning or anything, he was guilty. He felt sick. Blasphemous. Ashamed. He wasn’t even allowed wine at church, unlike Catholics.
Robby, on the other hand, was chugging. Dennis tried to ignore the bobbing of Robby’s adam’s apple as he drank. He didn’t know why he was drawn to it. Or he did, but was just ignoring it, as he usually does.
“What’s wrong? Don’t like it?”
“Oh. Ha. Uhm.” Dennis paused. “I’ve never had a drink before. It’s new, to say the least. I thought it would taste differently based on-“ temptation. He left out temptation. He doesn’t need to bring religion to work.
“Aren’t you twenty-six? You’ve been allowed to drink for five years, and you’ve never done it?” Robby looked astonished, but not mocking.
“My college was a sober campus. No alcohol at all. Didn’t see a reason for it when I started going to med school. I’ve been studying and working non-stop.”
“Good for you. You’re smart, Whitaker,” Robby smiled.
“Dennis, please. We aren’t at work anymore. But thank you, sir.”
“I’m not that old. You don’t need to call me sir all the time, Dennis. Up to you, though.”
“Sorry.”
“Nothing to apologize for.”
They smiled awkwardly at each other.
It was going to be a long night.
Dennis kept drinking, trying to drown out his feelings of disgust and shame. He spent so much time around alcoholics and patients with alcohol poisoning in the ER, he was a dumbass for not realizing he would be a lightweight.
The nurses slowly started to arrive. Robby said residents would come—but rumor is that Langdon got sent to rehab, so Dennis decided to not think about it too much. He wasn’t thinking too much about anything, all loopy and giggly. He was doomed.
Everyone was staring at him.
Robby came forward.
“Come on. I’m taking you home. Not smart for you to be out like this. You okay with holding on to me?” Robby paused. “I’ll just call an Uber. I don’t need you falling off a motorcycle.”
Dennis let out a drawn out “whyyyyy”
“That’s why. Come on. Where do you live?”
Dennis may have been wasted, but he wasn’t completely stupid. He didn’t need Robby knowing he was legally unhoused, just crashing in Santos’s apartment for the time being.
“I dunno.”
“Whitaker.”
Dennis giggled.
“Come on. I’m taking you to my place and sobering you up.”
Robby fully wrapped his arm around Dennis’s waist. This was the most intimate touch he had ever felt, even considering all the times Robby normally laid hands upon him throughout the day. Dennis took the support and slumped against Robby as he dragged him into the Uber.
They arrived at Robby’s townhouse, right outside the city lines of Pittsburgh.
Robby practically dragged Dennis inside, upstairs, and into his bathroom, plopping the younger man down in front of the toilet. He could tell he was going to throw up soon by the way he was salivating, but he didn’t want to think about it. Until it happened.
Robby started rubbing Dennis’s back as he puked.
“Let it out. You’ll be fine. I got you. You’ll feel better afterwards.”
“Hhnnngghhhhh” is all Dennis managed to utter after he vomited for the final time.
Robby offered his arm, allowing Dennis to stand up.
“Brush your teeth. I have an extra toothbrush in the medicine cabinet. Just use my toothpaste or something, I don’t care.” Robby said, voice all grumbly, but not in a condescending way.
“Thank you,” Dennis said quietly.
Robby left the bathroom so he could go sit on the couch, waiting for Dennis to join him.
Dennis eventually stumbled over and sat himself down. “I feel like shit.”
“I can see that.”
Realization hit. Dennis was drunk, Dennis had sinned, and worst of all, he was stuck in a room with the man he can barely even speak to without getting flustered. He felt doomed. If he wasn’t already getting damned for drinking, he would’ve killed himself then and there.
He looked like a deer in headlights.
“Whitaker. Earth to Whitaker. Hello? Dennis. Look at me” Robby snapped his fingers.
Dennis was breathing heavy now, staring at Robby.
“I’m ruined.”
Now Robby was confused.
“How?”
“I need to leave. I need to get home-“ he rambled “Shit shit shit.”
“Dennis. Talk to me.”
“I’m going to Hell, Robby. I messed up and I’m drunk and I can’t make it better.”
“Breathe, kid. You’re not going to Hell. Jesus drank wine. You’re fine.”
Robby ran his hand through Dennis’s blonde hair. He looked so pathetic.
“Go to sleep, Whitaker. You’ll feel better in the morning. You can have my bed, alright? I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Robby stood up, his hand naturally going up towards his beard, wiping his face with his hand and then yawning. He led Dennis to his room, turned off the lights, and then left to go sleep on his own couch.
“Goodnight,” Robby muttered as he closed the door.
The morning after, Dennis woke up all groggy, slowly remembering last night. He got out of bed—Robby’s bed—and went towards the kitchen. His pale face was slightly red and splotchy. He had been crying in his sleep. But when did he put on pajamas? And why are they too big? And why does the shirt have a schools name on it with a year before Dennis was even born?
Oh.
He stepped into the kitchen. Robby was making breakfast. Some blueberry muffins. Dennis’s favorite. No way he knew that, though.
“Uh. Robby? Where are my clothes?”
Not even a ‘good morning.’ Where had his manners gone?
“Your puke got on them. I washed them.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
Dennis looked away, embarrassed.
“Can we never talk about this again?” he asked.
“Sure.” Robby nodded.
“Our shift starts in an hour.”
Robby didn’t say anything to that, just opting for a nod of his head.
About twenty-some minutes later, the muffins were ready. The two men ate in silence, Dennis occasionally looking up from his plate to glance at Robby. He took note of the other man’s clothing. He had never seen him without his scrubs on. He always wore the same Beers of the Burgh hoodie, even on top of his scrubs, so that wasn’t new. He was wearing sweatpants and an old shirt that was a bit loose at the collar, showing some of his chest hair. Dennis didn’t know why he was so focused on Robby’s attire when it was obvious that he woke up not long before Dennis did himself. Dennis wondered what the rest of Robby’s chest looked like. That thought alone almost made him expel the three muffins he had stuffed in his face just moments prior. He awkwardly looked at Robby, which seemed to be happening a lot lately, and excused himself to the bathroom.
Dennis stared at himself in the mirror. He looked a mess. His blonde hair was flat to his face in all the wrong places, his dark circles worse than usual, and the Robby’s big shirt showing his wiry frame. Turning on the cold water using the sink’s faucet, he washed his face. A baptism of sorts. He was ready to repair his relationship with God. Ask anyone else and they’d tell him it wasn’t ruined and that he should just go to confession. He wouldn’t listen either way. He needed to start new. Put yesterday behind him.
He started to mutter a prayer from the Book of Luke under his breath.
“Father, I have sinned against you and am not worthy to be called your son.Be merciful to me, a sinner. Father of mercy, like the prodigal son. I return to you and say: ‘I have sinned against you and am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ Christ Jesus, savior of the world, I pray with the repentant thief to whom you promised paradise: ‘Lord, remember me in your kingdom.’ Holy Spirit, fountain of love, I call on you with trust: purify my heart, and help me to walk as a child of the light.”
He washed his face a second time, and went back out into the kitchen. His clothes were waiting for him on the countertop, freshly washed. There was a pair of scrubs sitting there too, somehow in his size.
“Thank you,” he said quietly, going back into Robby’s bedroom to change. When he came back out, Robby was sitting on the couch in his work clothes. It was almost time to go.
“I never said good morning,” Dennis said apologetically.
“Are you fine with putting your stuff in my backpack, Whitaker? Or, I guess I should ask if you’re fine with riding on the back of a motorcycle. That’s probably more important now that I think about it.” Robby was ignoring his apology. Dennis appreciated it in a way. Robby was being mature and professional about this whole situation. Yesterday he was Dennis. Now he’s back to being Whitaker, the MS4 working under Robby. A sense of relief washed over him.
“I’ve never been on one before. I just hold on to you, right?”
“Yup.”
“Do you have a second helmet?”
“Of course.”
“Alright. Thank you, sir.”
Whitaker put his laptop and scrubs into Robby’s backpack, slinging it onto his shoulders. If he was on the back of the motorcycle, he would need to be the one with the bag. He could be smart, sometimes. A lot of the time, actually. He just didn’t like saying that. Pride was bad. Vanity was bad.
He took one last look around the room, assuming he would never step foot in it again. He managed to miss all the pictures of Dr. Robby and Dr. Abbot scattered across the wall, and the crutch placed conveniently next to the entrance door. Maybe he is stupid. Whatever. None of his business. He barely knew Abbot anyways outside of seeing him briefly each night when his shift ended, when it was time for the staff to switch out.
“You ready, kid?”
Whitaker nodded.
“Good. I’ll get the helmets and be right out, wait for me by the bench outside, yeah?”
He nodded again, carrying the backpack out.
He waited about three minutes before Robby emerged from the townhouse. He grabbed the helmet from the older man, placing it on his head, and got ready to make his way to work.
“Hold on tight.”
He listened, grabbing onto Robby almost as hard as he grabbed onto the wooden rosary his mother had carved for him back in Nebraska on the night of PittFest.