Chapter Text
No one looked at Dennis Whitaker and went:
His dad is a Greek god.
He was scrawny and meek and perpetually looked like he needed 48 hours of sleep to fix the luggage under his eyes.
He wasn’t especially pretty or built. Nothing about him said that he would be anything other than huckleberry.
Most people didn’t think that anyone was the son of a Greek god unless they were Oscar issac levels of pretty. Belief in the Greek gods was seen as part of the world of half naked neo-pagens not ER Doctors. People used them like characters in Disney films and musicals. They're fictional. Not going around having kids.
Both of those assumptions are wrong.
The myth of Apollo and Ann Whitaker.
Apollo was known for his archery and music.
Hermes and Pan are the ones that claimed animal care, but Apollo protected the divine cattle. He is music and dance and beauty, but he is also Apollo Noumios.
Phoebus and Nomius we call him… Lightly would the herd of cattle wax larger, nor would the she-goats of the flock lack young, whereon as they feed Apollo casts his eye;nor without milk would the ewes be nor barren, but all would have lambs at foot
Callimachus, Hymn to Apollo
The Whitaker ranch had about 30 cows that they bred, sold, and slaughtered for local businesses. These cows were Ann’s life.
Her whole life, her husband's life, and her three sons.
Apollo saw the great care of these animals and judged Ann worthy of him. So he disguised herself as her husband and went to bed with her.
Nine months later, little Dennis was born with golden curls of Apollo Akersekomês.
The Whitakers all had pin-straight dark brown hair.
Travis turned to his wife in rage.
Dennis grew up as evidence of Ann’s infidelity. The embodiment of her betrayal.
“The Affair Baby” the whispers at church called him.
His brothers: David, Noah, and Abraham grew up with one mission– torture. Dennis got the worst chores, he took the blame, and his supper was stolen.
“For it has been granted to you that for the sake of Christ you should not only believe in him but also suffer for his sake"
Philippians 1:29
The summer Dennis turned eleven, a hot and arid summer, Apollo sent Poine. A monster that he’d last unleashed upon the people of Argos for the death of his son.
Poine ate Travis Whitaker.
Dennis arrived at Camp Half-Blood a week later.
The Battle of Manhattan broke out three months later.
Sixteen Years Later
Dennis gasped awake with the putrid smell of his nightmare still in his nose. His chest heaved with deep gulps of air that didn’t feel enough.
You’re a doctor, you understand what your body is doing.
His mind was still deep in fight or flight mode. The dark of the night or– the clock said 3:05 am– the very early morning wrapped around the room in a way that didn’t help shake off the adrenaline. His brain was convinced the darkness was hiding something; a monster or Daemon waiting ready to kill.
He needed light.
Dennis eased off the bed, careful not to make too much noise and felt his way to the attached bathroom. First, he twisted the knob then shut the door to avoid even that little bit of noise. Still in the dark, he placed a hand towel to block light from escaping under the crack. Only when all of this was done did he blind himself by flicking on the light.
The face that greeted him was pale and flushed splotchy ugly red. The harsh lighting seemed to emphasise every blemish. His bags looked darker. A thin sheen of gross sweat covered his skin.
His heart still pounded in his chest, slower than before but still elevated. Dennis took his pulse just to focus on something. 90 BPM maybe? Doing it like this wasn’t super accurate. A pulse oximeter was quicker and more accurate. Even Camp used them in the infirmary which was at least twenty years behind standard medical equipment.
Gods, he missed camp sometimes. The safety, his half siblings.
It was lonely out in the mortal world.
Dennis carefully turned on the faucet, just a small stream, to splash some water on his face. The pool of water grew slowly in his cupped hands till it was enough to wash away the adrenaline. It was cold and a perfect shock to his system. He used his wet hand to wipe away the sweat at the back of his neck as well.
Demi-gods dreams always meant something. It could be a warning or prophetic or just a message. That was especially true, painfully true, for the Apollo kids. Other demi-gods at least could have a decent chance for dreamless sleep but not Cabin Seven. Energy drinks littered the floors. Caffeine gum was worth its weight in drachmas. Anything to stay awake a little longer.
Need something done at night? Ask an Apollo kid, they’ll be up.
The Apollo kids will always take night patrol.
The sun kids were always up with the moon.
Except for Dennis.
Dennis rarely dreamt.
“It is 3:30am” Michael Robinavitch squinted against the bathroom lights.
“Robby,” Dennis startled hard.
“Why?” Robby made a sweeping motion at the bathroom then pressed his knuckles into his eyes to try and get the sleep out of them.
“Just a night terror, go back to sleep. Please,” Dennis tacked on a bit of manners right to the end to soften the command.
“What about?” Robby pressed. His tone said he didn’t actually want to hear. It said he wanted to go back to bed.
Dennis wondered if maybe he actually cared or was actually this stubborn. It could honestly be either. He thought about protesting more. It would be better for everyone if they both just went back to bed.
Robby sent him a stern look.
“There was like– a fucked up wilderbeast thing, I remeber thinking it smelled horrible. It charged me and just that over and over. It’s fine, really,” Dennis turned off the faucet to signal he was done in the bathroom and they should really both go back to sleep before they have to get to work in two and a half hours (Robby in two hours because he liked to have some time with Dr. Abbot) and forget this all happened.
The thing was actually called a Katobleps, its downward-hanging face, when lifted, could kill with a gaze or with the fumes of noxious breath. Dennis last heard they’d all been wiped out by one of the Big Seven during the Giant War, but gossip wasn’t the most reliable source of information. Plus, monsters came back from Tartarus all the time.
A large warm hand gripped Dennis’ shoulder and steered him out of the bathroom. Robby clicked the light off as they returned to the bedroom. With all the grace of a man awake at 3:30am, he climbed back into bed.
“Next time just wake me up, k’ Whit?” Robby said before promptly falling back to sleep with a slight snore.
Dennis stared up at the ceiling.
Robby climbed out of bed at 5am. His alarm was an old fastioned one with a radio that he turned off as soon as the first beep sounded. He complained about his back to himself quietly. Not loud enough to wake anyone if Dennis had gone back to sleep after his nightmare. Instead, he had laid awake with his eyes closed to not break the rules that kept a very fragile peace between them intact.
The rules for fucking someone 25 years older than you who is also your boss and maybe unhealthily dependent on you.
- No talking about it at work.
- No talking about it at work.
- Seriously, no talking about it at work.
- Try to avoid awkward mornings-after where you might be tempted to ask bad questions like ‘what now?’ or ‘what am I to you?’ or ‘do you want to go out on a date?
4a. To do this Robby always got up first. He’d leave to meet Abbot before Dennis even got out of bed.
- No hickies or biting or evidence of any kind to wistfully linger on in the morning.
- Don’t fuck someone 25 years older than you who is also your boss and maybe unhealthily dependent on you.
Dennis only dared to get out of bed once he heard the click of the door shut. His back hurt for an entirely different reason.
Robby’s house was exactly what one would expect from an ER attending. He had a couple of meaningful pieces of art on the wall and keepsakes on the shelves, a few plants in the window thrived because Robby watered them, then left them alone. Plenty of medical texts and other academic books along with the entire Lord of the Rings series sat on bookshelves. That’s where anything that was distinctly Michael ended. It was Robby’s style, dark wood and navy blue with lots of soft lighting, but all the furniture looked purchased as a set. The effortless look that came from an interior designer.
Dennis turned the picture of young Robby and Abbot that sat on the coffee table face down then turned to the kitchen. Two eggs and a clean pan sat on the counter next to the gas stove. Two small pills of ibuprofen sat there as well.
This was why he kept coming back.
Dennis envied the kitchen. Back home in Broken Bow the house had a big kitchen that was the heart of the house. All things flowed through the kitchen. Trinity’s apartment had a small kitchen with a shit electric stove and a leaky dishwasher, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. The small kitchen was an easy trade for everything Trinity had given him.
She’d hate that he felt indebted.
How do you feel anything else after all the ledges she’s talked him down from?
Dennis ate his well-seasoned eggs, had a glass of water, and changed into his scrubs. He slid the ibuprofen back into the Costco-sized bottle, righted the picture of Robby and Abbot, and continued to erase any evidence he was ever there.
He should stop coming back.
Dennis touched the Mezuzah on the door frame and knew he wouldn’t.
The bus was good enough and was pretty much the only option since they both agreed that Dennis showing up to the Pitt with Robby was a bad idea. Nurses were worse gossips than Hermes' kids. They couldn’t even pass it off as a carpool situation because Dennis’ apartment was the opposite direction of Robby’s.
Not to mention the death trap that was the Harley. A sexy death trap, but a death trap all the same.
The aftermath of motorcyclist vs auto, or motorcyclist vs road, or motorcyclist vs gravity that came through the Pitt had soured the entire machine for Dennis.
They were also Ares’ vehicle of choice but that was an entirely different thing.
The bus was only a little late which was a pleasant change from its typical pretty late. Dennis counted the stops, there were 4 between Robby’s apartment and the stop closest to the hospital. On his stop Dennis greeted the cool air of early morning Pittsburgh.
Fall crept closer through the end of summer. The leaves would change color soon and he’d have to unearth the hoodie and coat he owned. School would go back in session, and campers would make the choice to stay year-round or brave school again. New Rome University would be an option for some of them if they got admission.
Would he have gone to NRU if he had the chance?
Dennis stopped in his tracks as the question unexpectedly hit him like a truck.
After graduation from Camp Half-Blood he’d been terrified of getting stuck in that suffocating little town.
Dennis, 18 years old scrapping his entire dinner into the fire pit. Begging Hermes, god of travelers, to get him out. He didn’t care where. His mother’s second husband asked what the hell he was doing with the fire pit.
University had been a solid way out and Theology had killed two birds with one stone.
It elated his family that he was studying theology. To them, he’d finally picked a side, the correct one. It satiated the need to be right, and finally they took their claws out of him.
Privately, it gave him some hope that maybe if he could figure out religion on an academic level he could sort out believing in Jesus and being the son of a pagan god.
He had believed in Jesus. He didn’t know how not to. It's what he had to do.
Would he have chosen that path if he didn't have to go back to his christian family?
Would letting go have been easier if he’d left the mortal world all together?
Burning fumes entered his nose causing Dennis to immediately retch. A Katobleps poured noxious green gas out of its mouth that burned in his lungs like inhaling smoke.
Dennis cursed in Greek.
It had been 6 years since a monster had attacked him. Of course, it had to happen right before his shift.
The monster charged with two razor sharp horns pointed right at Dennis. Its deadly gaze was pointed at the ground but it wasn’t hard to imagine the look of “KILL THE DEMI-GOD” that most monsters had.
Dennis rolled into an ally and pulled his knife from the sheath under his clothes. You could take the demi-god out of the camp but not the camp out of the demi-god. His mind clicked into combat mode as easy as getting on a bike again. If the bike was a poison breathing wildebeest monster that is.
Dennis looked for an opening, the front had poisonous gas.
The side meant running into those horns that were perfect for gouging.
The back was protected by razor sharp hooves.
Attack from above it was.
Dennis ran at full force toward the wall, jumped, and kicked off of it hard like a parkour move to land on the Katoblep’s back. He landed hard on its back which was not meant to be ridden. It’s spine dug into Dennis’ hip painfully. Immediately, it started to shake him off.
Contrary to the belief of his co-workers, Dennis was not skilled in bull riding. His family raised dairy cows. However, he had been tricked into pig riding by his brothers. Climb a tree, have someone else gently guide the pig into position and then jump and hold on like hell.
This was like that but multiplied by 20 and also what if he couldn’t see because his eyes were watering from fumes.
The Katoblep threw its head back in anger. Its horns just missed Dennis’ liver. When that didn’t work it slammed its body into the walls. Dennis’ leg exploded in pain as it was pinned between a rock and a hard place. The brick wall and the unforgiving hide monster. Dennis just barely kept himself from screaming. That bruise was going to be hard to explain.
Hopefully he’d be alive to have that problem.
The monster charged forward farther down the alley then stopped abruptly. The momentum made him lurch forward, almost ass over teakettle. He blindly grabbed the horns and tightened his core to stay on his ride from Tartarus threw the new cloud of poison. For a crucial second the Katoblep seemed confused that there was still an annoying little Demigod on its back. It was all the opening he needed to drive his knife into the side of the monster’s neck several times until it exploded into dust. It was amazing he even hit the thing's neck with how much his eyes burned.
Dennis rolled up his pant leg. The beginnings of a nasty bruise speckled his leg. No serious discoloration yet, just the redness of broken blood vessels.
Dennis did the very professional medical procedure of poking it with his finger. Tender to the touch without severe pain. His ankle and knee moved without pain so he wasn’t worried about a break.
Mostly he was sweaty and now smelled like Katoblep breath. He didn’t want his co-workers to think he didn’t shower and he really smelled like it at the moment.
Dennis looks at the unidentified ooze coming out of the bottom of a nearby dumpster.
He looked down at his clean scrubs.
Oh, he really didn’t want to do this.
Dennis didn’t take the disgusted recoil of the people in chairs and his co-workers to heart. He knew how he smelled.
He smelled like gross trash ooze and monster breath.
“Oh go straight to the showers, I will get you new scrubs,” Lena said with a wave toward the showers. The ED parted like the red sea. Dennis murmured a thank you as he walked quickly with his head down.
Lena went into the breakroom and pulled out a plastic tub from one of the cabinets that said “Whitaker Scrubs”
It was easier than having to make the poor boy fight with the scrub exchange.
Dennis showered in record time, just enough to get the smell off.
“I got your scrubs,” announced Dana. Dennis threw out a flimsy towel that only got him dry enough to not soak his clothes. He kept his arm extended from behind the curtain for the new clothes.
“Thanks Dana, did Lena leave?” Dennis asked before shaking out his curls.
“Like a bat out of hell. Said that you’re a dayshift pittling not a nightshift one and thus not her problem,” Dana said.
“When do we stop being pittlings?” Dennis asked. The nickname was apparently a tradition, but made him feel like a kid.
“The second year of residency is normally when it wears off but there's no guarantee,” Dana had a little bit of humor to her voice.
Something told Dennis that he and Javadi weren’t going to kick that nickname anytime soon. He quickly slipped on his undershirt, scrubs, underwear, and lastly pants. He did like being fully clothed most of the time. He slipped on his camp beads that sat on his collar bone before stepping out.
“Jesus kid! What the hell happened to your leg?” Dana reared back.
The pant leg had ridden up due to his damp skin. The newly visible bruise had already begun to darken rapidly.
“I can move my knee and ankle with no pain and only minor pain when I walk, no hematoma,” He assured her.
“That’s lovely, but isn’t what I asked,” Dana crouched to inspect his leg with careful clinical fingers. The bruising was from his mid calf and traveled all the way to his hip. It threatened to become a deep purple to red as it developed.
“I was trying to go around movers on a stairwell and got my leg pinned by a couch,” Dennis lied. It was maybe a bit too smooth and he’d used up one of his best excuses for mysterious bruising.
Dana raised an eyebrow at him. Her bullshit alarm was going off, and charge nurses had some of the best in the business.
“Really Dana I’m okay, there’s no need to cause a fuss.” Dennis pulled down his pant leg. There was at least a shot of nectar left in his flask from the last visit to camp If he wasn’t.
“Mhmm, okay, I won’t tell on you,” Dana’s voice didn’t sound convinced, but handed him his socks and shoes anyway.
Socks on damp feet were going to suck.
“I think a scrub change before work is a new record for you,” Santos teased.
“Its what I get for taking a short cut,” Dennis involuntarily remembered an old lecture from his dad about cutting corners even though that wasn’t remotely what happened.
On the board there was a man with pneumonia in third that needed attention. He’d been there for a while and probably got lost in the flow of more serious cases. Needed to find Shen for that hand off.
“We should just have you in PPE all shift, probably save us the effort of washing your scrubs all the time,” Santos nudged him.
“Maybe you’d have the time to do laundry if you weren’t sucking up to Dr. Shamsi all the time,” Dennis fired back.
“You’ll eat your words when I get a double residency and you’re stuck being completely mediocre,” Santos grinned and walked away while she was ahead. She missed Dennis' sharp and bitter chuckle.
“Mediocre” didn’t survive two wars.