Chapter Text
It had been an unusually slow morning. It felt as though somehow the world forgot how to have heart attacks, car crashes, and violent tempers. And now, as time folded into the afternoon, everyone had been giddily getting used to the steady stream of bum knees, kitchen knife mishaps, and dehydration headaches.
Dennis sat across from Santos, clicking his pen over and over again, lost in thought. As grateful as he was to have a slow day, it didn’t help his situation much. He needed a moment to be able to slip away unnoticed to the blood bank to re-stock, and with no serious patients, that meant that the focus was left to the doctors and nurses and their various goings-on. Sure, he could always use compulsion to make it easier to get what he needed, but controlling people was something he only used when necessary as it left a bitter taste in his mouth. So he resigned to waiting for the perfect window.
But even still, perhaps it was for the best that this day had been noticeably light. He was overdue for a feeding, and he was beginning to really feel it. He was still sharp as a tack, but his mind dragged just a hair too much for a doctor who must be ready to react at the drop of a hat.
“Huckleberry, do you need your ears checked?” Santos asked.
Dennis’s brows furrowed, “I don’t think so, why?”
“Because,” She began, peeking her head around her computer to glare at him, “I’m trying to understand how you don’t hear how annoying you’re being with that pen.”
“Oh, sorry.” He apologized, setting the pen down and clearing his throat.
She tilted her head and squinted her eyes, “You good? Something on your mind?”
“I’m fine,” He replied, a bit too quickly. “Just a little tired, I think.”
She nodded. “Yeah, me too. It hasn’t been very exciting this morning, has it?”
“I think it might be an easy day today.”
Santos’s face dropped as soon as the words left his mouth. “Why would you say that?”
“No, that’s- that’s not a jinx-”
Dana’s voice breaks through the comfortable lull of the early afternoon.
“Incoming! Unconscious male with suspected drug use, two GSW’s to the right shoulder after trying to pick a fight with the cops! Where should I send ‘im?”
“Trauma two!” Dr. Robby shouts from down the hall, already changing into a new pair of gloves. “Santos, Whitaker, Donahue- You’re with me! Let’s have security keep an eye out, and somebody page Garcia!”
Dennis hopped out of his chair and locked eyes with Santos.
“So much for an easy day.” She huffs.
“Sorry.” He whispers.
They just managed to get gloves and gowns on as EMT’s wheeled the patient in from the ambulance bay.
“Unknown male, no ID, Tachycardic, hypotensive, lost a lot of blood- cops said he went down after getting shot but not without a hell of a fight.”
“Did they mention what kind of drugs they think he’s on?” Robby asks.
“Best guess was PCP or meth.”
“Well, it’s 5 o’clock somewhere.” Santos remarks, and Dennis can’t help but chuckle.
Dr. Robby nods as the gurney arrives into Trauma two. “Alright, I need hands for transfer, please.”
Dennis wedges his hands under the patient's back right as a loud scream rips through the air. The patient roars to life and Dennis is pushed back with an unruly force.
“We need security here!” Dr. Robby yells.
The man kicks and thrashes at the doctors around him, falling off the gurney and hitting the ground with a loud thud. He snaps to his feet. An intense and unblinking look locks in his eyes.
He screams again and bares his teeth. Seething. Veins popping from his forehead so much so that one could think they would break skin.
“Security!” Dr. Robby yells again.
The man steps back, beating at the air with all the chaos of a man on fire. He pushes the gurney back against the doctors and it tips from the force, blocking their path to him. He staggers back and begins ripping things- anything- from the cabinets and shelves- throwing them at the staff as hard as possible. The sound of glass breaking shatters through the air.
“Get back! Get back!” Robby shouts to the team.
Security bursts through the door right as the man tears the defibrillator from its place and launches it full-force across the room.
The last sound Dennis hears is the loud crack of his own skull as it makes contact.
Everything goes black.
*******
A jolt of electricity rushes through him, and Dennis’s eyes burst open. His entire body tenses against the shock and his jaw clenches hard enough to crack his own teeth. He shoots to an upright position, heaving against the sensation. His chest rages from the movement, and his hand snaps to his ribs as a jagged cry erupts from his throat.
The sound of asystole rings in the air far too loud amid the silence of the room. Dennis winces as it pierces through his ear drums. His eyes squint from the fluorescent lighting and his mind feels heavy and clouded. He blinks a few times, trying to ground himself, before directing his gaze to his surroundings.
He is met with a room full of wide eyes and frozen doctors. His body goes cold as his memory returns to him like a bullet to the brain. He inhales sharply and scrambles off the table, knocking his head against the cold ground. A deep stinging sensation pooled in his skull and he could feel his ribs shift in his chest, fractured and wrong.
And just like that, the room surged back to life.
“Whitaker!”
“Don’t stand up-”
Hands gripped at his shoulder and footfall surrounded him. An intense anxiety took hold of him as he bolted to his feet. He looked for an escape, but the only one available required him to push through a sea of his coworkers. He backed against the wall like a caged animal, holding out his hands to signal everyone to keep away.
Santos took a step forward.
“Don’t- Don’t fucking touch me!” He shouted, causing everyone to freeze.
“Whitaker, we just want to help-”
“I- I don’t need it! I- I’m okay!”
As he spoke, blood dripped down the side of his face- no doubt from his fall off the table.
Fuck, he thought.
The room became a chorus of quickly exchanged looks. Dennis was covered in his own blood, erratic, and pale as the dead. A few stares fell upon the heart monitor, which was still ringing with that awful sound.
Dennis suddenly became aware of the amount of wires and pads stuck to him. He ripped them off and threw them to the floor. Blood poured from his hairline now, thick and dark.
“He’s hemorrhaging again!”
“Where the fuck is Neuro?!”
“Whitaker, we need you to-”
The sudden burst of noise made Dennis flinch. He began to sway and his body felt heavy and exhausted.
“No! No, I- I am refusing care! I- I’m exercising my right to refuse care…”
All the air in the room leaves immediately. Every doctor freezes. The chorus of looks swells into an orchestra of shock.
Santos’s voice breaks the silence. “He- He can’t make that decision. He’s impaired- concussed-”
“I’m not- impaired…” Dennis combats, his words slurring from his mouth.
She looks at Dr. Robby, who is staring at Whitaker with his mouth agape. “Dr. Robby? We- we need to move fast-”
Dennis’s vision spotted and his feet began to fail him, “I un-derstand… the risks… and I… refuse…”
The last thing he remembers before hitting the ground is the sound of Santos begging Dr. Robby to do something.
*******
The next time Dennis wakes up, there is no electric shock. No violent pain. No ringing monitors.
It's in a private room on a table. A thin white blanket is draped over him. He smells like antiseptic. There is a taste of grief in the air. The sun is nearly gone from the sky, and the low light of dusk settles on the walls just enough for Dennis to see that he is alone.
It seemed his refusal of care was honored. He didn’t need any more CPR cracked ribs or the chance of a burr hole in his head to deal with.
God does grant some mercies afterall.
His head and chest ache as he drags himself into a sitting position. He finds a clock on the wall and counts the time in his head.
Nearly 6 hours since he was hit. The next shift will be coming in soon.
Fuck, he thinks. That’s a lot of damage to un-do.
He takes a breath and peels back the blanket from his body, grateful to be clothed, and slowly moves off the table. Fatigue weighed down his bones. He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to ignore the pain in his head and the hunger crawling in his skin. Healing would have to be put on the backburner for now if he wanted to have any chance of fixing this.
One more breath, and Dennis began making his way toward the door.
So much for an easy day, indeed.