Chapter Text
The shift’s going too well.
It’s among the ED superstitions that no one wants to admit to but everyone’s aware of— a shift this calm can’t continue to go unperturbed. The day’s been unnervingly smooth. Limited chaos, limited fuckery. It’s a sleepy weekday with no big events going on in the city and their first stretch of weather in a while that's temperate enough to avoid promising either hypothermia or heatstroke, and apparently Pittsburgh’s decided to behave itself for once.
It’s starting to get under Robby’s skin.
Their luck just isn’t this good. Either they've used up all their good karma for the rest of the decade or they’re living on borrowed time.
So when he’s started preparing for shift change when Dana hunts him down from across the ED with an expression that means shit is hitting the fan, he can’t help but feel a little bit vindicated.
“Robby! We need you here,” she calls, and he’s already moving, burst of adrenaline replacing whatever end of shift tiredness had begun to settle over his bones. He follows her lead as she beelines back towards the hub, half jogging to keep up with her. “Code hula hoop, Whitaker’s down. Strung out patient got him.”
“Jesus, of course it’s Whitaker.” Poor kid can barely go a week without facing a shift from hell. Robby can already feel his blood pressure spiking. “He get his shit rocked?”
“Got his shit drugged,” Dana corrects.
And oh fuck. Quiet shift his ass.
Robby starts jogging in earnest. “Drugged?”
“Patient came in unresponsive, seemed like a run of the mill suspected overdose, no response to Narcan. Woke up agitated right when Whitaker was starting the examination and turned out the guy had a loaded syringe still in his pocket. Nailed Whitaker before they could restrain him. Full dose administered, tox screen pending.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. “How big is the guy?”
“About three of the kid.”
And now Robby’s running.
“Where is he?”
“We got him in South 16. Patient’s restrained and being treated by Mel and Donnie in South 17.”
“And Whitaker?”
“Managing. Took a few minutes to kick in but it’s hitting him now. Hey, Robby, hold on.” She slows, catching his sleeve to make him slow with her. Her expression is grim. “He’s starting to get agitated. Langdon’s in there with him now— hey, don’t give me that face. He was closest to the room when the commotion went down.”
Robby scrubs a rough hand over his beard, tries to get his thoughts straight. Tries not to take off down the hall with or without Dana the way he’s itching to. Tries to separate out his frustration with Frank from his concern for Dennis. Tries to keep his head. “Have they started treating him?”
She sighs. “He’s not letting anyone touch him.”
Robby manages to get one foot off the ground before she’s snatching him back. “Wait. You know how he gets— that whole scared puppy look about him, not trying to cause trouble but still freaked as hell. We don’t know what the drug is yet but it looks like a dirty strain based on how bad of a high the patient is having. Whitaker’s risking overdose and undergoing the worst trip of his little life right in front of all his colleagues. He needs you calm.”
He stares at her, breathing hard. “I am calm.”
She stares back. “You are not.” Her hand is still on his sleeve, firm, grounding. “I know you have a soft spot for him. Hell, we all do, but I know it’s different for the two of you, and —shh, I’m not done yet— and he needs you to be calm so that he can follow your example just like he always does.” Her eyebrows raise, expectant. “Can you do that for him?”
He looks her in the eye and joins her in pretending that they both don’t know there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for that kid, against both of their better judgements. “Yes.”
“Good, because Langdon sucks at this and we needed you in there fucking yesterday. Let’s go.”
They round the corner to yelling.
It takes a second to parse out three separate voices. The patient, yelling threats and a range of colorful obscenities from South 17. Langdon, talking low and fast in South 16. And Dennis—
Dennis sounding absolutely fucking nothing like Dennis. Too loud, too high, riding on a panic that Robby hears before he sees.
The door to South 16 is open. A few nurses are hovering outside, Ahmad posted between the two rooms in case either goes more downhill than they already have.
Dennis is begging and Robby is sprinting.
“I just need a minute, just— just give me a minute, please—”
“We need to examine you, buddy, you know that—”
”—please, please, I just need some space, I don’t—”
“Whit, c’mon, work with me here—”
“Stay back—”
And Robby sees it coming before it happens.
Langdon’s got Dennis cornered, backed up against the far wall of the exam room, Langdon approaching slowly with hands held up and voice held low. Dennis looks fucking wrecked, shoulders pressed flush to the wall, shaking hard enough that Robby can see it from here.
The technique barely has a chance of working even before Langdon reaches for him and Dennis ducks and bolts.
He makes it just past the door before he smacks straight into Robby’s chest.
There’s a fraction of a moment where Dennis reels —too stunned to fight, too flustered to catch up with what just happened— and Robby takes advantage of it, hustling him back through the open door of South 16 before immediately releasing him and instead grabbing Langdon by the collar. It’s a quick trade to haul Langdon out and shut Dennis inside, locking the door behind him.
He turns around to find half the ED staring at him. The patient in South 17 still hasn’t stopped yelling.
“Okay,” he says. “You all have 30 seconds to tell me what I need to know.”
“He’s agitated but not combative,” Langdon says, rubbing his neck where the collar of his scrub top had pulled. Oops. “Had about four minutes of full lucidity post dose before he started to decline. Gave us enough time to pull blood for a tox screen and place an IV, but he yanked out the line as soon as the confusion set in. Vitals already going haywire.”
“Do we have any idea at all what he was dosed with?”
“Patient isn’t in a state to tell us,” Langdon says.
“Dr. Whitaker thought it might be a new street drug based on the patient’s behavior,” a nurse pipes up. She’s a new hire, one of the youngest in their department, and the tremble in her voice is enough to tip him off that she’d been in the room with them. Princess already has an arm secured around her, protecting and comforting in equal measure. “He said it was similar to what he’d seen on the street team lately.”
“Good to know, thank you. Anything else?”
“The dose was intramuscular in his side, so it’s going to take longer to hit full intensity compared to intravenous," Dana says, arms crossed and standing at the front of the crowd. “Symptoms of overdose would take a while to appear but it doesn’t mean they won’t show up. We need to get him in a bed and evaluated as soon as possible. That kid’s just getting started.”
Christ. Robby takes a breath. “Okay. Give me five minutes to try and resolve this peacefully, and if I can’t, then we call in the calvary and do this however we need to. Okay?”
At everyone’s nod, he nods back. “And someone get Dr. Santos.”
He shoots Dana a look to make sure she’ll be staying close before unlocking the door and slipping inside, closing it softly behind him, shutting out the chaos of the ED and leaving the room quiet. Robby braces himself against the door and gives himself three full seconds to settle, and a fourth to breathe, before turning. At least Langdon had the foresight to close the curtains.
It takes him a moment to actually find Dennis.
The lights are off, room dim and still. Dennis has wedged himself into a corner of the room smaller than a man his size should be able to fit into, legs pulled to his chest, forehead pressed to his knees. His hands are folded over the back of his neck, protecting his head. His inner arm is smeared with drying blood where he must have pulled the IV. He’s hyperventilating, gasping in air at a punishing rate despite how Robby can see him trying to regulate, trying to ground himself after being launched out of the stratosphere without his permission or consent. The sound of him reciting prayers to himself, stuttering and breathless, is just barely audible.
Robby takes one step in his direction and he flinches like a gun has gone off.
Oh, sweetheart.
“Dennis,” he calls, voice soft.
"Please don't hurt me.”
Robby’s heart spasms. “I'm not going to.” He lowers himself to the floor where he stands, getting on Dennis's level without closing the distance between them. Dennis presses himself impossibly closer to the wall behind him. “It’s Robby. I’m not coming any closer to you, but I’m here. Just take a minute.”
Dennis asked for space and time when he was still with Langdon and didn’t receive it. Robby will honor it, or at least give it a shot— see if he can bring himself down without anyone poking or prodding at him. Let the kid cling to the quiet and the prayers and try to find his footing.
It takes longer than a minute. It takes almost all of their allotted five minutes, Robby sitting in silence while Dennis comes back to himself in starts and stops. But eventually the muttered prayers quiet and Dennis’s breathing slowly reaches something slightly less frantic, just barely beginning to uncurl when his head lifts. He looks absolutely fucking destroyed. “Robby?”
Oh thank god.
“Yeah, it’s me. How are you feeling?”
Dennis sobs and Robby’s across the room before he can fully make the decision to move.
“Hey, hey, you’re alright,” Robby murmurs, crouching on the floor in front of him. There’s a horrible moment where this feels like a direct reflection of their time in Pedes on the day of Pittfest, both of them taking a turn at being pushed to breaking point and a turn at pulling the pieces back together. Pot, meet kettle. “It’s okay.”
”Robby.”
“That’s me. Eyes on me, kid. Let me get a look at you.”
Dennis struggles to make eye contact, face flushed and eyes glazed. His focus is more through Robby than on him— wavering, unsteady, distracted and frightened by whatever else the drugs have him seeing. His teeth are chattering hard. “Are you… real?”
God, he’s so far gone already. “Sure am.”
Robby moves slowly, starting to shrug off his jacket with the plan of handing it over, give Dennis something tangible to ground himself with while still minimizing contact, but only gets as far as unzipping when Dennis reaches out. He snags a handful of the fabric and holds like a drowning man clinging to land, keeping Robby close, as if he might disappear if Dennis gives him the chance.
“Okay, there you go,” Robby says, shifting to sit. Dennis shifts with him, not risking loosening his grip as Robby settles cross legged on the tile before him, barely a foot away. “Keep breathing deep for me. You’re okay.”
“I don’t— what—”
“You got drugged. Not your fault, not something you could have seen coming. Do you remember?”
“... what?” He blinks, wincing as he glances down at himself. His free hand slips down to press against his hip and a sharp gasp escapes him at the contact. “Hurts.”
“I bet. That’s where the needle got you.” They’ll need to evaluate the injection site as soon as they can— make sure the needle didn’t snap on top of running a pathogen test and starting him on post exposure prophylaxis. It’s one of many things that still need to be done, just a single line on the long list of treatment tasks that need to be started as soon as Dennis can be convinced to accept them. “You’ve also got a very bloody arm due to your DIY IV removal, but we’ll worry about that later.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah, that about sums it up.”
“Sick?”
“You? Very.”
“... still real?”
“You and I both, honey.”
Dennis doesn’t seem eased at the confirmation. He curls again, forehead coming to rest on Robby’s shoulder, hiding his face, still holding onto his sweatshirt like it’s his only anchor to the earth with knuckles pressed white around navy fabric. His trembling hasn’t abated. “Everything’s… moving. Can’t catch my breath.”
“Drugs meant for someone twice your size and tolerance will do that to you.” Robby’s hand tentatively comes to rest on the back of Dennis’s neck and he surprises him by tolerating it. He takes the opportunity to do a vitals check, keeping his touch slow and gentle, gauging how quickly they need to move this along. He’s expecting the high temperature but the blazing heat that meets his palm is still startling. “Jesus, both fever and tachycardia already, huh?”
Dennis shudders through another breath. “Chest hurts.”
The way his pulse is thudding hard against Robby’s fingers, he doesn’t doubt it. “Any other symptoms I should know about?”
“Really dizzy,” Dennis mumbles into his shoulder, voice thin and half muffled by the fabric. “Kinda nauseous. Really— um.” Robby’s thumb sweeps back and forth on the nape of his neck. “Really want to stop feeling like this.”
“Believe me, I want the same thing.”
“I don’t feel real.”
“You are, I promise.”
“... what if I feel like this forever?”
“You won’t, I promise that too,” Robby says. He takes a breath, bracing himself. “The bad news is that you’re going to keep feeling worse for a while. You got hit with a large dose that’s going to keep building intensity unless we start treating you, and we can’t treat you unless you let us.” Dennis stiffens beneath his hands. “I know. I know, sweetheart. But it’s not something that can wait. I’m sorry.”
“Please don’t make me,” Dennis chokes, and god, the way this kid can break his heart in a fucking instant. “Please—”
“Shh.” He’s running so hot that Robby can feel the heat of his forehead burning through three layers of clothing. Fuck, they’re running out of time before this gets critical. Their five minutes are long gone. As much as Robby understands the aversion —the contact, the intrusions, the lack of privacy, the loss of autonomy, the overwhelming experience that comes with being the subject of a trauma even without disorienting drugs taking a joy ride through your bloodstream— Dennis’s safety ranks above his comfort at this point. It’s non negotiable even if Robby fucking hates himself for it. “I wouldn’t if we didn’t have to.”
Dennis is crying again and the guilt is all consuming. “Please, Robby, I can’t—”
“It’s okay,” Robby murmurs. “You can pick who’s in here with you. We’ll keep it as quiet as we can, but we need at least a few people to help. Any thoughts on who you want?”
Dennis’s breath hitches, pressing his face harder to Robby’s shoulder. The shaking comes in waves.
The lack of an answer is answer enough. “Okay. I’m thinking Trinity, Dana, and Perlah. Maybe we’ll see if we can grab Jack when he gets here for shift change.” All four are close with Dennis, all four know how to handle themselves in sensitive situations. Dennis respects and trusts them all deeply and is less likely to resist treatment when it’s coming from them. If Robby has to make him do this, he’s going to make it as easy on him as it possibly can be. “I’ll even make Langdon wait out in the ambulance bay, how’s that?”
“You’ll stay?”
Fuck, they’d have to drag him away. “If that’s what you want.” He tightens his hold just slightly, grounding, gentle. “Trinity, Dana, Perlah, Jack, and me. Okay by you?”
Dennis nods, barely a twitch against Robby’s collarbone.
“Good boy.”
He gets one arm around Dennis’s back, keeping him anchored, before digging his phone out of his pocket and updating Dana. It’s a brief conversation that Dennis stays silent through, huddled against Robby with his hands still fisted in his jacket.
“Alright, Dana’s gathering the troops and the supplies,” Robby says a moment later, phone returning to his pocket. Santos is the only one unavailable due to working a case with Mohan— Robby hopes that Dennis doesn’t notice her absence until she’s able to join the party. “Time to get you on the bed.”
He doesn’t move.
“Dennis?”
His teeth are chattering again. “No more drugs.”
“No more drugs,” Robby confirms. For the sake of the argument, the sedative cocktail they’ll definitely be hitting him with as soon as they get the results of the tox screen back doesn’t count. “Just fluids and oxygen and some monitors, that’s all.”
“No more needles.”
Looking at the puddle of blood he’s leaving on the tile, still dripping down his arm from where he ripped his own vein open earlier, Robby probably could have figured that one out on his own, but he still appreciates the communication. “We’ll need intravenous access, but we’ll stick to just one cannula. Perlah’s the best in the business. You won’t even feel it.”
“Don’t leave.”
Fuck, this kid. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
It’s a careful maneuver to shift Dennis to his feet and over to the patient bed, but one that Robby’s tentatively successful with, lifting him onto the thin mattress himself with an arm hooked under his knees when Dennis’s coordination falters. He’s getting worked up again, pulse pounding against Robby’s hands as his breathing speeds up, shaking so hard that the mattress is vibrating against Robby’s leg.
“I don’t want this,” he gets out as Robby’s coaxing him into laying back, one last attempt to talk his way out of this whole shitshow and apparently take Robby’s entire fucking soul with him while he’s at it, Robby’s heart clenching like someone got a fist around it. Where the fuck he’s even planning on going, Robby has no idea, but the urge to bolt is clear in every line of his body, fight or flight at constant battle with flight consistently coming out on top. “Please, Robby, I don’t—”
“Dennis,” Robby soothes, cutting him off before he can talk himself back into full blown panic. “You’re safe. I know this isn’t what you want right now, and I’m so sorry, but we gotta take care of you. It’s alright.”
Robby thinks they’re making progress until the door to the room opens and Dennis decides to make a run for it.
“Ah ah ah, no.” He barely manages to sit up before Robby’s pressing him back down, hands heavy on his shoulders, using his hip to block Dennis’s legs from swinging over the edge of the mattress. Dennis is hyperventilating again. “Hey, shh. None of that, you’re okay. Lay down.”
“Robby, I can’t, I can’t—”
“Dennis,” Dana says, already situated across the bed from Robby, smoothly grabbing one of his hands and holding firm as she eases his arm flat to the mattress. Dennis’s attention snaps over to her, gaze wild. “Hey, hon. Just me, alright? You’re doing great.”
God bless her, she’s got a pulse ox on him before Robby can fucking blink, his unmarred forearm exposed and prepped for IV placement. Perlah’s right behind her, hustling through setting up monitors and connecting leads, and an oxygen cannula finds its way into Robby’s grip as soon as the pulse ox registers.
“Hold on.” Robby risks releasing him for just long enough to thread the oxygen cannula under his nose, tucking the tubing over his ears. Perlah rips open the IV packaging and Dennis jerks at the sound. “Woah, hey, easy. It’s okay.”
“No more drugs,” Dennis chokes out.
“No more drugs,” Robby confirms. “Just saline for now, I promise.”
“Robby, no— no more—”
“Shh, sweetheart. I know. No more drugs. You’re safe.”
”Please—”
“Shh.”
Dana’s eyes find his over the hospital bed, heartbreak mirrored. Kiara’s going to have a fucking field day with all of them after this.
“Come here, kid.” One of Robby’s hands catches Dennis’s and lands against his sternum, trapping his arm against his chest while also keeping manual track of his respirations and pulse, while the other stays in his hair, fingers winding into damp curls. Dennis’s attention is everywhere and panicked. He catches a flash of Perlah readying the needle and a desperate sound punches out of him.
“Nope, don’t look at that,” Robby says, using the hand in his hair to force his head back, angling his vision away from the commotion and up towards him. Dennis’s eyes lock onto his, pupils blown wide. “Look at me. Yep, good. I’m right here. You’re doing so good, honey. Just keep those eyes on me.”
The IV tourniquet snaps into place and panic flashes anew in Dennis’s face. ”Robby—”
“I know. It’s just Dana and Perlah. We’re just pushing some fluids, no more drugs. You’re safe.” Out of the corner of his eye, Robby can see Perlah speeding through what has to be the fastest IV placement of her career, Dana keeping her grip on Dennis’s hand to stop him from jerking away. Dana shoots him a glance of warning and Robby tightens his hold. “Okay, quick poke now. Still just us. Deep breath, Dennis. I've got you.”
And the flinch that follows is full bodied and violent but expected and then they finally have IV access. Something like relief flares in Robby’s chest as Perlah draws another quick blood sample and then connects fluids —the quicker they can flush his system, the quicker this will be done— and Dana immediately heavily tapes up the IV site as they would for their pediatric patients, making sure this one stays. Superheroes, the both of them.
“Good job, sweetheart,” he murmurs. Dennis is holding onto his hand like a lifeline, tight enough to bruise, eyes distant. His lucidity is slipping again. Not unexpected. Not good, but not necessarily bad, especially if it means he gets to check out for a while— spare him some of this shit. “You’re doing good. Just keep breathing, you’ve got it. Perlah, let’s grab some ice packs to start fighting this fever, please.”
What he really wants to do is get together a cocktail of beta blockers and antipyretics and sedatives and whatever the fuck else they can get their hands on to make Dennis more comfortable and knock him out entirely, let him sleep through the rest of it, but potential drug interactions are too big of a risk until they can verify what he got dosed with. For now, they have to go old school. Fluids and oxygen and ice while the drug runs its course and his body burns itself out.
He dares glancing up at Dana as Perlah hurries out of the room. “Any news on the tox screen?”
“Not yet, but soon. Lab’s rushing it.” She’s back to holding Dennis’s hand. Her focus is on the monitors, taking note of vitals, but she’s got his hand wrapped up in hers, thumb stroking over his knuckles like she’s not realizing she’s doing it. “He’s handling it well.”
Considering how the patient in South 17 is still in active drug induced psychosis, his shouting muffled but audible through the wall, Robby agrees. The fact that Dennis has had the same drug in his system for this long and is still managing to stay compliant enough to go unrestrained is a damn achievement. “He’s a trooper.”
“Vitals are in the shitter though.”
“That they are.” His temperature is soaring, and so is his pulse and blood pressure. The oxygen has only just barely gotten his levels to stabilize. Robby keeps Dennis’s vision angled away from the monitors with the hand in his hair, blocking his view. “Hopefully the fluids and ice are ready to pull their weight.”
Dennis is muttering again, quick and breathless around the tears still thick in his throat.
Dana pauses, listening. “Is he praying?”
“Yeah. He’s been lapsing in and out of lucidity.”
She leans in further, free hand stroking his damp hair out of his face, fingers brushing against Robby’s. The fervent stream of words doesn’t slow. “I think he’s repeating Psalm 13,” she murmurs. “One of my grandmother’s old favorites. Popular when you feel like God’s forgotten you.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah, Him too, probably.” Her palm rests over Dennis’s forehead. “Poor kid just can’t catch a fucking break.”
Perlah slips back in with the ice packs in her hands and Santos on her heels. Santos, to her credit, only falters for a moment, stumbling to a stop near the door.
Robby can see her eyes tracking over the room. Taking in her best friend sprawled across the hospital bed, stunned still with his face flushed and hair curled with sweat. Robby pinning Dennis to the mattress, Dana bracing the IV site. The monitors, the shit vitals, the blood, the way Dennis still hasn’t stopped trembling.
And then she snaps out of it and snaps into action and Robby’s never fucking been prouder of her. “Where do you need me?” she asks, voice tight. “Give me something to do.”
“Take over for me,” Dana says. “Hold his hand to keep him from making another grab at the IV line. Talk to him. It’ll be good for him to know you’re here, hon.”
Santos swaps out with Dana seamlessly, fingers immediately wrapped tight around Dennis’s palm. Dana moves to help Perlah prep the ice packs, tag teaming squeezing the chemicals into activation and shaking them to speed up the reaction before wrapping each in a towel to soften the impact of the cold.
“Has he been with it?” Santos asks, cutting a glance at Robby from across the bed. Dennis still hasn’t seemed to register her presence or the new contact, staring blankly at the ceiling, lips twitching with the words of his prayer.
“He’s been in and out. Currently out.”
“Tox screen?”
“Coming soon. We’ll be able to do more for him then.”
She blinks hard, staring down at Dennis. “Is he— fuck. Is he okay?”
“He will be,” Robby says softly. “We’ve got him. He’s got us. He’s in the best place he could be right now.” He hopes she believes him more than he believes himself.
Santos nods once, curt, and doesn’t look away.
Dana places the first of the cold packs and Dennis crashes back to consciousness by nearly vaulting himself off the bed.
It surprises all of them, startled shouts arising, scrambling to keep him down without hurting him further. He’s thrashing in their hold, confused and panicked and fighting to draw back from the hands that just keep following him down and Robby’s about to call it and order restraints for the kid’s safety and their own when—
”Huckleberry!”
Dennis freezes.
He’s panting hard, eyes wild and wet, his jaw caught in Santos’s hand.
“Calm the fuck down,” Santos says, inches from his face. Her expression is hard and her voice is firm and her touch is so gentle. “You are fine. You’re in the Pitt. You are having a completely shit afternoon but you are okay. You are okay.”
His attention is fixed on her, rapt, desperate.
“You were drugged by a patient. You’re being held by me and Robby. Perlah and Dana are trying to stop your fever from burning your skinny ass to a crisp. You are safe, I promise you. I promise.”
The fight leaves him in a rush and Robby catches his head in his palm before it can smack into the pillow.
Attagirl.
Perlah swears under her breath in Tagalog, moving away from her position pinning Dennis’s ankles to reach back for the ice packs. Dana’s already placing them, tucking them at Dennis’s arms, groin, neck, careful but firm despite the way he flinches.
“There you go,” Santos says, squeezing his hand hard. “Good. Chill the fuck out and let us help you.”
Robby risks loosening his hold, leaning out of their space without breaking contact. Keeps his hands on Dennis’s sternum and hair but lets Santos take over keeping him grounded.
Dana meets his eyes as she’s stabilizing the pack draped over Dennis’s throat, grim but steady, checking in. She’s got a knowing look to her, seeing him and seeing right through him at the same damn time the way she always does.
Robby looks away.
“Didn’t know where you were when you came back online, did you?” Santos asks. Her hand has moved from holding Dennis’s face and instead come to rest on his shoulder, another stabilizing point of contact for him to hold onto. She’s crouching at the side of the bed now, settled at his level. He’s staring at her like she might disappear if he blinks. “Didn’t recognize us?”
Dennis shakes his head against Robby’s hand.
“Understandable why you freaked, then. Scary shit.”
His breath hitches. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” Robby says at the same time Santos hits him with “Shut the fuck up.” Different approaches, same goal.
“Where the hell were you planning on going anyway?” she asks, her head ducked close to his. Between Robby keeping his head in place, angled away from the commotion, and Santos keeping his attention on her, Dennis's breathing is steadying just slightly. She’s doing well. So is he. “The fucking ambulance bay?”
“Eighth floor.”
Robby barely has enough time to quirk an eyebrow before Santos is silencing him with a look over the gurney. Something to investigate later, then. He busies himself with monitoring Dennis’s pulse and pretending not to eavesdrop.
“I’ll do you one better. How about we go home after this, huh? That’ll be a hell of a lot more comfortable. And with so much less asbestos.”
His forehead pinches, genuine confusion rising alongside the distress. “I can’t go home.”
Santos doesn’t waste a look on Robby this time, her face flashing into something pained before forcibly smoothing out. “I meant our home, Den,” she says. “Yours and mine, the apartment down the street. With the shitty plumbing and the roaches in the walls and everything.”
“Oh.” His breath hitches hard, new tears springing up. “Let’s go. Now, Trinity, please.”
Somehow, she manages to stop herself from looking like he’s breaking her heart a little more every time he opens his mouth. Strong kid, Robby thinks. He doesn’t know how she does it. “Not yet, Huck. But soon. Just gotta make sure your brain isn’t gonna turn to soup as soon as we step outside those doors.”
“We very much want to avoid that,” Robby agrees, and Dennis’s wet eyes flash over to him. “Hey, kid. Still here too. It’s okay.”
“We still need to check on the injection site,” Dana murmurs to Robby, her voice held low. The fact that it’s going to be a fight goes unsaid but mutually understood— touching down on what’s hurting on a person who’s already tense to the point of snapping never goes well, even with Dennis fighting as hard as he is to keep his composure.
God, it feels like they’re fucking torturing him. With any luck at all, the drug is interfering with his ability to form short term memories. He shouldn’t remember any of this by tomorrow. But Robby will, and this is the kind of shit that’ll haunt him for years.
The feeling of holding his panicking resident down on a hospital bed in the throes of delirium will never fucking leave him.
“Okay,” he breathes. “Okay. Dennis, look at me.”
Dennis's focus is back on him, Santos’s low voice cutting off as she glances up as well.
“We gotta check out your side where the needle got you and get it treated.” The panic is immediate and evident. “Hey, nope, stay here. Eyes on me, you’re alright.”
Dennis’s voice breaks. “Robby—”
“I know, honey. But you know that we have to.”
He looks fucking terrified but manages a nod, barely a nudge against Robby’s palm.
Christ, this kid. He’s facing hell and still walking forward.
“We’ll make it fast,” Dana says, her hand on Dennis’s knee. The monitor beeps in warning as it tracks the spike in blood pressure and heart rate. “You’re doing so well, kiddo. Just hold on a little longer.”
Robby’s chest tightens as Perlah readies the supplies to disinfect the wound. It’s not likely to be a cleanly performed stick, considering its method of administration, and definitely came from a dirty needle, so they’ll need to be thorough to have a chance at staving off infection. They also still need to start a course of PEP as soon as Robby trusts Dennis to be able to swallow the pills without choking.
Christ, that fucking tox screen can’t come back fast enough.
Carefully, he tilts Dennis’s head back, blocking his view of Perlah. “No need to watch,” he says gently. Dennis stares up at him, still sweating despite the ice packs. His eyes are wide, pupils swallowing up the iris, focus wavering. “Just look at me. Hold onto us and try to stay still, alright? You’re alright.”
Santos stays quiet, transferring control of the situation back to Robby in the wordless understanding they seem to have reached today, but stays close, just in case. The look she fixes on Robby —visibly conveying something along the lines of fuck this up and I’ll kill you— is an extra assurance.
Dana gently tugs up the hem of Dennis’s scrub top, exposing the puncture just above his hip. Robby keeps his eyes strictly on Dennis’s face but the trained silence of Dana and Perlah, paired with the sharp inhale from Santos, tells him what he needs to know. Dennis’s legs shift weakly on the mattress, uncomfortable, restless.
There’s a soft swear from Dana and Robby mentally adds an antibiotic to the list of medications that Dennis will need in the coming days.
Perlah grabs a fresh set of gloves, preparing, and Dennis’s breath hitches hard. “Starting cleaning now,” she murmurs. “I’ll be quick.”
Dennis cries out and stays so obediently still and Robby wants to fucking scream.
“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he says over the sound of Perlah’s ministrations, gauze rustling and tape tearing. Eyes on the kid. Kid’s eyes on him. Struggles to keep his expression schooled into something steady while Dennis is falling apart under his hands. “You’re doing so well. It’s okay.”
It’s hell but it’s fast. Perlah’s a legend for a reason.
She has him disinfected and bandaged in barely a minute. Robby catches a quick glimpse of the wound a moment before they cover it, and fuck, it’s worse than he’d thought— the needle had torn through the skin, combining the irritation of the drugs with an open wound that already looks inflamed. It’ll be a damn miracle if the kid manages to avoid an infection.
“Nicely done,” Robby says, talking to Dennis and Perlah and the room at large for handling this clusterfuck with the level of grace and professionalism they’re all currently kicking ass at. “Vitals should steady in just a second here.”
But even as he says it, Dennis's vitals are still ticking upwards, escalating rather than calming in the way they should be.
Fuck.
Dennis‘s grip has loosened on both Robby and Santos’s hands, eyes gone distant again as his breath rips through him, the monitors trilling in warning. Robby’s concern spikes in turn, recognizing the signs but not wanting to put a name to them, not wanting to risk summoning this into existence.
“Dennis?” He shifts the angle of his hand, digging a knuckle into his sternum to no response. Dennis’s gaze drifts. “Dennis, hey. Stay with us, kid.”
Robby’s alarm is reflected in Santos’s face as Dana’s expression sharpens, watching the vitals.
“Come on, honey,” Dana murmurs. “Come on down. You can do it.”
They get barely a breath of warning before his muscles tense all at once, head snapping back as he seizes.
God damn it.
“Roll him,” Robby yells, everyone’s hands going from restraining to bracing as they get him on his side, keeping him steady on the mattress. “Someone time it!”
Santos is already grappling with her phone, free hand pressed over his arm to protect the IV site as she fumbles to start the timer. Robby shifts his hold, steadying his head, moving with the convulsions rather than against them. Dana’s bracing the wound at his hip and Perlah’s back at the legs.
Robby watches the timer tick up on Santos’s screen, hitting one minute, then two, then three, drawing dangerously close to four. The seizure continues.
“Fuck, kid,” Robby grits out, Dennis’s skin ablaze beneath his hands. “Don’t do this. Do not fucking do this to me, Dennis. Come out of it.”
They’re right at the threshold of shit going sharply south when the door flies open and Robby sends desperate thanks to whoever the fuck is responsible for putting Jack Abbot in his life.
“Tox screen is back,” Jack barks, taking in the chaos at a glance and already moving. A fresh team of night shift staff follows him in. The lights flip on and Robby’s momentarily blinded. “Meth based, dirty strain but no narcotics present. I want 2 of Midazolam and 20 of Labetalol on board immediately, intubation kit and crash cart on standby.”
The relief of having more information bleeds into the relief of having more support and leaves Robby reeling.
The seizure slows to a gradual stop after the medication is pushed. Dennis goes slack on the bed, the hard lines of his body spilling loose, tension stolen away. His eyes are just barely cracked open, head lolling in Robby’s hands.
Jack’s still moving, taking over stabilizing the monitors. Dana and Perlah are replacing the ice packs from where they were thrown aside, draping them back over Dennis’s limp form, bright blue a sharp contrast to pale skin. At least he's finally stopped shaking, stilled by the sedation and exhaustion.
Robby’s just barely caught his breath when Jack cuts a look towards him. “I’m taking over. Robby and Santos, both of you are off the case.”
And scratch what he said before, send the fucker back to hell. “Jack,” Robby says lowly, Santos immediately pitching in with an empathetic what the fuck that threatens bodily harm, but Jack’s already shaking his head, firm, decided, gaze fixed on Robby.
“You’re too close, brother.”
An incredulous laugh escapes him. “And you’re fucking not?”
“I’m not the one he’s got in a death grip.”
Robby glances down and sure enough, even postictal and half conscious, Dennis has managed to wind his hand back into his sweatshirt, keeping him tethered. Fuck, he hadn’t even noticed.
“I can be objective,” Santos is arguing, but Jack doesn’t waste time cutting her down too.
“Absolutely not. We don’t treat family and you’re Whitaker’s. Plain breach of ethics.” He’s snapping on a pair of gloves, wisely leaving Perlah and Dana unbothered—they all know he wouldn’t have luck even if he tried to get them off the treatment team— before tilting his head back at the two of them still crouched at the head of the bed, expression softening just slightly. “Didn’t say you couldn’t stay. Just don’t treat.”
“I can still help,” Santos bites.
Jack lifts an eyebrow. “You really want to be the one making decisions right now?” he says. “Have to peel Whitaker off you and go into full doctor mode? Not be able to sit here with him and make sure he’s okay?”
Robby decidedly does not want that, and neither does Santos by the way that she immediately stands down, but they both keep the glares steady nonetheless. He’s glad the lingering grudge is at least shared. He can always count on Santos to match his pettiness when needed.
It’s not that Robby doesn’t get it. He’d do the same damn thing if he were in Jack’s position and has done it to his coworkers more times than he can count over the years. He understands the reasoning, even if his innate need for control fucking hates the consequences.
Dennis’s vitals are slowly steadying, the medications infusing and successfully bringing him down closer to baseline. Jack looks pleased. “Alright. Let’s get him admitted and hope an ICU room opens upstairs to move him somewhere quieter, but until then, we monitor here while he rides out the rest.”
Santos looks startled. “The rest?”
“Meth means detox,” Dana sighs, standing arms crossed at the foot of the bed. “He’ll be here for a day or two at least. Longer if it keeps hitting him this hard on the way out.”
“The drug’s just barely kicked in and, especially at the volume he got dosed with, it’s gonna take time to leave his system. He’s got a few hours before he starts tweaking and then a while after that before he crashes and each stage brings along a whole new scope of issues.” Jack blows out a slow breath. “We’re in for a long night, especially him.”
Robby pushes back Dennis’s hair, thumb sweeping over his temple. Dennis’s eyes are distant and glazed and still fixed on Robby.
“What goes up must come down,” he murmurs. “He’ll be okay.”
Please, kid.