Chapter Text
It’s never a dull moment in the Emergency Department of PTMC. But to Dennis, everything was tame in comparison to Pittfest.
Despite the chaos and emotional turmoil of it all, he knew deep down in his heart that Emergency med had been his favorite rotation so far. It was pretty thankless, but he loved the busyness, the need to think quickly and make split second decisions to save a life was exhilarating.
Everybody he had met had been kind and smart and unique. Trinity kept him on his toes with her sarcastic humor and snide comments. It reminded him of his brothers in a way, the teasing and the meanness about her, but it was different from them, he could tell that she actually cared.
Victoria was kind and sweet, and he looked up to her. He wishes he would've been strong enough to handle his relationship with his family like she handles her mother. The way she could still stand tall despite it, Dennis admired her deeply for it.
Dennis loved Mel. The empathy she had for patients and her ability to keep cool no matter the situation, her ability to function under pressure, it was unique and special and something he admired. In a way, Mel makes him imagine what an older sister would be like, calm and collected but still guiding him in the right direction no matter the emergency.
It gave him the illusion of belonging, the illusion of being near others and knowing them at a personal level. There's a certain level of trust you have to put into your coworkers when it comes with working together to save a life. There was still a level of distance, a level of isolation he retained as if it were a safety net, not for himself but for those around him. Dennis understood the consequences of being known. The tight lips from his parents, the disdain of his brothers, he knew it was safer to be alone, safer than being known enough only for those to care about to realise he's a burden.
The loneliness was eating at him, but it didn't matter.
He especially loved his boss. Dr. Michael Robinavitch had stood out to him from the moment he saw him on his first day. Strong arms, determined, powerful demeanor. Dennis decided to keep his distance from the man the moment he laid eyes on him because he knew he couldn't control his lust, his sin, the monitor on his belly was a constant reminder of that.
"If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall be put to death; their blood is upon them". Leviticus 20:13
However, Dennis’ decision to stay away from the man was fruitless in the long run, because it seemed that Robby loved to put his hands on him. Grabbing him by the nape of the neck or the arm or the waist, guiding him and placing him where he needed to be. It made him feel useful, wanted, like he meant something.
And after Robby's moment of silent reflection, he couldn't help himself, following Robby around like a lost puppy. He knew it was wrong, but something about not needing to be controlled, letting down his walls the slightest bit.
It was addictive.
Despite the distance from home, and the loneliness he found himself deeply acquainted with, Dennis found that old habits die hard. Ever since leaving his life behind and starting anew, he's been barely scraping by, but he found that his old habits were helpful when it came to trying to keep himself afloat.
Sure, he had been living on the abandoned 8th floor for about three months now, but that didn't matter to him. Because the uncomfortable bed, the frigidness of the room and the all-encompassing smell of antiseptic, it all meant that he was saving money on things like food and insulin. He still had to ration, especially since he knew he was drowning in debt and student loans, but it's still better.
When he could feel the exhaustion in his bones, the constant roller coaster of his blood as a result of rationing insulin for highs and only correcting a low when the world around him began to shake and he could barely remember where he was. It was all good. It was all good because even though he was gone, he left his family and was no longer their burden, he still needed to repent, to pray, to do everything in his power to be less… wrong.
It was better though, better than being a burden in his own town, a burden to his own flesh and blood. It was freeing in a way, becoming a burden only unto himself filling him with a sick sense of peace knowing that through his suffering there were others out there doing better.
6:00 AM
From the second his alarm went off that morning, he knew it was going to be a shit day.
He had slept fitfully, being awoken multiple times during the night, shaking and sweating as the warning of his blood sugar dropping blared somewhere in the distance. He kept having to get up and correct, finally exhausting his supplies of juice and fruit snacks even though he knew he didn't have the funds to replenish.
Fuck.
It's a never ending cycle. He receives his paycheck at the beginning of the month, then spends most of it paying back whatever loans and debt he needs to for the month, and only then does he use the leftover money to stock back up on whatever food and snacks he can get for cheap. And it's even worse when he has to bite the bullet and replenish his insulin. Then, in the few days before his next paycheck he does everything in his power to ration, eating as little as possible and using less insulin, to do whatever it takes just to make it to his next payday.
It’s always harder to keep his blood sugar under control during that awkward period in between one paycheck and the next. Constant ups and downs and plummets and skyrockets and then not even having the resources to correct them. He was used to it, he enjoyed depriving himself of what he needed.
But it was still exhausting.
Once he finally got up he made a beeline for the shower. Lows during the night always leave him waking up cold and sticky from the dried sweat. He felt a little off kilter, but it wasn’t enough to worry over, especially since there was no way for him to fix it in the first place.
The freezing, low pressure water didn’t do much to make him feel better, but at least he felt a little cleaner, a little more pure.
Once he got out of the shower, he grabbed his phone off the hospital bed and checked to see if he was at least somewhat stable, sitting in the 70s range and no longer steadily dropping, his phone letting him know he was at least doing something right by displaying the little blue arrow starting to trend upwards. He was still a little low, but it was better than the night before and seemed to be improving. He just decided that he would grab a sandwich from the cart downstairs when he got the chance.
He finished drying off, roughly running an old towel along his wet curls, before he threw on his last clean pair of scrubs, making a note to himself to wash his old ones when he got back. Even though he knew the chance of someone finding his little sanctuary was low, he was still pretty paranoid about it. So he packed up his things, quickly shoving them towards the back wall under the hospital bed and putting the rest in his backpack to take downstairs. He knew he wasn't feeling well, but at this point, when was he ever? He only had this last shift, this last shift before a two day break and then he could replenish his little stash.
Dennis knew he could make it through, he always did, he had to.
So he steeled himself, leaving his little world and walking down the hall before opening the door to the stairwell. Walking down the stairs always reminded him of when things changed, of when he collapsed that first time.
His legs felt like jelly, exhaustion slowing him and forcing him to breathe deeply with each step. Get it together, you're fine, you're always fine. He was Dr. Whitaker, he knew he could do this. It was all he could do, to e only good thing he could put back into the world by taking the burden off of others.
And if he hyped himself up for his shift by thinking of a certain day shift attending, that was between him and God.
It wasn’t like God and Dennis were on good terms anyways.