Chapter Text
8:57 AM
Dennis decides that the best way to distract himself from how utterly awful he feels is just to keep working and keep moving, so he doesn't have the chance to think of anything else. He had done it so many times before.
He could tell something was more wrong, but he tried to ignore it, this was his punishment after all. This was happening to him because of him.
Maybe he's lower than he thought. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Cold clung to him, deep and wrong, like it was coming from inside his bones. He made a note to himself to grab a sandwich from the cart when he got the chance. Dennis always felt guilty taking them, knowing that there were patients who probably needed them much more than he did. But his brain was foggy enough at the moment that all he could do was hope to make it through his shift without any major incidents. He always silenced his glucose notifications during a shift, knowing that being surrounded by doctors, one of them would definitely recognize the telltale alarm of the glucose monitor. So he just had to trust he knew his body well enough that he wasn't plummeting.
The second Dennis felt a large familiar hand on the back of his neck while on his way to trauma 2, he didn't think twice about who it was. He instantly felt more at ease, like he had a purpose.
“What have we got Dr. Whitaker,” Robby said. Dennis could feel the attending’s eyes boring down on him, welcoming the pressure from the man and trying not to blush at the contact.
It took a bit for him to collect his thoughts. It felt like his brain was working slower than normal; as if he had to dig through molasses to even know what he was thinking. Get it together, he thought to himself. “Umm… woman in her 30s complaining of lower left abdominal pain, nausea and vomiting. Textbook appendicitis, but waiting on labs to come back in order to confirm.” he stated clinically, trying to shift back into that medical headspace.
Besides, the fogginess made it easier for him to ignore the hand on the back of his neck, keeping him warm in a strange way. It made it easier to ignore the fact that he couldn't control his sin, no matter what he did.
You're fine, he told himself, Robby doesn't need to know you're broken, so get your shit together whitaker.
He tried not to look up at the man as he continued walking, when suddenly, he felt a tug on the back of his neck. He stumbled a bit, taking a second too long to register that the older man had stopped in his tracks. He hoped it wasn't noticeable, that it just came off as surprise rather than side effects of a low.
“Ah- ah, hold on one second kid.” Robby said as Whitaker turned to face him. All sorts of thoughts started to run through his head.
Did I do something wrong with that woman?
Maybe he didn't like how I was talking to him?
What if somehow he found out about my disease and now he'll never trust me again and im going to get –
“Is everything ok, kid?” Robby said, his voice gravely and low and safe. They seemed like casual words, but something about the look in his eyes threw Dennis off.
Dennis couldn't help but tilt his head a little bit, confused, trying to play it off as oblivious. “Um… Yeah, of course. Why?” he tried to keep his tone even, making sure to pronounce his words correctly so that the effects of his low weren't too obvious. Dennis was thoroughly embarrassed, praying that his hands would stop shaking, hoping that Robby hadn't seen the sweat on his forehead.
Robby crossed his arms over his chest, the soft look in his eyes turned into something sharper. “I don’t know kid, you just seem a little… off.” he said, genuine concern in his tone.
It took Dennis a second to register, his brain felt like it had been scrambled already, not on top of the fact that Robby sounded concerned and caring because he couldn't, he shouldn't, he wouldn't be doing that if he knew me.
He chuckled a little bit, looking down sheepishly, “I’m fine Dr. Robby, I just didn't sleep very well last night.” he stated, hoping his lie would convince Robby that he was capable, that he wasn't weak.
The older man gave Dennis a calculated look and he did everything in his power not to squirm under his glare. It was already hard enough to focus, not to mention the extra brain power to keep his behavior under control when it came to hiding his crush from his boss.
“Ok. I understand, but I need you at your best in my ER.” Robby said. Whitaker stared up at him with wide eyes. “I'm fine sir! I swear!” he said, he was even trying to convince himself at that point. He felt guilty for lying, but at that point, it was just another reason on a long list of reasons why he has this disease in the first place.
“I know, kid, but listen. You can’t do much more for the woman in trauma 2 until her labs come back anyways, so why don't you take 20 in the staffroom until then.” the attending said. Normally, Dennis had more energy, more willingness to try to fight back or to tease a little bit in some way.
But he was exhausted. So when he nods his head, going into the breakroom without another word, that's between him and God. Distantly, he thinks he should have put up more of a fight, that he should grab a sandwich, do something on his way there so that he didn't feel so useless, so wrong.
He can't think straight, the world feels like it's blurring around him, and the lights are ten times brighter and it's cold. He makes his way into the breakroom, shutting the door behind him with a sigh of relief. Everything feels so wrong. The sounds of the ear felt like they were distant, far away, like he was somewhere else entirely. He stumbled over to the couch, shakily collapsing onto the cushions with a huff and leaning back. He couldn't think straight. The world blurs. The lights above hims were too bright, it was cold
I'll just close my eyes for a few minutes, he thinks to himself. He considered setting an alarm on his phone, but suddenly his limbs feel heavy and it feels like it would be so much effort. He allows himself to sink into the cushions. Shaky and cold, and as black spots begin to enter his vision he feels his eyes drifting shut.