Chapter Text
Dennis felt an overwhelming exhaustion, not merely from the physical demands but from the sense of being relegated to an errand boy on his very first day. People barely spared him a second glance before assigning tasks or handing over burdensome items. He had spent his life toiling, his calloused hands a testament to his hard work.
Yet, having to navigate a shooting incident on his first day in the ER was far from what he anticipated. He found himself daunted by the staff at the Hospital, whether it was Santos with her absurd nickname or Langdon, whose expressive eyebrows seemed to pass judgment on everything around him.
However, it was Dr. Robinavitch, who preferred being called Robby, who intimidated him the most. It wasn't just his imposing stature and broad shoulders that contributed to this impression. Even his gaze, which to Dennis appeared laden with kindness despite the day's challenges, added to the unease.
Dealing with a stepson caught in a crossfire, unable to save his stepson's girlfriend, all while the Medical Director hovered over him, and apparently on the anniversary of losing his mentor, against this backdrop, Dennis felt he had little reason to complain.
His mother's voice echoed in his mind, urging him to count his blessings and remember that while he might be having a bad day, someone else likely faced worse.
And the proof of that was exactly where he was headed: the temporary morgue, the place reserved for those who hadn’t made it. The ones they couldn’t save, despite every frantic effort.
So if someone needed him to fetch a blanket to help a patient feel even a little comfort after a traumatic event, he’d do it.
No complaints.
He was helping someone, and deep down, that meant something to him. It gave him purpose. A sense of belonging that didn’t depend on credentials or spotless shoes. That was something he clung to.
He made his way toward the pediatrics room, assuming it would be another simple errand, grab a blanket, move on. But the moment he opened the door, something shifted. The sterile room wasn’t empty.
It wasn’t the blankets or even the covered bodies that caught his eye first.
It was Dr. Robby, crumpled on the cold floor.
His body trembled, one hand pressed tightly to his chest while the other strained to keep him upright. His eyes were wide, unfocused, and tears streamed freely down his face as he muttered something Dennis couldn’t understand, words tangled in grief and panic.
“Uh… Dr. Robby?” Dennis said softly, unsure if he should approach.
Dr. Robby took a ragged breath. With the hand not gripping his chest, he waved Dennis off in a weak, almost dismissive motion.
“Leave…” he whispered, the word brittle and nearly broken, his voice strained like glass stretched too thin.
The student nodded at once, heart racing. He grabbed the nearest blanket and turned to leave. His movements were automatic, he didn’t want to make anything worse. But just as he reached the threshold, something in him caught. He froze, one foot in the hallway, the other still in the room.
He’d seen that look before.
He had lived it.
The memories hit without warning. That crushing weight in his chest, the breath that wouldn’t come, the overwhelming panic of feeling like a prisoner in his own body. He had been there, curled up on the floor, silent and ashamed, hoping someone would see, would understand. And the only thing that ever brought him back were those moments when someone from his family had stayed.
His brothers, especially.
He was the youngest of three. The one they teased, sure, the punchline, the tag-along. But he was also the one they never let fall.
They would sit beside him, even when they had no idea what to say. They didn’t need to. Their presence alone had been enough, a silent reassurance that he wasn’t drowning alone.
Part of the reason his parents, and especially his oldest brother, had been so reluctant to let him move to the city wasn’t fear of the city itself. It was the fear of moments like this. The idea of him being alone when the walls closed in. Alone with no one there to hold him, to ground him with a hug or a steady hand, to remind him he wasn’t dying even when every panicked breath screamed otherwise.
The last time he had a panic attack, he had gone through it completely alone. No comforting voice. No familiar arms pulling him back from the edge. Just silence and the overwhelming certainty that he wouldn’t survive it. The scar it left wasn’t visible, but it was deep, a permanent reminder of what isolation could do.
He had promised himself after that: if he could ever help it, no one would have to go through that kind of loneliness on his watch.
So with a quiet determination he hadn't even realized he possessed, Dennis stepped fully back into the room. He gently pulled the curtain closed behind him, shielding them from curious eyes and bustling footsteps. He turned and lowered himself down onto the cold, sterile floor beside Dr. Robby.
"Dr. Robby, you need to breathe," Dennis said softly, forcing calm into his voice even though adrenaline burned in his veins.
"Leave!" the man rasped out suddenly. His hand shot out, shoving the young man, not violently, but with enough force to knock him off balance, sending him sprawling onto his back.
Dennis blinked up at the ceiling for a heartbeat. Then, slowly, stubbornly, he sat up again.
He wasn’t leaving.
He remembered that same frantic energy. Pushing people away because it felt safer, because letting someone see you like that made the fear too real. But he knew now, being alone only fed the panic; gave it more room to grow.
"No," he said firmly, his voice firm as he crawled closer again. "You're not alone. Breathe with me. Come on … deep breaths."
Robby’s eyes squeezed shut, his face twisted in anguish. His lips moved rapidly in a whisper too soft for Dennis to catch, but the cadence felt like a prayer. It was only then that Dennis noticed, Dr. Robby wasn’t just clutching his chest; his hand was wrapped tightly around something tucked under his coat.
A gold Star of David.
It glinted against the dark blue of his uniform, a flash of vulnerable humanity.
"It hurts…" Robby gasped, the words raw, broken, barely escaping him.
For a split second, Dennis felt the old panic nipping at the edges of his own mind. He squeezed his fists against the floor, grounding himself.
Get it together.
He leaned in closer, lowering his voice into a soothing rhythm the same kind that had once pulled him back from the brink.
"Focus on my voice," Dennis said, careful and slow. "In and out. You’re strong. You’re not alone."
He wasn’t sure if the words would be enough. But they were the only things he had to offer, and sometimes, just sometimes, that was all someone needed to start finding their way back.
Robby's breathing grew more erratic, his eyes losing focus entirely. It was like he was trapped somewhere deep inside himself. Dennis squeezed his hand tighter, whispered reassurances over and over, but it was like shouting into a storm.
The curtain fluttered slightly from movement outside. Muffled voices, hurried footsteps, the world kept turning, oblivious to the quiet disaster unfolding behind thin fabric.
Overwhelmed by the noise, the helplessness clawing at his chest, Dennis did something reckless.
Something desperate.
Without thinking, without even fully realizing what he was doing, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against Robby's
It was clumsy. Barely more than a brush. Warm and salty from tears. A quiet, desperate plea to break through the fog, to anchor Robby back to the here and now.
For a second, it worked. Robby inhaled sharply, a real breath tearing through the panic.
But the fragile moment shattered almost instantly.
Robby's hand pushed him back, gently but firmly. His eyes, now sharply focused, stared at his student in pure shock.
“What did you...?” Robby's voice cracked, hoarse and confused, colored by something dangerously close to anger.
“They’re... they’re looking for you,” the young one blurted, voice small and trembling. His face burned with shame. Without meeting Robby's gaze, he grabbed the blanket and stumbled to his feet, heart pounding so hard it drowned out everything else.
Without another word, he rushed out, walking fast, too fast, through the bustling ER. He moved so quickly that he almost collided with Santos, who caught him by the shoulders to steady him.
She was saying something, but Dennis couldn’t hear a word. His ears were buzzing, blood roaring like a waterfall in his head.
Santos snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Huckleberry? Hey, did you see a ghost or what?” she chuckled, tossing a few blankets toward a couple of waiting patients without missing a beat.
“Uh... I’m... I’m going to check on a patient,” Dennis mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. Without waiting for a response, he turned and fled to the other side of the ER, weaving through the crowd with no real destination in mind.
His shift, mercifully, was almost over. He just needed to stay invisible until then. Avoid Dr. Robby. Pretend nothing had happened. Sleep it off. Maybe, with luck, by morning it would all feel like some bizarre, fevered dream.
But now, lying stiffly in the unfamiliar bed in the spare room of Santos’s apartment, Dennis knew he was lying to himself.
There was no way to undo it. No way to pretend he hadn’t crossed a line he didn’t even know existed until it was too late.
And worse than the shame, worse than the panic, was the gnawing realization: He had no freaking idea how he was supposed to face his attending tomorrow.