Chapter Text
The only motivation pushing Dennis Whitaker through life originates from his God-given need to be of use.
He was an aimless vessel with a simple destination: be where you are needed. Be where you are needed so horribly bad, you'll always feel wanted. A command given to him was the closest thing he’s ever known to divinity. A command as casual as "Whitaker, prep to intubate” was music to his ears; it asked- and confirmed- that he was needed.
Moments of external validation serve as landmarks for Dennis, because he knew true fulfillment was not something he could grant himself. Who was he to evaluate and identify his success from failure?
--------------------------------------------------
Growing up mostly isolated from non-familial interaction, Dennis only knew right from wrong in the context of his home life.
The only form of validation he had exposure to was a pat on the back from his father, sometimes accompanied by a smile that refused to reach his eyes. Sometimes, if he was really lucky, it was even followed by an ill-placed "atta boy"- a poor excuse for an alleged lifelong of affection. These mild displays of affection fell flat to him, with the frame of reference he learned to carry from being the eldest of four brothers. He saw everything.
When his brothers were born, his parents changed. The hugs. Not the quick halfhearted side hugs Dennis got. He was hugged, but his brothers were embraced. He was there, but his brothers belonged. Suddenly, his mother spoke life once more, just how he remembers from when he was younger. Something changed along the way, and one day he realized suddenly how little she beamed towards him. The farm was his frame, and he felt- knew- he did not belong in the picture.
Having been homeschooled until high school, there were never plausible opportunities for him to find himself outside of the county, let alone broken bow. Once high school entered and settled in his horizon, an itch began. The first day of freshman year was loaded with introductions and orientations.
his first day in a classroom, Dennis Whitaker was asked what he wanted to be.
The teacher had moved down the rows, back to front, left to right. He hadn’t noticed, or maybe just not cared, until he heard his name and snapped himself back to reality.
Suddenly wide eyed, he made no attempt to reply. A moment passes,
It was a beat too long.
The teacher offers an empathetic smile. The classroom's attention quickly carried on with its original current, as if Dennis did not just get the wind knocked out of him. Why did he not respond? Better yet, why did he not have an answer?
His head was floating. He hears the teacher continue onto the next student down his row, who quickly answered,
"A biologist!" And the next one, "a mechanical engineer"
Dennis was done. The class was small, given the population of broken bow barely cresting above 5,000, but every single peer in his class of 12 had an idea of what they wanted to be.
The orientation carried on, and he was sick. He had never independently evaluated his interests outside of what was expected from him. Besides, his habit of holding his parent's opinions higher than his own was all he knew- why break it?
This unfamiliar feeling was something that could only be compared to the call of the void; unaware at the time, the "void" was what he categorized everything besides the farm as. It was the unknown. Very similar to a void. The farm? Very well known. It lacked the scary unknown of a void.
There was nothing else for him, he knew. at 15 years old, he had his ducks strictly in a row. Single file line. No room or reason for deviation. Graduate high school, hone his farming skills, and continue the family "legacy". Having it made in the shade, there was no need to think of anything more. He was content. So why on earth could he not answer when asked what he wanted to be?
How many times would he need to remind himself of this, before that itch went away?
Graduating high school, let alone an entire year early, only made him restless.
Dennis excelled and thrived in school. He will never fail to credit his mother for teaching him at home- and silently thanks her often for instilling a love of learning into him. She had been a retired teacher for 4 years when she had Dennis, but her teaching skills never subsided.
The classroom was suddenly the pinnacle of his days. He grew only less religious with time, which he was sure was to his father's displeasure- but not having much care for Dennis in the first place, it was just the usual disappointment for him.
Finding his god given solace wrapped within the walls of his high school was all he needed. He ended up being a rockstar in the classroom, and was constantly given praise. Being praised for his mental labor, rather than his tired days bailing hay and sweating for recognition, unlocked something for Dennis.
Solving math problems years ahead of his own grade with ease, needing the most difficult material to satisfy his curiosity and dedication. He prided himself in straight A pluses, and academic validation quickly became his drug of choice. It felt almost as comforting as a hug from a parent, and that was close enough for him.
Life had new purpose and meaning, and he had something to hold onto. A foundation. Something he created.
Compared to his previously narrow concept of society and its way of functioning, this was the closest damn thing he’s ever seen to a fairytale. His previous label of introvert was quickly discarded; something only applied to him by his mother when in the context of his brothers. No shit he was introverted at home, having no "friends" apart from being the eldest of his three younger brothers. The second eldest? just turned 9. He had not much in common with the younger boys, except their shared responsibilities on the farm, which they did actually bond quite well over.
-------------------------------------------
After high school, he had made up his mind. There was no use in hiding his wanting anymore, much to his parents' dismay. Well, he did not actually have his mind made up on anything, except for getting the fuck out of Nebraska. That’s what he wanted. There wasn’t a specific instance that led him to that objective, but rather the repeatedly increasing realizations that he was quickly outgrowing the town he knew as home.
Around the last month of senior year, he found himself quickly bored. Uninterested. Indifferent. Everything was so... expected- regular. Routine.
He heard his few classmates post high school plans, and suddenly felt behind in the race of preparation. What did Dennis want to do? These were his defining years, after all. Choices made now will most likely set the trajectory for the rest of his life.
That was not daunting in the slightest for him, he was positively certain. Dennis was also positively certain that he would tell himself a lie to ease his anxieties.
He placed his parents feedback into a folder of white noise in his brain. They were not going to define something they were so, so, unfamiliar with. By this point, his father only spoke to him in passing, and his mother lightly knocking on his door to share the news of dinner being ready. The clock was ticking for him, he knew it. This was confirmed the night his mother stopped alerting him to dinner being ready, after a particularly nasty argument during the afternoon.
~~~~
It was 2:36pm and Dennis just got back from walking the small downtown of broken bow. He perused the too narrow sidewalks the town had to offer, with a fixed frown on his face. He wasn’t sure why he took off on a walk, or why he ended up in the middle of his small town. He never finds out.
He’s never felt much emotion from his hometown, and if anything, he finds it draining. The lack of excitement makes him yawn in disinterest.
With a defeated sigh, he accepts his fate; he’s bound to upset the most important people in his life. And soon.
When he gets home, silence is all that greets him. His mother’s eyes meet his, cold and distant. Did she already somehow know he was leaving?
--------------------------------------------------------
By 20, he’s been living in Pittsburgh for a little over two years.
--------------------------------------------------------
Leaving home went as expected, or at least that’s how he remembers it. He doesn’t recall any meaningful feedback from his father about his decision, other than a typically sharp look and the statement, "'bout time you get on from here". He did not meet his father’s gaze. His mother only held herself back from embracing him, and instead told him she hopes he can finally be happy, since he clearly never was.
He has lived about six different lives since that day.
From the street onward, he took himself and his few personal belongings.
Over the course of a few months and craigslist ads, Dennis had made it from broken bow to Omaha. He didn’t know what he needed, but Omaha resembled less of what he didn’t want.
After a few months working odd jobs to get a feel for what he felt called to do (and to make ends meet,) he met a moment of enlightenment. This, just like the months after high school, sent him on a new path he was unaware of at the time.
It was after a particularly long night working as a volunteer for the local street shelter, Dennis made it back to his shared apartment.
(he wasn’t even sure how many people were living with him anymore, so he just calls it "shared". Last he counted, it was four other entire people in the same 800sq ft space as him. Eugh)
He started at the shelter to help cook and provide hot meals, but during his spare time, the medical street team he worked closely with piqued his interest; before he knew it, less than a year later, he had gained basic first aid skills and certifications through a program offered by the parent branch of the shelter.
As he laid in bed that night, face still damp from quickly washing it with nothing more than a bar of hand soap, he wore a small, genuine smile. He became acutely alert to the feeling- and met himself in a place of puzzlement. He was.. happy? Surely not. In this apartment, in this state? No, that wasn’t it. It was the work he had done only a few hours prior that enabled him to dawn his rare grin. He was helping. At the shelter, He contributed his very basic first aid skills, and caring soul. It was something he took great pride in, despite not earning anything monetary.
He recalls the unhoused man he bandaged up earlier- how he had an unhealed abscess on the bottom of his left foot, and how much easier he walked away from Dennis with his clean bandage and antibiotics than when he arrived limping in pain. The gratuity was infinite. It fed the fire in his soul, which was priceless to him- especially after experiencing so many years of cold indifference to his life’s many roads. It was this night, he had the seed planted in his brain to pursue the medical field. To help. Contribute. That seed only blossomed from that point onwards.
He was going to be of use.
----------------
Relying on scholarships and using his lack of roots to his advantage, he applied to every nursing program he could find. He was a smart kid, with a 4.3 gpa. He also, quite frankly, did not mind moving 1,119 miles away from his hometown. Who would?
He got a few responses, but only saw the first; before he knew it, not even three business days after receiving the email, he was standing in Pittsburgh.
After completing his basic studies, Dennis continued to bury himself in his work. It was his peace- being a healthcare provider was his own emotional security. No one asks him how he is- that’s his entire job. Plus, why would a med student not be in tip top shape mentally? His grades indicated he was functioning well beyond his peers, always being in the top 5% of his class. He went on like this for longer than he first intended to, but he was still doing fine. Eventually he knows he will confront his childhood “trauma”- in hourly sessions every three weeks- in many years.
The perfectly orchestrated plan he devised in 5< minutes and refers back to every time he nears the thought of a breakdown. Dennis was smart, too smart to let emotions from over a decade prior affect him- or so he thought.
This was all fact until the day he started his ER rotation in The Pitt.