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Dennis whimpered.
He tossed and turned in bed, moving with a jerky caution to avoid tangling his limbs with those of his partners. He didn’t know how late it was, only that it was late. He didn’t want to know. The hour was sure to be ungodly, and time was an illusion anyway - one that was currently mocking him.
Fuck.
He turned again, his elbow catching Jack in the ribs.
Jack let out a low huff in his sleep, his arm tightening instinctively around Dennis’s waist. Or maybe it was Robby. Dennis didn’t know anymore, they were all tangled up. He felt disoriented and progressively more sick.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he pressed his palms into his face, trying to swallow down the tears. He let out another shaky breath, praying it wouldn’t wake them. More importantly, he was praying for mercy - to the Gods, universe, anyone who would listen. It felt dramatic, but he was past the point of caring. He was exhausted: mentally, physically and spiritually.
He had just come off a brutal thirteen-hour shift. His shoulders were tight and tender from rounds of CPR, his back ached from hours of walking and lifting. Even his right ankle twinged, a reminder of the “running” that Gloria so heavily frowned upon; she’d already threatened him with a mandatory online health and safety module if she caught him sprinting again.
He could take it. He could take the aches.
What he couldn't take was this headache- a migraine, he guessed by now. He wasn’t sure; he was too far gone to think about it more.
It had built itself up slowly. At first, he’d been hopeful, thinking a couple of Advil, a sludgy breakroom coffee, and a silent thought and prayer would help. He now knew that was naive.
God, Jesus or anyone listening… Help, he thought.
He could no longer hold back the tears, though with valiant effort, he wasn’t full-on sobbing. Yet. A few stray tears trickled down, his probably pale face. He was already pale half way through his shift.
People noticed.
Trinity was the first to speak up.
“Fuckelberry, you good?” she’d asked, her words lacking the usual tease.
“Yeah,” Dennis mumbled back. “Just tired.”
She’d given him a disbelieving “hmm”, but an incoming trauma cut the conversation short. It was a shame. Dennis had wanted to ask her to smash is fucking head into a wall for him.
Jack and Robby had too noticed. It was a blessing and a curse that they worked together. Since Pittfest, things had changed. Jack worked more days now, partly to take the pressure off Robby’s shoulders and partly so they could all have the luxury of the same occasional day off.
“Whitaker, you alright?” Jack had asked at 2:00 pm. His voice was soft, his hand landing briefly between Dennis’s shoulder blades. Dennis had leaned into the touch, closing his eyes for one blissful second.
Letting out a slow breath, he said, “Fine, tired.”
Jack had paused briefly. He knew better, but he also knew Dennis. He knew there was more to it. Frustratingly, this wasn’t the time nor place to get more into it. He trusted the kid’s judgement - mostly. Both he and Robby knew the kid would come to them if felt like he needed them. If it were something serious. Or, at least, they hoped he would. But Dennis was stubborn. Robby was stubborn. And God Jack was stubborn.
So it’s on them. Sue them.
Please, don't.
The kid looked miserable. Or as Trinity would say, more than usual.
Jack huffed.
He gently grabbed Dennis' chin, turning his head slightly to get him to look into his eyes. It was important to Jack. To have eye-contact.
Dennis liked that. It felt deep, protective and intimate. Turned him on a little too.
“If that changes,” Jack said, giving him the Jack look™, “you come to us, okay?”
“Course,” Dennis lied. Maybe. He wasn’t sure. They were working on it - his perception of “fine”. He gave Jack a nod and a small, tight smile.
"Good. Here.” Jack reached into his scrub pocket and pulled out an expensive-looking, all-natural, brownie-flavored protein bar.
To be loved is to be known. “Eat, kid.”
Dennis nodded and mumbled a delayed thanks. To no one, it seemed; by the time he tore his gaze away from the bar, Jack had already turned on his heal and walked towards central.
“Talking to ghosts now, are we?” Robby asked, appearing behind him and placing a steady hand on his shoulder.
Dennis rolled his eyes. Since when does rolling your eyes hurt?
“Yeah, haven't you met Casper, yet?” Robby snorted. “Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure, kid.”
Robby asked how he was doing. Dennis said he was thriving. Robby snorted again and handed him a coffee. It was from the breakroom. Dennis’s stomach rolled slightly at the onslaught of the bitter smell. Hm. He drank it away. He told himself it was because he was tired and needed the caffeine- that it would help, if not physically then emotionally. It definitely wasn’t because it was technically a gift and Dennis was soft like that. Dennis knew life would be hard when he felt bad for inanimate objects as a kid. He had been right.
Realizing too late that he had zoned out, he let out another involuntary louder, whimper. Fuck.
He held his breath, waiting. Neither man stirred. It was the small things in life.
As much as he craved their comfort - the tight hugs, grounding weight of them, the sweet words - he couldn't bring himself to wake them. He’d seen the way Jack was limping by the end of the shift, the hypocrite. He’d seen the exhaustion in the lines of Robby’s face. By the end of the shift, Robby looked close to tears.
During Dinner, Dennis had grown increasingly absent, drifting away as Jack made tea for them and Robby rubbed slow, rhythmic circles into his back. They had fallen asleep so fast it almost made Dennis cry.
He couldn’t be a burden. Not tonight.
Slowly- and with grace he didn’t feel, he uncurled himself from the heat of their bodies. He practically and actually crawled out of bed, his knees hitting the rug with a soft thud. He told himself it’s easier that way.
The floor was cold against his cheek. He closed his eyes, letting the hardwood slowly cool his face.
He jerked his head up as a fresh spike of pain stabbed through his temple. He couldn’t stay here. He needed meds, though he had forgotten what the medication was called. He would cross that path when he stood at the medicine cabinet. He only had to cross 2 countries and an ocean to get there.
Dennis stood slowly, swaying dangerously. He looked back mournfully at the bed, at them. Though if he was being honest, he didn’t really see them, they were just a blurry, dark blob against the sheets. He wondered, with growing uncertainty, if this was symptom six or seven?
Maybe he could wake them. He Should. He couldn’t.
It was his fault he felt like shit. It wasn’t but it felt like it. So it was. It was his responsibility to fix himself.
He took a few careful steps, shuffling along in the darkness. He reached the small flight of stairs, just a few steps between him and the kitchen- as he looked down the room began to spin more intensely.
He could do this.
He couldn’t do this.
The floor tilted.
He missed the first fucking step.
His already aching ankle gave away completely as he landed on it oddly.
Dennis completely crumbled to the floor. For the first time tonight he let out a loud sob.
There was no holding back now; wrenching cries filled the room.
He cried from the pain, he cried because he knew he wasn’t making it back up from the floor alone, and he cried because he was alone.
Accepting his fate, he simply lay there.
“Dennis?!”
He heard a voice in the distance. Amongst other things, he couldn’t make more out.
The voices were getting closer, the thudding of feet louder. The closer the feet got, the more they felt like earthquakes, on the old hardwood floor.
They found him in a heap at the bottom of the steps.
The overhead light flickered to life. Dennis let out a strangled, visceral cry, as he tried to claw his way into the cold hardwood floor. Hands reached down, carefully uncurling him from his position on the floor and turning him onto his back.
“Dennis. Hey! Can you hear me? Open your eyes for me.”
With a lot of effort, Dennis looked Robby in the eyes. Or what he thought was Robby’s eyes. It was definitely a pair of Robby’s eyes, but there were three. So it’s anyone's guess really. He hoped it was the right pair. The older man would lose his shit otherwise.
“There you are, honey. Did you hit your head?” The voice was clinical, but laced with a frantic edge.
God, Dennis wouldv’e evaporated had he hit his head on the floor. He meant to reply, “No, migraine,” but what came out was a slurred, unintelligible mess.
Even with his blurred vision, he could see the distinct look of panic on Robby's three faces.
Robby gently, urgently, stabilized his head. Keeping it still. The position tightened the bands of pressure around his skull, making him miss the cold sensation of the floor.
He whimpered again.
Sweet nothings were whispered into his ear as Robby pressed gentle kisses into his hair.
The voices were talking again.
"Look at me, Dennis,” Jack commanded softly, hovering close to his face.
When Dennis gave them no reply. Someone gently pried his eyes open. When had he closed them?
And then he screamed (with dignity), jerking his head back into Robby’s hold, at the intrusion of light, which stabbed into his eyes. Leaving him a more broken man than he was 10 seconds ago.
His breaths came fast and ragged.
The nausea rose, and the sobbing was back.
“Shh, Denny, nearly there. We need to check. Breathe,” Robby whispered.
“Robby?” someone slurred. It was his own voice. Dennis felt detached from his body.
“Shh, sweetheart, I'm here.”
The light retreated, after a few seconds, Dennis managed a deeper, less ragged breath. He tried to compose himself.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” What wasn’t wrong with him?
“Fuck, man… pick something.” he grunted out. The hands around him stilled briefly as startled laughter filled the room.
“Migrne” he mumbled out.
“Oh, kid. "A migraine?" Jack winched in sympathy.
Dennis gave a weak thumbs-up back, his hand never leaving the floor.
“Please kill me,” he sobbed. He wasn’t sure they understood him, but by the way the voices around him faltered for a second and the sound of someone taking in a sharp breath, he guessed they had.
“Jack," Robby gritted out.
“Already on it.”
“Just breathe with me, Denny. We’re getting you meds, okay? We’ve got you. All you have to do is breathe with me” Robby murmured, shifting to cradle Dennis’s head securely in his lap.
He kept his palms pressed firmly against Dennis’s temples.
“He’s back, Dennis. Jack’s right here,” Robby whispered, his voice vibrating through Dennis’s skull.
Jack moved into the dim circle of light, his movements a little frantic but precise. He knelt, the plastic casing of the injector clicking open with a sound that made Dennis flinch.
“I’ve got the Sumatriptan and a line for the fluids,” Jack said, his voice dropping into a low, clinical frequency. He leaned over, sliding one arm under Dennis’s shoulder blades to hoist him slightly higher against Robby’s chest.
They kept Sumatriptan in the house since Jack’s migraine in 2013 had traumatized them both.
“Look at me, sweetheart. This is going to stop your head from throbbing, but it’s going to feel heavy at first. You might feel a bit of pressure in your chest. That’s okay. Just keep breathing for me.”
Dennis couldn't answer. He just let out a wet, broken sound, his eyes squeezed shut against the overhead lights.
“Hold him steady, Mike,” Jack commanded softly.
“Sumatriptan, 6 milligrams, going in.” He pressed the cold tip of the auto-injector against Dennis’s thigh.
Click.
Dennis jerked, a muffled cry catching in his throat as the medication forced its way in. It was a stinging, localized heat. He tried to curl away, but Robby’s hands kept his head anchored.
“I know, I know. It’s done,” Jack murmured. Intending to offer some grounding comfort, Jack reached down, to squeeze Dennis’s leg.
His hand landed right on Dennis’s right ankle, unbeknownst to him, swollen ankle.
Dennis recoiled with a gasp, his eyes snapping open for a second before the agony forced them shut again. He let out a sharp, high-pitched keening sound, his body trying to scramble away.
“Whoa, hey!” Jack pulled his hand back as if he’d been burned, his brow furrowing as his eyes adjusted, he saw the swelling of the ankle through the sock.
“Jesus, Dennis. You really did a number on yourself.”
“Hmph,” Dennis choked out, the word tasting like salt.
“Sorry, Denny” Jack breathed, his voice thick with a new kind of guilt.
“Let’s get you on the couch. One, two... lift.” Robby held his head stable as Jack lifted him gently onto the sofa. Dennis immediately curled into Robby’s chest.
Jack talked him through it, his voice low and steady. His fingers careful as he slide the needle into Dennis’s vein. He taped it down with practiced ease, watching the clear fluid begin its slow trek down the tube.
Jack sat on the edge of the cushion, finally allowing himself to touch Dennis again, this time, just a gentle, feather-light stroke across his shin, far away from the injured joint.
“The meds will take a few minutes to kick in,” Jack said. Dennis whined, the sound small and exhausted. Dennis looked wrecked.
“I know honey. I’m sorry.”
Very gingerly Jack peeled back the sock. Dennis’s ankle was already beginning to swell, a mottled shade of angry purple blooming under the skin.
“Oh, baby”, Jack said, as he completely took off the sock.
“Denny, I need you to do one more thing for me before you sleep.”, Jack murmured, his voice tight.
“I need you to try and wiggle your toes. Just a little move of the ankle”. Dennis let out a whine, his head buried deeper into Robby's collarbone.
“Noo”
“I know sweetheart, but if we don’t check now, we’ll have to wake you up later. Do it for me now, and then I promise you can sleep.” Robby squeezed Dennis’s hand, his thumb stroking over his knuckles in a steady rhythm.
“Just a small movement, Denny. I’ve got you. Come on, honey.” With a hitched breath, that sounded betraying like a sob, Dennis tried.
He shifted his foot. It sent a fresh wave of jagged pain through his ankle. He gasped, his body tensing.
“Okay, okay! Stop. Good boy, you’re done. You’re done,” Jack said quickly, his hands moving with practiced firm gentleness as he placed the bandage around the ankle.
Once the wrap was secure, Jack settled a heavy cold pack over the top. The sudden chill made Dennis shiver.
“There. All wrapped up," Jack whispered. Deniss could feel himself start to drift. Robby didn’t let go. He felt fingers gently stroking over his cheek.
"Just sleep," Robby whispered into his ear, shielding Dennis's eyes with a palm.
"We've got you. We will be here when you wake up, promise. You can sleep now, sweetheart."
“Let go, Denny”, Jack murmured as he stroked he pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. As his breathing evened out and he went slack against Robby, they let out a collective breath.