#BATTLEOFWHITS 🩺    Indie, selective and mutuals only roleplay blog based on farm boy and first year resident Dennis Whitaker from HBO's The Pitt. Low activity. Mature and triggering content present. Penned by Emily, (she/her), 30+, AEST.

Guidelines listed below.

Open starters // Memes // headcanons

The ward was still as empty as he found it. The light in the hallway still flickered like something out of a horror movie. It used to give Dennis the creeps when he would sneak back in the middle of the night during during his first month of rotation. How it would take him forever to go to sleep.

"Here's your room for the night," he looked back at the young woman he was giving a tour with a sheepish smile. It was not... a lot. She'd might think him crazy for bringing her to the abandoned floor, but something was better than nothing. If he had more money saved up, he would've booked her a motel for the night then have her go out into the night in the freezing cold.

circa 2025.

He shouldn't be this distracted. Not now. Not with how Jack's eyes were drilling into him from the other side of the table, making Dennis sweat under his scrubs as he prepared to do the procedure himself for the first time. Robby had made a swift departure from the trauma room, needed elsewhere as more patients with life threatening injuries were rushed in from the multiple vehicle collision. Just when Dennis thought his shift was going to end on time for once today, the accident had been called in at the last minute and day shift were held back to help out. It had gotten easier since the first day of his rotation in the ED, and he was slowly finding his groove. He was getting better at building trust with his patients, and even the staff were starting to treat him with a little more respect, and less like a kid they were waiting to make mistakes.

What's more, Robby trusted him. Maybe a bit too much, sometimes. Especially when Dennis was expected to perform in high pressure situations. He had grown used to Robby heaping praises on him, calling him his protege as if he was showing him off. His face would heat up, unable to form words except fluster under the chief's hopeful, warm gaze.

"Needle going in," he lets everyone around him know, letting go of a deep breath as he moves his finger out of the way where he was about to insert it into the space between the lung and chest wall. The patient had cracked a number of ribs from an airbag that had failed to deployed, and their lungs will filling up fast with fluid from the shards of bone that had pierced their lungs. If he didn't do anything now, they could die from aspiration. He had to act fast.

Trigger warning: mention of suicide letters

Three months had come and gone since he said good bye to Robby. Dennis made good on his house sitting duties since he moved in, diligently bringing in the mail and watering the plants (they were doing much better now) and even fixing things around Robby's house. The last one wasn't part of the deal, but Dennis had always been handy, and he knew Robby didn't have time to worry about leaky taps or cupboards nearly falling off their hinges. It was the least he could do in exchange for someone who didn't want anything from him in return. Really, he was doing him a favour, not the other way round.

As long as Dennis heard from Robby every now and then, he could pretend everything was fine. He smiled whenever his phone pinged with a text from his boss during his shifts. It made him feel special to have this connection with Robby, and Trinity would certainly roll her eyes at him if she knew how he felt. The texts were always brief, just checking in. Dennis happily sent Robby photos of the plants that he had nicknamed, secretly proud of how well they were doing after he moved them to a spot with a lot more light. Sometimes he would distract himself picturing Robby on the road, wind ruffling his hair, developing a tan. Having a well earned break, instead of dealing with the chaos of the ED everyday.

But during the long stretches of silence when he heard nothing from him, Dennis would lie awake in bed at night, dwelling on the throwaway comment Robby had made to him about keeping his house if he never returned.

If I don't come back.

It had made Dennis panic in the moment about what he had agreed to, but he was spared from having to deal with his brain short-circuiting when Dr. Al-Hashimi walked in.

The more he thought about it, the more Robby's obsession with his motorcycle and riding it without a helmet seemed like a bad omen...

At some point, the days where he heard from Robby grew fewer, until weeks turned into a whole month. Dennis debated on whether he should text him, not wanting to be clingy or have Robby think he couldn't tough it out without hearing from him. Because yeah, he was doing just fine. Not freaking out the slightest.

Then he found the envelopes, hidden away in one of the boxes of household items Robby had set aside for charity. He had been looking for a clean glass, after letting the dishes pile up for too long, there weren't any spare. The envelopes were tucked away underneath the cups individually wrapped in newspaper, each one marked with a different name on it. Someone Robby knew. Family, friends, colleagues.

And at least one of them was labelled Whitaker.

The air vanished from his lungs as a wave of dread overcame him. It took him a moment to slice it open with trembling hands. Deep down, Dennis knew what this could only be. No one just left a stack of envelopes behind. Did Robby have a change of heart and not want them to be found? Just hoped that if he cut contact off with everyone, eventually people will move on?

Not a fucking chance.

It was what he feared. In his hands he held a good bye letter, scrawled in the handwriting of his beloved mentor. Tears were running down his cheeks before he could finish it. Next he was bolting up the stairs to the spare bedroom where he'd been sleeping, grabbing his phone off the charger and hitting dial on Robby's number. It went straight into the automatic voice mail. Dennis tried again, praying with all his might that the last time he heard his voice wasn't going to be when he waved good bye. When he failed to reach Robby, he left a couple of texts, telling him to contact him right away. That there was an emergency. Anything that might get his attention.

Robby could be long gone now, or worse – his mind didn't want to go there, but images of Robby in a motorcycle accident flashed through it anyway, sending him into a panic attack. Dennis did the only thing he could think of, call Jack while he was at work. Jack picked up on the first ring and went straight into crisis management mode. Told Dennis to sit tight until he sorted something out. That maybe Robby changed in mind, and had not intend for anyone to find the letters. God, he had believe then, that maybe there was still a shred of hope left.

Days passed by, and the radio silence from Robby lengthened. Dennis carried on with his shifts, despite Trinity's protests. He had moved back to their shared place for a while. Cried himself to sleep the first night back, Trinity's arms wrapped around him in her bed. The guilt was overwhelming. He should have read the signs better. If Michael Robinavitch never came back, it was on him.

It started to look grim when even Dana couldn't get a hold of Robby. Dennis knew this meant it could no longer stay a secret between him, Dana, Jack and Trinity. So he did what Robby instilled in him since his first day, be there for people's worst moments, and made sure that each letter found its way to each recipient. If they wanted him there, he sat quietly through their shock and grief like he was in a room with one of his patients.

Then he transferred to night shift. He couldn't sleep at all, and it gave him something to do instead of lying in the dark, staring at the ceiling. He wanted to be useful, not the Dennis who was wasting away in Robby's house, fridge stocked with untouched meals kindly made for him by Mel. Whenever he did manage to steal one or two hours of sleep, he hugged a balled up fleecey green jacket for comfort. If Trinity knew about that, she would team up with Caleb and force him into therapy.

He had made his mind up as he got dressed for his next night shift. There wasn't an option where he could continue working at the Pitt, and not have a heart-stopping reaction every time he saw a tall, dark-haired figure roaming the corridors. Or look over his shoulder during a patient consultation, to see if Robby agreed with him. He missed the twinkle in his warm eyes when he was proud of something he did, or laughing at one of Dennis dumb jokes. There will come a day, where he'll look up and see Robby's photo hanging on the tribute wall, and that was too painful to bear.

He'll relocate to another hospital. Perhaps the one not far from Amy's house. He hadn't checked on the farm in a while, just another thing to feel guilty about.

"It's nothing, don't worry..."

Dennis inhaled sharply at the brush of the man's thumb just below the cut on his lower lip. He had been rooting around the freezer in the breakroom for some ice to dull the pain before Langdon's hands settled on his face, angling it to inspect the injury he had sustained from an intoxicated patient with surprisingly great aim.

His muscles tensed as he tried to keep still, biting back a wince when fingers traced over the spot where the hit had connected. He fixed a faint smile upon his face. "I'm fine, seriously. I grew up with three older brothers, I've been through way worse."