whenever dennis gets sick, he scurries away and hides. it’s so shameful, for some reason, when his own body gives up on him. it fills him with this burning humiliation and he can’t deal with the fact of anyone knowing.
so he doesn’t say anything, to anyone.
for some odd reason the people closest to him have this ability to sniff him out like a dog, so he has to be extra careful. he keeps any physical discomfort to a minimum. he will smile straight through the stabbing headache, and stand like a heavy post through dizzy sways. dennis will brave through the day, everyone none the wiser to the boiling inside of him.
but at night he sinks into his bed, just so tired and so heavy. through feverish dreams his mind conjures up fake dreams of his mothers hands carding through his hair. or maybe even his dad at the edge of his bed holding a spoonful of medicine.
“open up denny. it won’t taste good but i promise you’ll feel better.”
but it’s not real. none of that was. there was no time to be sick back in his childhood house. no excuse.
he remembers crying through sunday morning, getting ready for mass. feeling so so sick and too ashamed to say anything, knowing what consequences would follow.
dennis would hold his hurting belly like it could keep the hurt from pouring out. only late at night would he let it spill out all alone hunched over the toilet, trying to contain his cries.
he’s a doctor know. he can rationalize it. the bacterial contact, the contaminations, the lowered immune system fighting out whatever’s in. he knows fevers are just like a compass pointing north, a signal that says something is wrong. he should know he’s not magically doing it on purpose, and dennis should know it doesn’t make him pathetic or weak.
but it doesn’t work like that, not really.
so he continues licking his wounds in private.
when he wakes up still feeling the same, if not worse, he cries silently staring at the mirror. he’s trying so hard to keep it all inside but he can feel it staring to bubble up inside him.
he swallows around the lump in his throat and gets ready for his shift. he doesn’t eat, he can’t stomach it, and hides that fact from trinity.
in fact he hides everything, from everyone.
he starts avoiding everyone like the plague. this odd game of if i can’t see them they can’t see me. it’s childish. but at least it keeps him busy from the fact that his symptoms are worsening.
dennis really avoids robby. it’s hard, obviously, that’s his boss and now boyfriend. but he knows the man can catch a lie like a blood sniffing shark.
he’s grateful, for the first time, that jack is on night shift. there’s only so much hiding he can do from one of his boyfriends, imagine two. so dennis tends to his patient, doesn’t let anything get in his way. but deep down he’s so miserable. he doesn’t really know what he wants, but he just wants it to go away.
the end of his shift is approaching and dennis can’t help but be glad that soon it’s over. he knows he’s not at his best, and if he continues at this rate his coworkers are definitely going to notice something is off.
just when he’s about to head out, already longing for his bed and four tylenols, he feels a heavy hand land on his shoulder.
“whitaker. a word please.” robby’s smooth voice cuts through the silence. and dennis doesn’t know what the older man sees in his face for him to continue with a sharp “now.”, but he follows anyways.
and now he’s cornered. jack has apparently materialized next to them, and dennis is now standing between his two partners being stared at like an alien.
jack doesn’t say anything as he stares him up and down, nor as he brings up a hand to dennis’ forehead.
“hey!” dennis says as he swats jacks hand away. which is the wrong move, as the jerky movement causes his stomach to lurch like a wave. he clamps his mouth shuts and wills the nausea away.
the older man simply ignores his little tantrum and continues on, “you’re hot. not warm dennis, hot. you’re pale, breathings larbored, and even a little green.”
“i’m not.” dennis says petulantly like a child, the phantom feeling of his leg stomping coursing through him.
jack tsks. “yeah and i’m batman.” he scoffs. “you’re sick, and you’re pretending you’re not. which is worse than just admitting that you’re sick.”
dennis turns his head away. “i’m not sick. i’m fine. and i’m going home.”
a hand shoots out to grip his wrist. “not alone, you’re not.” robby interjects. “you’ve been sick all day. i’ve noticed. others noticed. let’s get you home okay? you need to rest.” he ends softly.
and dennis feels his stomach turns again, out of nausea or shame he can’t tell. but it twists a knife inside of him, the thought that he wasn’t able to hide it well enough. not just because he was found out, but because it means he failed. he failed at the simplest thing, to keep the hurt to himself.
tears pool in his sad round eyes. his shoulders square up for something, he just doesn’t know what. he knows robby and jack would never hurt him. but just because they haven’t, doesn’t mean nobody else ever has.
“no. no, i’ll go to apartment. im fine.” dennis says quietly, trying to pry his wrist from robby’s grip.
“den come on, are you gonna keep lying to us? to yourself?” jack says, and despite the words sounding harsh they’re delivered with hurt.
but to dennis this isn’t easy. saying he’s sick is like admitting defeat. it’s like pulling teeth.
saying he wasn’t feeling well as a kid only got him hurt, and he won’t let that happen to him ever again. doesn’t matter whatever he has to put himself through to keep people from finding out.
the tears rear their ugly head and fall down the slope of his fever flushed cheeks.
“i’m sorry. im sorry i tried to stop it. im sorry. i dont know. i dont know.” dennis whispers softly between hitches of his breath.
suddenly dennis is wrapped in warm strong arms. “dennis hey, it’s okay. it’s okay we got ya.” a hand makes his way to his head to brush through his curls.
“i don’t know why i get like this.” dennis cries, “im sorry.”
dennis does know. that’s the worst part. he knows how he would get hurt when he was sick. how there was no rest, no comfort. medicine wasn’t something his family kept. he would simply have to ride out the waves on his own and pray to god he would take it all away from him.
he’s shushed softly, “don’t worry about it baby it’s okay. you’re okay. let’s get you home and get some food in you okay? you’re okay” a kiss lands on his temple.
the ride to jack and robby’s house was quiet. dennis was laying on jacks lap in the back seat, feeling calloused hands tuck curls behind his ears, missing the concerned glances robby was sending through the rear view mirror and the silent conversation with jack robby was having.
“i thought you worked tonight.” dennis says, muffled against jacks strong thigh.
“not today sweetheart, don’t worry about it.”
when they arrive at the house jack leads him to the couch and helps him lay down. he removed dennis’ scrubs and replaces them with a soft pair of sweatpants and an old college hoodie belonging to robby.
the older pair take turns feeding him spoonfuls soup and re-wetting the damp rag on his forehead.
“i wish you would’ve told us you weren’t feeling well.” jack says softly as his hand finds his way to dennis soft hair? subtlety checking if the fever has gone down. “i know it’s not easy, but you haven’t said why.”
“not that you have to, not now.” robby interjects, setting the almost empty bowl of soup on the coffee table.
dennis shrugs and hides more into jacks lap. “it’s stupid.” he murmurs into the warm skin.
“it’s not stupid if it makes you rather hide and be miserable than accept help.”
dennis sniffles, “let’s talk about it later alright? just focus on resting.” robby says as he bends to lay a soft kiss on dennis flushed cheek.
the younger man obeys and shuts his eyes. he will open up tomorrow, right now he can soak up all the comfort he never got as a child. he’ll appreciate the hand in his hair, the thigh under his head, the soup in his stomach, and the constant fever checks. he’ll let the older pair mother hen around his sickness, even though it’s hard to wave that white flag around.
soon enough he’ll learn it’s okay to ask for help.
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