thatsverysupsofyou

The baby’s still fussing, getting louder, and Robby’s about to make his way into the kitchen, hoping he finds a bottle or something, when Dennis slides in, literally, crashing and just barely avoiding a concussion. His hands are wet, his hairs a mess and he’s got spit up all over his (robby’s) t-shirt, breathing hard. He looks about to shit himself when he sees the empty bassinet.

“Hello.”

Robby could laugh at how fast Dennis snapped his neck up, visibly deflating at the sight of the baby, but straightening back up when he processes Robby is holding them.

“Robby? W-wuh- what are you doing here?”

He chuckles a little at the flustered stuttering, bouncing the sobbing baby again, “It’s my house! Do you wanna show me where you put their stuff? Maybe introduce us properly?”

“Oh, shit, yeah! Just over here,” Dennis leads Robby into his own kitchen. There’s a makeshift bottle-making station by the sink, a bottle already warmed through when they reach it. Dennis pulls the bottle out, motions Robby to hand him the now screaming baby, which he (reluctantly) does. The sight of Dennis cradling the baby to his chest, holding the bottle just right so the baby can easily suckle on the nipple, cooing at them as their cries settle, bright, glistening eyes staring up at the kid. He wasn’t prepared for when Dennis’s blue eyes looked back into his, “So, uh, how was your trip?”

The shocked laugh that fell out of his mouth was not intended at all, tumbling from him before he could have thought better, “How was my trip? How was your trip?”

Dennis scrunched his nose, furrowed his brow in confusion. “I didn’t go on a trip?”

“Well, something happened!”

Dennis either forgot about the baby in his arms entirely or was doing a really bad job at stalling (he was inclined to believe the latter), widened his eyes again, darting from Robby to the Baby, “Oh! She isn’t mine!” Robby just scoffed, shaking his head, “Well, not biologically - This is Emily! She’s my niece -well, was, it’s a long story-My”

“Okay, okay.” Dennis’s mouth shut with a click, and the baby, Emily, was wriggling again, knocking her tiny fists against his chest. Dennis didn’t even hesitate before easily shifting her against his shoulder, patting her back gently. He couldn’t look away. Robby let out a sigh. “Look, I’m exhausted. I’m sure you and the baby - Emily - are too. How about we head to bed, and we can talk all about it in the morning, yeah?”

Dennis nodded as much as he could whilst not disturbing Emily, but then his eyebrows furrowed, “wait, I wasn’t expecting you to be back so soon - all our stuff is in your room, I, uh, I can move some things down here for the night, but I can’t move all of it and I-“

“Don’t worry about it, kid. The three of us can bunk together for the night.”

Dennis looked about ready to protest, but then Emily yawned, floppy head shifting against his shoulder to get more comfortable, and he deflated, nodding softly before pressing his face to the infants soft head.

****

Dennis was already passed out when Robby emerged from the bathroom. Robby shook his head at the kid sprawled all over his bed, mouth wide open and snoring softly, drool already slipping from the side of his mouth.

The wooden crib sat adjacent to the bed, placed so Dennis could fall out of bed and tend to Emily’s needs easily during the night, away from the windows and doors. Perfectly placed.

Before falling in bed next to Whitaker, a sentence which should feel more insane than it does, Robby creeps over, letting his fingers dance over the sturdy wood of the cot, before they land lightly on Emily’s round stomach. He lets himself watch, feel as her little lungs work to breathe in and out, finds the fluttering beat of her heart, tries not to notice he’s becoming attached to a baby.

Whitaker’s baby, he reminds himself.

Somehow that distinction makes all the difference.

Emily snuffles slightly, but doesn’t stir. Dennis does though, blinking dazedly in the blue-lit bedroom - he should close the curtains, but Dennis looks so pretty in his bed, only visible through the light of the early evening sky and street lamps. He’s perched up on his elbows, but flops back down to the mattress when he realises that Emily is still asleep, weakly jutting his chin to Robby.

“Come to bed,” he murmurs, barely legible, before pressing his face in the pillow.

an exhausting 12, turned 14, hour shift at The Pitt leaves Trinity and Dennis both drained beyond belief. practically having to drag each other into the apartment, Trinity immediately heads to her room to get ready for bed. begrudgingly, Dennis trudges to the kitchen to make them both a grilled cheese.

he’s done eating and is about to get up from the table to get ready for bed by the time she comes out. dressed in boxers and an old tank top, hair damp and eye bags exposed, she mumbles a thank you for the sandwich. his exhausted frown disappears momentarily, and his lips curl into a subtle grin. feeling appreciated, he tiredly saunters his way to the bathroom.

in the shower he can’t help but think back to some of his patients today. 3 brothers in their early twenties who had given themselves matching stick and poke tattoos, all ending up with infections that landed them in The Pitt. retelling the story of how they got a little too wasted a couple nights before, one of them having mentioned a Do-It-Yourself tattoo trick he had seen the on the internet. they were all smiles despite the pain, and Dennis shamefully felt the typical compassionate expression on his face deflate a little.

after wrapping up his own night routine, he finds himself unable to stop before knocking on Trinity’s door. she grunts an affirmation for his entrance, and Dennis quietly shuts the door as he scampers in. standing there awkwardly, he realizes that he doesn’t really have a reason to be in her room. he’s about to leave before he can embarrass himself further when Trinity cuts off his movement with a question or two,

“you good, dude? did you have a nightmare? it’s a little early, isn’t it? i didn’t think you had even laid down yet.”

“yeah, yeah, no nightmare! umm, i was just wondering- well, i was just thinking that maybe we could have a… sleepover or something?” he squeaks out unconfidently. her face fails to hide just how caught off guard she is and he starts to feel his hands sweat, “like a regular one, without being caused by nightmares or insomnia or- you know what, i’m actually fine. all good-”

“nah, get in,” she cuts in, gesturing to her bed as she situates herself to make room for him. “it’s not like i had any plans tonight.” Dennis reluctantly inches closer and closer to the bed before finally lying down on his side. he shifts slightly until he’s balled up almost in the fetal position with his arms stretched out so that they won’t ache too bad in the morning.

he’s pointedly facing away from her, making sure not to move an inch. he doesn’t want to draw any sort of attention to himself. he’s never really laid in her bed without one of them being asleep or trying to sleep. he suddenly feels very out of place. the silence goes on for what feels like an eternity before she peeks over to meet his eyes. speaking up again, she asks, “first sleepover?”

“is it that obvious?”

“you have 3 brothers and have never had a sleepover? i used to do it with my younger brothers all the time. granted, i was really just babysitting and the only way to get them to go to sleep was to put a fun spin on it…” he feels his chest clench a little as she continues, “but they would move all the blankets and pillows from their rooms to the living room, and we would turn off all the lights and pop in a dvd.” her expression softens at the memory.

he feels sick for being jealous. his childhood was fine! it was different from hers, but was good in its own ways. he loved the animals on the farm. kids at school didn’t hate him or bully him, even if sometimes the boys did exclude because “you wouldn’t understand”, whatever that meant (now he knows it’s because they were talking about girls), and the girls ignored him because what could they possibly have in common? when he came home from school he would spend time with his mom. she had even taught him how to cook all of the family recipes by age 11.

the only gripe he had was with his brothers, and that was really just his own inability to move on. he wants so badly to forget all the times they went out without him, saying, “you’re too young bud” really? he had friends with older siblings that would take them to see pg-13 movies. he wants to block out all the memories of birthdays that went by without a “happy b-day bro”. he wants to wash away the guilt of his resentment. he hates that he’s still bothered by the lack of presence they’ve had in his life since they turned 13+ and he was only 10.

“if my brothers ever had sleepovers i wouldn’t know. they never really hung out with me. i guess it’s just different when there’s one older sibling versus when there’s one younger sibling.” he tries to detach himself from the words coming out of his mouth. unable to meet her gaze, he instead opts to stare at the posters on her wall.

they stay still for a minute, letting his statement linger. she fails to find the right words to say, and tries to comfort him by running a hand through his hair. that usually works when he’s crying from a nightmare. apparently that breaks something in him and when she tries to verbalize her sympathy, “i’m sorry Den-”

“i was only 14 by the time they all moved out, and i still kept desperately trying to get them to pay any attention to me. texting them about everything, sending them pictures of the animals, or saying ‘made your favorite for dinner tonight’, ‘dad’s being annoying again’ you know? relatable stuff… nothing.”

that hits Trinity square in the chest, and she thinks of all the unanswered messages she had from her brothers. she makes a mental note to call her brothers the next day.

“eventually, when they became fathers, i was a free babysitter, but i haven’t heard from them since i moved here.” she can sense that he’s starting to get a worked up, despite sounding defeated. she recognizes the sorrowful tone in his voice, “i think the worst part is that i’m so curious about them, and i doubt that they even think about me.”

Trinity not knowing what to say, changes her own position in the bed. she turns on her side to face him, wraps her arms around his midsection, pulls him close, rests her forehead on the spot that joins his back to his neck, and holds him. grabbing one of his hands, she rests two fingers on his wrist, feeling his pulse start to slow.

changing his tone, he says resolutely, “i think that they knew something was wro- different about me before i even did. i still remember the looks they constantly gave me, the ones that i didn’t understand at the time. like i was an alien in their home, as if there was nowhere i would belong. it’s not that they didn’t want a brother, they just didn’t want me.”

without any sort of hesitation she states, “i want you,” with finality. the confession of fondness is something he isn’t prepared for. the quiet that rushes over them this time is peaceful, the sounds of the cars passing lulls them to sleep.