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man sometimes friendship really is just "I saw this and knew it would give you psychic damage. please respond with agony" and then they do. and it's great
Part two to the omegaverse Rabbot w Carter as their son (you’re gonna need to read the first one before this)
Before Jack knows what’s happening, Carter bends over and throws up on his own shoes. Instinctually, Jack leans forward and massages his own shaking hand along his back. “Are you okay?”
Carter nods, but he’s trembling too violently for Jack to believe him. “I need to call my mom.”
“Let’s get you cleaned up first,” Jack says. He ignores his aching knees and lands on the concrete to take Carter's shoes off for him, then leaves them on the curb. Jack places his hands on Carter’s shoulders and guides him to the bathroom.
"Thank you," Carter mumbles. "I could've done that."
Jack shakes his head. "I wanted to." Would've been nice to do it when Carter was five, but he'll take what he can get.
Carter rinses his mouth out in the sink and stares at Jack through the mirror. "When were— You and my mom, what..."
"Uh..." Jack scratches the back of his head. He laughs even though nothing about this is funny. "We met our last year of pre-med, courted for most of med school, and right before we graduated, he ended things."
Carter gives a small, shaky nod. "That adds up." He curls over the sink. "Oh, my God," he sounds like he might throw up again. Jack's hands retake their place on his pup's back. His pup.
"It's okay," Jack says. "Everything is going to be okay."
Wild, red-rimmed eyes meet his own. "I am going to kill my mom."
"I'd prefer if you didn't."
"You should want to kill him," Carter stresses. "I've told him about you. And I know for a fact he's looked on the hospital website; he's seen your photo. Fuck." He whips out his phone, but before he can make the call, Jack grabs his wrist.
"Not here," he says. "We should be somewhere more private."
Carter releases a heavy sigh but agrees. "My roommate isn't working today."
Heart pounding in his chest, Jack offers, "You could... come to my place."
They end up standing awkwardly in the entrance of Jack's home. He's now realizing how unwelcoming his house is; no photos on the walls, minimal decor, at least it's clean.
"This is neat," Carter says. He's being excruciatingly polite because Jack is sure the signed helmet his buddies gave him when he was discharged is of no interest to him. Still, telling Carter a bit about his military time fills the silence for a while, so he takes it.
To his surprise, Carter is genuinely enthralled. "That's awesome," he says. "I'm hoping to join Doctors Without Borders one day; maybe you can give me some tips on combat medicine before I go."
Absolutely not. Jack just got his pup; no way in hell is he sending him to get his own leg blown off. It must show on his face because Carter rolls his eyes.
"You're taking that as well as Mom did."
“Maybe wait until after your residency before thinking about that.”
Another eye roll. “Sure.” He sighs. “I’m calling him.”
“You should eat first,” Jack says. “It’s been a long day; you don’t want to have this conversation angry.” After decades of praying he’d run into Robby, now Jack feels sick at the thought of talking to him.
“Fine,” Carter says. “But I’m still going to be angry.”
Watching Carter eat the dinner he made gives Jack a foolish swell of satisfaction. He cleans his plate and thanks Jack softly; it takes a lot of strength to suppress the urge to kiss the top of his head or reach out for Carter at all. He’s so wonderful. Jack’s perfect pup.
Of course he’s perfect, Jack thinks; he’s Robby’s.
Jack is broken out of his daze when Carter’s phone begins ringing loudly. Before he can say that this isn’t a conversation to be had on speaker, the beautiful rasp that’s haunted Jack’s memories for nearly three decades sings through the house.
“Hi, baby. How was work?”
Jack’s mouth waters at the sound. He doesn’t know if he’s going to be sick, cry, or attempt to jump through the phone.
“Big day, Mom. Very big day.”
“Yeah? How so?”
“Well, first, guess who I’m sitting with.” He holds the phone out to Jack, who gapes like an idiot.
“Uh…” his breath stutters. “Hi— uh, hi, Robby. How have you been?”
Jack isn’t certain what an appropriate conversation starter is when speaking over the phone to an ex who gave him a pup he didn’t know about until an hour ago, but he grimaces at his faux-casual tone.
A long silence stretches between them.
“John,” Robby says, finally. “Take me off speaker. Now.”
Their pup huffs, but does as he’s told. Jack twiddles his thumbs and pretends not to listen to the half of the conversation he’s privy to. Instead, he focuses on the low, unintelligible hum of Robby’s voice.
After a few minutes, Carter holds the phone out. “He wants to talk to you.”
Jack takes it with quivering fingers. “Hello?”
There’s a shallow curse through the phone, then, “Hi, Jack. Long time, no see.”
Hearing Robby’s voice, hearing the man he’s always dreamed of as his mate, say his name again brings tears to Jack’s eyes. “It’s really you.”
“That it is,” Robby sighs. “I’m sorry this is how we’re meeting again.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Jack says immediately.
“Sorry is the least I should be,” Robby mutters. He takes a deep breath. “So… what do you think of our pup?”
Jack can’t help but laugh. He wipes his cheeks roughly as the tears trickle down. “He’s perfect. Robby, he’s the best thing in the whole world; you should see him at work.” From the corner of his eye, Jack sees Carter’s posture straighten. “You did so good.”
“He just looks like me,” Robby says. “His personality is all you.”
“No. Everything I loved about you is in there.”
A sharp sob breaks through the phone, and Jack wishes so badly he could reach through the screen and hold Robby like no time has passed at all.
“I’m so sorry, Jack,” he cries. “I thought I made the right choice at the time; I really did.”
“What did I do?” Jack asks between tears. Poor Carter is pretending to be interested in the spice rack to avoid his newly found father’s sobbing. “What made you think I wouldn’t want him?”
“Nothing,” Robby sniffs. “I knew you would. I didn’t know I was pregnant when I left. I found out two weeks after, and it—“ He chokes on his own breath. “It felt too late to come home by then,” he croaks.
The tears burn Jack’s face. “It wasn’t.” He glances at his pup, who has moved on to inspecting his cereal options. “It’s still not.”
“Jack—“
“Could we meet in person?” Jack’s leg bounces anxiously. “I’ll pay for your ticket and a hotel if you’d be willing to.”
“I can afford it myself,” Robby says.
“No, I know.” Jack’s cheeks burn. “I, well, I just—“
“You never let me pay for anything,” Robby teases. “My alpha: the perfect provider.”
Jack’s heart stops when Robby calls him his alpha. He doesn’t care that it’s a joke; since the moment he saw him in the dining hall all those years ago, Jack has been nothing but Robby’s. “Please let me.”
There’s another beat of silence, filled by Jack’s heartbeat thrumming in his ears, then Robby says, “Thank you, but I’ll pay for it.”
Jack deflates. Maybe Robby has mated in the years since Carter’s graduation, or he’s being courted now, and his current alpha will snap at Jack to back off. “Okay.”
“I’ll book a flight and text John the details.” He sighs again. “I really am sorry, Jack.”
“Don’t be,” Jack says again. “I’m handing you back to Carter, uh, John.”
John says his goodbyes and shifts from foot to foot, picking at the hem of his scrubs. “So, should we play catch or something?”
Jack smiles, raw and exhausted. “We can do whatever you want.”
He shuffles on his feet a little longer, then shyly extends his arms toward Jack. Despite his old, tired knees, Jack launches himself up and wraps his pup tight against his chest. He fits perfectly.
Jack slams to a halt the second he sees him. It’s not possible. He’s snapped. He’s hallucinating. No matter what he thinks he’s seeing, there’s no way in hell a twenty-something Michael Robinavitch is standing in front of him.
The pup is damn near identical to the mate Jack never had. His alpha wants to grab him and drag him away, get on his knees and apologize for giving up on them so easily. He shouldn’t have let Robby end their courtship without a fight, but he was so heartbroken his brain wouldn’t work and his perfect omega was out the door before Jack could even begin to wonder what he’d done wrong.
“Dr. Abbot,” the department head says. Jack hadn’t even noticed her, all his attention was wrapped in the ghost standing in front of him. “This is Dr. Carter. He’s one of our MS4s.”
“Nice to meet you,” Jack rasps. He shakes the ghost’s hand, they’re softer than Robby’s ever were, but that warm smile is exactly like he remembers.
“Nice to meet you too,” Carter says. “You know, it’s funny, my—“ The doors of the ambulance bay spring open and shouting overwhelms whatever he says.
“I’m sorry?” Jack needs to sit down, but there’s never a chance here.
Carter waves him off. “Not important.” He heads off to the trauma and Jack follows foolishly behind.
Every time Carter is on Jack’s shift he spends the whole time staring at him, wondering if he actually is his Mikey’s pup. He must be, the odds of someone else having a pup that looks exactly like him down to the crinkle by his eyes when he smiles are slim to none. Jack imagines what Robby would look like now. Stunningly beautiful, he’s certain. Those lines Jack loved would be permanently etched on his face, and he bets his thin waist has fattened sweetly with age. Jack would give anything to have seen him pregnant.
When they were courting, Jack would curl behind Robby and rub his palm over his stomach, picturing how it would feel when it expanded to grow their pup. Now, he lays in bed alone between shifts and tries not to vomit at the thought of some other alpha getting that instead.
He does the math on Carter’s age and pinches the bridge of his nose to stop himself from crying. How soon after their courtship did Robby get pupped? Was there some other alpha waiting for him while Jack thought they were planning a life together? Or worse, had already taken Robby while he was still Jack’s?
Pathetic as it is, he can’t stop the tears. Fifty years old, spending his day off sobbing in bed over an omega that had forgotten about him when their lives were still intertwined.
As gruesome as it is to see Carter happily bouncing around the ED, Jack won’t deny that he appreciates the small distraction from his pity party. He often eavesdrops on Carter’s chatting in the hopes of hearing something definitive about his mother.
One day, he overhears Carter mention that his first name is John, which is salt in the wound, but it gives Jack enough to google him like a creep without risking his coworkers finding him digging into their student’s private life.
John Carter is an unfortunately popular name, but after an hour of searching, Jack finds an Instagram account under jcartera. Carter doesn’t post very much, but there is one photo that takes Jack’s breath away.
Michael Robinavitch, twenty-five years older than the last time Jack saw him, hugging his pup tightly as they celebrate Carter’s graduation. He’s even more gorgeous than Jack imagined. His eyes shine proudly, and his smile is just as hypnotic as Jack remembered.
He clicks the photo for a closer look, and takes it in like oxygen. His eyes dart to Robby’s neck; he can’t see a bite. What idiot wouldn’t mate Robby?
Jack scrolls to the next photo and it’s as if a knife is driven into his heart. Robby looks almost exactly how Jack remembers him, the only difference is the bit of weight remaining around his jawline, and baby Carter snug against his chest.
A heavy weight slams into Jack. He wishes so badly he could’ve been the alpha that gave Robby that smile; that they could’ve had a pup and treasured them together.
Or even Carter. He’s such a wonderful young man, Jack would’ve been happy to claim him regardless of who his actual father was. He was always so weak for Robby; Jack would’ve raised any pup of his if for nothing else than to keep his dream omega in his life.
Jack goes back to the graduation photo. There’s an account tagged on Robby’s shoulder, m.robby; Jack gnaws his bottom lip and considers if this is a bridge to far, but figures he’s already past inappropriate.
Robby’s account is even emptier than Carter’s. He’s posted the same graduation picture, and a photo of a sunset with no caption. Jack sighs and goes back to Carter’s account. He stares at the two photos and imagines a whole different life.
He sees that life every time Carter’s name is mentioned for the next month. The first break he gets from the taunting fantasy comes after hours of working on the victims of a six car pile up.
Jack is taking his first real breath since the trauma was called in, sitting alone on a bench outside the ambulance bay, when Carter comes out, cheeks red and hair sticking to his forehead.
“Oh, hi, Dr. Abbot,” he smiles. Jack wonders if Carter got his ability to bounce back from his father because Robby had a nasty habit of taking every lost patient to heart.
“Hey, Carter. How you holding up?”
“Been better.” He takes the spot next to Jack. “I’m really glad that girl pulled through. She had me scared.”
“You and me both.”
Carter hums. “Maybe it’s an Abbot thing.”
Jack’s eyebrows furrow.
“I’m making a joke,” Carter laughs. “Because we have the same last name.”
All the air evaporates from Jack’s lungs. “What?”
“Just, because we were thinking the same thing and both our last names are Abbot.” Carter shrugs. “It’s stupid. There’s a reason I’m a doctor and not a comedian.”
Jack blinks, hard and heavy. “I thought your last name was Carter.”
He shakes his head. “No, Carter’s my middle name. I went by it in school, and when I continued for this rotation to avoid confusion after I found out there was already a Dr. Abbot.” He frowns. Good God, he is the absolute spit of Robby. “I thought you knew.”
“No,” Jack says, breathless.
“I told you on my first day.”
Jack’s head is spinning. “I’d definitely remember that if you did.”
Carter, Abbot, John Carter Abbot, looks at him strangely before brightening. “Oh, yeah! The trauma came in and I forgot. Huh. Doesn’t matter, I guess.”
It does matter. It matters more than anything in the world. “Your name is John Abbot,” Jack says stupidly.
“Yeah?”
“My name is John Abbot.”
Carter’s frown returns. “But… I swear I’ve heard the other attendings call you Jack?”
“That— yeah. That’s the name I’ve gone by since childhood,” he laughs shallowly. He could wake up in a padded cell at any moment. “I’m named after my uncle, so I got called Jack to avoid confusion.”
“Oh.” Carter stares at his feet. “I’m named after my dad…”
Jack grabs the back of the bench to avoid giving himself a concussion when he inevitably passes out.
Carter at him with wide, somewhat frightened, eyes. “Do you… um, did you know a Michael Robinavitch?”
“Yes,” Jack whispers. His grip on the bench tightens.
All the color in Carter’s face drains. “How well?”
“Extremely.”
A far away glaze covers Carter’s eyes, he looks as dizzy as Jack feels. “Jesus Christ.”
Btw, that idea that privilege makes you morally evil and suffering makes you morally good is just repackaged versions of the Christian concepts of the evils of luxury and the holiness of martyrdom. Hope this helps!
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Jess had always been the smart one in their marriage. Hell, she’d been the smart one before their marriage. She’d taken pity on Jack’s pathetic self, coming in morning after morning to the diner where she worked, buying breakfasts his bank account couldn’t technically afford only to sit and stare at her and saying stupid things like, “Boy, howdy, yesirree,” when she asked him if his hash browns were good before flushing bright red.
One morning Jess had refilled his coffee and said, sounding more amused than Jack probably figured he’d deserved, “My shift ends at noon. You’re going to meet me outside then and we’ll go for a walk in the park, okay?”
“Okay,” Jack had said, smiling so hard his cheeks hurt with it, and he thought maybe he’d fully fallen for her there and then, sitting at the counter in a run-down diner in a town both of them longed to get away from. She’d been his first serious girlfriend, and she’d been the one to ask him out. Jack had never had an issue with that, rolled his eyes at the guys who gave him shit for it, because had they seen Jess? Had they heard her laugh, or listened to her talk about her plans for opening her own place? Point of fucking pride that she’d asked him.
But she’d asked him, and Jack’s romantic history since her wasn’t what you’d call extensive, and now here he was at 50 faced with a dilemma: he wanted to ask Robby out, and he didn’t have the first clue how to do it. He knew that the dating world had changed sharply over the last 20 years. There were apps, and rules about what emojis had secret double meanings, and whole new sexualities were now a thing.
And while Jack liked to think he wasn’t totally out of touch—he spent too many hours of each week in the company of Parker Ellis and John Shen for that to be true—he’d been out of commission for most of this century, and that definitely wasn’t true for Robby. (Last week, Jack had been standing in line in the cafeteria behind two NICU nurses while one told the other that she’d had a three-day fling with Dr. Robinavitch from the ED a couple of years ago and that the beard rash had been worth it.)
What if Jack asked Robby out and what he said was the equivalent of turning around to someone in 2000 and asking if they wanted to go steady at the sock hop?
What if Jack asked Robby out, and midway through he started talking about bees again, for some godforsaken reason?
“Let’s say hypothetically,” Jack said while he and Parker were charting at neighbouring computers, “and this isn’t about me, really—“
“Who are you trying to convince here?” Parker said.
“Hypothetically,” Jack said, “if someone was thinking about asking another person out, and they didn’t know the likely success rate but they were trying to be optimistic about it, even if they didn’t know whether they should be optimistic because of, uh, factors”—did Robby even go for guys? Jack didn’t know. Jack barely even knew that he went for guys—“like in that kind of scenario—“
“Is there a question in here somewhere?”
“Asking someone out in 2026,” Jack said, shifting awkwardly in his computer chair. “Like… how?”
"This job does like to surprise me," Parker said with a soft sigh. "Okay. Hypothetically? You're overthinking this. I don't know who this is about, and I do not want to know, but I still know that you're overthinking this. Keep it classic, keep it simple, give them options and an out. Gestures tend to backfire, but if you really need to do one, same parameters apply. Classic, simple, stick to things you know they like."
"Okay," Jack said nodding slowly. Parameters were things he could work within; structure he liked. Classic, okay; simple, he could do; and sure, why not try for a gesture, because didn't Robby deserve someone making a gesture for his sake?
It took him another couple of days to decide what to do, but once Jack figured it out—again standing in line in the cafeteria, this time behind Robby and Dana, while Robby pointed at the sad, dry little hockey pucks that were being audaciously sold as Homemade Chocolate Chip Cookies, $2.75 and saying how much he missed the brown butter ones his grandmother used to make—Jack was locked the fuck in.
(He got his practical advice from Parker, but his up-to-date slang from Chen.)
Jack called up his sister and said, "Yes, Stacey, I know it seems unusual for me to ask you how to make brown butter chocolate chip cookies from scratch at 7:45am on a Wednesday morning, I know I don't bake, but have you considered that it's super important for my future happiness? Yes, I did try looking on the internet but do you know how many recipes out there are just really shittily written?"
His big sister was a fucking saint, that's what she was, because she only mocked him a little while she talked him through what ingredients he'd need and then gave him extremely precise directions that included the importance of doing test batches. "These things always take some trial and error when you're trying to figure out a new set-up," Stacey said, and Jack's first couple of batches were indeed kind of iffy. One was too dense, one was weirdly lumpy, but then he figured out the best ingredients ratio and mixing time, and after that it was just a matter of working out the ideal diameter and whether he wanted it to be heart-shaped or not (maybe he shouldn't play his hand too soon, he decided) and the best serving options.
But by Friday night, he pulled out of his oven what he was pretty sure was the platonic ideal of Robby Cookies: size, mouthfeel, proportion of chocolate chips to dough, the works. He sent Stacey a photo of him giving a thumbs up in front of a tray of cooling cookies with the caption Batch 9B is a hit.
You're lucky you're cute, Stacey wrote back.
Recipe nailed down, Jack invited Robby over to watch the game the next afternoon. He showered, he shaved with unusual care, he put on the nice green sweater his niece had given him for his birthday. He lit the fire in the living room because there was a definite cold snap in the air, and when Robby showed up he made a little noise of surprise as he looked around the room and at Jack's sweater and said, "Getting festive early, Abbot."
"Start as you mean to go on or whatever," Jack said, and even he didn't know what that meant because he was fucking amped. "Uh, snacks. You want snacks? I got snacks."
"Sure," Robby said, sounding amused as he followed Jack into the kitchen, "a snack's fine," but then the noise that he let out when he bit into the cookie Jack gave him sounded anything but amused—it sounded obscene. It wasn't just a noise, it was a groan. Michael Robinavitch had groaned because of something that Jack had baked, and if maybe that wasn't the biggest achievement of Jack's life, it was definitely up there. "Fuck, you made these yourself? These are really good."
And then there came the point where Jack could really have derailed everything, because he looked at Robby—at Robby's mouth, which he'd just used to moan right there in Jack's kitchen—and said, somewhat desperately, "Wanna bang?", before realising what he'd just said aloud and putting his head in his hands.
There was a long silence.
"Did you just," Robby said, eventually, carefully, "give me a cookie and then proposition me?"
"I was going to ask you out," Jack said weakly. "On a date."
"But you said 'Wanna bang' instead?"
Jack nodded, and when there was more silence he risked looking over at Robby to see that he was eating the rest of the cookie with a thoughtful look on his face. "There brown sugar in these?"
Jack nodded again.
"Did you learn how to make brown sugar chocolate chip cookies just because you knew I liked them?"
Jack nodded a third time, felt his cheeks heat.
"The cookies are really fucking good," Robby said, swiping a stray crumb from his lower lip. "But you should know you'd have had me just from a 'wanna bang.'"
Jack's jaw dropped. "You're kidding."
"Nope," Robby said, and grinned at Jack and leaned toward him and kissed him and okay, okay, Jack thought as his eyes drifted closed, as he clutched at Robby's hips—okay, so Jack wasn't the smart one this time around, either, but did it matter when success tasted this sweet?
Ugh the Hucklerabbot domestic discipline/kept boy/infantilization brainworms are back @queer-reader-07 @puppyjavadi @puppydogwhitaker @sixeyedsharks THIS IS YOUR FAULT
Dennis at Work vs Dennis at home are two very different people. There's a different level of trust for each one.
It was a natural progression. One of those things where Dennis wasn't entirely sure how they got to the point that they were at, but now they just were. He doesn't remember necessarily agreeing, but he does remember feeling better after every new rule and requirement was set into place. No guessing if he was doing something he shouldn't, no issues on if he was fucking up or not; his rules appeared and they told him where he fell.
"What's got you so upset today?" Jack asked him after the third mumbling huff he'd received from Dennis. "Did something happen?"
"I'm tired," Dennis whined. "Trinity kept me up late with a Scream movie marathon and then I couldn't sleep."
"When did you go to bed?"
"Um." Dennis's face scrunched up. "I think around 3? 4?"
Robby shook his head. "Yeah, no wonder our boy's so cranky."
That night he gets tucked into bed, in a shirt that isn't his, kisses on his forehead, whines and protests ignored, and promises of being in soon, "Just close your eyes, baby, you'll feel better in the morning, yeah?"
And even though it's a sharp 10pm, Dennis is out within minutes. He barely notices when Jack and Robby do file into bed, waking only to seek out on of their arms to hold him, and falling back into a deep slumber.
He's cheerful, chipper, better the next day. He sees the look Jack and Robby exchange in regards to his mood but chooses to ignore it. Just like how he chooses to ignore when he gets tucked into bed early again the next night, and the next, and every night after.
Then came the whole stove incident. Not that there really was an incident as much as an accident. Dennis didn't mean to get so close to the still hot stovetop but something fell over and it was second nature to try and grab it and now he's sporting an angry red mark across his hand, biting his lip and trying not to get too upset about it.
But it hurts and he can feel that slight bubble of embarrassment and fear rushing up in his chest.
Not that it matters because Jack grabbed his hand and ushered him to the sink, running cold water over it while Robby fixed whatever mess is behind them. He let out one wary sigh and Jack was murmuring, "You're okay. I know it hurts, kiddo, but it's okay. We've got some burn pads and cream, we'll get it nice and patched up, don't worry. Dad's got you."
He's not allowed to use the stove after that. Robby nudges him out of the way and Jack makes him stand all the way back behind the island in the kitchen, pouting on a barstool until his food is ready. Knives came after that because "You're just a little clumsy, baby. Little boys don't need to use sharp things like that. Let daddy handle it."
As if Dennis wasn't holding sharp objects in the ED on the regular.
Things keep growing. Building. Dennis accidentally stays up too late on his phone, watching videos Trinity was sending him, and now he's getting his phone taken away every night an hour before bed. He tripped over his own laces at work and now Robby is the one who ties them every single morning. Jack catches him jumping one too many times at a scary movie and suddenly they're only watching PG-13 at best. Someone evil and rude and insane showed Robby and Jack Life360 and Dennis gets his ass turned cherry red for driving too fast, gets corner time for not leaving the bar like he said he was, and getting texts of "Charge your phone, Den" when he's sitting at 43%.
And Jack and Robby are so.... daddy with it.
"I understand that, but you're not going. If you want to argue, I'll be home in about 20 minutes and we can have this conversation with the hairbrush. Why don't you go find a corner and wait for me there?" and he's busting his ass to find a spot because Jack sounds way too calm for the threat of the hairbrush.
"We can discuss this as many times as you want sweetheart. You're not changing my mind." and Robby's nodding with every point Dennis makes about how unfair something is, how he really wants to go get drunk without one of them nearby, but Robby's not budging. It's not safe, it's not happening, end of story.
"Oh, I'm sorry, do you want to try that again, little boy?" whenever Dennis gets a little too mouthy and Jack grabs his jaw, arching a brow, tone dangerously low. Dennis squeaks out an apology and gets a kiss on his forehead and a warning swat when he moves away.
Robby's heavy sigh when Dennis does break a rule, when he doesn't eat all 3 meals like he's supposed to, taking an already sniffling Dennis over his knee and pulling down his pants and underwear to his ankles. "I'm just disappointed, baby. You know exactly how your daddy and I feel about that."
Sometimes it bewilders him. He doesn't remember when half of these rules got set into place. He barely remembers if he argued on them or not. He does remember the punishments he gets if he breaks them, and that's enough to obey them.
Dennis doesn't care because all he can focus on is not having to worry about so much. Robby picks his clothes out so Dennis doesn't have to think twice about it. Jack makes sure his student loan payments are complete on time every month, no questions asked and nothing said about it either. They keep his favorite snacks and safe foods on hand always, and the food at his apartment with Trinity never runs out. Jack replaces his shoes when the tread is starting to give out. Robby sees one tear in his scrubs and he has a box from Figs sitting on the kitchen table with his name on it the next day.
So yeah, maybe he's not the same competent, well trained, trusted physician at home like he is at work. Maybe he goes from being given complex procedures to not being allowed to cut up his own dinner. But it's all done from a place of safety, a place of love, a choice that they make daily to prove Dennis is worth taking care of. because they want to do it.
It makes the screen limit with a passcode he doesn't know popping up on his TikTok mindless scroll session a little more bearable. Ish. But what's truly unbearable is Jack using the paddle when he stays up too late on nights he's sleeping in the apartment and Robby making him go to sleep without a twenty minute cuddle session in his old man rocking chair. So he'll put up his phone and roll over to go to sleep on time tonight.
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Having "a lot" of followers on tumblr is funny because probably 80% of them are ghost blogs who haven't been on here in like a decade.
It's like, no no, those aren't my followers, that's a graveyard! I'm the caretaker of a thousands of tombs. I love them, but they've been dead for seven years.
Dude we figured out the moon reflects sunlight and doesn't glow on its own in the 5th century BCE. But that's also the only first recordable time that "this idea in particular" occurred at the same time as "writing it down" and those two concepts managed to really intersect in a way that is observable to us in the modern era. We're so smart as a species. How many times did this idea occur before we made it really tangible to future generations? It breaks my heart to think about, but maybe the first human who had that idea made life easier for her kinsfolk for a few generations before it got wiped out by a famine or a plague. Collective and cumulative human knowledge is such a gift and we're fucking it up so bad.
does anyone else feel like the most evil person alive for calling out of work sick, even when you know you wouldn't have physically been able to make it thru your shift?
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If you hate robby so fucking bad that he genuinely irritates you everytime you see his face then maybee you should find a new show to watch because he IS the main character of the show no matter what you want to say
been seeing an awful lot of robby hate on my dash so just in case anyone was wondering I LOVE MICHEAL ROVINAVITCH I think hes great I think hes an interesting character and I don't think hes evil as fuck like some people. okay yay I had to get that outta my system.
