Dennis is a natural provider.
He likes being able to give, to make the people he loves feel cared for and safe, like nothing bad could happen if he was around, not to them, absolutely not. He’s not naturally a fighter but growing up with three rowdy older brothers teaches you how to dodge pretty good, and punch even better.
Fixing the broken things in Trinity’s place felt right. It felt good. She was doing him a huge favor, and he knows no matter what he does it’ll never make up for how much this means to him, but fixing the hinges on the broken cabinet door and the slow draining in the bathroom sink and shower was another step closer to however that looks. He’s not an amazing cook, but he can work a stove and follow a recipe just fine. He tries to let her know that whatever she needs, he’s there—a friend, a brother, a live in nurse, a goddamn maid, whatever.—he’s here, happy and willing.
She tells him it’s a bad trait. He disagrees.
She tells him “people are going to take advantage of you that way,” and he responds with, “how’s it taking advantage if I want to?”
He understands her perspective, and her worries are very appreciated, but they’re baseless. Right now he has very little. It feels like he’s never had anything in his life, actually, so the things he can give? Kindness, love, safety, healing, care, protection, help? Yeah. He’s going all in. Dennis Whitaker doesn’t do a single fucking thing half-assed. It’s how he made it to Pennsylvania in the first place.
So, taking a punch for her was nothing. Getting into a fight was not that big of a deal. It wasn’t fun, by any means, but it felt right. It felt good. The guy was massive but not very coordinated, and Dennis can eat heavy blows like a champ, so he’s fine.
Trinity, however, must think he’s dying.
“Oh my God, Dennis—what the fuck, what did you do, what the fuck did you do!? Let me see your head, stupid, are you bleeding?”
He can’t help but chuckle even if it hurts a little to laugh. There’s blood running down his nose, he thinks it might be broken, and his eyes definitely don’t feel great. His face feels heavy.
“He shouldn’t have pushed you.” He slurs, turns his head to spit some blood out. “I definitely won, right?”
She’s not even smiling. She actually looks close to tears.
“We need to go to the hospital.” She sniffs, pulls out her phone to call Victoria who said she’d be willing to pick them up. “Your head looks fine, but obviously you know-“
“Yeah, yeah,” he waves his hand and lays down on the dirty concrete behind the bar they just got kicked out of. He tries not to think about how many people have probably pissed and vomited and bled on this same spot. Huh.
Trinity glares at him. “We’re talking about this tomorrow-"
“Not like this, you’re not.”
He doesn’t argue. He thinks she won’t take it well.
“We’re talking about this, and how your savior complex is going to kill you.” Her words are kind, but her voice is hard.
“He was going to hit you,” he defends, “what’d you want me to do, let him?”
“I would have deserved it, I provoked him!” She argues and it’s his turn to be in disbelief, to scoff and feel the slowly simmering heat start to grow in his chest. “You can’t go around taking the brunt of consequences that aren’t for you, Dennis. My mouth has gotten me in trouble before.”
“Yeah well, you didn’t have me before.” He huffs out like it means something.
She looks at him for a long, quiet minute. And then her phone vibrates with a text from Vic saying she’s out front.
“I’m glad you were here tonight.” She finally admits like it kills her, because enablement is the last thing Dennis’ behavior needs, “but no more fighting. I’m serious.”
“Yes ma’am.” Dennis salutes, and takes Trinity’s hand when she stands and reaches out to help him up. She carries his weight like it’s nothing. Dennis leans in further, emotional suddenly. She would never let him fall. Not alone.
(Victoria’s reaction to seeing him is a little hilarious.
“Why didn’t you tell me he was bleeding?” Her eyes wide, mouth hanging open. “That looks really bad.”
“I didn’t want you to worry about blood in your car.” Trinity shrugs, like Javadi would’ve ever refused her. “He’s still arguing with me, so he’s fine…ish.”
Dennis doesn’t bring up how worried she was, but he does smile about it.)
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