this is a reply for @tradelouisemark on the hurt/comfort hucklerobby cocaine 🫂🫂🫂 thank you for the ask, hope you like it !!!
Robby is taking the night shift. They are chronically understaffed, and even if Jack insisted they could manage and he should go rest, he’s made up his mind. He refuses to let them think he’s too old for a double shift.
He’s doing some paging when the alarm goes off. The blaring sound makes him tense immediately, standing up so fast his chair hits the back of another table. He quickly finds Abbot, emerging from one of the emergency bays, easily guiding everyone.
“Alright everyone, follow RACE! Charge nurse, confirm your headcounts once you’re clear!”
Robby jogs up to him. “Is it a drill?”
Jack shrugs, already helping an old lady walk to the emergency exit. “No fucking clue, brother.”
Robby’s about to join him in helping the patients out when Jack calls out. “Fuck! Robby. There’s this new protocol, facilities need an all-clear on eight, someone needs to walk it.”
He frowns, crosses half the floor in five steps. “On it!”
He’s done the eight flights of stairs at least a hundred times over the years, but he’s panting when he reaches the last one this time. He brings a hand to his back, should’ve stretched or just send someone else.
The door opens with a groan, a thump and a yelp. He flinches at the unexpected sound, turns around the door to see what caused it. There’s a bag on the floor, the few belongings on it sprawled out on the floor like it hadn’t been closed properly. Then, a fluff of blonde hair, looking down. The person whimpers. “Shit, my nose…”
The voice is nasal but familiar. “Whitaker?”
The student lifts his chin at the acknowledgment, face going from confused to relieved to terrified in less than five seconds. “Dr. Robby?!”
There’s blood gathered around the younger man’s nose, his hand gripping tight at his nasal bridge. He’s not wearing his scrubs anymore, they have been replaced by some old looking sweatpants and a shirt with University of Pittsburgh printed at the front. In any other circumstance, Robby would stare more than it was considered appropriate, but now he was reaching for Dennis’ nose and tilting his head forward.
“What the fuck are you doing here? There’s, you didn’t hear the fire alarm? And why are you in the eighth…”
The jigsaw falls into place slowly. He’d heard about it, of course. People living on abandoned parts of the hospital, even sleeping on the waiting room without needing medical attention. He’d discussed it with Jack a few times, they agreed it was cruel to just kick them out, and that if they weren’t bothering anyone they should just let them stay. But he’d imagined something else. Maybe old people left alone by family, folks struggling with an addiction, maybe even teens who got kicked out.
But not Dennis. Not cute, sweet Dennis, who always said his hellos and goodbyes to everyone on the staff, who worked so hard to help every single patient, who smiled so bright when Robby praised him.
His chest hurt and the hand around the blonde’s neck softened. “We, we have to-“
“Dr. Robby, please don’t tell anyone. It’s just a temporary thing, I swear, it’s not- I just don’t have a stable source of income yet, but i’ll-“
They hear sounds from the other side of the corridor, from the other entrance. Robby keeps his hand over Dennis’ mouth, not caring about the blood that’s falling on it. He drags him backwards into a corner of the corridor, between a storage closet and the wall.
There’s a small group of nurses, probably sent to check the floor too. They give a quick look around and move to the stairs.
Robby lets out a contained breath, wincing when it moves the blonde curls of the body pressed against him. He quickly removes the bloodied hand, moving Dennis out. “I’m sorry, Whitaker, I didn’t… It would’ve been hard to explain, why you were here.”
When he finally dares a look down, he swears Dennis is about to starts crying. His huge blue eyes glossy, lips pressed on a thin line. He reaches for his shoulder instinctively, or that’s what he tells himself every time his hands find their way back to him. “Hey. Dennis? Are you alright? Is it your nose, hurts too much?”
The younger man shakes his head, looks down to wipe at his eyes. “Sorry, no, it’s not that.”
Robby wants to press further, but the blue and red lights of the fire truck outside seem like a bigger priority. “Okay. Okay, we should- come on.”
The whole way down the stairs he tries to find a reason why he grabbed the poor guy’s hand. It’s unnecessary, inappropriate and probably patronizing. But the hand in his is so cold. It’s logical he’d rub his fingers over Dennis’ boney knuckles, to help with the blood flow.
The make it through a side emergency exit on record time. Robby immediately turns to look at him up and down. Robby is taking the night shift. They are chronically understaffed, and even if Jack insisted they could manage and he should go rest, he’s made up his mind. He refuses to let them think he’s too old for a double shift.
He’s doing some paging when the alarm goes off. The blaring sound makes him tense immediately, standing up so fast his chair hits the back of another table. He quickly finds Abbot, emerging from one of the emergency bays, easily guiding everyone.
“Alright everyone, follow RACE! Charge nurse, confirm your headcounts once you’re clear!”
Robby jogs up to him. “Is it a drill?”
Jack shrugs, already helping an old lady walk to the emergency exit. “No fucking clue, brother.”
Robby’s about to join him in helping the patients out when Jack calls out. “Fuck! Robby. There’s this new protocol, facilities need an all-clear on eight, someone needs to walk it.”
He frowns, crosses half the floor in five steps. “On it!”
He’s done the eight flights of stairs at least a hundred times over the years, but he’s panting when he reaches the last one this time. He brings a hand to his back, should’ve stretched or just send someone else.
The door opens with a groan, a thump and a yelp. He flinches at the unexpected sound, turns around the door to see what caused it. There’s a bag on the floor, the few belongings on it sprawled out on the floor like it hadn’t been closed properly. Then, a fluff of blonde hair, looking down. The person whimpers. “Shit, my nose…”
The voice is nasal but familiar. “Whitaker?”
The student lifts his chin at the acknowledgment, face going from confused to relieved to terrified in less than five seconds. “Dr. Robby?!”
There’s blood gathered around the younger man’s nose, his hand gripping tight at his nasal bridge. He’s not wearing his scrubs anymore, they have been replaced by some old looking sweatpants and a shirt with University of Pittsburgh printed at the front. In any other circumstance, Robby would stare more than it was considered appropriate, but now he was reaching for Dennis’ nose and tilting his head forward.
“What the fuck are you doing here? There’s, you didn’t hear the fire alarm? And why are you in the eighth…”
The jigsaw falls into place slowly. He’d heard about it, of course. People living on abandoned parts of the hospital, even sleeping on the waiting room without needing medical attention. He’d discussed it with Jack a few times, they agreed it was cruel to just kick them out, and that if they weren’t bothering anyone they should just let them stay. But he’d imagined something else. Maybe old people left alone by family, folks struggling with an addiction, maybe even teens who got kicked out.
But not Dennis. Not cute, sweet Dennis, who always said his hellos and goodbyes to everyone on the staff, who worked so hard to help every single patient, who smiled so bright when Robby praised him.
His chest hurt and the hand around the blonde’s neck softened. “We, we have to-“
“Dr. Robby, please don’t tell anyone. It’s just a temporary thing, I swear, it’s not- I just don’t have a stable source of income yet, but i’ll-“
They hear sounds from the other side of the corridor, from the other entrance. Robby keeps his hand over Dennis’ mouth, not caring about the blood that’s falling on it. He drags him backwards into a corner of the corridor, between a storage closet and the wall.
There’s a small group of nurses, probably sent to check the floor too. They give a quick look around and move to the stairs.
Robby lets out a contained breath, wincing when it moves the blonde curls of the body pressed against him. He quickly removes the bloodied hand, moving Dennis out. “I’m sorry, Whitaker, I didn’t… It would’ve been hard to explain, why you were here.”
When he finally dares a look down, he swears Dennis is about to start crying. His huge blue eyes glossy, lips pressed on a thin line. He reaches for his shoulder instinctively, or that’s what he tells himself every time his hands find their way back to him. “Hey. Dennis? Are you alright? Is it your nose, hurts too much?”
The younger man shakes his head, looks down to wipe at his eyes. “Sorry, no, it’s not that.”
Robby wants to press further, but the blue and red lights of the fire truck outside seem like a bigger priority. “Okay. Okay, we should- come on.”
The whole way down the stairs he tries to find a reason why he grabbed the poor guy’s hand. It’s unnecessary, inappropriate and probably patronizing. But the hand in his is so cold. It’s logical he’d rub his fingers over Dennis’ boney knuckles, to help with the blood flow.
The make it through a side emergency exit on record time. Robby immediately turns to look at him up and down. Around them, the evacuation continues. Voices, radios, the hiss of equipment. No one looks twice at them. Just another doctor tending to someone bleeding. Robby hates how easy it would be to pretend that’s all this is.
Dennis shakes his head. Then, after a second, nods. “A little. I ran when the alarm went off. I was half asleep, didn’t mean to be in the way.”
“You weren’t,” Robby says immediately. Too fast. “You’re not.”
Dennis’s fingers twist together in his lap. His voice comes out thin, raw. “I know I’m not supposed to… be here. I try to stay out of sight. I swear. I only sleep. I clean up after myself. I don’t go near patient areas, I-“
“Dennis, hey. Look at me.”
It takes a second, but Dennis does. His eyes are red-rimmed now, lashes clumped together with tears he’s clearly furious with himself for shedding.
Robby feels something sharp and ugly bloom behind his sternum. Guilt, hot and heavy. He’s walked these halls for years. Praised Dennis for staying late, for always being available. He never once asked where the kid went after.
“You don’t have to justify yourself to me,” Robby says. “Not right now.”
Dennis swallows. His shoulders sag just a fraction, like the fight’s leaking out of him despite his best efforts. “If you tell them,” he whispers, “they’ll kick me out. I can’-I can’t afford that. ”
His voice breaks. Fully this time. He ducks his head, a tear slipping free and dropping onto the concrete between his shoes.
Robby’s instinctive response is immediate and wrong and inevitable. He reaches out, cups the back of Dennis’s neck, thumb brushing the damp curls there. It’s grounding, anchoring. For both Dennis and him if he’s being honest.
He pulls his hand back just as fast, as if burned.
“I’m not telling anyone,” he says, low and fierce. “Not tonight.”
Dennis looks up again, stunned. “…you’re not?”
“No.” Robby exhales through his nose, scrubs a hand over his face. “Facilities will clear the floor. Administration will be busy for hours. No one’s looking for you right now.”
He hesitates, then adds quieter, “And I’m not interested in making your life any harder than it already is.”
The relief that crosses Dennis’s face is almost painful to witness. It’s too much, too fast, like someone who’s been holding his breath for days finally letting go. His chin wobbles.
(ended it there cause it felt too long? i could probably do a second part tho :P)
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