*twirls my hair* heyyyyyyy~
ok in the spirit of Dead Dove Summer, I need to know your thoughts about the different stalking styles of Jack, Robby and Dennis <333
Ilysm kissing you on the mouth
MWAH MWAH MWAH smooch smooch smooch.
cw: stalking, noncon, drugs , somno
Dennis: Dennis is... inexperienced to say the least. He comes from a town where houses and people are few and far between. Homelessness taught him to sneak around but he lacks self-awareness. To the untrained eye, it's passable. To the trained one, it's... almost cute. He's too polite. He closes doors that weren't closed before. He straightens out objects without thinking. Keys into a bowl. Askew picture frames straightened out upon inspection. A rumpled tablecloth absentmindedly tugged smooth. He doesn't have restraint either. He can't help himself; he steals clothes that were worn too recently. One's that haven't even made it into the hamper yet.
There's nothing predatory about the way Dennis stalks. It makes him feel ashamed, sure, but also bashful and giddy. Like sending a love letter. He was never socialized well enough. With brothers that packed into a small farmhouse and no sleepovers or friends to speak of, Dennis never grew to understand how someone else might interpret his behavior, only that it was wrong. And wrong things are kept private.
Dennis stalks out of infatuation. He'd never steal anything important-- never money or valuables. He just likes... the proximity of it. The intimacy of seeing a side of someone no one else gets to see.
Robby: Robby isn't much of the breaking and entering type as much as he is an information collector. A chief attending gets access to a lot of information on his staff. It takes a few nights for him to crack, but he pours over Dennis' records. Address, contacts, medical history, and med school transcripts. When he isn't satiated by that, well, he'll just have to get the information himself. Questions that are gentle but insistent. Where did you grow up? What do you get up to in your off time? What neighborhood do you live in? Are you a heavy sleeper? Usually, there's a conversational veneer over the questions but Robby knows Dennis would answer anything.
He likes cameras. At first it's one outside of Dennis and Trinity's apartment building. Just to make sure he gets home safe. Then he puts one in the kitchen to make sure Dennis is eating enough. The kid really needs to put on some weight. At that point, it's only natural to have one pointed at Dennis' bed. Robby turns the volume all the way up at night sleeping to the sounds of the feed static. None of the feeds are particularly interesting or juicy, but it doesn't stop Robby from wringing himself dry every night to the image of his intern passed out in his bed.
It tears him up inside when Dennis starts skipping nights at home. Robby wasn't sure where at first but an air tag in the lining of his backpack fixed that. Robby remembers the night he drove up to the that girl-- Amy's--farm. He watched through binoculars into a warm living room. A living room where Dennis sat at a table with a girl and baby. Cooking, smiling, laughing. Robby's eyes burned and the back of his neck was raw from gripping it. He knew what this meant: he was being left again.
He felt like he his world was flaying into pieces, Dennis slipping through his fingers. Robby basked in every second of attention he got and rotted away in the moments between. His sabbatical wasn't just about Dennis, not really. That was just another thing in his life that wasn't what he'd hoped it would be. The realization, however, that Dennis might stay in his home, sleep in his bed, and be kept safe in a place felt perfect. If Robby never came back, Dennis would have a piece of him forever. If he did, maybe Dennis' would grow fonder of Robby in his absence. Dennis would miss him He'd realize how much danger Robby's in. Dennis could realize he can save him.
Robby had realized that once. That if someone you loved was going to hurt themself, it was your job to help them. To pull them out of the bathtub. To put pressure on the wounds. To call 911. That's what loving someone meant. That's what being a good son meant. He just hoped Dennis was better than him at it.
Robby just likes to keep an eye on the people he cares about. He wants to make sure they're ok. And if they're leaving, he wants to know ahead of time so he can try to stop it.
Abbot: Jack isn't a violent man. He is strong, military trained, imposing. He is not cruel. He is not possessive. He is empty.
This stuff went down to his roots. Summers in Appalachia sneaking into places he shouldn't have been. Keeping lookout for his friends. The behavior really only reared its ugly head in undergrad. He never got caught but it didn't matter. A few angry boyfriends called him controlling. A girl once caught him watching in his car when she was out with friends. He learned to let it show less after that.
When he met Mikey, it was bad. Jack wanted to know where he was, what he wore, what he thought. It didn't help that Mike seemed to preen at the attention. Mike was flattered at Jack's insistence on knowing where he was, who he was with, what he was doing. He leaked like a faucet when Jack choked him. Promised over and over again to let himself be owned. Michael endlessly wanted affection and Jack wouldn't rip his gaze away if it killed him. And then it did.
Robby's grandma died. Jack's service portion of his program was coming up. Robby got a residency at in New Orleans. Jack got deployed. Jack served. Lost his leg. Lost his friends. Met Liz. He was evened out a bit by then. The grief and relearning how to live sanded down his rough edges. He lived happy, spending his days with a wife he loved. No ugly hole in his chest to fill.
There's a horrible small voice in Jack's head that says that Liz had to die so he could watch out for Robby again. It was a miserable time. Jack spent his days alone. He fucking hated being alone. He drowned out the feeling with the police scanner and extra work. Then suddenly, like a beacon of light into his life, he realized how much Robby still needed him.
It didn't come easy. Where Jack lost his edges, Robby had gained some. Robby didn't like to listen. He insisted he didn't need help, didn't want company, didn't want to be asked anymore fucking questions about his mental health. It wouldn't be enough for Jack to follow him around anymore. Robby needed to be taken care of, kicking and screaming.
Jack doesn't sleep much so he spends his nights off at Robby's. There's no urgency to it, no flustered panic. He's there for him at the edge of his bed and he hopes it's enough for Robby to feel it. Measures get more drastic once Jack realizes that Mike is losing sleep over a med student. The poor thing can't sleep, won't eat. Jack resorts sleep aids and an occasional IV. The sleep aids mean that Robby sleeps like a stone. Jack has no problems curling round him, petting his hair, whispering into his ear how much he loves him. He wonders if Mikey feels it the next day. If he can feel all the love inside of him, the stretch of it. If Robby won't take it awake then at least he can take it sleeping.
Jack is furious about the kid. At first. Then he realizes that that's sort of like being mad a wet kitten in a cardboard box. Whitaker is almost endearing. The best of Robby when he was young: clumsy, foolish, and naive. He's not very aware, doesn't notice Jack in the shadows of the house when he sneaks in. Robby doesn't play the camera feed on his phone on nights Dennis is "out late," opting for the tv instead. The little thing doesn't even check Robby's laptop. Jack would kill to see the look on his face when he figured out where the camera in his shower was hidden.
He watches as Dennis rummages through laundry on the floor, smells bottles of conditioner and cologne, even looks through a photo album. He watches him gingerly sneak out of the house when he's done, leaving the place ever so slightly nicer than it was before he left. He decided he needed Dennis on a few night shifts after that. It was only days before Jack noticed his laundry missing.
Jack would never let Robby go on his suicide mission. He'll dismantle that ugly fucking bike if he has to. So he catches Robby on his way out the door. Convinces Robby to let Jack call in a favor and take him out for a drink before he goes. One last one, an occasion he wouldn't want to miss.
Jack hits Robby with a syringe of versed on the couch of his apartment. It takes a minute, but he settles Robby in the bedroom. Chain around his neck, anchored into the floor. A few days of special treatment should have this all worked out Jack thinks. Robby might even get a treat if he's good.
Robby sobs, cries, screams into a muzzle but eventually he learns to take it. He just needed a little forcing. Needed someone else to take control. After two days, he lets himself accept some love. He lets Jack handfeed him, bathe him, pet him. By the end of the week, they fall into something perfect. Jack unchains Robby for the first time. It's a rare Saturday off for Jack. He's on the couch, Robby on the floor between his legs. Jack pets Robby's hair as a movie plays in the background. Taking short glances at his phone every few minutes.
A tracking app shows a blue dot getting closer and closer to his apartment. Robby's treat was on it's way.
