I am very sorry. An anonymous user sent an ask requesting for a piece about Jack finding regressor Dennis on the eighth floor after the events of season one, then Rabbot becoming his caregivers. Unfortunately Tumblr deleted the draft and the original ask along with it. Thankfully I had the story saved in a Doc. Sorry for losing your ask, Anonymous. Thank you for your prompt. I made it a ‘Littles Are Known’ AU. I hope that’s alright.
It’s an unsettling contrast of elements, Jack thinks. The abandoned eighth floor of the hospital is an austere, unpersonable place, all stiff plastic and rusted metal, but here, in this former observation room, there are traces of softness. He takes his time processing these details: the small stack of incontinence pads on the shelf, the stash of hospital-issue blankets padding the bed’s thin mattress, the PTMC-branded teddy bear on the pillow—still with the security tag fixed to its ear. They are attempts at softness. Not very successful ones, Jack thinks. When his eyes trail across to Whitaker, whose chest is still heaving in fright, it is clear that he also recognises how pitiful the scene is.
He still tries to excuse it. “I will—on occasion, after a long shift—”
“Shhh,” Jack interrupts. He scrubs his hand over his face, sighing. “Now, I know no one is meant to be squatting here, least of all a little. How am I going to explain this to Robby?”
“To Robby? Wh—H-He doesn’t need to know. Why would Doctor Robby need to know?” Whitaker begins the mad scramble to collect his belongings, swiftly shoving them into a large duffle bag. Jack feels angry at how quickly he manages it, how all of his things fit in one measly, shabby bag.
He doesn’t stop him, though. He just stands with his arms over his chest, looking seriously at the boy. “Well, it would be courteous to give my husband a heads up if we’re taking in a foster. Not that we’ll have the time to set up the nursery, or buy supplies, but I like to keep him in the loop.”
It’s slightly endearing to watch recognition burst across his face. “You and Doctor Robby? I never would have—That’s great. That, and that you foster as well.” He holds his trembling gesture for calm. “Listen, I’ll find a shelter. I’ll never do this again. I promise. Please just don’t—”
“We’re fostering you,” Jack snorts. Taking Whitaker’s bag and slinging it over his shoulder, he nods towards the door. “Now, c’mon. Or do I need to carry you?” It’s a rhetorical question, a sarcastic remark, but he sees how it crashes into Whitaker, how it turns his mind blank and sends his rambling mouth falling open dumbly.
They leave the eighth floor, walking hand in hand together. Jack murmurs that it’s really fucking creepy here, that it must have been especially scary to a little, but that it’s all okay now. “No more hiding away. No more acting big,” he says as they cross the park. It’s only as they near Robby that Jack sees that this is finally making sense to Whitaker: that—more than it already has today—his life is about to change forever.
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