Something Robby regularly preached was necessary when working in the medical field. Especially in emergency medicine.
Something you’d always been good at. Especially when it came to relationships.
And yet, working the wrong shift, on the wrong day, with the saddest blue eyes you’ve ever seen staring you down like you’re a flight risk about to bolt, compartmentalization was the last thing you were capable of.
Dennis Whitaker had been many things to you since he started at the pitt just over a year ago. A coworker, a friend, a crush, a boyfriend. And then, in the worst turn of events possible, he became the love of your life. That upgrade, to most, would be thrilling. To find someone and in just ten months of being together grow to love them more than life itself was exhilarating. Or rather, it should be- you even wanted it to be- but it wasn’t. It was terrifying and overwhelming and every awful word you could possibly imagine because really…it wasn’t any of those things and that was a problem.
You don’t know exactly where in your life you had developed such an aversion to love and vulnerability. You just know it had settled in somewhere between high school and your first day as a nurse in the pitt and had carried on up until the moment you’d met Dennis.
Because with Dennis, vulnerability wasn’t so bad- wasn’t so scary. It came as naturally as breathing. When he told you about his life before moving to Pittsburgh, you felt inclined to tell him about your own childhood and the path that ultimately led you to becoming a nurse in the emergency department of PTMC. When he brought up his family in conversation one night, telling you all that they did to him to turn him into the man you come to know, you couldn’t help but talk about your own family and what they’d done that shaped you. And when he’d finally asked you out over a cup of shitty coffee in the breakroom, you couldn’t stop yourself from agreeing all too eagerly.
Perhaps that was what drove you to this point- drove you to quit him completely. He brought out an honesty in you that you weren’t quite ready to face. Not now, maybe not ever.
So, you’d dumped him. Face to face, of course. You weren’t a complete monster. And you’d tried your best to stress all the while that this was not his fault without elaborating why you were breaking up with him. How could you look at him and tell him you couldn’t be with him because you’d realized you were in love with him? How could you expect him to understand that?
You switched to the night shift almost immediately after, and stuck out the next two months doing everything in your power to avoid his existence in its entirety. If you didn’t see him, didn’t hear him, didn’t acknowledge he was ever real to begin with, you could pretend that you weren’t miserable and pathetic and regretting your choice more than a teenage girl regrets cutting her own bangs. You could pretend that the love you felt for him still didn’t tug on your heart like an anchor caught in something beneath water- no matter how hard you tried to pull it out, it stayed deep, tangled up as if the two had never not been connected.
But the pretending only worked so long as you avoided him, and when one of the few nurses on the day shift that you actually still had a friendship with came to you begging to swap shifts for a day, you were forced to accept the reality that everything about Dennis Whitaker was real and raw and as painful as ever.
You knew you’d end up feeling like a pariah from the moment you stepped into the emergency room until the end of your shift, but you didn’t expect just how bad it would hurt.
You liked to believe that, at one point, you were one of the most liked nurses on the shift. You got along with all of the doctors- even Robby on his off days and that particularly obnoxious student doctor Ogilvie that had slowly been growing on you like some sort of mold before you swapped shifts. But that was before you broke the heart of Dr. Whitaker- the sweetest, kindest, most empathy-inducing person to work the shift, and you were beyond sure that the twinge of favoritism you’d once earned was long since replaced by disdain.
It was all expected, at least to a degree; the snubbing from Santos, the awkward greetings from Javadi and Mel, the side eyes and whispering from Perlah and Princess. That didn’t make any of it any easier though. What really made it worse was the almost sympathetic look you received from Dana when you shuffled in at 7:00 am sharp, eyes tired and heavy with emotion you couldn’t even begin to find words for.
She’d greeted you in a way that was nothing short of motherly before getting you started for the day, and for a moment, you fell into routine and were able to keep yourself busy enough that you could pretend you didn’t notice the way the staff seemed to be waiting on you to implode. You work with someone long enough, and you learn their tells without even trying to. And despite your preconceived notion that everyone in the room hated your guts- only one person did, and that was to be expected from Santos- they could see the way you were fraying at the ends trying to overwork your brain to avoid everything else that seemed wrong.
By the time 3:00 pm rolled around, you had finally shaken off some of the weight of being around Dennis. Sure you’d found yourself choking up a bit when you first saw him, and maybe the first time you had to actually work with him your body had tried to go into fight or flight, but you were making it. You actually believed you were doing rather great. No tears so far, and only the fading effects of anxiety induced nausea acted as the remaining indicators that anything was wrong. You were actually rather proud of yourself. Until the incident.
A combative patient, a poorly placed cabinet, and your own clumsiness crashed down on you one after another until suddenly you were laid out on the floor, ears ringing from the pain as no less than three people stared down at you in worry. By the time you had pushed yourself up off the ground, the room was spinning, and you doubted if you were going to be able to stand up on your own. That split second of hesitation was all it took for a familiar set of hands to pull you up off the ground, leaning your body against his as he led you out of the room. You didn’t even have to look to figure out who it was and that hurt you almost as much as bashing your head on the ground had.
“I’m fine,” You mumble, words not quite as sure as you’d like them to be when defending your coherency.
“We’re checking you out anyway,” Dennis said back, voice almost as quiet as he led you into one of the rooms.
Everything was silent as he ran through the typical procedures. You were concussed, you at least knew that, and with a concussion came protocols that you’d rather not get into. It would be tedious on a good day, but today, when you were already at your worst, it was a living hell that had your stomach churning and your heart beating almost painfully in your chest.
Dennis had barely asked you if you were feeling nauseous before your stomach decided it had had enough. You were quick to turn to the side opposite of where he stood before spewing your guts. You couldn’t possibly throw up on your ex-boyfriend. Breaking his heart had been enough- puking on him would’ve just been cruel.
The worry he’d already been feeling seemed to double at the sight of you leaned over the edge of the hospital bed, eyes screwed shut as you tried to breathe evenly. It took you a minute to begin answering the dozen questions he began to throw your way and by that point, he was fully leaned over you, hand lightly, soothingly rubbing over your back.
You nearly flinched when you noticed it. It was the first physical contact the two of you had shared in months, and it felt like his touch was going to burn through your scrubs.
You cracked your eyes open as you sat back up, meeting his stare with a wary one.
“I’m fine. That wasn’t because of my head,” you said as you wiped your mouth on the back of your hand and then your hand on your pants. It was gross, but vomit on your mouth was worse. “I mean, it may have been a little. It was mostly the anxiety. Almost entirely.”
Dennis didn’t say anything, just pressed his lips together and gave a tense nod.
Things continued on as they would with any patient with a concussion, no matter how much you tried to argue that you were alright, and right when you thought you were in the clear to go back to work, Robby entered the room.
He and Dennis talked for a moment as if you weren’t even there, not that you were actually listening for once. You should be- you knew that- but your head was hurting and your heart was hurting, and it was not the time for you to care enough about exactly how medically fucked up you were. All that mattered was that you were fucked up enough for Robby to send you home for the rest of the shift.
Dennis was already interjecting the moment you started to crawl off the bed. “She’s going home alone. I think it would be best she stay for at least a few hours. Just so we can watch over her.”
You tried to glare at him, but it wasn’t exactly as menacing as you’d hoped when you were already glaring at everything from the pain.
“I’ll be fine.”
You really hated how that had been the only word you’d be able to use to describe how you were from the moment you walked into the emergency room this morning. You were fine to be there. You were fine with working with your ex. You were fine with being concussed. You were fine to take care of yourself. You were fine to-
Robby nodded and looked over to you as if to say “It’s out of my hands” which wouldn’t be the truth, as he is and quite literally always has been, your boss. It is exactly in his hands, and yet his hands were just letting this happen.
“Just for a few hours,” he said as he looked at you sympathetically. “Rest. We’ll check in with you later.”
You groaned, letting your head fall back against the bed, which really wasn’t the smartest idea. That was evident by the pain that shot through you immediately as you squeezed your eyes shut. You heard the door open, footsteps, and then the door closing before you opened your eyes.
Dennis was still standing there, because of course he was, and no matter how many times you blinked, he wouldn’t go away.
“Please,” you whispered, already feeling the emotions clawing their way up your throat. “Don’t.”
He ignored you, stepping closer as his hands came to rest on the bed rails. He leaned on them, looking down at you in a way that made you want nothing more than to sink into the bed and suffocate.
“You’ve been avoiding me.”
You let out a breath, trying your hardest to seem indifferent and failing miserably. “That’s what you do after a breakup.”
“You broke up with me. I should be avoiding you,” He said in a way that most would think condescending. You knew better.
“I figured it would be easier for me to do.” You shifted in the bed, hands twisting into the sheets in an attempt to keep them busy. “You seemed like you had questions I couldn’t answer.”
He looked at you as he leaned back to cross his arms over his chest. “Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”
You looked away, feeling tears starting to sting your eyes. You hated crying. You especially hated crying in front of other people. “Both.”
He moved around the bed to the side that had by now long since been cleaned up, trying to force eye contact. A sigh escaped his lips as he watched you close your eyes instead.
“I don’t get what happened. I thought you were happy. I know I was. What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing,” you breathed out. “Everything-”
“That doesn’t even make sense.” He cut you off, his voice coming out louder than intended before he cleared his throat and tried again. “That doesn’t make sense at all. Please..give me something.”
When you opened your eyes again, you couldn’t tell if the ache in your head or the ache in your chest was worse because he was staring at you with those sad blue eyes again, and it was eating you alive.
“I panicked, okay? I realized how I was feeling about you, and I freaked out. I left because it felt easier than saying I was falling in love with you. And I hate that I can’t even try to lie about that to you. Because you know I can’t lie. Not when it comes to you. I realized I love you, and so I broke up with you and I switched to the night shift and I planned to never see you again because I thought it would be easier.”
He was silent for a long time, and you were half expecting him to just walk out of the room, leaving you to suffer under your own mistakes as tears spilled down your cheeks. But he didn’t, and a part of you knew why.
“Did it..Did it make it easier?” He asked.
You shook your head, the action making you wince. “Not at all.”
“Good,” He said so matter-of-factly it made your brows furrow. “I hope it was shitty.”
It felt so out of place to hear something like that from him, but you knew it was deserved. Much worse was deserved, really, but Dennis was far too good a man for that.
“It was really shitty. Every bit of it.” You shifted to wipe the tears off your cheeks, but it did little when new ones replaced them almost immediately. “Everything has been so shitty, and it’s my fault. I’m not trying to get sympathy for that. I know I fucked up. I know I deserve this. I’m an idiot, and I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t mean anything, but I am. I have been since I did it. Since before I did it.”
He stepped away for a minute, and you really believed he was leaving, but then he stopped at the cabinet and returned to you with tissues, and you couldn’t begin to understand why he was still being nice to you. He pressed a few into your hand, urging you to wipe your face with them.
As you did so, he spoke again.
“I love you too. I did two months ago. I do now for what it’s worth.”
Your head snapped up to him so hard it made you groan in pain, but you pushed it away just as quick. “You what?”
“I love you,” he repeated plain as day. “If you’d told me you were scared, I’d have told you that. I wanted to tell you, but you didn’t give me the chance.”
Your stomach churned in a way that had you considering if you’d vomit again as you let his words settle in the room.
He loved you. He loves you. Currently. Presently. In this very moment, he loves you.
You’re an idiot.
“I’m such a fucking idiot,” you said, knowing thinking it wasn’t enough. “I’m so sorry.”
He shook his head. “I need more than an apology.”
“Dennis-” you tried to say before he was cutting you off for the second time.
“You broke my heart. How are you going to fix it?”
Your head was spinning, from his words, from the pain, from your own stupidity and confusion, and a million other things that made thinking feel nearly impossible.
“I don’t know,” You said after a moment, not avoiding finding an answer, but genuinely unsure of one.
He pursed his lips and moved to stand by your head, one of his hands moving to brush his fingers along your cheek. It was soft, barely there. Like the touch of a ghost some skeptic would argue as the wind brushing by.
“We’re going to talk about it when you feel better. You owe me that much. And we’ll figure out what scared you, and we’ll work on it. You said you love me. Not loved. We’re going to work on this.”
You nodded, leaning into his touch, craving it after months without. It was instinctual. It was as natural as breathing.
“Okay..” You said quietly.
He smiled, something small that still held tension but was almost reminiscent of the way he used to smile at you. “Okay. I’ll be back to check on you in a little bit.”
You gave a wobbly smile in return, feeling for the first time in months as though something was actually right in your world.
And when he leaned down and ghosted his lips over your forehead before slipping out of the room, you wondered what you were even scared of to begin with.
happy pride month to dean winchester and his angel boyfriend and his vampire boyfriend and his demon king of hell boyfriend and his nazi zombie hunter boyfriend and his wrestler boyfriend and his karaoke boyfriend only
