Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The ambulance crew quickly rush the young man into the ER with their usual swift efficiency. The paramedics have been applying pressure and monitoring vital signs, bandaging wounds, restricting movement but this patient needs more help than they can give. The Pitt crew meet them in a clash of medical staff and swift orders. Dr Robby leading the charge, his new favourite, Dr Whitaker, following behind him.

“Male, 27, jumped from third storey building, also slit wrists beforehand. As expected, heavy blood loss.” Dr Whitaker lists off the handover from the paramedics.  

“Both surgical suites are fully booked, we don’t have time!” Dr Garcia shouts getting into her surgical scrubs. Nurses applying a sterile field under the patient’s wrists. Unwrapping the dressing Dr Garcia gets to work on assessing the wound and suturing.

Everyone is on standby, watching the vitals in the corner of their eye, expecting shock and cardiac arrest at any moment. Dr Robby coordinating the efforts, everything is its usual blur, but Dr Whitaker is doing well, doing good, he’s got this.

The nurses are placing a large grey IV and starting a blood transfusion. Labels and prescriptions going under both Dr Robby and Dr Whitakers’ eye as they double and triple check. Last thing they need is an acute haemolytic transfusion reaction.

For a millisecond, Dr Whitaker looks down at the patient’s thick dark curly hair peaking out from the neck brace, but that’s not important right now.

“Dennis pressure please.” Dr Robby says softly, guiding Dennis by the shoulder down closer to the patient’s midsection. Dennis gently applies pressure to the bandaged wrists that Dr Garcia isn’t currently working on. The cuts were deep, but the paramedics have done a good job stopping the bleeding.

Dennis looks around the med bay listing off the protocols and procedures that should be happening next in his head. For a second time, Dr Whitaker finds his eyes resting on the patient’s head. Those brown curls sweeping in every direction like waves in a storm.

Jo.

It’s like an injection of adrenaline straight to the thigh. Dennis’s heart quickens as he finds himself zoning in on the patients face, the noise around him whirling as if passing through the veil of life and death.

“Jo?” Dr Whitaker shakes the patient’s arm gently. With a heart rate of 132 bpm, the patient was thoroughly unconscious. Chest rising and falling rapidly to compensate for the low blood pressure caused by reduced blood volume. “Can you hear me Jo?”

Dennis’s voice is a whisper, he doesn’t want anyone else to hear him, to suspect. He can feel his chest tightening uncomfortably, a lump forming in his throat. Dennis didn’t know what to do. He shouldn’t work on any patient that he knows, especially…emotionally.

Already he can feel all his doctor knowledge and instincts in his brain battle alongside memories of his first kiss and seeing Jo roller skating at the skate park. How he would always carry bandages and hand sanitiser for when Jo inevitably fell over and scraped his palms or knees.

But Dr Robby needed him too. People were relying on him. Expecting him to be better. Dennis looks up and already sees some med students standing afar. An hour earlier he had been teaching them on a med dummy and now they were staring at his dying boyfriend…ex-boyfriend…shit.

Dr Whitaker takes a deep breath, forcing the memories down like a large pill. Willing the knowledge to the forefront. They were taught how to compartmentalise in med school. Dennis did always wonder if it was just actively forcing dissociation as a trauma response and how it could affect his brain patterns in the long run. He thought back to Dr Robby in peds.

Compartmentalisation was a go to for dealing with high pressure situations but this was different. This was Jo with a 135 heart rate, bound up because he’s probably broken so many bones. A nurse pushes past him, applying a sterile field under the patient’s other wrist. Dr Garcia quickly follows. Stumbling slightly, Dr Whitaker moves out the way.

“Do we have the tox screen back? Have we paged psych?” Dr Whitaker asks out to the nurses.

“No to tox screen. Yes to psyche.” One of the nurses says with a nod.

Dennis drifts back to the patients face. Jo’s eyelashes flicker slowly as he opens his eyes. A deep rich brown colour. Jo looks up at Adam, his pupils blown wide so he looks cat like.

“Heeeyy.” Jo breathes out in a sigh, shutting his eyes again.

Both Dr Robby and Dr Whitaker start to prod Jo gently.

“Jo. Jo.” Adam says urgently.

Dr Robby looks quizzically at Dennis but the patient might not be conscious for long.

“Ughmmm.” Jo slurs.

Dr Robby pushes in. “Jo it is very important that you tell us if you’ve taken anything harmful. Any drugs? Medication? It could help you.”

“Robby…” Dennis whispers, his hands have started shaking. Dr Robby doesn’t hear him.

Jo’s gaze drifts over Dr Robby and Dr Whitaker. “I don’t…”

Eyelashes flutter back together and Dennis’s heart sinks. Feeling the deflation behind him Dr Robby turns and sees Dr Whitaker’s pale face, wet eyes and slight tremor in his hands.

“What’s going on Whitaker?”

Stepping back, Dennis looks up at Dr Robby’s face, full of wisdom, understanding and this numb blade of sadness. “Robby, I’m sorry. I-I know him. We went to school together.” That choking feeling in his throat returns.

James has a greedy look in his eye while even Joy goes slightly wide eyed.

Robby’s expression shifts, he straightens his back a little. “Okay, Dennis, maybe you should…”

Dennis shakes his head aggressively. “No, I’m fine. I can do this.”

Dr Whitaker pushes past Robby getting closer to Jo’s face. “Jo, try and stay awake please. Can you tell me what happened? What made you do this?”

There’s a horrible expectant tension in the room now. Dennis feels watched, judged. Jo’s eyes flicker open again. “I couldn’t…I couldn’t do it anymore…Dennis…”

“Dennis, that’s not important right now. We just need to find out if he’s taken anything. Please, if you need to step out, do it. Can I get Mel please or Dr McKay if she’s free?” Robby asks a nurse.

“No, no it’s okay I’ve got this. Jo have you taken anything?” Dennis asks, steadying his voice.  

“I took…I took all my antidepressants…sertraline…a packet.” Jo breathes; he gags slightly as if he wants to throw up.

“Sertraline, he’s taken a pack.” Dennis repeats louder.

“Perfect, let’s get him started on an IV fluids. We don’t want those kidneys packing up. Dr Whitaker?”

“He needs an ECG, monitoring for seizures, should we do charcoal or gastric lavage?” Whitaker looks expectantly at Dr Robby.

“Dr Robby, patient has several broken bones, no visible internal bleeding but surgery has just opened up.” Dr Garcia says urgently, finishing her suturing.

“We do gastric lavage first if there’s no internal bleeding.” Dr Robby says firmly. “We need to avoid CNS depression before surgery.”

As the team springs into action, Dennis’s gaze drifts back to Jo’s face. The man…boy really, he used to know fading under his fingertips.

“Dennis, you up to do the gastric lavage?” Robby prompts, a kind smile on his face.

“Of course.” Whitaker nods strongly.

The two doctors’ eyes flint across each other, a look of what? Forgiveness? Understanding? 

There was something more maybe, Robby can see it in Whitaker’s eyes. Had the two just been school friends? But he trusted Dennis. If Dennis said he was okay Robby trusted him. Who else could he trust in this place? Robby thinks about Dr Langdon, still not ready to face him just yet today.

The gastric lavage kit arrives, Dennis lubes the tubing and positions Jo’s head back, now the X-ray has ruled out a spinal injury. Touching those soft brown curls makes Dennis want to cry but he can’t he has to save Jo’s life. He has to.

Carefully Dennis inserts the tube, Jo’s body tenses, his gag reflex kicking in. Dennis’s touch is gentle but firm, his eyes locked on Jo’s face, willing him to relax. Staring down at those big brown eyes, Jo’s lips are slightly purple, yet they still look so soft. He used to get lost in those eyes, those lips, those curls.

Dr Whitaker’s vision blurs, he blinks hard trying to refocus on the task at hand. His fingers quiver slightly as the tube slides into place. Finally, he lets out a sigh of relief.

“Good job Jo.” Dennis whispers, barely audible over the monitors.

Beginning the lavage, the rhythmic pumping is strangely hypnotic. Jo’s stomach contents come flooding out in a gentle trickle of pills, food and liquid.  As the blood transfusion and fluids come to an end Jo’s blood pressure trickles upwards while his heart rate trickles down.

“Dr Whitaker, BP’s holding steady, pulse is 62.” A nurse murmurs.

“Good, let’s keep an eye on the potassium level. We don’t want any cardiac complications.” Dennis whittles off going back to his mental checklist. “We can give activated charcoal now.”

Dennis takes out the gastric lavage and Jo starts to look in a whole host of pain, his pulse increasing again.

“Right surgical team are ready for him. Whitaker would you like to scrub in?” Robby asks as the nurse and students prepares the bed for transfer.

“Dr Robby, I…I need to stay here and help patients here.” Dennis replies, not wanting to be any trouble.

“You’re a newly qualified doctor, if you want to learn and watch, we can cover you.” Dr Robby says softly as Jo is wheeled out the room.

“I should stay here. I’ve got other patients.” Dr Whitaker repeats, a little firmer.

Robby’s expression softens. “Dennis, you’ve just had a bit of a shock. Why don’t you take a break, grab some air?”

Shaking his head Dennis forces a smile. “No. I’m good. Really.”

Robby’s eyes linger on Dennis’s face, then he gives a nod as if he’s considering a case. “Alright, you’re signed off for the rest of the shift. Go get some coffee, then go home Whitaker.”

The words crash down on top of Whitaker and that fake smile instantly drops. Dennis wants to argue but there’s a look in Robby’s eyes that he is scared of. Dr Whitaker takes off his gloves, puts them in infected waste then slowly turns away.

He can’t believe he got signed off. He did the gastric lavage perfectly. Established the patient had overdosed as well. Got fluids and was aware of serotonin sickness and potassium depletion. He felt like he was being punished. Was it because he admitted to knowing the patient? Should he have stayed quiet?

Dennis felt closer to crying than he ever had treating Joseph.

Storming into the break room Dennis starts to angrily make himself a coffee. Two teaspoons, no sugar, lots of milk so it will cool faster. Jumping down onto the worn couch Dennis holds his head in his hands. Why was Robby treating him like a good for nothing student? He had done everything right. Jo was never in any danger; he would have done anything to save his life.

The fluorescent lighting flickers slightly making Whitaker’s head hurt. He was fine. He was fine. Dennis gulps down the coffee, washes his hands and then hunts down Dr Robby.

“Dr Robby, sorry, I’ve taken five. I’m okay now. Please, I want to keep working. I’m sorry I didn’t say I recognised the patient sooner. I honestly didn’t realise it was him until then.” Dr Whitaker pleads, following Robby around the ER like a lost lamb.

Stopping at the nurses’ station, Dr Robby’s eyes soften as he turns to face Whitaker. “Dennis, it’s okay. You don’t have to apologise. I know it was a shock seeing an old friend come in like that.”

Dennis’s words come tumbling out. “I handled it though, didn’t I? I mean, the lavage, the meds…”

Robby nods, a small smile playing on his lips. “You did great Dennis. Really great. I’m not sending you home because I don’t think you can handle it; I’m sending you home because I think you need a break. Big difference.”

Dennis’s shoulders sag slightly, his eyes searching his mentors face. “I just…I feel like I’m being punished.”

“You’re not being punished Whitaker. You’re being looked after. Go home, get some rest and come back fresh tomorrow. I’ll arrange for you to have a debriefing.”

The firmness in Robby’s voice brooked no argument but Dennis tried anyway. “But…”

“No buts Whitaker. You’re off. Go.” Robby smiles, patting him on the back. “Rest, I’ve just learnt the patient is out of surgery anyway, moving to psych. He’s fine Whitaker, like I said, you did a good job.”

Chapter Text

Dennis takes the bus home; he was staying with Dr Santos. Graciously, she had let him stay at her apartment rent free, when she found out he was homeless as a med student a few months ago. He was getting his first pay check today. He had been looking forward to being able to contribute somewhat. Santos was wonderful really. Like a sister. Whenever they shared shifts, she would drive him home...but not right now. Right now, he has to take the bus.

Promptly getting changed, Dennis freshens up, eats and then goes straight back to The Pitt. He needs to see Joseph. Know what was broken. How much blood he had lost? Had Joseph developed any seizures or cardiac problems? What would psych do with him?

But most importantly, why? Why had Jo tried to kill himself in such a violent manner?

Entering the brightly lit main entrance way, Dennis walks round to psych. Trying to keep his head down and not be spotted. He had his badge on him; he could technically go wherever he wants.

Dr Whitaker flashes his eyes past the room allocation board. It was all about looking like he belonged there. Garrett, J in Bed 3. Taking a sharp turn Dennis opens the door to room three. Joseph lays on the bed looking pale and tired amidst a sea of wires and monitors. A psych nurse was sitting by the bedside, 24-hour monitoring perhaps? His eyes narrowed upon seeing Dennis.

“Can I help you?” The nurse asks sharply.

“Dr Whitaker, ER. Just checking in on the patient.” Dennis flashes his badge.

“Where are your scrubs?”

“I actually seem to get my scrubs filthy a lot. I changed out of them but I’m night shift anyway. Been here over fourteen hours, ugh, kill me.” Dr Whitaker starts to realise maybe he shouldn’t have said that last bit.

“Dennis?” Jo’s eyes flicker open, landing on Dr Whitaker’s face.

“Hello, Jo, how are you doing?” Dennis smiles, trying to balance being professional with the urge to rush to Jo’s bedside.

The nurse looks between the two, makes his excuses and leaves them alone.

As the curtain is pulled back, Dennis immediately creeps forward and takes Jo’s hand, sitting where the nurse had just been. “Why Jo? What…what happened?”

Joseph’s gaze dropped, he mumbled his reply. “I…I couldn’t do it anymore Dennis. The pain…” Jo’s eyes swim with tears as he speaks but he shakes his head, his curls bouncing, he smiles. “What are you…a doctor?”

Jo’s words slur slightly, his breathing heavy, clearly on a lot of painkillers. Dennis really wants to read the doctors notes and find out what happened during surgery.

“Jo did they say what you broke? How are all your organs?” Dr Whitaker asks, ignoring Jo’s question.

“I didn’t break my neck. They…said…I was lucky.” Jo coughs. “I’m tired.”

In the florescent lights of the ward, Dennis’s eye bags look even more startling, as his face is etched with concern. He brushes his thumb over Jo’s knuckle, not sure who it is meant to be a comfort for.

“Lucky is one way to put it, Jo. You took a whole pack of sertraline, slit your wrists and jumped off a roof. You…you could of died.”

Joseph’s eyelids droop, his voice barely above a whisper. “That was kind of the point Whitaker.”

Taking a sharp intake of breath Dennis just nods, trying to compartmentalise again. Dennis pulls out the chart at the end of the bed, flicking through.

‘Self-inflicted overdose – sertraline toxicity – no observed seizures, L4-L5 fracture, displaced left 3-part proximal humerus fracture, displaced left patellar fracture, mild liver lacerations.”

Jo had fractured his lower back. Gritting his teeth, Dennis does not even want to think of the possible complications this could have on his mobility or how painful it will be during the healing process.

Glancing back over to Jo, he remained looking pale and sleepy. It was very unlikely he would be able to handle much socialising. That’s okay. Dennis just wanted to see him. See with his own eyes that Jo’s heart was still beating. As Jo snores, Dr Whitaker looks down at his hand resting on top of Jo’s, he strokes it one more time with his thumb and then slowly brings it up to his lips. With a paranoid surveying of the room Dennis plants a kiss on the back of Jo’s hand.

“Get some rest, I’ll see you tomorrow. And if they move you, I will find you. But get some rest.” Before Dennis even has time for his own words to sink in and make him cry, he snaps up out of the chair.

Dr Whitaker’s mind whirled with the implications of Jo’s condition. He saw pathways on pathways of what ifs and worst case scenarios. Potential nerve damage, rhabdomyolysis, long term disability…

Without his scrubs Dennis felt stupid and hopeless wandering around the hospital. He wished he wasn’t signed off. Not only would other patients be a distraction but he could check on Jo more without being side-eyed. He wanted to stay with Jo, but he wouldn’t be allowed non-family visitors for a while.  Dennis knew he shouldn’t put any more attention on himself by visiting Jo without his scrubs on. Then Dennis even wondered if Jo’s family would even travel to Pittsburgh from Nebraska. It was a long ass drive and as for flying, they weren’t the richest family. He couldn’t stand the idea of Jo laying there alone, even if the nurse is meant to be watching him for 24hrs following the multi-attempt. The hospital corridors began to feel like limbo.

Dennis pulls out his phone, texting Dr Santos. Hopefully she will see it in a timely manner. ‘Hey, dk if you heard but Robby signed me off. Nothing serious. I’m not in trouble. But could u check on a patient in psych ward for me during your lunch break? Joseph Garrett. L4-L5 fracture from attempted overdose. Just want to make sure he’s still breathing and not in any pain.’

Whitaker takes the bus back to Dr Santo’s apartment, finally breaking out of limbo. He trusts Santos to try her best if she finds the time and that’s all Whitaker asks for. Letting himself into the apartment, he flumps down onto their thrifted couch covered in pillows and blankets. Sniffing the air, Santos must have started a new reed diffuser; there’s a lingering cranberry sent to the room.

There’s a mountain of caffeine in his system but also an exhausting pull to sleep so he can get to his next shift faster. Trying to curl up on the couch, pulling a blanket onto himself, Dennis wonders if Joseph’s family really would come? What if the hospital isn’t able to contact them?

Despite how Whitaker is so tired he can feel the thrum of his heart in his chest; he finds himself scrolling through his phone looking for The Pitt’s Medical Social Worker Team. Putting on his Dr Whitaker voice he explains his situation. “Can you check if the patient on psych ward, bed three’s family has been contacted? Thank you. Oh, um, and…and what’s the usual protocol for non-family visitors?”

The social worker explains she will look into it and will phone him back once she knows more. Whitaker declines, explaining he will be back at the hospital soon anyway.

Still unable to sleep, Dennis gets some of his textbooks and notes, starting to read the first thing that piques his interest. It just so happens to be dementia and Lewy bodies. A few hours later Trin texts him a response from earlier. ‘Heyyy Huckleberry, checked on ur pt. Got told his fam has been notified if u care about that :]’

‘Thanks Trin, I appreciate it sooo much <3’ Dennis replies.

Finally, Dennis feels his eye lids become heavy. Putting his textbook on the ground he crosses his arms and nods off to sleep. Waking up only when Dr Santos and Dr Garcia walk through the door.

Dennis’s eyes flutter open, his neck aching from the awkward position as he turns to see Santos and Garcia putting their bags down on the kitchen seats.

“Hey, sleepyhead, you ready to spill the hot goss then?” Dr Santos grins, leaning on the back of the couch.

“You won’t sleep tonight Whitaker. You’ve fucked yourself.” Dr Garcia grins as well. Joining Santos behind the couch, wrapping her arm around Trin’s waist and looking down at Dennis.

“Was there…has there been any update on Joseph since your text?” Whitaker asks meekly, not wanting to assume any more of Trinity’s time had been spent on his request.

Santos sighs, considering. “His family can’t fly because of the holidays. Apparently, they’re sending Jo’s sister, it’s a long drive of course but she should get here tomorrow.”

Whitaker nods, deep in thought. “That’s…good. How’s he doing? Do you know?”

Dr Garcia and Trinity share a look.

“He was still rather sleepy when I checked in on him. They’re getting his rehab in order for his back. As well as plans for long term stay in a standalone psych facility. I think it’s fairly nearby.” Santos explains. 

Whitaker bites his lip looking as if he’s about to faint but doesn’t say anymore.

“Right chicks, let’s get dinner sorted. I’m absolutely starving.” Yolanda claps her hands together and goes back to the kitchen pulling out their leftovers to reheat.

As food boils on the stove, Santos and Garcia stay chatting in the kitchen about today’s shift. Apparently, it was a crazy one. Which only makes Whitaker feel more guilty for taking up Trinity’s time.

“Wait, so catch me up, I don’t understand. You said he was just a friend from school. So why are you getting so involved? Like what level of friend are we talking about here? I hope you’re not getting too involved Dennis.” Santos says splitting her naan in two.

As they sit, eating at the dinner table, Whitaker’s eyes flick to Dr Garcia, she was a senior surgeon. He would be happy to tell Santos but he didn’t trust Yolanda not to tell Robby.

“Uh, sorry, you’re right. First patient that I vaguely know and I’m making all the mistakes. You know…socially. Getting too attached.” Dennis stumbles through his words.

“New shift Huckleberry. New day.” Santos says, trying to keep the weeks energy flowing. It was too soon for everybody to be looking this tired.

Dr Garcia is still giving Dennis a knowing look, a twinkle in her eye. This was a lesson that Whitaker would have to learn sometime or other, better to get it out of the way now.

“I mean, we’ve all been there, Huckleberry. You care about people, it’s what makes you a good doctor. Just…keep those boundaries, yeah?” Santos prompts, trying to be supportive the best she can.

Yolanda smiles at Trin, before turning to Dennis with a serious expression. “Be careful Whitaker. You can’t save everyone. Especially given that…given the nature of Jo’s condition.”

Dennis nods, he’s heard it all before. Step back, don’t get too attached, you’ll burn yourself out. It doesn’t matter. He’s going to be there for Jo. There is no giving up when it comes to him because at the end of the day, Dennis is still that same kid who carried plasters and anti-septic cream in his bag whenever Jo put on his roller skates.

As Dennis does the washing up, Santos and Garcia get ready for bed. Trin in her green M&M shirt and shorts. Yolanda in her slightly more sophisticated Prussian blue silk pyjamas.

“Night Huckleberry.” Santos yawns.

“Night ladies.” Dennis waves and water drips down his sleeve. “Dammit.” He whispers under his breath.