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Chapter Text

The Pitt had been pulsing fast all night, Dr. Abbot had fielded several patients out to surgery, up to wards and in one case, the morgue. But they were still drowning, not quite able to get on top of the case load. Jack briefly registered the radio going as he chased lab results and wasn’t surprised when Lena grabbed his arm.

“Ambulance ETA 3 minutes, 15-year-old prolonged tonic-clonic seizure. You good to take it?” she asked, well, told.

“You got it boss” he replied with a tight smile, heading over to make sure there was a trauma bay prepped.

-

“Okay people, what do we have?” Jack asked, when the EMTs burst through the doors a few minutes later.

“Approx fifteen-year-old male, found by direct care staff seizing in his bedroom. No known history of seizures, ongoing tonic-clonic activity for approximately 10 minutes, then was post-ictal for five minutes before seizure activity resumed for 10 minutes. CPS unaware of any epilepsy history. We administered 10mg Midazolam IM at 0130, which has not yet terminated the activity. BGL is 90mg/dL. He’s on 15L o2 via NRB, oxygen saturation is 93%. Now have IV access in the right AC.”

“Got a name for the kid?” Jack asked, bending over to carefully work around Kerns, who was giving the handover and securing the kids head. Carefully looking into the kid’s open mouth and shining a pen torch in, he could see the kid had bitten his tongue enough for Jack to worry.

“Group home staff don’t know, he was placed with them last week. Refused to talk so far” Kerns replied, unable to hide the despondency in his tone.

Jack stiffened slightly, taking in the information. He pushed the ugly thoughts away and let out a sharp breath. Gathering himself he assessed the kid’s movements. Seizure activity was still taking place, no clear signs of slowing.

“Okay people let’s work quickly now, let’s push 1.5mg Lorazepam, get him booked in for a CT. I want full labs, see if he’s taken anything….”

The ER team worked efficiently, and it wasn’t long before the kid’s seizure stopped again, long enough for Jack to think he’d stopped completely.

“Kid? You with us? My name’s Dr. Abbot, you’re at Pittsburgh Medical trauma centre.” Jack said, watching as the boy’s eyes fluttered open, and he let out a low whine.

“I can still fix the roof” he mumbled, reaching out to grab Jack’s scrubs. His voice was muffled by his ruined tongue, and a line of blood dribbled out of his mouth down towards his chin. “Promise I can still fix the roof Jesse-”

Jack’s eyebrows furrowed, and he placed a hand on the kid’s shoulder, gently working his thumb into the skin.

“You’ve had a pretty nasty seizure kiddo, have you ever had one before?” he gently probed, but it was apparent the kid was in no state to answer any questions.

“Just- please just let me try-please” he garbled, now desperately grabbing at Jack, tears streaming down his face.

Jack looked up, “he’s becoming distressed, let’s go with 0.5mg Droperidol. Try and calm him down.” His gaze fell back down on the boy, “it’s alright kid, we’ve got you. We’re going to do our very best to help now.”

It wasn’t long before his grip on Jack’s scrub top went slack, and his big wide blue eyes slipped shut.

-

The storm had taken the roof.

Dennis stood in front of the barn with his hands dug far into his pockets, scraping his feet across the ground and kicking up wet soil. He wanted to look up and see the damage, but the shame was coiling tight in his gut, dragging his eyes back down to his feet.

Last night, the sky had grabbed the building by the shoulders and shook it, tin screaming as it peeled free and vanished into the dark. Dennis had been wide awake, cowering in the bathroom of the house while his family shut themselves off in the underground storm shelter. Nathan, his eldest brother, had shoved him back roughly before slamming the doors shut. We don’t need any more bad luck down here runt. So, Dennis had retreated to the house, listening as the barn next door was brutalised, daring to peep out of the window and look on at the devastation.

Now, in the early morning light, the barn leaned at a new angle, and three calves lay stiff in the mud, eyes glassy, tongues slack and darkening with cold. His father stood a few yards away, hands on his hips, staring at Dennis so intensely, he felt like his father’s gaze would scorch his cheek. His mother couldn’t even look him in the face, just cried as she fisted a hand into the scruff of her favourite calf.

No one said it out loud at first. They never did.

But Dennis knew. He’d had another ‘episode’ a few days prior, his body smacking to the ground and spasming, filled with the devil and sin. It left his body dumb and aching; he couldn’t muster the energy to peel himself off the kitchen floor until the next morning. He knew where the blame fell for the roof when Nathan dragged him from his hiding spot in the bath out to the yard, forcing him to confront the damage.

“Hope you ain’t plannin’ on school this year, Denny. This gon’ take some time to fix,” Andy, second oldest, said. He crowded up to Dennis, spitting on his shoes.

“I know, Andy,” Dennis replied, knowing he sounded like a meek piece of shit. He didn’t apologise. Sorry wouldn’t fix the roof. Sorry wouldn’t revive the dead. Baring his neck slightly, Dennis hoped the show of submissiveness would calm his brother.

“Every fucking time, Dennis. Every fucking time. And still! You won’t just grow up and knock this shit off,” Nathan shouted, eyes wild as he paced. “Look what you’ve done to our mother!” He grabbed Dennis’s chin in a grip hard enough to bruise and forced him to look at their mother, still sobbing into that goddamn calf.

“Look what you’ve done to our livestock!”

A hand clamped down hard on the back of Dennis’s neck, hauling him forward. Nathan shoved him into the smallest one, the calf Dennis had helped pull into the world a few weeks prior. Nathan’s grip was iron, and Dennis found himself choking against the dead animal, unable to breathe in anything but the smell of decay. His knees dug into the mud, cold seeping into his bones. Tears sprang to his eyes, but he couldn’t cry. This was his fault, and all he could do now was repent.

“Look at the destruction caused by your hand! You live in sin and yet you do not repent!”

He began to pray, tight, fast words begging for forgiveness. Hands clasped together, Dennis prayed for the lives of the calves, for the agony their mothers would feel. He prayed the town would be bountiful in their help toward the barn roof, that he would personally repair it. He didn’t need school anyway, not when his responsibility was to the farm and his family’s lives. Nathan’s hand didn’t let up, squeezing tighter at the back of his neck, pushing Dennis’s face further and further into the cow until his words wouldn’t come anymore and the world began to tilt, dizziness blooming with sin.

-

Dennis didn’t go back to school come August. His days instead spent high up on the ladder and makeshift scaffolding, slowly piecing the roof back together. The weather was hot, sweat clinging to his body like a second skin, making his eyes sting and clothes fit even baggier than they did before. Miraculously, he’d only fallen off the ladder once, scraping up his arm and twisting an ankle.

The church had helped his parents purchase the materials, but it was Dennis’s job to build the new roof. Every nail, piece of timber, sheet of metal lifted by his hand. He just had to think of every day of work as an act of God’s will. Working to prove to his family was trying, and he did care about them. He wasn’t just this immoral thing shoved upon them as a punishment.

After a long day’s work, Dennis attempted to enter the house to join the others for dinner. A sharp look from his mother turned him back out, snatching a roll from the basket on the table, Dennis stalked out of the house and towards the stables.

Going through the motions of tacking up, Dennis ran his hand along the soft leather of the saddle. Warm from soaking up the last bit of sun. Acorn was a good horse, old enough to be pleasant to ride, pleased to take it slow. Dennis kept the reins loose, letting the horse pick his own pace, hooves striking a steady rhythm against the earth.

The land rolled out around them, familiar and rucked up their work. Dennis took stock of the chores to be done; fence posts leaning over, sections of stone wall crumbled, crops that were almost ready for harvest. The wind cut across his face, drying the sweat pooling at his temples and for a while Dennis just let himself enjoy the quiet.

Acorn was obedient in his hands, trusting as Dennis led them towards the creek he played in as a child.

Dennis focused on that feeling, his weight balanced on the saddle and the solid press of thighs against the horse’s sides. He counted the rise and fall of his friends breathing, the slow sway of his shoulders beneath him. When his thoughts started to slip, the edges of the world wearing thin, he pulled himself back, anchored to the sound of hooves and the smell of dust.

He didn’t ponder on the thoughts of normality anymore. Resigned to the cycle of fits, repentance and cold eyes.

It hadn’t been like this when he was younger. Dennis drew out a long breath, thinking back to being a child, enjoying the closeness of brotherhood and his mother sneaking him an extra treat after dinner.

-

“Denny! Come over ’ere!”

Jesse’s voice rang out, high and excited. Dennis hovered for a moment before toddling over to his three brothers, the church hall loud and unfamiliar. It was his first time at kids’ club, finally old enough to leave the adults behind.

“This is our little brother Dennis,” Andy announced proudly, tugging him close. “He’s only small, so you gotta be careful.”

“Yeah. No messin’,” Nathan added, glaring at the other kids like a challenge.

Heat rushed to Dennis’s face, a bright blush painting his cheeks. He ducked behind Jesse, seeking the familiar safety of his brother’s back. Sensing it, Nathan crouched down in front of him.

“You alright, Den?” he asked, serious in the way only an eleven-year-old could be.

Dennis nodded, still half-hidden.

“It’s okay,” Nathan said gently, smoothing a hand over Dennis’s curls. “We’re always here for you. Dad says we gotta stick together.”

“You gonna play with us?” Andy asked, holding out his hand.

Dennis hesitated — just a second longer — then smiled.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “But only if it’s together.”

Jesse laughed. “Cause’ Den, we’re stuck like glue!”

-

The pull of imagination was easy. Growing as tall as his brothers, all of the praying he did amounting to something. Ridding him of sinful thoughts and the curse of bad luck he bought down on his undeserving family. No one would flinch when he laughed, no one would need to pray over him, hands heavy and full of disgrace.

Dennis exhaled as Acorn carried him along the curve of the creek, watching the water run over the nooks and crannies of the rock, foaming in the middle as it twisted and turned over the land. The sound of the wash sunk into his chest, unfurling the tight anxiety settled there.

Then the light shifted.

It wasn’t sudden at first. Just a wrongness at the edges of his vision, the world pulling too far away, like he was looking at it through glass. Dennis frowned, tightened his grip on the reins. He tried to ground himself, breath in, breath out, but the rhythm slipped, the horse’s movement no longer lining up with his own.

The aura hit hard and unforgiving.

Dennis didn’t have time to think before the ground rushed up to meet him.

-

Stars greeted him when he came to.

Dennis’s eyes felt impossibly heavy, and he was dimly aware of a burning pain blooming along his left-hand side. Huffing out a shallow breath, he rolled his head, the world still swimming, his body light and distant, like he was floating. He squeezed his eyes shut again and tried to gather himself, flexing the muscles in his stomach in a weak attempt to drag himself upright.

A low whine slipped from his throat. He wasn’t going anywhere fast.

Somewhere in the distance, he could hear faint cries of his name, shouts for the horse. The voices sounded underwater, warped and directionless.

Come on. Just get up.

But he couldn’t. His limbs were useless, unresponsive. Even as the fog in his head began to thin, the message didn’t quite reach his arms and legs. What he could feel was pain. The dial turned slowly, steadily, the burning sharpening into a sear along his left arm. Squirming helplessly, Dennis tried again to sit up.

Nothing.

His eyelids began to droop, the effort of trying to move draining what little strength he had left. He strained to stay awake, fought it with everything he had. His mouth opened, a sound almost forming—

Darkness took him again.

-

He woke gasping, air tearing painfully into his lungs. There was a crushing weight on his chest, ribs creaking under the pressure. His eyes flew open, panic snapping him fully awake.

A boot was planted dead centre on his sternum.

“Where’s the horse?” his father asked, voice low and dark. “Answer me, boy. Now.”

Dennis’s mouth gaped uselessly, breath coming in short, panicked bursts.

“I don’t—I fell. I don’t—” he spluttered as the boot pressed harder, fear flooding his veins. Tears spilled freely now, and Dennis cursed his body for betraying him. For always making him weak.

“You ain’t comin’ home until that horse is found, Dennis.” His father’s words were final. “Your brothers have been out lookin’ for hours. You’re lucky I found you first. They won’t be as kind to you.”

There was the threat Dennis was looking for. Being barred from the house was nothing new. He’d slept in the barn or out in the grass more often and not these days.

“I won’t tell ’em I found you,” his father continued. “I’ll tell ’em to call off the search for tonight. If you’re not back by morning with that horse—don’t bother comin’ back at all, Denny.”

-

The sun was already high when Dennis limped back to the stables, Acorn’s reins tight in his grip. He bowed his head in shame as he untacked and put him back in the stall, making sure he had some water and fresh bedding.

Dennis kept his eyes low and tried to ignore the absolute agony flaring down his arm—it hung wrong at his side, useless and burning, twisted at a crooked angle. He hadn’t been able to even ride Acorn home, unable to pull himself up to the saddle. It had taken hours to find him anyway, Dennis trawling around in the dark, throat too tight with fear of his brothers hearing to call out Acorn’s name. Luckily the horse had turned up eventually, clearly not spooked by Dennis falling off him and simply wandering slightly up the creek.

“Dennis.”

Jesse’s voice cut through his train of thought. His shoulders drew up defensively, and his right hand stilled on Acorn’s mane.

“Denny we can’t keep doing this.” Jesse sounded defeated, it was somehow worse than the anger he often regarded Dennis with. “Momma and Dad spoke with Father Stephen, there’s a pastor willing to take you in, way out East. They think he can help you overcome this… this evil.”

Dennis didn’t dare say a word.

He felt like a rabbit caught in a snare, his heartbeat fluttering in his chest.

Swallowing hard, he turned to face his brother, trying to keep a neutral expression.

Jesse was leant up against the doorway to the stables, thankfully alone. They stood at a stalemate for a few seconds, neither one speaking.

“I’m still fixin’ the roof. Won’t be done for a few more weeks” Dennis said weakly, still unable to meet Jesse’s eyes.

Snorting, Jesse walked over and forcefully grabbed Dennis’s left bicep. He couldn’t help the cry that jumped out of his throat, pain flaring down the broken limb.

“I always knew you were a coward Dennis.” Jesse muttered, before lifting his other hand to grip Dennis’s wrist, before wrenching down hard, forcing the arm straight.

Dennis screamed and crumpled, the sound torn out of him.

“Fuck,” he cried out, it was wet and hollow.

Jesse didn’t even flinch, he bent down and clapped his hand on Dennis’s bad shoulder. “You stay here now, little brother. I’ll be round in the truck in thirty minutes.”

Then he was gone, leaving Dennis to cry alone in the stables, clutching his arm to his chest like a kid of would grip a soft toy.

-

True to his word, Jesse pulled up in the truck a while later. Wordlessly, Dennis crawled in the passenger seat, noticing his rucksack stuffed to the brim sitting in the footwell. Jesse must have packed it for him.

“Can I?” Dennis started nervously, “Can I say bye, at least to Mom? I don’t know how long this pastor will take to fix me.”

Jesse gave him a cold glare, “I think its best if we just leave Den. Don’t want to upset her any more than necessary.”

Dennis swallowed dryly but didn’t protest. He guessed Jesse was right, he would only try and grovel at his parents’ feet, begging to stay and making a total fool out of himself. The least he could do is leave as quietly as possible.  

He opened his mouth to say something else, but as Jesse pulled onto the main drag out of town, he turned the music up real loud. Dennis set his jaw, feeling the music thump around his brain, turning any coherent thoughts to mush. Drawing his knees up to his chest, Dennis carefully arranged his arm close to him, before leaning his head on the window, watching as his hometown, the only place he’d ever know, disappeared.

Dennis refused to let his mind wander, if he put too much thought into the situation, he would just talk himself into a panic. Which was no use, because this was happening whether he liked it all not. Resigned to his fate, Dennis just hoped the pastor would be nice, and would help him come back into the light, let him eventually return to his family, ready to make them proud.

Chapter Text

The drive went on all day. Jesse had to stop for fuel twice, making a point to lock Dennis in the truck while he went into the pit stop, presumably to eat and get ten minutes away from his brother.

Dennis tried to squash down the anxiety building in his chest. He had no idea where Jesse was taking him, and they’d now been on the road for over twelve hours. When his brother had said way out East, he thought they might have meant Iowa or Illinois. But they’d passed both states, and Jesse was still driving. Nervously twitching in his seat, Dennis was half tempted to smash the window and run away. He was also tempted to grovel to Jesse, beg him to just take him home, where he could live out on the land, never bothering them again. He knew his attempts would be fruitless, so he stayed planted in the seat, waiting.

When they were back on the road, music still blaring, Dennis plucked up the courage to ask.

“Where are you really taking me, Jesse?”

His brother’s hands gripped the wheel even tighter, and for a moment, Dennis thought he saw the shine of tears in his eyes.

Jesse turned the music off, and they followed the road in silence.

“Dennis. I… You know that we love you, despite your sickness,” Jesse started, voice clipped. “I’ve had time to think on this drive, ’bout a million different ways I could go about this. But I just gotta tell you straight.” He stared ahead, focused on the highway.

Dennis clutched his arm tighter, letting his eyes fall closed. “I know I’m doin’ wrong, Jesse,” he sniffed, his own eyes growing wet. “I try to talk to God every day, see how I can do better. I wanna do better. But He’s not hearing me out at the minute—”

A hand on his knee halted his words. Jesse’s grip was almost comforting.

“Denny, we’ve tried. But we can’t accept any more hardship from you. Momma’s heart can’t take it,” he said quietly, giving Dennis’s knee a light squeeze before his hand returned to the wheel.

Dennis’s mind spun. He hadn’t heard Jesse speak like that in years, the soft tone usually reserved for nighttime in their shared bedroom, years ago, when Dennis would wake from a nightmare and crawl into his brother’s bed. Breath wet with tears, clutching tightly at a pyjama shirt.

It’s alright, Den. I got ya. You don’t have to be brave.

“There’s no… there’s no pastor… we’re not… Jess?” Dennis asked quietly. He heard Jesse take in a sharp breath.

“Well, at least you’re not fuckin’ dumb, kid.”

Dennis didn’t know what to expect to happen next, but the moment was broken. Jesse turned the music back up, humming along as if he hadn’t just cracked Dennis wide open.

Jesse still hadn’t answered his question, but if Dennis had any money, he’d bet Jesse was just going to drive until he got sick of it, then throw him out on the side of the road. He’d heard of a kid in town who’d had the same thing happen to them. Got sick with the evil, started asking for a doctor, and then the next week she was gone. Parents said she ran away, but the kids at school said her dad drove her to the city so she couldn’t bring shame to the family.

White-hot anger flooded his brain. How could they?

All he did was try and try and try. He was always the first out of bed, always the first one to skip a meal just to get the job done. He stayed up with the cows struggling to give birth all night. He made sure the crops were ready for harvest. He fixed the broken fences and changed the oil in the trucks. He hardly took any food from the house, making sure everyone else’s bellies were full before his.

Going to bed hungry, tired, and unloved. Sleeping out on the goddamn fields just because no one wanted him in the house. He remembered everyone’s birthdays, scraped together enough money to get them a treat from the bakery.

Never expecting anything in return other than a reminder that his body was punishment from God.

Refusing to cry, Dennis bit down hard on his hand, wanting to feel something other than the rage consuming him, licking up his back and over his head, making him think evil thoughts of grabbing the wheel and running them off the road entirely. It was better than what the future clearly held in store for him.

He was such an idiot for getting in the truck. He should’ve just run away. At least then he’d know the land. Now he was going to be unceremoniously dumped in the middle of a city he’d never been to before. Why didn’t they just kill him? Call it a suicide? At least then it would be over.

The road stretched on, unspooling endlessly beneath them.

Dennis stared straight ahead now, eyes dry and burning, jaw locked so tight it ached. His arm throbbed with every bump in the asphalt, pain blooming and receding in sickening waves. What was he going to do? Where was he going to live?

“I hate you,” he whispered, barely believing he had the courage to say it out loud. Looking over at Jesse, Dennis shoved his arm slightly, childish fear mutating into maddening fury.

“I said,” Dennis murmured, “I hate you, Jess.”

His brother didn’t even turn his head. “I know, Den. It’s alright.”

-

They’d been on the road for over twenty hours when Jesse finally called it quits. He pulled into a motel in the middle of the night; the walls looked like they were crumbling, the sign’s lights flickering unevenly. He unlocked the cab and motioned for Dennis to follow.

Dennis trailed behind like a puppy, hauling his rucksack over his right shoulder, briefly realising he was carrying all of his worldly possessions.

He overheard Jesse asking the receptionist for two rooms for the night, but nothing quite broke through the static in his head. His tongue felt like a block of rubber in his mouth, and his arm still burned.

Jesse led him by the shoulder to his room. Once they stood outside the door, Dennis braved looking up at his brother.

Jesse looked older. There were only a couple of years between them, nineteen to Dennis’s fifteen, but he was broader, taller, more headstrong. His hands were thick and tough from farm work, while Dennis’s were a cobbled mix of calloused and soft, not quite broken out of the gentleness of childhood.

Jesse’s dark eyes lingered on him. He took Dennis’s good hand and pressed an envelope into it.

“This should be enough to get you by for a while. Dad didn’t want to give you any, but Andy and I…” Jesse trailed off. He lifted a hand to cup Dennis’s cheek. Dennis was shocked to see how wet his eyes had become.

“You’re still our little brother, Den.”

Dennis swallowed hard.

“Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight.” His voice shook as the words left him.

Jesse closed his eyes and pulled Dennis into a tight hug, dipping his head to tuck into Dennis’s neck, breathing him in.

“Do not despise the Lord’s discipline, and do not resent His rebuke,” he whispered. “Because the Lord disciplines those He loves, as a father the son he delights in.”

He held on a few seconds longer. Dennis hugged him back, ignoring the blistering pain in his arm, clinging to the comfort for just a moment more.

When Jesse pulled away, the tears had stilled.

“I’ll be seein’ you,” he said, voice clipped.

“Bye, Jess.”

“Goodbye, Denny.”

-

The night passed in a blur.

Dennis sat in the middle of the shitty motel room bed, going through the rucksack Jesse had packed for him, blatantly ignoring the envelope resting on the bedside table. He had a couple of changes of clothes, some half-used toiletries, and his sneakers. None of the clothes were his favourites, they were probably already in the church’s donation bin.

His Bible was tucked into the bottom of the bag. Digging it out, Dennis ran his fingers down the softened leather. Opening the cover, a picture fell out.

Dennis gripped it, finally starting to feel tears well in his eyes.

It had been taken when Dennis was a young child, just a few days before his first reckoning episode, if he recalled correctly. He and all three of his brothers were crammed onto the giant wheels of the farm’s tractor, Dennis perched precariously on Nathan’s knee. The sun was high in the sky, bearing down on them fiercely. They were all stripped down to their shorts, covered in dust, cheeks and shoulders pink with burn.

A small laugh slipped from Dennis’s mouth as he looked at tiny him. He almost looked bald, his hair was so blonde.

Flipping the photo, Dennis recognised Andy’s handwriting almost immediately.

Love you, Den. Stay safe & trust in Him.

The tears came quickly after that, heavy and uncontrollable. Breaking the dam wide open, Dennis clutched the picture to his chest.

He knew in his bones he would never see them again.

-

“Dr Abbot, have you seen this?” Mateo called out, forcing Jack to look up from the lab results.

The nurse had pushed the kid’s left sleeve up, revealing a forearm twice the size it should have been. Slightly crooked, mottled purple, the skin stretched tight and angry with infection.

“Shit,” Jack muttered, crossing over to the bay in less than a second. He brought two fingers to the limb. The heat radiating off it was startling, like it could burn.

“Let’s get an X-ray,” Jack said quickly. “And can someone contact his social worker? We need to know why this hasn’t already been treated.” The words came out sharper than he meant.

He felt rattled, more than rattled. How on earth had no one caught this? The kid had been in care for a week. That arm hadn’t been broken yesterday. It looked old, infected as they came. How had the EMTs missed it? How had he? They’d been so focused on the seizure. Fuck.

Jack took a steadying breath and forced himself to step back. He was getting too emotional. It was hard not to, looking down at the wisp of a kid lying in the bed. He was a tiny slip of a thing, skin pulled tight over bone, blonde hair gone dull and ashy. Malnutrition? Maybe. Dark shadows bruised the skin beneath his eyes, and even sedated, he didn’t look restful.

Jack glanced back at the chart. Fever. Elevated white count. Every marker screaming infection. Hell, it might have been the trigger for the seizure itself. At this rate, the kid would be lucky to keep the arm.

Slow down, Abbot.

There was no use catastrophizing. He needed to contact surgery and help the kid.

-

By the time the sun started bleeding through the high windows, the worst of the night had burned itself out. The kid’s bed was empty now. Sheets stripped, monitor silenced.

Jack paused longer than necessary at the doorway before forcing himself back to the desk to finish charting. Surgery had taken him an hour earlier. Ortho. Washout. IV antibiotics already running. The whole works.

Robby found him there, coffee in hand, eyes already assessing.

“Morning” he said tensely, he’d seen the chart then.

“He’s yours now,” Jack said, without preamble. “Once he’s out of PACU. Until peds have a bed for him”

Robby nodded. “I saw the consult.”

Jack hesitated, eyes slipping shut for a moment. Robby moved his hand to the small of his back, leading him to the nurse’s station so they could start official handover.

“If you hear anything,” he said finally. “From social work. Or… anyone. Call me. Please.”

Robby didn’t answer right away. He set the coffee down, leaned a hip against the desk.

“You’re off in ten minutes.”

“I know.”

“You’re going to bed when you get home.”

Jack exhaled through his nose. “I’m worried about this one Robby, it’s not right.”

Robby gave him a hardened look. “Kids freaked you out Abbot,” he said quietly.

Jack swallowed. He hadn’t expected the truth to come out so easily.

“He shouldn’t have gotten that bad,” Jack said. “Someone should’ve—”

“I know,” Robby said, cutting in gently. “And now he’s getting help.”

Jack nodded, once. It didn’t feel like enough. Robby reached out, brief and grounding, hand at Jack’s elbow.

“I’ll keep an ear out,” he said.

“Promise.” Jack closed his eyes for half a second, then nodded. “Thanks.”

They carried on with handover, and once Jack and Lena were satisfised, he headed to the locker room to grab his coat. Robby followed him, because of course he did. Once they were alone, Robby slid his hand to Jack’s hip, supporting him against the metal locker.

“Go home brother,” Robby added. “Sleep. I’ll text when the kids out of surgery.”

Jack sighed, “love you,” he murmured, kissing Robby gently.

“I love you too, promise I’ll text.” Robby confirmed, gaze held firm.

Straightened out, Jack squared his shoulders and followed Robby out of the locker room, heading towards the exit.

He couldn’t help but steal one more glance towards the trauma bay before stepping out the doors.

-

When morning came, Dennis watched dejectedly as Jesse climbed into the truck and drove away, not sparing even a glance up toward Dennis’s window. Of course he didn’t. He had no need to, Dennis thought. They’d said goodbye last night, and that would be it. Jesse didn’t need Dennis crying and grovelling, empty promises and false witness.

What was done was done.

He packed his rucksack with his good arm slowly, then snatched the envelope up without looking, shoving it deep into his pocket.

Leaving the motel, he dropped the key at reception. The woman hardly looked at him, just took it and told him to have a nice day. Dennis opened his mouth to ask a question, maybe she would know where he could go, but the words died in his throat. Instead, he found himself walking down the sidewalk, the city stretching out in every direction.

He’d never left town before, and the streets were loud.

Cars hissed past too close. People brushed his shoulder without looking, without apologising. Dennis felt his breathing pick up as he kept his head down and walked. His feet carried him for what felt like forever, each step sending a dull, sickening throb through his arm.

He had no idea where he was going. Reading the signs, it looked like he was in Pittsburgh, but Dennis doubted even that as he passed buildings standing taller than he’d ever thought possible.

He passed stores with bright windows and neon signs, places that smelled like food he’d never even known existed. On his right, a siren wailed. Dennis flinched, hands flying up protectively, drawing laughter from someone passing on his left. Flushing bright red, he turned down a side street without thinking.

The church appeared a few blocks later, set back from the road, stone darkened with age.

Dennis stared at its heavy doors, then glanced back toward the street ahead, torn. He hadn’t confessed in months, so focused on fixing the roof before winter.

Steadying his shoulders, he stepped inside.

The air was cool, heavy with the familiar smells of wax and incense. His footsteps echoed on the stone floor, and his insides seized, freezing him mid-step.

What was he doing?

Shoving the thought aside, Dennis crossed himself automatically, fingers dipping into the holy water, a motion so familiar it ached.

He slid into a pew near the back and bowed his head, breath coming fast.

The anxiety in his chest slowly unfurled as his fingers tightened around the wood beneath him.

He barely noticed the priest emerge from a side door, older, grey at the temples.

“Can I help you?” the man asked softly.

Dennis’s head snapped up. He swallowed, tongue thick in his mouth.

“I need to confess.”

The priest studied him for a moment, eyes lingering, then nodded. “Follow me.”

The confessional was dim and close. The wooden floor was cool beneath his knees as he knelt. His arm screamed when he shifted, and he bit the sound back hard.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” Dennis said, the words tumbling out by rote. “It’s been… it’s been a long time.”

“That’s alright, child,” the priest said gently. “Take your time.”

Dennis drew a shaky breath.

“I live in sin, and I am not strong enough for God’s punishment. I have brought great shame to my family, and they have cast me out to find myself, to find strength in the Lord. To cure my sickness, which has brought us misfortune and trouble.” His voice cracked. “I know I will miss them, Father, and I am lying to myself that I know what to do, how to achieve their forgiveness so I can return home.”

He sniffed, wiped his eyes, then let out a wet, broken laugh.

“I have questioned the Lord’s intentions. Why He has chosen to punish me. I know I must accept it and learn, but I feel so hollow and betrayed. How can I forgive myself?”

Silence answered him.

Dennis steadied his breathing and began the act of contrition.

“My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart. In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good, I have sinned against You, whom I should love above all things. I firmly intend, with the help of Your grace-”

“Anyone who does not provide for their relatives, and especially for their own household, has denied the faith and is worse than an unbeliever.”

The interruption stopped Dennis cold.

“Timothy 5:8,” he whispered.

“How old are you, child?” the priest asked.

“Fifteen, Father.”

Silence followed.

Dennis’s breath began to race, shallow and fast.

Then the confessional door opened, and a hand settled gently on his shoulder.

“Deep breaths, child,” the priest said softly. “You’re safe now.”

He guided Dennis out and onto an empty pew, staying close without crowding him. He stepped away for a moment, before returning with a small paper cup of water, waiting until Dennis had taken a few shaky sips before speaking again.

“You’ve done nothing wrong by coming here,” he said gently. “And you’ve done nothing wrong by speaking the truth.”

Dennis shook his head rapidly. “I shouldn’t have said so much. I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t mean to—”

“Hush,” the priest murmured. “Listen to me now.”

Dennis straightened, then fell still.

“Suffering is not righteousness. No sickness brings shame or misfortune. It is not punishment,” the priest said softly. “It is only a chance to offer kindness and forgiveness.”

Dennis stared at him, stunned.

“I caused a storm,” Dennis blurted. “It tore the roof off our barn. I nearly lost our horse. Crops failed. Fields flooded. The truck’s engine blew when I sat in the passenger seat. I thrash with the devil, and misfortune follows. There’s a demon inside me.”

The priest raised a hand, halting him.

“No,” he said firmly. “You are describing life. Not the devil. And certainly nothing caused by you being ill.”

Dennis had no reply.

“You are alone?” the priest asked quietly.

Dennis nodded.

“I have a responsibility,” the priest said gently. “I must alert the authorities.”

Dennis bit his lip hard, chest tightening.

“I confessed,” he said weakly. “Isn’t that enough?”

The priest sighed, regret heavy in the sound.

“Confession is for the soul,” he said. “Care for the body is sacred too. I cannot pretend not to see what is before me.”

Dennis stared at his trembling hands.

“I’m not going home,” he whispered. “They won’t take me back.”

“No parent is right to abandon a child,” the priest said after a pause. “And no child is a burden for being ill.”

Dennis said nothing.

“I’m going to call for help now,” the priest said. “People whose job it is to keep you safe will come. I will stay with you while we wait. You are not in trouble.”

Dennis’s mouth opened, then closed.

He thought of the photograph in his Bible. Jesse’s tears. The calves lying in the mud. His mother’s cries.

Dennis folded his hands in his lap and said nothing.

When the church doors finally opened to voices and footsteps, Dennis did not look up.

He had confessed.

Now he would endure.

Chapter Text

The police station was somehow louder than the street. There were so many people bustling around, carrying files and shouting into phones.

Dennis sat in a plastic chair bolted to the ground, his fingers laced together so tight Dennis briefly entertained the idea they might get stuck. Long sleeves covered his arm, and he hoped that the break would go unnoticed.

The officers who picked him up from the church had left him there a couple of hours ago, with promises to bring a social worker by to check him out. But so far, the only person who’d interacted with him was a sympathetic officer working on a desk near him, who’d stuck a sandwich, a water and some kind of chocolate bar he’d never heard of on the chair next to him.

He’d quickly squirreled them away in his rucksack. When they released him, he didn’t know how much money Jesse and Andy had given him, how long it would stretch out for meals. So, he’d saviour what he had, no need to be wasteful on the first day.

It was going dark outside by the time a woman in a bright pink coat bustled into the room. She sat down opposite him, cheeks flushed and her hands full.

“Okay kid! Sorry about the delay, let me just.” She flipped through a massive binder, pulling out a blank form and a pen.

She looked up at Dennis, a smile painting her face. “So,” She pressed, leaning forward slightly so Dennis could smell her floral perfume. “Pretty tough day, right?” Dennis couldn’t help the snort that ripped through him, he looked back down at his hands, twisting his ring finger.

“My names Phoebe, I’ll be your social worker from now on.” She looked down and started writing rapidly on the form. Peering up past her glasses she asked, “got a name?”

Dennis was silent.

Granted, Phoebe was patient, saying nothing as Dennis continued to twist and pick at his own hands, occasionally moving the right one down to grip his rucksack handle.

“Okay, so it’s gonna be like that.” She sighed after a few minutes, one hand reaching out to rest on Dennis’s knee. When he didn’t flinch, she kept it there steady.

“I know you’re scared. Hell, when I was taken into care I was scared as shit.” She squeezed slightly, and Dennis relaxed under the warmth. “I’m just going to ask that you nod or shake your head when I ask you some questions. I’ll have to get an officer to be present for that bit, sound good?”

Dennis sucked in a deep breath, weighing up his options. He could either be completely non-compliant and see where it got him. Or… Phoebe seemed kind, and as long as he didn’t tell them his name, or where he came from, they’d never be able to trace his family.

So, he nodded his head.

Phoebe seemed to relax then and offered him an even brighter smile.

“Great! I’ll just go and get someone. You hungry bud?” she asked.

Dennis shook his head, nod wanting to seem greedy.

“Suit yourself, relax. I won’t be a minute.”

The minute turned into ten, then twenty, then Dennis’s eyes were starting to slip shut.

Dennis woke with a gasp as hand fell on his shoulder. He almost shot right out of the chair, chest gasping and throat tight. His eyes darted upwards, like a frightened rabbit.

“Fuck kid, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you,” Phoebe comforted, holding her hands up in surrender. Dennis’s chest hadn’t stopped heaving, but he just jerked his head in understanding, eyes closing with the force of the exhale.

“Sorry, that took so long as well, hard to pin one of these suckers down.” She explained, shooting an exacerbated look to the officer who had joined her sat opposite Dennis.

The officer rolled her eyes but extended a hand. “My names Officer Jay, I’m just here to observe, and then corroborate the report for Miss. Robertson. Keeps you safe.”

Dennis ignored the hand but offered another nod.

“Right let’s not waste any more time. So, officers who bought you in said you were at a Church. Priest said you confessed to him that your family have abandoned you, and you believe you cannot return to your home address?”

Nod.

“You’re fifteen years old?”

Nod.

“Are you from Pittsburgh?”

Shake.

“Did they drive you here?”

Nod.

“Was the drive over 5 hours?”

Nod.

“Ten hours?”

Nod.

“20?”

Dennis hesitated. Phoebe continued.

“Do you know why your parents wanted to leave you here?”

Nod.

“You don’t want to say anything at all?”

Shake.

“Were they physically abusive? Hitting you?”

Shake. What they didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt them.

“Priest said you told him you were sick, could you write down what makes you sick?”

Shake.

“Can we get you a doctor? Check up?”

Shake.

Phoebe sighed, pushing her glasses up with her hand.

“Okay, okay” she said, holding one hand up to Dennis. “We’re not going to get anything of real value tonight that’s clear. Dennis, I’m going to have to take you into temporary care. Do you understand what that means?”

Dennis’s eyes blew wide open, they weren’t just going to let him go?

“I’m taking that as a no then.” Phoebe muttered, before trying to give him a reassuring smile, but Dennis recognised the pain on her expression, she was already fed up with him. He drew one knee up to his chest, resting his chin down, making himself small.

“It means, I’m going to take you to a group home, then we’ll meet up regularly, and I’ll try and find your parents. See if reunification is possible, that means you go home” Dennis violently shook his head, Phoebe once again put her hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay I know. These are just the options kid.” She let out a deep breath. “Or we find them unfit for care, and then you can go into foster care, then up for adoption. If you don’t get adopted, you’ll age out at 18. We’ll help you with finding a job and housing. That’s it. Make sense?”

Nod.

-

Dennis couldn’t pay attention as Phoebe and Officer Jay chatted, passing paperwork between them and discussing different options. He knew CPS was a thing, technically. But where he grew up, it certainly wasn’t like this.

Back home, if a kid got kicked out. They were just, out.

He remembered Jared Linker, a boy from a class a few years up from him. His parents kicked him out when he was 16. There were no police involved, certainly no paperwork. Their neighbour let him pitch a tent on a patch of land behind their shed. He still came to school, got a job at the butchers in town, showered after gym class. Always made Dennis hold his breath because the smell of rotting meat was so intense. No one had said a word about it.

CPS was for kids who were being beaten black and blue. Even then, all they did was give the parents a talking-to, made them promise to do better. As for orphans, real ones, that was what the church was for.

Dennis wasn’t an orphan.

He had a family. Parents. Brothers. A home, even if it was one he wasn’t allowed inside of anymore.

Everything Phoebe had mentioned, group homes, foster care, adoption.

The words didn’t make sense.

There were people out there who wanted children who weren’t their own flesh? Their blood?

The idea sat like spoiled milk in his stomach, churning sourly.

-

“Dr. Robby!”

Mel called out, weaving through patients and staff on the Pitt floor, catching up to Robby, who was buried in notes at the nurse’s station.

“Just a minute, Dr. King,” he replied vaguely, squinting at the computer despite the glasses perched on his nose. “I’ve been trying to update this chart for the better part of an hour.”

Mel bounced on her heels, visibly torn between waiting and interrupting. When Robby finally looked up, sighing and rubbing a hand over his cheek, she took that as permission.

“Spit it out, King,” he said.

“Ortho are bringing the John Doe kid back down as a boarder, peds doesn’t have a bed yet,” she said quickly. “They cleared the infection from his arm and set the bone. They don’t think he’ll lose it, but there may be some nerve damage. Whilst he was down, they stitched his tongue up too”

Without missing a beat, she pulled up an iPad with imaging and passed it over.

“I’ve also got his head CT. No visible damage from the prolonged tonic-clonic. Neuro’s coming to consult him soon.”

Robby nodded as he scanned the images, then handed the iPad back. “Excellent, Dr. King. Can you keep an eye on him when he comes back down? Jack got a little… protective last night. Needs a close watch.”

Mel smiled faintly. “Of course, Dr. Robby. I’ll let you know once neuro’s been by.”

She disappeared into the chaos again.

Robby leaned back in his chair, trying to refocus on the chart in front of him.

His attention snagged when the kid was wheeled back into the bay a little while later.

Jack hadn’t been exaggerating, he was tiny. Practically swallowed by the bed. His arm was secured in a foam wedge, a metal cage wrapped around his forearm. Robby winced. Must’ve been a nasty break.

Fifteen, the chart had said.

The kid looked more like a boy than a teenager.

Robby shook his head and pulled his phone from his pocket, opening Jack’s contact.

Mikey: Kid’s out of surgery, back in the ER. Went well- not going to lose the arm. CT looks clear. Neuro coming to consult re: seizure. Still waiting on labs.

He hesitated, then added:

Mikey: Hope you’re getting some good sleep. Love you x

That was all he had time for before someone shouted his name and EMTs poured through the doors.

Robby cast one last glance at the kid’s bay, then squared his shoulders and stepped back into the noise.

-

The bed was the softest Dennis had ever slept in.

Phoebe had dropped him off at the so-called group home a few hours ago. A staff member had given him a towel, a change of clothes, and some toiletries before showing him to his room. He’d explained where the bathroom was, and how to find the office should he need anything before morning. Phoebe had promised she’d be back the next day, but Dennis wasn’t sure if she meant it or not. It was probably just a gesture of goodwill.

He showered slowly, careful not to jostle his arm. The skin was turning such a deep, angry red that he could barely look at it, averting his eyes and murmuring a silent prayer for healing instead.

When he finally climbed into bed, Dennis couldn’t stop the groan that slipped out of him. The mattress was still thin, but after Nathan had taken his away a couple of years ago, replacing it with a blanket on the floor, it felt like heaven.

He tried to stay awake, acutely aware that he was trapped in a city he’d never been to before, in a house full of strangers. But exhaustion caught up with him, and his eyes closed before he even realised it.

-

Jack Abbot was not an unsettled person.

Years of combat had taught his body a very simple rule; if you could sleep, you should. It’s why he did the night shift, not just because he loved the chaos, the extra pay, and the way you could almost run the department like it was the wild west. It was so Robby could comfortably work the day shift, and Jack was such a good sleeper now, he was inclined to believe he could fall asleep at the side of an F1 racetrack.

Yet, the damn kid had rattled him.

After an hour of rolling around, Jack swore under his breath and swung out from the bed. Grabbing his crutches and heading into their walk-in-wardrobe. He quickly changed into shorts, a t-shirt and running vest, grabbing his running leg from the closet. Rolling on the liners and the socket with practiced hands.  

Before he really registered it, he’d hit the street, heading towards the local park. Soft music played through his shokz, the thrum of the cars reminding him where he was.

Still, all he could think about was the kid.  

They had kids in all the time, from all different backgrounds. He’d held children as they cried for their parents, or as their family had died. Seen them through the worst days of their lives. Permanently altered. He could usually compartmentalize the thoughts, send them right to back to the queue of memories lining up to be discussed with his therapist.

Seeing the boy last night, nameless and so clearly uncared for had struck a nerve.

Not only was he clearly without family, but no one could even comfort him with his damn name. Didn’t know a lick about him. Hadn’t even realised he’d been hiding a catastrophic injury.

What would have happened if he hadn’t seized?

Jack’s jaw tightened.

Sepsis, probably. He would’ve wound up in Jack’s ER one way or another, only by then it might have been too late to do anything.

It was fucked. Cruel beyond measure.

Jack forced his focus back to his breathing, the steady thump of his shoes against the pavement, the mindless comfort of watching strangers pass by.

He almost ignored the vibration of his phone against his chest.

The park was full, bustling with other runners and parents taking their kids out in the summer sun. Groups of friends splayed out on the grass, desperate to escape work for lunch. Hot air cycled through his lungs, as he lapped round the lake. He told himself to just finish the loop, keep moving.

The phone buzzed again.

Jack sighed and pulled it free, thumb smearing sweat across the screen as he slowed by a tree.

Mikey: Kid’s out of surgery, back in the ER. Went well- not going to lose the arm. CT looks clear. Neuro coming to consult re: seizure. Still waiting on labs.

His breath caught, and Jack leaned forward slightly, one hand braced on a thigh. He was too old for this. A puff of air escaped him, and relief flared in his chest. Not going to lose the arm.

He straightened slowly, forcing his arms down, loosening his grip on the phone. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. Count the stupid breaths.

Mikey: Hope you’re getting some good sleep. Love you x

Jack closed his eyes.

Sleep. That sounded pretty good right about now.

He pictured Robby at the nurses’ station. Coffee gone cold, posture too straight, eyes scanning every bay like Jack wasn’t the only one who collected strays. A fond smile broke out on his face.

Jack typed back with stiff fingers.

Jack: Thanks. Glad he’s stable.
Jack: I’m out running. Trying not to climb the walls.
Jack: Love you too hot shot x

He slipped the phone back into his pocket and started moving again. Breaking out into a gentle jog, letting his heart rate settle into a comfortable rhythm.

Kid was still nameless.

He was at least alive, with both arms and his more than competent husband looking after him.

In theory, it should have been enough, but it still wasn’t.

“Jesus” Jack muttered, shaking his head like it would throw the thoughts out.

His eyes fell on a young family, a kid with blonde hair running after a football his dad had thrown slightly too wide. He turned away.

Jack had seen bodies come in without IDs, no advocates, in some cases, unrecognisable with injury. But this was a kid who should have someone shouting his name down the hallway. Absolutely furious, and so terrified, demanding answers.

Instead, Lupe had to wrestle information out of CPS to try and even get a scrap of information. The staff member who’d ridden with the kid in the ambulance had been a useless crying mess.

Jack scrubbed a hand over his face.

No.

Robby had him covered.

He could just swing by work early, make sure his infection markers were coming down and he was settled in a ward.

Then, he could let the whole thing go.

-

The days slipped through Dennis’s hands like soil.

Get up. Cry about his arm. Pray. Go to breakfast. Back to his room. Cry a little more. Skip lunch. Pray.
Log into online school a staff member had set up him on, try and figure out how to use the computer. Eat half his dinner. Pray. Shower. Bed. Stare at the ceiling. Pray his arm would stop hurting. Pray God was still listening.

After a while, the crying stopped. Dennis felt numbness start at his left hand, creeping up until his left arm was now just something useless to lug about. He felt like it had reached his brain, muddled his thoughts and made time feel slippy.

As time lost its shape, so did Dennis’s routine. He would sit on the edge of his bed, and then suddenly it would be dark outside. Or he’d be standing in the hallway, waiting his turn for the shower. When someone would almost push him over, moaning that he wasn’t moving up with the queue. He didn’t know what was wrong with him. Maybe it was God punishing him for his insolence. His refusal to go about his healing alone, for disturbing the church and ending up here.

“Kid. Kid”

Someone was snapping their fingers in his face.

Right, he was supposed to be eating dinner, fork halfway to his mouth.

An apology quickly fell from his lips. It was almost second nature now.

It was happening more and more often. Noise of rooms fading into a dull, underwater hum. Then someone would bump into his shoulder, brush past him annoyed, and the sound would all rush back at once.

“Jesus, kid. You alive?”

Dennis didn’t answer.

His arm stayed angry. Red and swollen, the skin stretched tight and shiny. He prayed over it every night. Begged for forgiveness until his knees felt raw from the carpet.

He was right about one thing though, he hadn’t seen Phoebe since that day. One of the other boys laughed when he heard she was his social worker. He’d given Dennis a sharp smile.

“Tough shit for you.” He’d laughed.

No one else really checked on him. There was always another kid screaming, throwing chairs, threatening to run. Dennis was pretty good at remaining unremarkable.

He began praying harder. Desperate prayers that tripped over themselves out of his mouth. Crouched in front of bed, pressing his face against the cool metal frame. If he could just be good enough, quiet enough. Maybe he would earn his penance.

On the night of his seventh day in care, Dennis felt the aura. The steady rising in his chest, the out of body feeling that only had one outcome. Clearly God wasn’t in the mood for forgiveness just yet.

As his muscles locked and twisted, he could faintly feel the hands that grabbed at him. Voices shouting as the room spun violently. Blistering pain shooting up his arm.

It was the only time he’d ever thought about praying to God for death. Anything would be better than this humiliation ritual.

Darkness soon followed.

-

Dennis felt like he’d been thrown into a violent dream, his mind bending and warping the reality he’d been dropped in. There were so many hands all over him, pressure on his head and he felt so, so tired. His body worked in overdrive to keep his limbs locked in relentless motion.  

Another push of cold liquid up his right arm, and Dennis felt like the elastic band wrapped around his brain loosened ever so slightly.

“Kid? You with us? My name’s Dr. Abbot, you’re at Pittsburgh Medical trauma centre”

That didn’t make any sense. He was in his room, or, no. He was in the stables, tacking up Acorn. No, his mouth, why did his tongue hurt so much?

Dazed, he tried to open his eyes through hooded lids. He swore Jesse was leaning over him.

Thank God. He’d changed his mind. Driven all the way back to take him home.

Guilt surged through him, he didn’t deserve this.

“I can still fix the roof” he mumbled, trying to reach out and grab Jesse’s arm despite the pain that raced through him. He at least had to try and make sure Jesse would actually take him home. He didn’t like it here, he hated being cooped up, he missed the barn, he missed his cows.

“Promise I can fix the roof Jesse-”

A strong hand grabbed his shoulder, and a thumb worked into the skin there. Just like Jesse would.

Thank you, God, thank you. Dennis silently prayed, overcome with relief.

“You’ve had a pretty nasty seizure kiddo, have you ever had one before?”

That didn’t sound like Jesse’s voice. Panic fluttered up this throat, where had Jesse gone?

“Just- please just let me try-please” Dennis garbled, reaching out to grab Jesse, to pull him back towards him. He couldn’t leave him again, he just couldn’t. Please, please, please, please, please.

Cold crept up his arm again.

Please just take me home Jess

Chapter Text

In his defence, Jack hadn’t meant to arrive so early. He’d simply exhausted everything he could do at home.

After his run, he’d showered, slept for a few hours. Then he’d tidied up, loaded the dishwasher, vacuumed, even done the meal prep he’d been avoiding for days. In a desperate act, he’d even attempted to organise his and Robby’s shared office. That particular job only lasted five minutes before he’d tapped out. He’d tried to watch TV, but his brain felt like it was moving a thousand miles an hour. By 5:30 p.m., Jack finally called it quits and got changed to head in, filling his flask with coffee for himself and one with tea for Robby.

Rush-hour traffic slowed the drive, but he still made it into the ER by 6:15. The department was busy, like always, and from the pinched look on Dana’s face, it had been a rough day.

Jack slid Robby’s flask onto the station and scanned the board. Trauma Two.

Still no bed in peds, then.

He grabbed a tablet from the charging dock and headed over, pulling up the notes as he walked. He’d just reached for the door handle when Robby sidled up beside him, one eyebrow already raised.

“You’re early, cowboy,” Robby remarked, giving him a once-over.

Jack let out a short laugh and scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Well,” he said lightly, almost feeling a blush rise on his cheeks, “looks like my stray’s still here.”

“He’s fine, Abbot,” Robby replied, quickly smoothing a crease from Jack’s scrub top. “Vitals are steady. He’s woken up a few times, but not been lucid. Not surprising considering the meds.” Jack hummed in agreement. “Peds should have a bed overnight- Dana’s finding out. Neuro finally came this afternoon, he’s on EEG monitoring now. They think it probably is epilepsy.”

Jack glanced down at the chart. “Still says John Doe.”

Robby let out a quiet groan. “Don’t get me started. Kiara’s trying to track down whatever she can, but his social worker hasn’t answered the phone. I’ve been trying all day too.”

The frustration in Robby’s voice caught Jack off guard.

“Well,” Jack said evenly, “I’m here early anyway. I was just going to sit with him. Might as well try the social worker again while I’m at it.”

He kept his tone casual, even as anger coiled hot and sharp in his chest. Jack knew better than most what it meant to work in an overextended system, but it was getting harder to swallow that no one had showed up for the kid yet.

His hand curled briefly into a fist. He forced it to relax.

Count the stupid breaths.

Robby nodded, already distracted, his attention pulled elsewhere on the floor. “I’ve gotta run,” he said. “See you at handover.”

-

Jack counted four more breaths before opening the door.

He stepped into the room, comforted by the steady beep of the monitors. Not quite ready to lift his eyes, he lingered on the chart, scanning the updated notes from Ortho and Neuro. The kid was on some pretty heavy anti-seizure medication, plus a muscle relaxant. Another tonic-clonic so soon after the last wouldn’t just risk further brain injury, it could compromise the repair to his arm entirely.

Which was why Jack startled when he finally looked up.

The kid’s eyes were wide open, watching him.

“Oh,” Jack said, before he could stop himself. He smoothed the surprise out of his voice and walked closer, keeping his movements deliberate, non-threatening. “Hey there.”

He stopped beside the bed, and set the tablet down, before keeping his hands loose at his sides. “We met last night,” he added gently. “You probably won’t remember. I’m Dr. Abbot, but you can call me Jack.”

Nothing.

No change in heart rate. No blink. The kid’s gaze stayed locked on him, intent.

Jack pulled up a chair and sat. The kid’s eyes tracked the movement immediately.

“Have you spoken to anyone yet?” Jack asked. “Has anyone told you what happened?”

Still nothing.

For a brief, disconcerting moment, Jack wondered if the kid was still asleep, eyes open, brain not fully online yet. He glanced at the monitor again. Awake rhythms. Stable vitals. No post-ictal agitation.

Jack leaned back slightly, giving him space. “Alright,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to talk. That’s fine. I’m sure as shit you feel like you’ve been through the ringer. And you’ve got about 20 stitches in your tongue to boot.”

The kid didn’t move. Didn’t nod. Didn’t shake his head.

Jack noted the tension anyway. Kid was wound tight like a spring, shoulders drawn tight, rigid line of fear in his jaw. He looked like an animal trapped in a snare.

“You’re safe,” Jack continued, keeping his voice low and even, pitched the way he used with patients fresh out of anaesthesia. “You had a seizure. A big one. We stopped it, fixed your arm, and you’re being monitored now.”

The kid’s pupils flickered, just barely.

Jack caught it.

“Your arm’s been set, know the cage looks scary” he added. “It’s just so you can heal, they’ll take it off in a few weeks.”

That did it. The kid’s breath hitched, sharp and shallow, and his heart rate spiked on the monitor.

Jack held up a hand instinctively. “Kid, easy, easy.” He put his hand back in his lap. “The surgery saved your arm, you would have lost it otherwise.”

The boy shook his head, and Jack couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his mouth at receiving a response.

“I swear!” Jack replied with a gentle laugh, “though I gotta admit. You’re made of tough stuff bud, hiding that for how long. Must have really hurt.”

No reply. The kid’s right hand just curled into the bedsheets, fingers white-knuckled.

Jack shifted closer, resting his forearms on his knees. “Look. I’m just going to stay here for a while” he said, looking down at the imaginary watch on his wrist. “My shift starts in half an hour. So, I’ll be out of your hair then. In the meantime, I don’t expect you to answer me, you don’t even have to look at me if you don’t want to.”

The kid didn’t look away.

In fact, Jack would have said he looked curious as he picked up the iPad, reviewing the x-ray imaging of the arm. He had to admit Ortho had done a good job, and it looked like they were going to get a positive outcome. The kid would have to stay in the hospital for around two weeks until they could remove the cage and replace it with plaster.

“You want to see?” Jack offered, holding the screen up for the kid.

Warmth bloomed in Jack’s chest when he got a nervous nod in reply.

Jack lifted his other hand, tracing over the pins and plates, he went through step by step what the surgeons had done, and how it would ultimately let his arm heal. He went over what his recovery was going to look like, and how long he’d have to stay in hospital for. Kid’s heart rate went up when Jack explained it would be a few weeks, but surprisingly calmed when Jack offered to visit him.

“The other thing kid. You came in because of a seizure. Have you ever had one before?” Jack gently probed, wondering if he could get any information out of the fifteen-year-old at all.

He’d clearly struck a nerve, because it was the first time the boy turned away from him, staring at the wall opposite. His shoulders angled away, guilt pooled in Jack’s stomach. He could only assume the answer was yes. But he wasn’t going to get answers straight away.

“You don’t have to tell me bud, it’s fine.” Jack comforted, “I know it’s a lot. Just try and get some rest, I’ll come and see you when there’s a bed for you upstairs, make sure you’re all set for the ward.”

The kid’s head was still turned away from him. Jack stalled for a second, weighing up the options, when there was a gentle knock on the door.

“Dr. Abbot?” Dr Shen asked, head poking in, “you ready to come to handover?”

“Yessir, I’ll be over in just a second.” Jack replied with a tight smile.

Shen nodded, and thankfully left the room.

“Right kid, duty calls.” Jack started, walking round to the side of the bed the kid was facing. His heart broke when he saw the tear tracks lining his face, he pretended not to see them. Instead, he picked the remote up from the side of the bed and held it where the kid could see it.

“Call button is this blue one here” he said, pointing it out. “If you need anything, no matter how small. You press it, and someone will come to you.”

The kid’s eyes flicked to the remote, then back to Jack.

“If you want me specifically,” Jack added, “you can show them this.”

Jack made a fist with his right hand and extended his pinky finger. In the air, he traced the letter J, curving it to the right. Then he formed a fist, keeping all four of his fingers tucked into his palm, and positioned his thumb straight up against the side of his index finger.

“You want to try?” he coaxed, gesturing the kid to give it a go. “It’s just my initials, most staff can sign the alphabet, so it means they’ll be able to understand you, without you having to talk.”

The kid seemed to hesitate, his eyes darting between Jack, and the clock on the wall. After a few moments however, he copied the gesture with his right hand. It was clunky, but recognisable. Jack gave him a well-earned smile.

“You got it, I’ll be round in a bit.” He said, pulling the blanket up on the bed to cover the kid’s chest.

“Ask for me, anytime, about anything. Please.” He tacked onto the end.

He was rewarded with the world’s smallest grin, barely a lift of the kid’s mouth, but there regardless, and he copied the sign again.   

“That’s me” Jack smiled, before turning towards the door.

As he left the room he called back over his shoulder, “See you later kid!”

-

The door clicked shut.

Dennis couldn’t help but stare at it for a long time after.

He’d never met someone like Jack before. Back home, medicine wasn’t so much for talking about. It was there, maybe, in the abstract. He’d seen pamphlets left untouched at the feed store. Watched late-night TV with his dad sometimes, with men shouting about vaccines and poison and government hands in God’s work. But in practice, you just got on with it.

There had been plenty of times when he or his brothers had thought something might be broken. Wrists bent wrong. Ankles swollen purple. Ribs that burned when you breathed too deep. Their parents had told them to suck it up. The pain was a test, endurance the virtue.

Now Dennis was laid out in a hospital bed with metal protruding from his skin. He studied it carefully, almost admiring the shiny surface. It certainly hadn’t looked helpful when he first woke up. In fact, he’d had to clamp down on the scream that almost erupted, knowing that it would have been no use to draw attention to himself.

Jack had said he could’ve lost the arm. Worse still, Jack had sounded surprised when he said the surgery had saved it. Like losing it was the reasonable expectation.

After Jack had described the surgery, the recovery and everything in-between, showing him the x-rays and scans. It made more sense to Dennis than he wanted to admit. Jack sounded smart, so casual in his intelligence. He was a proper doctor.

Jack had also called his episodes seizures.

Dennis shut his eyes, his thoughts thick and syrupy with whatever they had pumped into him.

Sure, he’d been in school most of the time, and in science they’d touched on medicine. But the church always took precedent. How God would want people to treat their bodies, that it was better to pray for true healing and find solace in the teachings of the Bible.

No sickness brings shame or misfortune. The priest in the church had said. But if that was true, then it automatically meant his episodes or, seizures, weren’t acts of God meant to punish him, or his family. So, what were they?

Bile rose in his throat for a second. Dennis swallowed it back down, wincing at the pressure on his tongue. Jack was a doctor. An actual doctor, he’d probably gone to medical school and everything. He had no reason to lie to him.

He’d never felt so torn before. Dennis had always suspected his parents might be lying about the healing they preached. Especially when he got hurt and his body never felt right again. The sharp pain in his side in the same spot he’d fallen on as a kid, or the way his knee ached when he stood up sometimes after he’d twisted it jumping down from a tall fence. Nathan had started walking with a limp around his age, their mother said Jesus would heal him when he’d earned it. But it only ever looked like it was getting worse.

Dennis’s eyes flicked to the call remote Jack had left within reach. Maybe he could explain some more to him? He’d briefly mentioned something about a CT scan result, whatever that was. He felt desperate to know, see if Jack could tell him what was wrong with him. If he could ever be fixed without needing God’s penance. His fingers reached out, almost touching the button, when he pulled his hand back like it burned.

Jack was a very important doctor, he couldn’t just sit with him and teach him things he should have learnt in school. He was clearly looking after lots of other people. Dennis could hear the commotion from outside the door, swore he’d even heard Jack’s raised voice at times.

Lifting his hand again slowly, Dennis practiced the shapes Jack had showed him, again and again.

J A

J A

J A

At least if he did ever truly need Jack, he could ask without looking like a fool.

Dennis let his hand fall back to the mattress. The call button still lay on the bed, its oversized blue button almost mocking him.

He turned his face toward the wall instead, listening to the steady beep of the monitor, counting it the way he used to count prayers.

After a moment, he reached out again and nudged the call button off the bed. It hit the floor with a soft, plastic clatter.

The temptation was pushed firmly out of reach.

-

Robby watched as Jack exited the kid’s room, a fond look softening his face as he called over his shoulder. By the time he reached them for handover, his husband had already slipped back into being Dr. Abbot, focused and professional. He paid close attention to all the patient updates and statuses for lab reports and scans. It was only when they rounded back toward Trauma Two that Jack’s gaze softened again, unmistakable.

“Have we heard anything further from peds?” Jack asked, arms folded loosely across his chest.

“Nothing yet, Abbot,” Dana replied, shaking her head. “I called a few minutes ago. Earlier they said tonight, but now-” She lifted her hands in a helpless shrug.

Jack nodded, thoughtful. Robby knew that look. He was secretly relieved the kid was still downstairs, where he could keep an eye on him. Jack was going to get edgy the second he disappeared upstairs.

“Well,” Jack said, carefully neutral, “at least we can monitor him here.”

Robby bit back a laugh, settling for a quiet huff instead. Bingo.

Jack glanced over and shot him a mock-scathing look, all seriousness cracking at the edges.

“Okay, if that’s everything…Thanks, everyone. Enjoy your nights,” Shen said, mercifully saving Jack from any further embarrassment.

-

“Not seen Jack catch a favourite that quick in a while,” Dana murmured as the group broke away, day shift packing up while nights gathered for their own huddle.

Robby shrugged, smiling. “You know what he’s like. Loves a horror story.”

But the pull of empathy was there anyway. He knew where Jack was coming from. Seeing a kid that abandoned got under your skin fast. He also knew Jack could relate, and he was proud of how deeply his husband cared.

“Have you seen Kiara recently?” Robby asked.

“Yep. Three o’clock. Think she might actually be avoiding you, sunshine,” Dana replied, laughing.

Robby sighed and headed off, catching the social worker by the elbow as she all but raced through the ED.

“I hope you’re not trying to escape just yet,” he joked.

She turned on her heel, binder clutched tight to her chest.

“Dr. Robby, I’m sorry. I haven’t heard anything. I’ve been trying all day,” she said quickly, looking more nervous than Robby had ever seen her.

He immediately softened his posture. “Hey - no, it’s fine. I know what CPS can be like. You good?” he asked, concern slipping through.

She nodded. “Yeah. I’m just… worried about him.”

That makes all of us, Robby thought.

“Kiara! Glad I could catch you,” Jack called as he stepped up beside Robby.

“Oh great,” she muttered, managing a weak smile. “Now there’s two of you.”

“She’s on it, Jack,” Robby said quickly, clapping a hand on his husband’s back. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

It looked like Jack might argue, but then he swallowed the rebuke, jaw tightening once before he nodded.

-

The next time Dennis woke up, it was to the sound of voices.

“Jack? You heading home soon, love?” a man asked quietly, his voice low and gravelly.

“Yeah, Mike,” Jack murmured. “I’m just waiting for the kid to wake up. I promised I’d be here when they moved him to the ward. They brought him up while he was out, and I don’t want him waking up somewhere new and panicking.”

Dennis’s ears pricked at the sound of Jack’s voice.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Ahuvì,” the man replied softly. “I was coming to check on him too.”

The voices dropped further, then the door clicked shut. For a moment, there was nothing but the steady rhythm of the monitors.

“I know you’re awake, kid.”

Busted.

Dennis considered pretending for half a second longer, but there didn’t seem much point. He cracked one eye open.

Jack was there, seated in the chair beside the bed, feet propped on a low stool, tablet balanced precariously in one hand.

They were in a new room. Peds, maybe. He’d heard some of the nurses talking about it when he’d first come round, before he’d met Jack properly. There were colourful paintings plastering the walls, so bright they made Dennis’s eyes ache.

It was also then Dennis made the horrible realisation that he was incredibly, incredibly itchy. Looking down, there were all kinds of pads with wires stuck to his chest, and lifting his right hand, his temples and head were covered in them as well. Either they weren’t there earlier, or he’d been too out of it to notice.

Panic grabbed at the edges of his chest.

The monitor beeped faster as Dennis reached up and caught one of the wires at his temple between his fingers.

“Whoa, whoa.” Jack’s firm voice cut in immediately. His hands closed over Dennis’s, warm and steady, carefully prying his fingers away. “You’re okay, bud. Just breathe for a second. I can explain.”

Dennis didn’t have the strength to fight him, but tears burned at the corners of his eyes as Jack guided his hand back down. Jack didn’t let go, not even when Dennis sank back into the pillow.

His breathing was still ragged, his tongue screaming as he tried to swallow.

“We’re running a test right now,” Jack said slowly, keeping Dennis’s gaze. “It’s called an EEG.”

Dennis blinked at him.

“It helps us figure out why you had the seizure,” Jack continued. “Whether this might be something called epilepsy. Have you heard that word before?”

Dennis shook his head. The knot in his chest loosened, just a fraction.

“That’s okay,” Jack said quietly. “I can walk you through it, if you want?”

Dennis nodded. He wanted to understand.

“Okay,” Jack said, bringing the tablet closer and pulling up a simple diagram of the brain. He turned it so Dennis could see, angling it carefully around the mess of wires.

“So, it’s essentially sudden, abnormal bursts of electrical activity in the brain.”

He tapped the screen lightly, tracing a path between highlighted sections. “Your brain runs on electrical signals. They tell your body when to move, when to sleep, when to breathe. Most of the time, they fire in a really organised way.” He paused, Dennis gave him a short nod of understanding.

“A seizure happens when those signals all start firing at once. Too fast. Too loud.” Jack continued, voice steady. “For some people, that misfiring has a name, epilepsy. For others, it’s caused by infection, injury, stress, lack of sleep. That’s what we’re trying to figure out with the EEG.” He gestured vaguely to the wires. “It lets us see what your brain’s doing when you’re awake. When you rest. When you drift.”

Dennis considered the information for a second. He hated to admit it made sense.

“Want me to explain more?” Jack offered. “I can read you some articles about different types of seizures. Maybe you could tell me if any of it sounds familiar?"

Dennis wasn’t sure about the whole telling part. But he did want to learn.

Jack, it turned out, was an excellent teacher.

So, Dennis nodded, and listened with wide eyes as Jack kept talking.

Chapter Text

“Langdon, you seen Abbot leave yet?” Robby called out, glancing over at Frank as he updated the board.

“No, Robinavitch,” Frank replied without looking up. “I haven’t seen your husband leave to sleep in your marital bed without you.”

Robby sighed, snapping off his gloves as he sidled over to Dana.

“I’m going to have to drag him home at this rate,” he muttered.

Dana didn’t even look sympathetic. She just rolled her eyes and pointed toward the elevators. “Go and fetch him,” she said. “Now, Doctor.”

Robby scanned the floor out of habit. Everyone was still breathing. No alarms screaming. No one actively dying.

He grabbed his hoodie from the back of a chair and headed for the lift.

It didn’t take long to find the kid’s room. He’d already been up once, an hour or so after handover. But it was past lunchtime now, and Robby knew Jack was still in there.

He knocked softly and pushed the door open.

And his heart promptly split clean in two.

The kid was sitting upright in bed, free hand scrolling carefully through Jack’s tablet. Jack himself was slumped back in the chair beside him, fast asleep, head tilted at an uncomfortable angle. The teenager’s blanket had been tugged halfway off the bed and draped poorly over the both of them. It was clear the kid had tried and failed to make it cover the sleeping man.

Robby swallowed.

“He been asleep long?” he asked quietly.

Wide blue eyes snapped up to meet his, and the kid gave his head a shake.

Robby walked over to a cabinet in the room, pulling out a spare blanket. He slowly removed the one hanging over Jack and tucked the kid back in, before taking the spare and covering his husband again.

Looking at the table rolled over the kid’s lap, he could see Jack’s scrawled handwriting and rudimentary drawings. Demonstrating the structure of the brain, and the different neurons.  Class had certainly been in session. On the tablet, Robby could see the kid looking at his own CT scan.

“Jack’s a good teacher” Robby commented flippantly, thumbing through the drawings.

He didn’t expect a verbal response, and he didn’t get one.

“You comfortable kid? In any pain?” he asked, giving the teenager a once over, “I can ask the nurses to give you some more morphine if you need it.” God knew he would. Even just the tongue would’ve taken Robby out. Never mind the arm. Never mind the EEG pads glued on with what he knew felt like industrial adhesive.

Yet, the kid shook his head.

Robby huffed a quiet laugh. “Alright. Tough stuff, then.” He crossed his arms loosely. “Though I’m guessing those EEG pads are itching like hell?”

The kid didn’t nod, but he flushed bright red and dropped his gaze.

Robby waved a hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. I know the score, Sheyfele. No need to be shy about it.” He smiled. “I’ll get someone to bring some anti-itch cream. Should make it a bit more bearable.”

Before the kid could respond, Jack shifted in the chair and let out a groan.

“Michael,” he mumbled, scrubbing a hand down his face before stretching. “Are you tormenting him already?”

Robby sniffed, mock-offended. “I know you are not accusing me of such things, Abbot. I would never.”

Jack laughed unabashedly, carefully standing up. He only let out a small groan of discomfort, but Robby bet he would feel the consequences of falling asleep in the chair later.

“Alright, kid,” Jack said, softer now, his tone apologetic. “I’ve gotta run. I don’t think Dr. Robby’s going to leave until I go home and actually get some sleep.” He slid the tablet gently from the kid’s hands but left the paper on the table.

Robby gave him a light shove, scowling. “Don’t make me out to be the villain here, Abbot. You can come back after. Besides,” he added, glancing at the kid, “I’ll make sure someone’s around to look after him while you’re gone.”

The teenager surprised them both by letting out a tiny laugh.

Jack beamed.

“Yeah,” he said quickly. “Yeah, I’ll come back later.” He glanced down again at the drawings. “We can finish our lesson?”

The kid nodded eagerly. Then, lifting his right hand, he gave a small wave before carefully signing.

J A

Goodbye, Jack Abbot.

Robby felt something swell sharp and sudden in his chest. One look at his husband told him Jack had all but melted where he stood.

The kid waved to Robby too, albeit shyer.

Robby turned toward the door, jaw tightening.

He was going to fucking kill that social worker.

-

Dennis appreciated that Phoebe at least had the dignity to look guilty.

He’d trusted her at the police station, and there was nothing he hated more than an empty promise. Even though Dennis knew she wasn’t directly to blame for him ending up in the hospital, he couldn’t help thinking that if she’d just visited him at the group home, just once, he might have confided in her. Even just a little.

She sat near his bed now, sheepish, scribbling notes into that stupid oversized folder like it might absolve her. She hadn’t tried to engage him in conversation so far, beyond an awkward apology when she’d entered the room.

Dennis had taken one look at her, then turned carefully onto his side, angling himself toward his injured arm. He closed his eyes after that, focusing instead on the steady beeping of the monitors and the relentless buzz of the strip lights overhead. Anything was better than Phoebe and her dumb questions. No, he wasn’t going to tell her where he was from. No, he wasn’t going to admit why they abandoned him.

He’d started to feel a little better that afternoon. Dr. Robby, true to his word, had sent a nurse with anti-itch cream for the adhesive holding the EEG pads in place. The relief had been immediate, loosening some of the tension he’d kept wound tight in his chest since waking up.

He missed Jack already. He’d only known him for a day, yet he could tell that if he were here, he would have told Phoebe to fuck off around half an hour ago. It was a selfish thought, but Dennis couldn’t help the way it gnawed at him.

“Kid, please just give me something.” She begged as Dennis half-heartedly listened to her drone on.

“I have absolutely nothing about you at the moment,” her hand reached out to touch Dennis’s shoulder, and he flinched so hard he scared himself a little. She retracted her hand but carried on talking. “I can’t help you, if I don’t know what’s going on.” She was really starting to get under Dennis’s skin.

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you examined when we met, I’m sorry I didn’t come and see you. Okay. I’m sorry.” She rambled, for a second Dennis was unsure if she was going to start crying.

If anyone, then, knows the good they ought to do and doesn’t do it, it is sin for them

The verse rattled around in Dennis’s brain, Phoebe was just as much a sinner as he was. She knew what needed to be done and didn’t. Much like Dennis, which was how he wound up in this situation in the first place.

Phoebe cleared her throat again, the sound sharp in the too-quiet room.

“Kid,” she tried, softer now, like that might help. “I just need something to put in the file. Anything. A name. A town. A relative?”

Dennis kept his eyes closed.

Jack hadn’t needed a name.

Phoebe sighed, the chair creaking as she shifted closer.

“I can’t protect you if I don’t know what I’m working with,” she said.

Protect. Dennis swallowed, the pull in his tongue sharp and angry.

Phoebe’s pen paused. “Are you even listening to me?”

Dennis opened his eyes just long enough to glance at her, then past her- to the door.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” Phoebe added quickly. “I’m on your side.”

Dennis thought of Jack’s hands, warm and steady, pulling his fingers away from the EEG wire without snapping, without panic.

Phoebe waited a few seconds longer, then exhaled hard through her nose. “Okay,” she said, already writing something down. “Okay. I’ll come back later.”

The chair scraped back. The door opened.

Dennis didn’t watch her leave.

He stared at the empty space beside the bed instead, where Jack’s chair had been. Dennis’s blanket had slipped down off his shoulders since Dr. Robby had placed it back over him, and he felt too weak now to even try lifting it back up.

He wondered distantly, if Phoebe had noticed.

-

“I can’t help him if he won’t tell me anything,” Phoebe insisted, folding her arms tight across her chest. She stood stiffly, almost shrinking back from Robby and Kiara.

“Are the police not investigating?” Kiara countered calmly. “He is technically a missing child. We can’t simply accept that he’s a ward of the state without due process.”

“Well, he told me at the police station that his parents abandoned him,” Phoebe sniffed.

“He is fifteen years old,” Robby snapped. The words tore out of him, sharp and uncontrolled. “For all we know, he ran from home, broke his arm, and was too scared to go back.”

His chest felt tight, breath coming shallow. The anger burned so hot it felt like it had settled into his bones.

Phoebe scoffed. “The priest he spoke to said the boy admitted he was cast out, for bringing bad luck to his family farm. A sickness…” she paused, lips curling. “Which I think we can now make an educated guess about.”

Robby turned away before he said something unforgivable. He shut his eyes, breathing slowly through his nose. Somewhere behind him, Kiara was still speaking, her voice clipped and professional as she addressed Phoebe.

“All I can do is request a police investigation and wait for their findings,” Phoebe continued. “Until then, he’ll remain in the group home.”

That did it.

“Absolutely not,” Robby barked, spinning back around. “They do not have the medical knowledge to care for that kid. They didn’t even notice a catastrophic arm fracture.” he cut his eyes to Phoebe, voice dropping darkly, “-much like you, I guess.”

Phoebe stiffened, but Robby barrelled on.

“They won’t recognise pre-ictal symptoms. They won’t know how to intervene if he seizes again. His arm will be fragile for months, even after the cast comes off. He’ll need intensive physiotherapy and psychological support. That placement is not safe.”

“Dr. Robinavitch,” Phoebe began coolly, brushing past the insult. “With all due respect, this is not your decision. You are not his attending physician, and frankly, I’m extending a courtesy by including you in this discussion at all.”

“Enough,” Kiara cut in sharply.

She stepped closer, her hand firm on Robby’s bicep. Down boy, Robby thought callously.

“That’s enough. Take a walk, Robby. We’ll discuss this later.”

The finality in her voice left no room for argument.

Robby opened his mouth anyway.

“Dr. Robby! Incoming trauma, need you over here please!” a voice called from across the ED.

His mouth snapped shut.

With a sharp exhale, he turned away. Biting down a childish comment like, you haven’t seen the last of me!

It was dumb, and he should be more mature but. Fuck.

Although, he was unable to stop the venomous glare he shot Phoebe’s direction before stalking back towards the trauma bay.

-

Jack didn’t think he’d gone overboard.

But when he presented the booklets, a folder and sheets to the kid that evening, an hour before his shift started, he began to doubt himself.

“So, this is information about the cage itself, and how the idea first came about, how it’s practically implemented.” He started, lifting the booklet he’d printed out at home to the top of the pile.

“I also printed out some of the slices from your CT scan and annotated it, so you can see what we were talking about earlier, hope it makes sense” he remarked, a tiny bit self-conscious.

The kid was just staring up at him, wide eyed. He flicked through the materials on the table, carefully assessing each one, before selecting a guide Jack had picked up from the medical library that afternoon.

Rehabilitation guide for Radius and Ulna

Jack smiled and took it from the kid’s hand, easing himself down into the chair beside the bed.

“Good pick,” he said, a little softer. “That one’s pretty no-nonsense.”

They sat for a while, Jack talking through the booklet, demonstrating the exercises himself. The kid was like a sponge, giving Jack rapt attention and nodding along, or offering a confusion expression, silently asking for a further explanation.

Once they’d finished the booklet, Jack felt a bit of courage spike in his voice.

“Didn’t have much medicine like this where you’re from I guess.” He said, trying to keep his voice as casual as possible. He was definitely poking the bear here.

For a moment, the kid considered the question, pensive. It made his face look momentarily older than his fifteen years. But he offered Jack a nod, confirming his theory.

“When I was in the army, on a couple tours we were based near local villages. The medicine was very rudimentary. People often died from very simple problems or were left disabled by things that in most first world countries, could have been fixed completely.” Jack paused, making sure the kid was following. Of course, he was.

“I used to try and teach some first aid classes, give them some knowledge they could pass onto each other. Some of those people didn’t want to hear, because they said their God provided healing, and man’s hands were supposed to pray, not provide medicine. Does that sound familiar?”

Now Jack really knew he was pushing his luck. But sue him, he thought he’d done enough to earn a little bit of trust. He was absolutely going out on a limb and making some big assumptions. However, it didn’t take an idiot to think that was probably the case. He’d heard Kiara saying about the fact it was a priest who handed him over to the police, the kid had turned up asking for forgiveness.

He was about to change the subject, probably tried to push the kid too far.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest”

The kid’s voice was quiet and scratchy, the words slightly muffled by the swelling in his tongue. But it was there.

Jack went very still.

Not because he was startled. He had half-hoped, half-expected something.

“That’s Matthew,” Jack said after a beat. “Eleven. Twenty-eight.”

The kid’s eyes flicked up, surprised.

Jack offered a small shrug. “My grandmother quoted it a lot. Different reasons, I think.”

He watched as the kid swallowed, wincing faintly, then looked back down at the booklet in his lap. His fingers tightened around the edge.

“They said…” His voice faltered, raspier this time. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I lived in sin, I had to repent. That's why I was sick.”

Jack nodded once. He couldn’t argue with the kid.

“Some people believe that” he said carefully. “And for some of them, it helps. Gives meaning where there isn’t much else.”

“And you?” the kid replied.

Jack leaned back in the chair, folding his hands loosely. “I think bodies fail us sometimes,” he said simply. “And they misfire… Don’t get me wrong, sometimes they do heal themselves. Especially when they’re young and springy like yours” he gave the kid a smile which was half returned.

“I don’t think that makes you weak. Or sinful. Or undeserving kid.”

“My name’s Dennis.” The kid, sorry, Dennis, replied.

“Okay then, Dennis” Jack held up his right hand, palm facing outward. He extended his index finger straight up, and curled his middle, ring and pinky fingers down to touch the tip of his thumb, forming a circle like shape.

D

Dennis blushed slightly and copied the gesture.

“Guessing that’s my initial,” he responded bashfully.

“Yep,” Jack responded with a bright smile, “now I can ask for you.”

-

By the time Robby saw Jack slip back down to the ED from his pre-shift visit with the kid, he nearly cried with relief. He’d been thoroughly dysregulated ever since the conversation with the social worker. Snapping at coworkers, unable to drag his thoughts away from the teenager upstairs.

“Brother, I am so fucking glad to see you,” he breathed, before he could stop himself, wrapping Jack in a tight hug.

“Hey, hey,” Jack murmured, pulling back just enough to cup Robby’s jaw in his hand. “You okay, Misha?”

The concern in his voice was palpable. Robby’s eyes burned.

“Come on,” Jack said quietly, sliding an arm to the small of Robby’s back. “Let’s go.”

They took the lift as high as it would go, then ascended the stairs, emerging onto the roof.

“You wanna tell me what happened?” Jack probed, leaning against the railing.

Robby pinched the bridge of his nose, the frustration and agitation from the afternoon bubbling up.

“Social worker came this afternoon. She-”

He bit down hard on the rest.

“Ah,” Jack said, already understanding, stepping closer until their sides pressed together.

“And I thought I was the protective one,” he added lightly, a smirk tugging at his mouth.

Robby bumped him with his hip. “Yeah, yeah. Guilty.”

“Guessing she wants to send him back to the group home?” Jack questioned, tone sobering at the thought.

Robby nodded.

“Fuck,” Jack muttered, rocking back and lacing his hands behind his head. Then, more firmly, “No. He can’t go back there, Mike. I knew they would pull some bullshit like this”

“I know,” Robby said, frustration bleeding through. “I tried. Kiara shut it down- said we’d revisit it tomorrow.”

He hesitated. “It… got heated.”

“Yeah, I fuckin’ bet it did. I would have had to have been dragged away.” Jack joked, trying to break the tension.

They were quiet for a moment.

“I can practically hear what you’re thinking Abbot.” Robby commented, looking at the steely gaze in Jack’s eyes.

“We have a spare room.” He replied quietly, taking Robby’s hand in his own.

“And we’re not foster certified. We’re horribly selfish doctors who work opposite shifts.” Robby countered.

“Which means there’s always someone who would be at home with him.” Jack shrugged.

Robby tried to rebuff the comment, but he knew Jack was right. They’d discussed children once or twice, but it was always quashed down by their love of the Pitt.

“Just think about it tonight, Mike, I won’t ask you for an answer just now. Just, think about it.” Jack offered.

Robby smiled, kissing Jack gently. “I’ll think about it.”

The two of them leaned over the railings again.

“His name is Dennis,” Jack said quietly, sinking into Robby’s side.

Robby looked down at Jack, incredulous. “He spoke to you?”

“He spoke to me,” Jack replied, faintly pink cheeked.

“Why have you always gotta be the favourite Abbot.” Robby joked, wrapping his arm around his husband’s shoulders. 

Not that he could blame the kid.

Jack was his favourite too.