Chapter Text
Dennis tried and failed to explain the emotional roller coaster of a high blood glucose to Trinity once.
“It’s like…it’s like when we get a patient who we think has a basic sprain or something. And the bruise is there, but we can’t see the full extent of the damage. But it keeps swelling and growing until we have to cut the limb off because it’s easier and safer than dealing with it. Like, I would rather cut my tongue off than keep going.”
He pauses, looking up at her incredulous face.
“That doesn’t make any sense, does it?”
“Let me just ask you this - when’s your next therapy session?”
After years of functioning on the bare minimum, switching over to monitoring his diabetes alongside his partners and friends, an actual support system, is incredible. It is.
It’s also sometimes the fucking worst.
Dennis gets bullied into the insulin pump. It’s one of the few things that his partners truly put their foot down on, making Dennis schedule an extra appointment at his endocrine specialist to go over options. He picks the one that he likes most after a trial period. It’s an admission that they have to coax and cuddle (and fuck) out of him. They order it before he’s even awake the next morning and any complaint he makes is silenced with a kiss or an affectionate ass slap.
And Dana’s the one that argues with insurance for him, so it’s really a done deal by the time that it arrives.
Dennis loves his insulin pump. He does. He loves that he has control over his glucose that he’s never had, that he has a machine not necessarily being his pancreas but being the closest thing he has to one.
He loves that instead of shots every day, it’s a site change every three. He would probably push for four if Jack and Robby didn’t start lecturing him about infections and scar tissue building up.
He loves the pump so fucking much.
But he hates that it gets caught on any surface poking out.
Door handles are his worst enemy, just like Liam had warned. But there’s also the corners of gurneys. The sharp edges of work stations. Patients who don’t know any better and who have a seizure or things that go and accidentally get wrapped up in the small plastic tubing and-
Dennis groans outwardly every single time he feels a pump site yank out of his skin. Something that startles everyone around him, brings the focus on him instead of anything else.
“Shit, sorry!” Victoria apologizes, horror evident in her face. Her hand had swung just a bit too close to him while playing a card game and had yanked the tubing right out of his skin. “Are you okay?!”
He takes a deep breath, attempting to laugh it off. “It’s fine. I was going to change it tonight anyway.”
But it puts an end to the night. He needs to shower, to clean his skin, prep the site, and inject it. And he needs to do it sooner rather than later before he starts running high. It kills one of the first nights they’d been able to see each other in a while, especially with Javadi trying to snag her sub internship.
Dennis still loves his pump.
He does.
He just wishes it didn’t alarm so fucking loudly.
It’s supposed to be their first night off together in a hot minute. Between Dennis’s intern year and everything else going on in their lives, they haven’t been able to have a night with all three of them in weeks.
Which means he’s barely seen them, barely had sex, and just wants one night of being the center of attention. Just one.
And he’s so close to making a mess on the sheets while Jack fucks into him that he doesn’t even notice the pump alarming at first.
“You okay?” Robby checks immediately. Dennis has to pull himself out of the haze that he’s in to even register what’s being asked.
“Yes,” he groans. “I’m fine.”
Jack hits that spot again, the one that makes his toes curl and head spin. He whines, fists wrapping around the sheets in desperation and elation. He needs this, he needs this orgasm to hit him like a fucking train. Robby kisses the spot under his ear that sends shivers down his spine, and he whines until Robby does it again and he’s right there, he’s so close-
Again. A shrill alarm, three times. Robby pulls away from his neck, already searching for the device. He glances over Dennis’s form quickly and he just shakes his head.
“No, it’s fine-” he insists. “Really, ‘m fine, just, fuck, please-”
“I can check it real quick, sunshine, hold on.”
“No,” he whines. The irritation wells up in his eyes, making his chin wobble. “Daddy, please, I need, fuck, come on-”
It’s almost enough to pull Robby back.
But it blares again. Three sharp shrills and Robby’s already sliding out of the bed, Jack pulling out and rolling Dennis over to expose the plastic site on his stomach.
“You’re getting high,” Robby says. “Come on, put it on. Quick dose.”
By the time he gets the insulin in, they’re already pushing for him to go check for ketones and drink water and the night’s over. Orgasm ruined in the worst way possible. He glares daggers at the small device resting against his waist.
Buzzkill. Momentum ruiner. Cock blocker.
It also starts to die at the worst possible times. Like in the middle of rounds, when Shen’s going over a patient who came in from alcohol poisoning and Dennis is slinking off when it blares twice and everyone turns to stare at him.
And yeah, okay, maybe he should charge it more frequently but sometimes the charger ends up in the living room or the bathroom or in the bedroom at the townhome and it gets lost. Sometimes he just forgets. Whatever. It’s not that important.
Jack yanks him to the side once rounds are over, eyeing the device on his hip. “Why are you already beeping?”
“Low battery. That’s all.”
He tries to slide out of Jack’s grasp but he’s held hostage. “How low?”
“Um-” Dennis reaches down to tap at the power button. “Ten percent?”
“Nope.” He nods at the desk where everyone is dispersing patients. “Go sit at the hub until it’s at full charge.”
“But-”
“No,” Jack says sternly. “You go and you let it charge. It’ll take half an hour at most.”
“I don’t even have a charger!”
“Dennis. We are standing in a hospital. You know I have a back up one in my locker. Robby too. Besides, do you really think that Dana or Santos don’t have one on hand?”
He still has the nerve to kick his foot against the floor. “It’d be pretty fucking convenient if they did.”
Jack’s mouth twitches in amusement. “Go. Before it dies when you don’t have a second to breathe.”
He does even though he ends up sulking at the desk for the entire forty two minutes, (he counts every single one), that it takes. Since Robby is there to yank him back down every time he tries to leave before it’s at a full charge. Well, Robby and Trinity and Dana and even Mel at one point. All pointedly staring at the charger, connecting him to an outlet, like a fucking leash.
And it’s a great pump. Technology is amazing. Modern medicine is great. Whatever.
But it doesn’t replace a human brain, or years of experience. It thinks he’s getting high when he knows it’s just a little rush of adrenaline. Then he’s crashing and having to cancel insulin injections frantically. He knows his body better than the device but the device isn’t supposed to be a mind reader anyway.
It starts like a simple bruise. Then it grows and swells and suddenly he can’t breathe without feeling the pain of being alive.
So, of course, he’s sent to the brink of it all before he has a chance to ask for help.
Dennis has barely slept when his alarm goes off. He had drank some sugary concoction at the bar that his pump didn’t like, and had spent the night going up and down until his glucose finally stabilized around two in the morning. While his friends had kept drinking and eventually gone to bed.
So, in short, he feels like shit even though his glucose is in range. He would rather curl up in a ball in bed and sleep for another twenty hours than go into work.
Dennis would also rather go to work and pretend everything’s fine over giving his boyfriends any sort of hint that something might be wrong.
He sets his pump to the side as he does just to avoid any issues. Pulls himself out of bed, and stumbles through getting ready. He gets dressed, murmurs a sleepy good morning to Trinity as he grabs something to eat.
And fuck him, of course it’s the day that he’s supposed to change his continuous glucose monitor too. He grabs his pump to start the disconnection process, digs through his desk for a new CGM. He even wipes down the spot on his arm with an alcohol swab, and gets ready to inject it.
But he hesitates, the device hanging limply in his hands.
It feels like an extra limb that he doesn’t want to carry around today. Like a bruise that’s past healing, a swelling rage that can’t be tampered down anymore. Every decision he has to make is linked back to the small device in his hands. All the good and even more of the bad.
Dennis has seen the wording, he’s seen the language. He knows what diabetic burnout is. He knows how dangerous it can be.
Skipping meals or skipping insulin dosages. Frustration that builds with no end in sight. Avoiding medical appointments or decisions. Isolation and no motivation to make things better.
Ideally, he’d call out sick. Maybe call Robby or Jack and fumble through his words, sticky in his throat, trying to explain how he can’t. Not today. Maybe never again. He should yell for Trinity to ask her to hook his tubing in herself to make sure it gets done, to make sure he’s actually going to live for another hour.
Instead, he tucks his insulin pump in the sock drawer of his dresser and leaves it in the apartment. He doesn’t start a new glucose monitor either, abandoning it on his desk.
One shift. One shift to not exist as a diabetic, to not think three times before putting something in his system, to not have something making noises at him. He just needs one fucking shift to be normal.
And he can start by ignoring how much his head is already aching and how there’s a rage unsettled at his fingertips.
Dennis chooses to keep quiet on the car ride in. Let’s Trinity take the wheel on conversations and complaints. He keeps his greetings to Victoria and the others short. Brief. And he hangs back on hand off, offering to go on triage when Dana makes a comment about how busy the waiting room already is.
It means he avoids his partners at all cost because they will take one look at him and know he’s hiding something.
It’s sometime in the midmorning, time gone from his awareness because he doesn’t have to look at his phone. There’s no reason to check for a glucose reading, so why glance at all?
Robby pulls him back when he’s about to head back to triage after dropping off a patient. It’s the first he’s seen of his boyfriend all morning, but part of him is annoyed because Dennis is busy. He’s finally got time to focus on his patients and not have his diabetes nagging in the back of his head.
“I’m not getting any readings from your CGM,” Robby says with a frown. “You got your phone on you?”
“Yeah. It’s probably just a bad connection. I feel fine.”
He does not. He feels like literal shit. His head hurts and he could probably drink a gallon of water if given the chance.
“Just keep an eye on it. Let me know if you need to change it out.”
“I will. I got it.” He can hear the tightness in his voice.
It’s a lie. He’s actually able to focus on the medicine without the little device attached to his hip. Making decisions regarding medical trearment that isn’t his own is so much easier.
“Hey.”
Dennis turns back to be met with a sweet kiss. He melts a little, something sweet hitting his system. Robby’s face is soft, earnest.
“We missed you last night. Still coming over tonight?”
“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”
“Good. Let me know if you need something.”
He gets a kiss on his temple that is gentle and cozy and almost lets the admission of guilt slide out.
Almost.
Patients get worked through at an impressive speed. Dennis hops onto an incoming trauma, some high school sport injury, and helps out with a combative patient after. He moves easily, dealing with the blood and the gore without feeling something buzzing against his skin.
The rage is fuel, he tells himself. It makes him better, faster, and less of a hassle. He doesn’t have to pause to check his blood sugar or to eat and it’s the fucking best.
So what if his head hurts? If his mouth is dry and sour? If he feels so flushed and restless? If he’s rolling his eyes at the med students and snapping replies out?
People start avoiding him. Take a look at his clearly foul demeanor and change their path. He doesn’t need to be nice to do his job, and he doesn’t care that people seem to notice his foul attitude. Fine by him.
“Are you okay?” Trinity corners him at one point. He’d just about lost it on an insurance provider on the phone who was arguing against a claim. Not the first time he’d done it, and it sure as fuck wouldn’t be the last.
“What?” He asks, not even moving his eyes off of the computer screen. His vision is getting a little bit narrowed and it’s not helping the aches of his body.
“Are you okay? You’ve been avoiding me all day.”
“I’m fine.”
She arches her brow. “Really? Because I’ve seen how you’ve talked to those med students and you weren’t your usual Huckleberry self.”
“They were annoying,” he snaps in response. “I just needed a breather.”
“Clearly.” She tugs at her stethoscope, watching him type. “At the expense of you losing your shit, what’s your glucose at?”
“It’s fine.”
“Yeah? You sure about that?”
“Trinity?”
“Yes?”
“Fuck off.”
She blinks once, then scowls at him, easily matching his temperament. “Fine. Jesus, you don’t have to be such an asshole when I’m just trying to be nice.”
“I’ve been doing the diabetic thing for several years. I don’t need you on my ass about it.”
Trinity rolls her eyes and stands from her spot beside him. “My bad. God forbid I give a shit.”
Dennis rolls his head in irritation when she goes. It’s finally silent and that’s what matters. It’s not the first time he’s lost his temper with Trinity when dealing with a high blood sugar. It won’t be the last. He’ll just apologize later.
But later is an arbitrary word here.
Because later, he’s trying to work on getting pain meds to a psoriasis patient.
“We should do an IV. Get a liter of fluids going.”
“We could probably just do an intramuscular shot and wait for him to regain consciousness,” Victoria argues, looking over the patient. Dennis is already shaking his head, typing into the computer for a round of labs.
“I’d rather do the IV and monitor him closely. An IM is just going to prolong the inevitable.”
“But-”
Normally, he has a lot more patience. Normally he can behave and let Victoria talk through her thought process. He likes hearing her talk, he likes her ideas. He likes Victoria most days.
Not today.
“Jesus, Tori, please just go get the fucking needle,” he finally snaps.
Of all the people to get upset with, Victoria is the last one he wants to lose his shit on. That’s his little sister, that’s the person he feels insanely protective over, and watching the way that she shrinks in on herself makes him want to cut his own tongue out.
“Sorry,” she barely manages to whisper before she goes. He drops his head into his head with a slight groan.
Their psoriasis patient ends up needing an extra round of antibiotics and a bed upstairs for internal med. Something that is easier to transfer when the patient’s already received pain meds and fluids.
It’s a win, but it doesn’t feel like it. Because Victoria slides out of the room without looking at him and he has the urge to follow after her. The urge, but not the energy.
Fucking blood sugars. Fucking insulin and pumps and decisions and headaches and this fucking shift.
Robby slides into the empty room once the patient is wheeled away, eyeing him cautiously. “Hey.”
Dennis tenses slightly. “Hi.”
“What’s going on? Santos said you were…” Robby searches for the right word. “Irritable today.”
“What did she actually say?”
“That you were being a raging asshole.”
He rolls his eyes. “It’s a high blood sugar. I’m just a little tired.”
“Is that why Javadi almost ran out of here a few minutes ago?” Robby tilts his head but Dennis refuses to look at him. “What’s your glucose at?”
Dennis waves his hand around like it’s not that big of a deal even as every instinct in him starts screaming. “Just high. I haven’t looked at my phone in a minute. I should probably go do that now.”
He tries to squeeze by his boyfriend, to make a show of being fine. But Robby’s already sliding his hand around his waist to pull him back. His hand rests too close to his hip where his pump normally rests. It makes his pulse quicken. “You’ve been running a little high all day. You think your site is fucked up?”
“Maybe. I can check in a minute-”
“Just check now. I’ve got an extra site in my bag if you need it.”
“No, it’s really fine,” he tries, but it’s too late. Robby tugs the bottom of his scrub top up and stares at the empty spot where the little device should be.
“Where’s your pump?”
Dennis purses his lips and stares at the floor. Feels his stomach sink. Counts the seconds of silence.
“Dennis.” Robby’s voice is sharp and he winces. Fuck, he hates that tone. “Where is your pump? Is it in your locker?”
“No,” he mumbles.
“Is it in the breakroom?”
“No.”
“Then where is it?”
“At home.”
“Home?”
“In my sock drawer. Under a bunch of fabric. And probably dead at this point.”
Robby stares at him and Dennis counts the number of hours he’s going to be crying over his or Jack’s knee later.
“Have you been without it all morning?”
“Yuppers.”
“Is there a reason why it’s there? And not connected to your body?”
“Not one that you’re going to like.”
Years. He’s going to be over one of their knees for years.
“Do you at least have a CGM on?”
His silence is answer enough.
“Right.” Robby puts his hand around Dennis’s wrist tightly. Like he knows Dennis will use any chance to escape. “Let’s go.”
He tries to ignore the confused glances of Mel and Samira, and the downright smirk from Trinity, (fucking snitch, he’s going to scream at her later), as Robby half drags him across the ED.
Most of the ED, meaning everyone after Dana had yelled at him for abandoning his pump charging at his desk when he had a patient coding, was aware of his disease at this point. They were all used to the antics of Robby yanking him around for blood glucose notifications, or the one make out session he never should have told Trinity about.
Either way, no one bats an eye and the breakroom is mercifully empty.
“Sit,” Robby snaps, pointing at one of the chairs. He’s already pulling his phone out of his pocket as Dennis sinks down into it. His eyes flicker over the screen and groans when he sees Robby pull up Jack’s contact.
“No, don’t call Jack,” he begs. “Please don’t call Jack.”
“Do you have your glucose monitor with you?”
“Well, no-”
“And you haven’t had any insulin all day. So you’re too high to leave. Not when you don’t even know what your glucose is at. And I can’t go grab your pump myself.”
“I can drive.”
“You can. And I’ll give you my keys. After you have an IV line with an insulin drip for the next three hours.” Robby tilts his head in challenge. “You want that or you want me to call Jack?”
Dennis does actually stomp his foot at that. “He’s going to be sleeping!”
“He’s going to be pissed, you mean.”
Yeah, that too.
“Robby, please.”
“Dennis. Either I call him or you can get hooked up to an IV and I’ll make you sit at the hub so I can keep an eye on you and Dana can watch you too.”
A pissed off Jack Abbot or public humiliation. Incredible options.
“Fine,” he snaps in response. His head hurts too much to argue and if he keeps talking he’s going to start vomiting. “Fucking fine. Whatever.”
Robby doesn't even look smug as he presses the call button and puts the phone up to his ear.
It doesn’t take long for Jack to pick up, a mumbled incoherent answer.
“Jack? Hey. I need you to make a run to Denny’s apartment.”
A pause. “His pump. In the sock drawer, he said. You’ll probably need to make sure it’s charged.”
Robby is unfazed, leaning against the wall and staring at Dennis as if he expects him to get up and run out the door.
Which is completely fair to assume because his legs are bouncing up and down in anxiety.
“He-” Robby sighs. “He left it there.” Another pause. “Yes, on purpose.”
There’s a few seconds of silence before he can hear Jack yelling.
Dennis shrinks back from the volume. He’s a dead man walking. He might as well say his farewells sooner rather than later. Apologize to Trinity and offer Victoria the right to kill him first after he yelled at her.
“I’ve got an eye on him. No, he’s not working. He’ll be in the breakroom.”
“I can still-”
The glare Robby sends his way makes the protests die in his throat.
“He will be sitting in the breakroom,” Robby repeats anyway. “And you can take him home.”
Dennis huffs a sigh as Robby ends the call. He glances out at the busy ED and rolls his shoulders. “I have to go back out there. You stay put until Jack gets here, understand?”
He gives a curt nod. Robby lets it slide with a warning look as he leaves him alone.
It’s a bit too much like time out for him. He could easily keep working until Jack got here. Connect his pump again and call it a day. Robby could’ve just let him work with him. Or let him go back to the chairs.
He’s going through all of the other options as his head moves from being upright to resting on his arms. His whole body aches and he’s just about to finally fall asleep when someone is shaking him gently.
“Denny, baby. Wake up, sweetheart.”
He blinks hazily at the blurry form. Tensed face, crouching over Dennis's form, hand on his arm. A very, very upset Jack Abbot.
Fuck.
“What?” Dennis whines anyway.
Jack narrows his eyes. “I’ve got your pump. You know, the thing that keeps you alive?”
He reaches for the device but Jack just slaps his hands away. “You have a site in?”
Dennis nods, wordlessly pulling up his shirt to reveal the disconnected plastic.
Jack connects the tubing back in, and sets the pump on his lap. He motions for Dennis’s fingers and Dennis glares.
“Dennis. Hand. Now.”
He only gives it up because Jack uses that tone that means he’s already in trouble.
Which is completely valid. But he’d still rather not continue to add to the list of things he’s in trouble for.
The only noise in the room is the hum of the fridge as Jack checks Dennis’s glucose and types the reading into the pump. The pressure of the insulin is welcoming and Dennis swears he can feel the way his body soaks up the hormone.
“Drink this,” Jack instructs, placing a water bottle in front of him. “You’re going to need to check for ketones when we get home.”
“I don’t want to go home. I want to go back to work.”
“I found you asleep in here, glucose well beyond the high range, and you think you’re going back to work?”
“I wasn’t even asleep.”
“You’re going home,” Jack says firmly. “This really isn't up for debate.”
The door opens before Dennis can get a reply out that would probably end up with him getting a two hour lecture in the breakroom. Robby glances between the two of them and wisely shuts the door behind him.
“What was he at?”
“464.”
Robby sighs. “Fuck. You feel okay sunshine?”
Dennis shrugs in response, not looking up.
He feels awful. Like he could throw up if he moved too quickly, like he was dying of dehydration. His skin and muscles feel tight and all he really wants to do is go scream into a pillow. Or vomit. Either one.
“I’m going to take him home. Get him tested for ketones and keep an eye on him.”
“Yeah, okay. If it gets worse-”
“It won’t,” Jack soothes his husband. “I’ve got it. You focus here and come home when it’s time.”
“Yeah. Okay.” He sounds so tired and it goes straight to Dennis’s head. He didn’t mean to be another patient today, another thing added to the list of demands. That wasn’t his intention and now he’s fucked up.
Robby presses a kiss on his forehead that Dennis does not think he’s earned.
“Hey.” There’s a firm grasp on his chin forcing him to look up. “I am not mad at you. No one is mad at you. You’re in trouble, yes, but you’re safe. We love you. Understand?”
He nods, blinking back tears.
“Words, Denny,” Jack says quietly.
“I understand. I love you too.”
The ride home is silent. Jack hands him a water bottle he’d brought along and Dennis has to force himself not to drain it. His head still aches, but his throat isn’t on fire which helps. Kinda.
Jack leads him into the bedroom first. Peels off his scrubs like he doesn’t trust Dennis to do it himself.
Dennis knows what the silent motions and tight mouth mean. It means Dennis is done making decisions for himself today, that he’s lost the responsibility for now.
And even though the high blood sugar makes him want to fight, there’s also a wave of relief that just floods his body. He doesn’t want to make any choices, he doesn’t want to think for a few hours. So if that means that Jack and Robby are in charge for the rest of the day, great. Less shit for him to deal with.
“Shower. Go test for ketones. I’m going to prepare a shot for the extra insulin you might need and get a new CGM. You feel like eating?”
“No,” he mumbles quietly.
“Okay. We can try again later, yeah?”
“I don’t want to,” he whines. He can see the irritation that Jack is fighting down and it sends a little flicker of guilt down his spine.
“We can try again later,” Jack repeats firmly. “Go test.”
The ketone testing strip is a lovely pinkish-purple, at a moderate level, and Dennis’s head is already running the numbers in his head before he gets into the shower. He knows it’s a smart tactic, using a hot shower to speed up the insulin absorption. It doesn't mean he appreciates it.
Jack’s there when he slides out of the bathroom, and puts his insulin pump back on him within seconds. He slides his pump onto the waistband of a pair of shorts, and tugs one of the shirts Robby hasn’t had ownership of in months.
“Ketones?”
“Moderate,” Dennis sighs. “I can just do a pump bolus.”
“I brought a shot in here.” He holds up the new CGM that he also brought from the designated Dennis cabinet in the kitchen. “You want to put it on or me?”
Dennis can’t stop himself from glaring at the plastic device. He would prefer to launch it out of the window and never think about it again but he has a feeling that isn’t an option. Jack nods as if that’s answer enough.
“Okay,” Jack says easily. “I got it, baby.”
It doesn’t even sting when Jack pushes the button to slide the cannula in. The shot he gets doesn’t hurt either. Jack gets the CGM connected to his phone and to his pump and doesn’t look frustrated once.
It’s so fucking unfair.
He makes Dennis chug another half of a water bottle, before finally sliding away from him, sitting down on the bed. Dennis is half convinced he’s about to be left alone as Jack pops off his prosthetic.
Until Jack curls a hand around his wrist and yanks him down against his body. Dennis stiffens, muscles going rigid as Jack ignores his obvious irritation and adjusts them both until Dennis is laying on top of Jack’s chest, head tucked away under his chin. Then he picks up the book he’s been working through for the last few weeks and uses Dennis’s back as a tool to prop his arms up.
It’s dead silent in the townhome as they lay together. Abnormally so. Dennis wiggles a little in Jack’s hold, who just pats at his back like he’s a fussy toddler. It makes him want to bite a chunk of his arm out in retaliation, which would not help his case.
The only sound for several minutes is Jack occasionally flipping the pages of his book. Dennis half wants an argument, maybe a lecture, anything over this…this detachment.
Okay, not detached considering that he’s literally being cuddled against Jack who keeps running his hand up and down his back like it’ll settle him. But anything would be better than the pure toleration he’s getting.
“Um. Jack?”
“Yes?”
“What am I supposed to be doing right now?”
“Going to sleep.”
“But I’m fi-”
“You are not. You are cranky, you are irritable, and you spent all day avoiding taking care of yourself. You need rest.”
His foot twitches bitterly. It’s not a kick, he swears, it’s a reflex. “I don’t want to.”
“Then just lay here. If we need to, we’ll go on a walk in a little bit to work that blood sugar down, okay?”
“Fine.” He buries his head in Jack’s chest and pretends that everything is fine. His head does not hurt, he is not offended that no one will talk to him, there’s no twinge behind his eyes, he’s not sick to his stomach, he’s fine-
The hand moves from his back to the back of his head and scratches at his scalp gently.
“No one is mad, sweetheart,” Jack says softly, like he can hear the spiral. “You just need to sleep, okay? I know you don’t feel good. Will you just get some rest for me? Please?”
“Okay,” he mumbles into the fabric.
Jack sighs like he knows it’s not quite a win, but he keeps scratching Dennis gently, easily, and he can’t fight the weariness in his bones for much longer.
It isn’t the best sleep of his life but it’s pretty damn close. He doesn’t even move once. He doesn’t dream.
It’s dark when Dennis opens his eyes again. Jack’s still holding him, hands still roaming up and down his back. But he’s speaking quietly, a soft vibration that had pulled Dennis out of his slumber.
He shifts slightly and the conversation above him stills. Jack rubs at his back with his nails, making Dennis shiver just a little. “Hey, angel.”
All he can do is yawn in response. There’s still a weariness in his bones, but it’s more manageable. Easier. Quieter.
Everything is so much quieter.
“Feeling better?” Jack guesses.
“Mhm.”
“Wanna use words?”
“No,” he says, but his voice is muffled.
“Still counts. I need you to get up and check for ketones again, okay?”
There is an incessant pressure on his bladder, which he knows is just the fading high glucose but Jack is comfy. Warm. Safe.
“Come on.” Jack moves slightly to push Dennis off of his chest. He huffs and rolls off of him fully just to hit another solid body on the bed.
Robby’s watching him warily. Scanning him and triple checking that his pump is attached to his pants. Dennis nudges him slightly to get his attention again. “Hi.”
“Hi, baby. There’s food in the kitchen once you check, okay?”
His face scrunches up at the idea of food. “Do I have to?”
“Yes,” both of his partners say and he groans slightly.
“It’s that one Thai place you like, so relax,” Jack teases him. “And you haven’t eaten all day. You’re not getting out of this one.”
“Go,” Robby tells him, leaning down to kiss his nose and grinning at his pout. “Come on, Den. Sooner you’re up, sooner it’s over.”
“That’s what they all say,” he sighs. But he does force himself up and out of the bed, grabbing the refilled water bottle and draining it as he goes.
The ketones have dipped slightly, but still too high. Which means he’s probably about to be pushing fluids like crazy and getting extra insulin again.
The bedroom is empty when he exits the bathroom, but he can hear the voices in the living room. He chooses to wait, grabbing his phone and signing at the amount of missed texts.
Trinity: please let me know when you feel better
Trinity: even though I’m stalking your sugars
Trinity: just tell me anyway asshat
Tori: Dr. Robby said your glucose was bothering you, you should’ve told me!
Tori: sorry for pissing you off
Sarah: If you don’t stop being an asshole, I’m going to come and kick your ass myself
Sarah: You’re lucky I’m not within a mile radius of that hospital, you uspet Tori of all people??
Sarah: Liam’s got a youth hockey game this weekend and your presence has been requested. I’ll beat your ass there. Love you.
Dennis types out the longest reply to Victoria, apologizing and promising to make it up to her. The memory of his bitterness makes him wince. Even though they’re all showing him grace he doesn’t deserve, he still feels like a dick.
Once the first round of apologies are sent out, he tucks his phone into his pockets and pads out of the bedroom, down the hall. He can hear Jack and Robby in the middle of some half hearted argument, something about the new med students and fellowship spots. It’s light and easy and he doesn’t want to disturb the peace that’s settled over the home.
So he finds himself hesitating at the edge of the room.
They’ve had fights. They’ve had some spats and have argued and he’s done some stupid-ish things. But he’s never flat out refused to take care of himself before.
Well…okay, not in this capacity. Not to this degree of stupidity. He’s never left behind any means of taking care of himself in a very long time, and even then, it was never this bad.
It’s a new territory. It’s new and scary and he really, really, really does not like that.
Robby spots him first and the way that Dennis has practically folded inwards on himself. He debates just going back to bed before Robby pats his lap and opens his arms up.
“C’mere, sunshine.”
Dennis basically sprints across the floor to get to his boyfriend. Wraps his legs around his waist the second he can, doing everything he can to get closer to his frame. He rests his head carefully against his shoulder and closes his eyes, inhaling the scent of hospital and cologne.
Jack’s hand slides over his thighs, joining the two of them on the couch. It makes his entire body relax, something finally settling in him. This is all that he’s really wanted. A chance to be in between them and exist quietly.
“Ketones?” Robby asks.
“Mhm.”
Jack is the one that pulls the pump off and makes the adjustment bolus for him. “You look at your sugar?”
He thinks back to the quick glance he’d given the app. “A little under 300?”
“278. Should be back to normal by bed. Thankfully.”
"If it's not?"
"We'll deal with it," Robby reassures him softly. "How do you feel?"
"Fine. Tired. Achy."
The typical aftermaths of a high glucose. Like he ran a marathon with no training or breaks and while in the heat of the summer. Gross and off, even after sleeping away the afternoon.
"You want anything?"
Dennis shakes his head, sighing in content as Jack slides his hands beneath his shirt, tracing small circles just like he was in bed. Robby holding him against his chest.
Treating him as if he didn't cause them trouble all day. Like he wasn't a nuisance, a downright asshole, glucose levels aside. Guilt rears in his chest, sour and cold.
“Sorry,” he mumbles into the curve of Robby’s neck.
“For?” Jack prompts and Dennis can hear the swat Robby sends his way.
“I was bitchy and mean and I’m sorry.”
“Denny, baby, it’s okay,” Robby says, squeezing him a little tighter. “It was the glucose and we know that. We forgive you for it, you know that.”
“Are you mad at me?”
“No.”
Dennis debates cheering.
“But-”
Nevermind.
“That was stupid,” Robby says quietly. “Stupid, and reckless, and could have ended a hell of a lot worse.”
Dennis buries his head into the crook of Robby’s neck instead of responding.
“What if I hadn’t been able to pull you away? What if Jack had been busy? Or you decided to go deal with a patient and ended up having a seizure? Or you started getting sick and no one could find you?”
The endless possibilities make his stomach churn. “I don’t know.”
“You scared the shit out of us sweetheart,” Jack says softly. “You haven’t been that high in a minute. And you haven’t had ketones in months.”
“I didn’t mean to,” he insists. “I just-I couldn’t do it anymore.”
“Couldn’t do what?” Robby asks, leaning back to force Dennis to look at them both. He makes a face but Robby’s insistent. “No, come on. Couldn’t deal with the device?”
He shrugs, choosing to focus on the zipper of Robby’s jacket over anything else. The intensity of their stares is freaking him out.
“Denny, baby. Come on,” Jack says, squeezing at his arm. “We can’t help if you don’t talk to us.”
“Kinda? All of it, really. It was just one thing after another. The tubing, the overcorrections, the beeping, the charging. I couldn’t work, I couldn’t hang out with the girls, we couldn’t have sex, I mean we literally couldn’t even fucking fuck without the damn thing going off-”
“Okay, deep breath. Slow it down. Take a pause for us, baby,” Robby soothes. And he does, inhaling deeply and letting the oxygen make him feel dizzy. “We’re not going anywhere.”
He takes a few minutes to organize his thoughts. They don't push or leave or tease. Their hands never falter.
“It was just too much," he finally speaks. "It was driving me crazy. Everything was too loud. I just-I wanted, needed, one day where it wasn’t attached to me. Where I couldn’t hear it or see it. A chance to not have to think about the thing physically attached to me.”
“That’s fine,” Jack says, nodding. “That makes sense.”
Dennis laughs weakly. “Does it? That I need a break from the device that’s keeping me alive?”
“You are keeping yourself alive,” Robby corrects him. “You are the one that is always thinking about it, making decisions for it, and feeling it. Not us, not the pump. It’s just you all the time. So yeah, sunshine, it makes sense.”
“But I can’t just take it off.” He doesn’t even know why he’s arguing. Not when they're being so understanding. “It’s helpful, especially at work. I have to keep it on.”
“You don’t. You can take it off for an afternoon or a day. But then you have to do shots instead.”
It’s not the response he was expecting and the look he gives Jack must convey his surprise.
Jack shrugs. “You can take a break from it. That’s fine. That’s allowed. But you have to have other ways to get your insulin. You’re allowed to take a break but you are not allowed to put yourself in danger like that, sweetheart.”
That’s…actually entirely reasonable. Logical.
Go fucking figure.
“You can even put your phone on muted notifications for your monitor and we can keep an eye on it for you,” Robby agrees. “We can work something out. Find some sort of solution."
"What if we can't find one?"
"We will," Robby says firmly. "But you can’t just-Dennis, promise us you won’t do something like this again.”
The physical toll on his body isn't exactly something he plans to repeat. “I won’t.”
“I’m serious,” Robby says, voice a little lower, serious. “This can’t happen again.”
“I know. It won’t, I swear. I’m sorry.”
Something in his voice or eyes must settle the man because Robby nods, tightening his grip around Dennis’s waist. “Talk to us when it gets overwhelming. So we can try to help.”
"Even if it's every day?"
"Especially then," Jack confirms. "You know you can vent to us. Part of communication is telling us when it's too much. We just need you to trust us and tell us."
He's still getting used to that. The trust and the talking. He keeps waiting for the day when it's too much, when they say no more.
"Even if it's every day," Robby repeats, tugging at his chin until they make eye contact. "Just talk to us. Okay?
“Okay,” Dennis sighs. "Fine. I'll try."
“Speaking of talking, you have an emergency session with your therapist tomorrow.”
“What?!” He starts to push himself off of Robby’s lap but he’s held firm. “No!”
“Yes,” Jack says sternly. “You need to talk to someone. If things get overwhelming to the point that you put yourself in danger, you have to talk to someone.”
He points between the three of them. “Doesn’t this count? We’re talking now.”
“Not even close,” Robby grins.
There are more arguments in his head, but they die out when Robby starts kissing him. They don’t seem as important when he realizes that he’s finally with his boyfriends for the first time in a while.
Even though Robby pulls away right as he’s starting to feel his cock harden and smiles at the pout he gets in return. “You want to try eating something?”
“No. I was actually enjoying myself.” He crawls out of Robby’s hold, straddling Jack’s waist and leans down to kiss him instead.
“Brat,” Jack says, an amused look on his face. “Denny. Slow down. You have to eat first.”
“Why?”
“I think we owe you a few rounds since the pump’s been getting in the way. You eat and then we’ll fuck you," Robby says firmly.
“Promise?”
“I promise we’ll fuck you until you’re crying,” Jack says, and Dennis blushes, swatting at him lightly for the candor.
They hold true to the promise and it fixes some part of him. Snaps that loose piece back into place. Because it doesn’t matter that he was argumentative and a pain and another thing to look after.
Even when he’s tired, even when he’s angry, they don’t withhold their love for him. They still take care of him.
He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get used to that.
Later, when Dennis is spent and nestled between the two of them, it’s a swelling of a different emotion in his chest as he whispers that he loves them.
One that feels so much better than rage once they whisper the affirmation back.