Chapter Text
Dennis Whitaker has always been compelled to make himself useful; it was this very conviction that led him to leave his church, believing he could achieve more through action than through prayer alone.
His shift at the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center had started several hours ago and already his senses were in overdrive. He was constantly being alerted from every direction: injured people whose conditions could worsen, others who had not even arrived yet, and those who would die if he didn’t grab the right instrument in time to save them. A tough day for someone with heightened senses. Finally finding a moment to change his scrubs once again, he couldn’t help but notice his reflection in the mirror. He was covered in red and not the one he was used to wearing.
Not the red of his famous red-and-blue suit.
It had all started two years ago. His Uncle Ben had died, and his quiet life as a farmer had turned into something even the worst Hollywood movie couldn’t have imagined. While working tirelessly in one of his fields, he had felt a sting on his exposed skin, heated by the sun and his labor, and he had passed out. When he woke up, his senses—and his entire body—seemed altered. But he hadn’t had time to understand or control these abilities before tragedy struck, and he chose to flee Nebraska. Alone, with a backpack as the last witness of his old life, and only one dream in mind: to save as many lives as possible to try to make up for his uncle’s.
“Whitaker, Trauma 2, now!”
He felt the hand on the back of his neck even before his attending placed it there. His hairs stood on end as he felt his breath in his hair while guiding him toward their new patient.
Dennis didn’t know Dr. Michael Robinavitch very well yet, but he had realized one thing in the few hours they had spent together in the ER: Robby had to touch him anytime he was within reach. Maybe it was a way to ground him, to make him feel more present and needed here—but for the easily overwhelmed Dennis, this constant contact rang a bell in his head every time his attending was near.
And he was always near.
The bells were deafening him now.
The patient was in critical condition, and many hands moved over him in a calculated ballet. Robby led it, his voice shouting orders and directing his doctors and students like an orchestra conductor. McKay and Mel followed each of his instructions without hesitation, their faces impassive as the patient bled out on the table. Dennis’s senses were pushed to their limit, he knew the man was going to die, knew he had to save him, and yet as a doctor he was far more powerless than he had imagined.
Robby raised three fingers in the air, and the team gathered around the stretcher.
“We lift on three… one… two…”
As they set him down on the operating table, Dennis didn’t have time to remove his fingers from under the patient, and they were inevitably crushed by the impact. A groan escaped him that he couldn’t hide, and Robby’s orders immediately stopped.
He stepped closer and, in an impulsive motion, grabbed Dennis’s wrist to check his fingers. They were red, and a thin cut appeared on his pale skin, but nothing serious. Robby sighed as he released him, though Dennis would have sworn he did it more slowly than necessary.
“Go clean that wound, Whitaker, and come back immediately.”
Dennis nodded, and as he turned his back to leave, he felt his attending lightly tap his back, almost pushing him toward the exit.
That definitely wasn’t intentional… right?
Dennis went to find disinfectant and a bandage. This injury was nothing more than a grain of sand in the ocean of those he got daily. Truthfully, he had been more surprised than in pain, and he knew his enhanced abilities would allow him to heal quickly.
“Whitaker, what’s going on with you?” Dana approached him, hands on her hips, her glasses slipping down her sharp nose.
Her steady gaze scanned Dennis, who began to wonder if she too had a sixth sense.
“Oh, it’s nothing. I cut my finger and I just feel… stupid.”
Because I am literally superhuman. I can swing between buildings hundreds of meters high and stop a car with my bare hands, but I can’t even anticipate a body crushing my finger.
Dana gave a sympathetic smile. She suddenly reminded him of Aunt May and his heart throbbed in his chest.
“It’s your first day, Whitaker. Don’t put so much pressure on yourself, you’re doing well.”
Dennis smiled back, but didn’t have time to answer before someone called him from the other side of the ER. He turned toward Robby, who was waiting for him near one of the trauma rooms.
“Thank you, Dana, see you later!”
Dennis walked quickly toward the head of the ER. He wasn’t running… but almost. Behind him, the head nurse was still watching him as he walked away.
“Princess?”
“Yeah, chief?”
“Don’t you find this kid strange?”
“Strange?” repeated Perlah, who had clearly heard too. “I think he’s cute, like a little puppy.”
“He takes his job a bit too seriously.” Dana spoke her mind carelessly.
“He just doesn’t want to disappoint Dr. Robby. He can be a bit intimidating.” Princess supposed.
“Well, it seems to me that Robby’s the one obsessed. He barely talked to the other students and hasn’t called for Langdon since the start of the shift,” Perlah pointed out.
Dana scoffed, massaging her temples.
“Yeah, the boy is definitely Dr. Robby’s pup,” The other nurse added while tapping on her chart.
Dana gave her a sharp look. She had started the conversation, but didn’t want to hear their nonsense gossip.
“What? Look at him!" She defended herself. " Constantly touching the boy, wanting him by his side in every case. Everyone can see the favoritism.”
“Alright, that’s enough!” Dana raised her voice to stop them. “Maybe he just likes the student! At least it proves he’s not completely cold-hearted. Now back to work.”
Even after dismissing them, Dana couldn’t stop thinking about the new student. There was something peculiar about him. She hadn’t seen that much devotion to a job in a long time. Maybe his empathy could rub off on Robby.
Maybe his presence would do him good.
The following hours were painfully long, and Dennis lost track of time. He had taken care of so many patients in such a short period that it felt like he had arrived at the Pitt days ago. The same strange effect applied to his relationships with his colleagues—they had handled so many crises together that they had become familiar in no time. Still, he wasn’t sure everyone liked him. Trinity Santos had already given him a delightful nickname: “huckleberry.” But he told himself he would get used to it. It was nothing compared to what people said about Spider-Man online. Some of those things didn’t affect him anymore.
Just when he thought he had adapted to the chaos, something suddenly snapped.
While changing for the third time that day, he froze. His heart rate skyrocketed, and something tightened in his chest. His Spider-Sense—his name for it—had taken over all the others, and this time his entire body shivered. This wasn’t normal. His abilities were telling him that something far worse than usual was happening. He rushed toward the ER exit, ignoring Dr. McKay calling after him. Dennis had to leave now—lives were at stake, people needed him—
“Whitaker, where do you think you’re going?”
Dennis cursed under his breath and stopped. He didn’t need to turn around to know who it was, he already memorized his step.
“Dr. Robby, I—”
“If you need a break, you can tell us. It’s normal to feel overwhelmed here, especially after losing your first patient.”
Dennis bit the inside of his cheek. He knew he had no excuse to leave in the middle of his first shift.
“I’m fine. I just needed some air.”
Robby narrowed his eyes, a faint amused smile forming.
“You ran through my ER like you were trying to escape something. I hope we didn’t make such a bad first impression.”
Dennis felt heat rise to his cheeks, momentarily at a loss for words.
“This place is amazing—well, aside from the deaths and angry patients, but that’s part of the job, right?”
Robby shrugged, his smile widening slightly at his student’s innocence.
“I’d like to tell you that you get used to it, but you wouldn’t believe me. Come on, let’s go back inside.”
When he placed a hand on his shoulder, Dennis had no choice but to obey, even as the alarm in his head kept screaming at him to leave.
About thirty minutes later, what he had feared finally happened.
The red phone rang, and Dennis heard it even through the noise of the staff. He saw Dana pick it up, but after only a few seconds, the color drained from her face, and when she hung up, her fingers trembled around her tablet. She called Robby, and they exchanged a few words that Dennis could barely make out. When they finished, Robby’s smile had vanished. A few moments later, he called the entire staff to gather, took a deep breath, and announced calmly:
“Everybody listen up! There is an active shooter at the Pitt Fest. As the nearest hospital, we are going to receive all the victims. I don’t know how many we’re getting, but we’re activating emergency protocol. Call your loved ones, eat something—I can promise you this shift is far from over.”
Everyone stayed quiet for a moment, until Trinity Santos broke the silence.
“Fuck! Where was Spider-Man when we needed him?!”
“We can’t rely on superheroes, Santos. We are doctors—we’re the ones trained to save lives.”
“Though he would’ve been useful,” Javadi added. “I heard he can actually dodge bullets!”
Dennis wished he could dig his own grave right then.
“Enough!” Dana shouted. “Let’s get ready for the victims!”
He really should have left.
***
By 6 p.m., people started coming through the front doors in endless waves. Dennis had never heard so many screams, so much crying, the constant clinking of surgical instruments. Never had he seen so much blood—on the victims, on the floor, on the walls, on the faces of every caregiver.
Dana had called every available doctor, including those from the night shift, but the staff was still insufficient compared to the number of patients.
Dennis ran between stopping hemorrhages, hooking up blood bags, assisting residents, guiding relatives to the cafeteria where Kiara could give them answers he couldn’t. If he had been overstimulated before, it was nothing compared to now. He felt completely shattered.
Saving a pedestrian from a speeding car suddenly seemed easier than removing a bullet lodged in the body of a young teenage girl who was only here because she had loved music.
As he was bandaging a woman’s leg, Dr. Abbott shouted near him while pushing a stretcher. Samira was at his side, strands of hair falling across her face as she frantically searched for instruments.
“Quick, we need help!” she shouted desperately.
“What’s going on?” Dennis asked, running toward them.
He looked down at the patient lying on the stretcher—a woman with a gaping wound in her chest. Abbott applied pressure with his hand, but the blood kept flowing.
“Female, 44 years old, gunshot wound to the upper chest. Heart rate 140, blood pressure dropping—systolic at 80. Oxygen saturation at 85%, she’s desaturating. Breathing is asymmetrical, the right side barely moving,” Abbott reported automatically.
“We’re probably dealing with a tension pneumothorax, possibly a hemothorax as well. The bullet entered high in the chest—it may have hit the lung… or worse, the major vessels,” Mohan continued.
Dennis stepped back, shaken by how critical the case was. They would need someone else. He was just a student.
Seeing that he wasn’t moving, Abbott shoved him lightly.
“Whitaker, go get Robby!”
His brain snapped back into place.
“Get Dr. Robby… I can do that,” he muttered to himself.
Except he couldn’t.
Five minutes later, after asking everyone he crossed paths with and receiving more than a few “fuck off, kid,” panic began to rise. He had searched every corner of the department, every room except—
No. Could it be?
The improvised morgue. What a charming place to hide.
Without thinking any further, he pushed open the door to the small pediatric room where they had decided to place the victims from Pitt Fest. But Dennis froze immediately at the scene before him.
Under a painted mural, surrounded by colorful animals, Dr. Robby was curled up on the floor, one arm covering his face, his sterile gown covered in blood. Dennis could feel the despair radiating from him but he couldn't look away, this scene reminded him of his old christian books— the doctor looked like a fallen angel in his stained white clothing.
His chest tightened. He had never imagined seeing the confident, composed Michael Robinavitch so… exposed.
“Dr. Robby?” he tried softly, approaching slowly.
Robby didn’t hear him, too busy repeating words Dennis couldn’t apprehend.
Like a prayer, he thought, his heart tightening further. Quietly, he moved closer and sat beside him against the wall. Robby shot him a brief, annoyed glance.
“Go away, Whitaker. They need you out there. I just need a minute.”
“I’m not the one they need, Dr. Robby. You are. This place will sink without you.”
He shook his head, tears falling onto his knees.
“I can’t. I can’t do it,” Robby said, taking a sharp inhale, his voice trembling. “I can’t save them all.”
“No. You can’t save them all,” Dennis agreed softly.
Robby’s shoulders slumped.
“But that’s my job. I have to, Whitaker. I can’t mess up—and fuck, I did!”
Dennis let him breathe for a moment, then leaned closer, his eyes meeting his, still clouded with tears.
“My uncle used to tell me something: ‘With great power comes great responsibility.’ You, Robby, have the power to do so much good, to save so many lives—but not everything is your responsibility. Sometimes things go wrong, and it doesn’t matter how powerful you are… you just can’t control it.”
Dennis was saying to him what he himself needed to hear. And strangely, it calmed him a little. Just because you don’t have power over some things doesn’t mean you are completely powerless.
Robby seemed to sink into his words, and for the first time that day, Dennis felt proud.
Slowly, he stood and held out his hand to his attending. Robby took it, uncertain but calmer, and pulled himself up. He quickly wiped away his tears and removed his blood-soaked gown. Avoiding Dennis’s gaze, he straightened himself and, as if nothing had happened, gently pushed him toward the door.
“Thank you, Whitaker. Now back to work. And please… this stays between us.”
Back to normal. Back to cold professionalism. Back to restrained feelings.
***
At 9 p.m., it was time to go home.
Except Dennis didn’t have a home.
After saying goodbye to everyone, he hid in the restroom to put on his suit, concealing it under his thick sweatshirt, then climbed into the abandoned wing upstairs. He had found refuge there a few weeks ago. Given his long days and short nights, it allowed him to save time getting to work. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than the streets.
Once alone in his refuge, he removed his sweatshirt and put on his mask. Suddenly, he was no longer Dennis Whitaker—the fragile young farmer or the exhausted medical student. He was a hero.
He slipped out through the window, climbing the wall with an ease that still amazed him, and made his way to the rooftop, usually deserted at such a late hour. After the events of Pitt Fest, everyone was eager to return to the warmth of their homes and families—but Dennis had no one, so he chose to keep helping those who needed him. He landed on the rooftop, the cold nocturnal air brushing on his body, maybe he could feel it on his face too but he had to be sure he was completely alone. As he walked across the rooftop, he almost missed the figure standing at the edge, practically offering himself to the void below. He couldn't figure who it was but his senses exploded like earlier before the announcement of the Pitt Fest. Without thinking, Dennis shot a web that stuck to the man’s back, pulling him backward against the barrier, away from danger.
“What the fuck?!” the man cursed, now clinging tightly to the railing.
“That wasn’t a good idea, sir. You wouldn’t survive a fall like that—even from the top of a hospital.” He couldn't hear his own words, his heartbeat was too loud.
The man turned to face him, and for a moment his lungs forgot to breathe, the sirens in his head had gone silent because he recognized the familiar face of his mentor, Dr. Robinavitch. When Robby realized who he was dealing with, he let out a small, hollow laugh.
“Spider-Man. Wow. So it wasn’t just the media’s usual fantasy. You actually exist.”
“I do, sir.”
Robby studied him for a long moment, then touched the web still attached to his back.
“Could you let me go now?” he asked, voice sore.
“Depends. Still want to jump?”
Robby shrugged, but Dennis didn’t release him. He couldn’t. His fingers trembled—what would have happened if he hadn’t been there? Or if he had arrived a second too late? What if he had found his body, bloody, crushed, lifeless on the floor ? This thought left him with an incredibly envy to throw up.
“Get to the other side of the barrier, then I’ll think about it.”
Reluctantly, Robby complied, climbing over to the safer side.
“Happy?” he asked sharply.
“Very. Why were you up here, doctor?”
Dennis couldn’t help but check on his mental state, to understand why he had seemed ready to jump—
“Long day. I’m fine, Spider-Man. Just needed some fresh air.”
“Yeah? By throwing yourself into it? Very refreshing,” Dennis shot back.
Robby looked offended, but Dennis didn’t care, he wasn’t Dennis right now. He could finally say what he really thought.
“I went a bit dark because dozens of people died in my arms today, okay? And you—where were you, Mister amazing and heroic Spider-Man? Where the fuck were you?!”
Dennis took a step back, his body flinching like he had just been shot.
“I…”
You stopped me ! he wanted to shout—but he couldn’t. Not without revealing who he was.
He had no excuses. Not in front of this man and his dark, tired eyes. But Robby didn’t push further. He ran a hand over his face and shook his head.
“I’m sorry. It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known.”
Except he had known.
And it was killing him.
“No… you’re right,” Dennis said quietly. “You can’t know how sorry I am. I should have been there. Those people needed me.”
Robby looked at him strangely.
“Guess we both fucked up today,” he said with a real smile this time.
“Yeah… but it won’t happen again, Doc. I won’t let you down a second time. Not the people of this city… and not you. Now please, stay safe. No more bad thoughts on my watch, okay?”
Robby let out a soft laugh, his eyes brighter than before.
“Okay, Spider-Man. Thank you.”
With a final wave, Dennis swung to the next building, leaving behind his boss who still couldn’t seem to get out of his mind.