Chapter Text
The drive was mostly quiet, save for the outdated Top Hits playing on the radio. Sometimes, they would be out of signal and scan for a new station, the static filling the cab of the truck. The new station would play the same songs anyway. It rained off and on for a while too, the drops thundering on the roof and windows, the wipers a little squeaky. Maybe the passenger would doze off for a while, soft snores harmonizing with the music.
It was early morning when the land had grown flat and yellow, farms stretching out for miles and miles. It was the beginning of winter, making it especially dull and dismal.
The driver tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He glanced at the directions. He glanced over at the passenger, currently sleeping, positioned uncomfortably against the window. The truck smelled of stale coffee they bought from a gas station a few hours ago.
“Whitaker.” His voice was soft and a little hoarse. They didn’t speak much besides asking the other if they were hungry, announcing they had to piss, or offering to switch driving duties. Only small exchanges. There was a lot of unspoken tension neither of them wanted to address.
“Whitaker.” He reached over, nudging the other man’s thigh. “Wake up, kiddo. Dennis.”
Dennis blinked rapidly, sitting up. He rubbed his face. “Sorry,” his voice was just as coarse. “Did you want to switch?”
“We’re almost there. Few minutes out.”
Dennis’s face drained. He sat stiffly.
Robby glanced over at him from the long stretch of road in front of them. He frowned. He didn’t know much but he did understand there was a strain between Dennis and his family. He gathered they didn’t approve of him being a doctor and being away. But Dennis didn’t speak much of them, even now, only a couple miles out from the farmhouse he grew up in. Even now, after they drove nearly twenty hours straight, with nothing but air and bad music between them.
He kept his hand on Dennis’s thigh. It took up a large surface area of his leg. It felt like a comforting gesture. He gave it a small, reassuring squeeze. Dennis looked up at him with those pitiful eyes, heavy with whatever inner turmoil he was experiencing. Robby tried to give him a small smile. He couldn’t decide if he should ask how he was doing, especially if it was obvious he wasn’t doing so hot. “Do you want to stop somewhere first? Get a fresh coffee?” he asked instead.
Dennis wet his lips with his tongue. His eyes drifted back out to the road. “There’s nowhere to stop.”
They could easily turn around and find somewhere. His family wasn’t expecting him at an exact time. Just sometime today. It was early. But Dennis said no.
Robby removed his hand and put it back on the steering wheel. He wished he had something wise and helpful to say. The radio lost signal, fuzzy white noise replaced a song they had heard eleven times now. Neither of them moved to change it.
“I’m sorry,” Robby announced eventually. That’s all he could come up with.
Dennis swallowed, glancing over. His hands were tight fists pressed against his legs. “I’m sorry, too. You didn’t have to come. I mean, thank you. But. Sorry.”
Robby tried to smile again. “I told you. I’d rather be here than…” He waved his hand vaguely. “So, thanks for letting me intrude.”
Dennis buried his face in his hands, exhaling sharply. “Intrude all you want.” His hands dragged down his face, stopping to cup his jaw. “I don’t think I could do this by myself…” He pointed to an upcoming house to the right. It was a faded light blue. “It’s that one.”
Robby nodded. He turned the wheel towards the long gravel driveway. A few cars were parked already, a thick coat of dust and dirt settled on each one. No one had left for a while. Like all the other homes in the area, the quaint house sat on acres of farmland. There was a barn further behind it. Tractors and farming equipment scattered between the two structures. There was a thick scent only categorized as animal smell floating in the air.
Typical farm in the middle of nowhere Nebraska.
The truck came to a stop on the side of the gravel driveway, leaving enough room if anyone wanted to leave, though they probably wouldn’t. Robby switched the engine off. Neither of them made an effort to move.
A dog started barking from inside. A woman tried to hush it. The front door opened, the dog rushing out immediately. It was a border collie, still practically a puppy, its paws too big for its legs. The dog beelined straight for the newest addition of vehicles. The door closed shut after a man stepped out. He was probably in his mid to late thirties, his light hair thinning slightly at his temples. His shoulders slumped as he sighed. He shouted something at the dog but stopped short, spying the truck.
Robby glanced over at Dennis, feeling a little nervous for him. Dennis looked like he was going to throw up. “Whitaker.” Robby leaned over to speak lowly to him. “Are you-“
Dennis nodded sharply, his hand finding the door handle. “Dr. Robby, I’m sorry for whatever is going to happen in there.” He pushed open the door and stepped out quickly. A little too quickly, he stumbled a bit as he made contact with the ground.
“Hey, Dennis,” the other man said, approaching with open arms. He had a crooked smile and the same tired blue eyes as Dennis. The dog was still barking, circling around their feet.
“Hey, David.” Dennis stiffly let himself be hugged. He was significantly shorter and scrawnier, like the runt of the litter. His eyes were dodgy. He held his hand out for the dog to sniff.
The dog smelled his hand then licked it, leaving a thick coat of slobber. Dennis cringed and drew back his hand, wiping it on the jeans he had been wearing for two days.
David chuckled. “That’s Otis. I think he has a condition where his mouth produces too much saliva.” The dog barked again. David patted his head. “It’s alright, boy.”
“Have you taken him to the vet? He could have gastrointestinal issues.”
David shrugged and shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants. “He’s alright.” David’s eyes looked Dennis up and down. His eyebrows quirked. “You alright?”
“Yeah. I mean… Yeah.” He shifted on his feet and tucked his hands underneath his armpits. “Uh, how is… everything?”
Sighing heavily, David kicked at a rock. He shrugged again. “Not good, Dennis. Everyone is acting like he’ll be okay but… I’m glad you’re here. Maybe you can… help.”
Dennis could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. He didn’t quite hear his brother correctly. “What?”
“You know, bein’ a doctor and whatnot. You can help…” He waved his hand towards the house. “Maybe help him not hurt so much. Shit, maybe you can convince them to take him to a hospital.”
Dennis scoffed. No member of his family has ever been this supportive of his profession. If that’s what this was. David was probably just in denial and clinging onto whatever hope he had left. He shook his head. “Not a doctor yet.”
“Whatever.” He nodded towards the truck. “I think your driver is waiting for you to get your crap so he can leave.”
A flush came across Dennis’s face as he glanced back, seeing Robby watching from inside the truck. Dennis awkwardly held a hand up to him, not quite a wave, not really a beckon. “Uh, that’s, uh, not… He’s…”
Robby stepped out of the truck and stepped to them. He was just wearing a t-shirt. It was cold, goosebumps scattered across his bare arms. He shrugged on a worn corduroy jacket. “Hey. Michael Robinavitch.” He held out his hand to David. “Just call me Robby.”
David tentatively shook his hand, casting a questioning gaze to Dennis. His hand was rough and calloused. A working man’s hand. A farmer’s hand. “David. Dennis’s older brother. One of ‘em, anyways.”
Robby nodded and took a half step backwards, as if he was trying to drift away. He smiled, his eyes only barely crinkling. “Nice to meet you. I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances.”
There was a moment of awkward silence. David looked to Dennis again, only then prompting him to explain. “Robby is, uh… A doctor. I used to work with- under him. In Pittsburgh.” He grimaced at himself. He glanced at Robby, who had put his hands in the jacket pockets and was watching Dennis stumble over his words. “He wanted to drive me. I couldn’t find my passport to fly and it’s expensive and it was a long drive and it was quicker if-“
Robby reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. He squeezed it, feeling his bones under his fingers. “I had some time off.”
David squinted at them. “You better come up with a better explanation for everyone else. Come on, it’s freezing out here.” He turned and whistled for the dog, who had found a bush to pee on. Otis trotted happily after him and up the steps. The porch was old wood, a little unstable. Potted plants crowded it, each beginning to die. Winter was right around the corner.
David opened the door, the warm air escaping. Otis ran in, pushing the door open more. “Look who I found out there.”
Dennis took a breath before stepping into the threshold. His mouth was dry and his palms were sweaty. He tried to smile but his face was stuck in a grimace.
Feeling just as unsure, Robby stepped in after him. The house looked just as he pictured. The furniture was old, probably passed down. The couch cushions were worn, holes in the fabric, and covered with unmatched throw blankets and pillows. The wooden floor was scuffed and stained, an attempt of prevention with rugs scattered about. It smelled like cinnamon and milk, like someone was making tea. It was warm, a fire crackling in a wood stove in the living room. It was a little messy and well lived in and homey.
Bodies were busying around the small space, hands on shoulders and backs to get by one another. But voices were low and somber.
An older woman looked as they entered. Robby closed the door softly, feeling really like an intruder. “Oh, Dennis,” she breathed. She wiped her hands on the apron she had tied around her waist before reaching out. She grabbed his face, kissing both cheeks. Her hands ran down, grabbing his arms. “Oh, baby. You’re so skinny, aren't you eating?” She looked over her shoulder, towards the other room, probably the kitchen. A young woman was there. “Taylor, can you grab something for Dennis? One of those biscuits?”
Dennis tried to step back. “I’m good, Ma, I’m not hungry.”
She eyed him. “Hmm.” She raised her eyebrow, looking over his shoulder. She kept a grasp on one of his arms. “What about something for your shadow here?”
Robby gave her a smile. “I’m okay, ma’am.”
“Uh, Mom, this is Robby- oh, umm, Michael Robinavitch. He’s-“
Robby held out a hand. “I’m Dennis’s friend. I just go by Robby.” Her hand was wrinkled and soft in his. He gave it a pleasant squeeze.
She smiled a little. “Mary. I don’t have space for you to stay.”
“Oh, I have accommodations. I was just going to help Dennis settle in.”
Two women peaked out of the kitchen. They whispered something to each other and giggled, their eyes steady on Robby. Robby nodded at them and looked away. It seemed like there was a new person everywhere he looked. Another man was taking a seat on the couch with a huff and a baby held to his chest. Two men, including David, sat at a small dining table, which was in the living room. There wasn’t a TV. Otis was playing with a toddler on one of the rugs. Another man disappeared down the hallway into another room.
Mary turned and scolded the girls in the kitchen for gossiping. Again over his shoulder, she said, “Denny, you need a haircut!” She entered the kitchen, a clattering of drawers echoing behind her.
Dennis shared an apologetic look to Robby. He opened his mouth but before he could speak, David said something to them from the table. “He’s in your old room, Den. Joe may be in there but just kick him out. He’s just in there to sleep in the rocking chair anyway.”
Dennis nodded his head. He made his way through the room into the hallway. He glanced behind him, looking to Robby. Not wanting to stay out there alone, Robby followed. Maybe he shouldn’t have but he did. The hallway was lined with framed photos of countless portraits and families. Robby tried to passively search for a baby picture of Dennis but was unsuccessful. There were too many to look through and most babies look the same.
Hesitating, Dennis stopped at the last door to the left. The door was cracked open an inch. The room was seemingly dark and silent. Robby put his hand on the back of Dennis’s warm neck. He felt Dennis take a deep breath then enter.
It was cold and the curtains were closed tightly, blocking out the early sun. It smelled like lavender and spearmint. As promised, a young man was sitting in the chair in the corner, his neck crooked to rest his head against his own shoulder, soft breaths from his parted mouth. The same dirty blonde curls fell onto his forehead. His eyes blinked open at the noise of them shuffling in. He furrowed his eyebrows and rubbed his eyes. “Dennis?”
“Hey.” Dennis’s eyes drifted to the bed that took up most of the room. “Mom made biscuits.”
Joe yawned, stretching out his arms. “Yeah, yeah.” He got to his feet. “What’s up?” he said lamely to Robby as he passed by, leaving the room. He shut the door all the way behind him.
It was dead quiet. There was shallow, labored breathing from the figure lying in the bed, a heavy blanket drawn up to his chest. The man’s hair was gray and thin. His hands rested on his stomach, fingers thick and rough. His skin was pale and dry.
Dennis stepped towards the bed. He stopped and stood there for a minute before lowering himself to sit on the edge of the bed. His eyes were wide and stuck to the image of the man. His hand hovered, shaking in the air above the man’s hand.
The man’s eyes peeled open. “Dennis?” a hoarse, deep voice croaked out.
“Hi, Dad.”