Work Text:
The snow has been falling heavily for over an hour now.
It’s probably been longer than an hour, in all honesty, but that’s as far as Dennis has been aware of. When he’d woken up with a stifled scream in the middle of the night, sucking deep breaths into his lungs in desperate heaves, the snow had already started. As his eyes had adjusted, he’d been able to see it piled up outside the window, clinging to the glass, dampening everything outside.
Whatever his nightmare had been, it hadn’t lingered. It’d been gone from his mind as soon as he bolted upright and awake, though the shivering terror and clammy sweat hadn’t been so quick to leave. His pounding heart, his shaking hands, the unease that filled up his head and chest—
It was too much to let him fall asleep again, and he’d tossed and turned enough that Robby had started to wake up, frowning a little as he’d turned over into Dennis and wound himself around him.
For a while, Dennis had just tucked his face down, buried himself in the crook of Robby’s arm, hands holding his tight over his sternum while Robby clutched him like a teddy bear in his sleep. When Robby started to shift again, though, yawning against the crown of his head, Dennis realized he still couldn’t stop moving— hadn’t stopped moving— and he’d carefully unwound himself, slipping free of his hold, pushing a pillow into Robby’s arms in his place so he, at least, could continue to rest.
His chest clenching, Dennis had left Robby there, alone in bed, unconsciously shoving his face into the pillow instead of Dennis’s hair. Robby has a shift in the morning— they both do, but if Robby can get his sleep, he should, and Dennis leaves him there, alone in bed, and retreats from their room to hide himself away.
Since then, he’s been curled up on the sofa in the living room, cheek on his forearm, staring out the window at the snow as it falls.
This happens, sometimes. He’ll wake up from some indeterminate nightmare, some terror that lurks in the back of his mind, and then— then, he’s suddenly incapable of thinking about anything but things that stress him out. His brain becomes a circuit of worry, constantly circulating paying off loans and that concerning sound the truck’s engine is making and how is everyone doing back home and is Robby taking care of his heart like he’s supposed to and Jack isn’t home yet and rotations and exams and expectations and failures and fears then—
Then, it’s all what ifs, and he can feel the backs of his eyes prickling, his sinuses starting to burn as he stares out, unblinking, at the wet snow falling so thick and steady outside. What if the truck stops working, what if I lose my job, what if I get kicked out of the program, what if something happens back home while I’m not there, what if something happens to my parents, what if something happens to my family, what if something happens to my friends, what if the house burns down, what if something breaks that I can’t fix, what if Jack doesn’t come home, what if Robby doesn’t wake up, what if I lose everyone, what if I lose my home, what if they leave me, what if I leave them, what if—
“Go to sleep,” Dennis whispers to himself, a quiet hiss as he tucks his face inside the bend of his elbow. His breath shudders, and when he realizes how close to tears he is, he starts to burn with shame, heat rising up all over. Fist clenching in his hair, the other digging into the flesh of his bare thigh, he repeats, forceful, “Go to sleep.”
It doesn’t work, as if it ever has. His shoulders shake, and he struggles to suck in a deep breath, reminding himself that it’s the middle of the night, and he’s just— tired, and stressed, and things are hard, and he’ll feel better in the morning, when the sun comes up. Most times, once dawn comes, it’s true, he does feel better, it’s just—
In these moments, he feels so much worse.
It’s as if he’s alone in the world, adrift in the worst possible scenarios and thoughts that not only feel likely, but inevitable, especially in these dark, early hours.
A sob chokes in his throat, catching him off-guard; he swallows it back, lifts his head to dig the heels of his hands into his eyes. Trying to breathe in and out, even and steady, isn’t quite working; he can’t stop, can’t stop, cycling through, and through, again, and again, and he tries to focus, to push himself back into his body like he knows to do, to hum to himself and play music in his head, looping through his favorite songs— but they fragment, breaking apart as he tries to remember them, skipping in his head as if his mental records are all scratched and warped.
“Fuck,” Dennis spits into his arm, muffled by his skin. His skin is tear-slick, humid as he swipes his wrist beneath his eyes. Despite the warmth in his face, the burning in his chest, he feels cold all over; Robby always ends up curled around him when they sleep together, warming him better than any blanket or heater, and he’d gone to bed in only a pair of his own boxers and one of Jack’s old undergrad t-shirts, stretched in the chest and shoulders from years of Robby stealing it just the same way. His bare skin is all exposed to the night air in the room, and he wraps his arms around himself, shivers, shuts his eyes tight.
The world feels small and close and suffocating. Dennis doesn’t want to hide away, but he doesn’t want to look, either. His fingers clench tight in the worn-soft fabric of Jack’s shirt, and he buries his face in it, inhales his scent— mingled with Robby’s, with Jack’s, with his— in a desperate attempt to bite back the horrible ache inside.
“Dennis?” a voice comes from the hall, familiar, confused, searching, and Dennis covers his face with his arms, holding back the next noise that wants to burst from him. “Sweetheart? Where did—”
His sleep-gritty voice gets louder with each syllable before he’s rounding the corner. Dennis can tell the moment he clocks him, and he wants to hide himself further away. It’s his first instinct— to make sure he can’t be seen or heard— but it’s never served him before, and it won’t serve him now, and it’s with his heart thundering in his chest that he swipes under his eyes again with the backs of his wrists and lifts his head.
Robby’s there in the doorway, visible to Dennis only because his eyes have long since adjusted to the darkness. Naked from the waist-up, wearing only a pair of Jack’s sweat-shorts that cling to his thighs, his own pelt of dark hair that covers most of his body, and the chain around his neck that never leaves, he seems an impossible beacon of warmth in Dennis’s current cold, terrified, shaky state.
“Hey,” Robby says, digging the heel of one hand into his eye socket before blinking at him. His hair is in total disarray, his eyes barely squinting. Dennis wonders whether he can even really see him. “Hey, you okay?”
Dennis swallows, then answers, “Yeah,” his voice cracking on the single sound.
“Oh, hon,” Robby mumbles, making his stumbling way across the dark living room before he’s colliding with their sofa. He collapses into the corner, his arms going around Dennis, and it’s like the sobs just start coming out then, a waterfall spill that erupts without a single second’s further hesitation. “Okay, okay. You’re okay.”
“I’m sorry,” Dennis apologizes in hiccups into his chest, twisting into him on the sofa. His hands grasp at him, one tangling in his bedhead-messy hair while the other digs into the meat of Robby’s bare thigh. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”
“Shh.” One of Robby’s big hands finds the back of Dennis’s head, stroking through the small curls. His thumb twists around the longer hairs at his nape before coasting back up again, whispering again, “Shh. You’re okay, I’m here,” while his other hand rubs up and down his back, pulling him closer. “Breathe with me, okay?”
Nodding in a furious jerk against Robby’s chest, Dennis attempts to match his breathing to Robby’s. He’s out of rhythm, too fast, too shallow; he hadn’t realized how thready and fast his hyperventilating breaths had become until he has Robby’s even breathing for comparison.
“Everything’s okay,” Robby tells him. His hand seals over the side of Dennis’s head, holds him close against his chest. “I’ve got you.”
Dennis clings to him, sucking in a deeper breath through his nose. When he manages to push it out slowly from his mouth, Robby kisses his temple, rubbing up and down over his back, pulling him nearer. In his need, Dennis shifts as close as he can get, letting Robby tangle them up together on the sofa.
It takes some time before Dennis can hear past the throbbing river-rush of his blood in his ears, over the roar of his own thoughts repeating the same nonsense over and over and over again. When he is balancing out— his hands grasping Robby tight, his face tucked into his throat, practically his whole body shifted into his lap— he can hear again, and he listens to Robby’s heartbeat, fast but stable, and it grounds him.
“That’s okay,” Robby shushes him, comforts him, one of many soft words said on repeat. His voice is low, rumbles through his chest; it vibrates beneath Dennis’s ear as he speaks. “I’ve got you.”
Shuffling slightly in his lap, Dennis almost makes to pull back, but Robby keeps him close in his lap. When Dennis makes a quiet, questioning sound, Robby kisses the top of his head again, his arms sliding closer and warmer around his body. He can feel the heat where he holds him, starting to chase away the chill.
When Dennis can breathe again, Robby’s hand slides up beneath his chin, taking a light hold to tilt Dennis’s head up towards him. Their eyes meet in the darkness; from the glint of the streetlights off the snow outside, a glimmer of light catches Robby’s eyes, and Dennis can’t help but stare up at him and into that light.
“What happened?” Robby asks him, his thumb running over his chin.
In his hold, light but firm, Dennis shakes his head again. Robby just nods, holding him close once more, letting his head fall onto his shoulder.
“Okay,” Robby whispers. “Okay.”
There have been nights where Dennis has woken up to discover Robby hidden and huddled in the corner of their closet, burrowed amongst their belongings, his head buried against his thighs, sobbing so hard he’d escalated into total silence. There have been other nights, too, where Dennis has found Jack sitting on the floor in the kitchen, staring, a million miles away, remembering something that happened to him a long time ago, probably while Dennis was still in grade school. And then—
Then, there have been nights like these where Dennis just can’t breathe, and that’s when Robby and Jack wrap themselves around him and hold him steady.
Dennis tilts his head, his cheek resting against Robby’s upper arm as he peers out the window again. The snow continues falling, heavy and white and wet, filling up the world outside.
“Sorry,” Dennis says, barely audible.
“Don’t be.” Robby’s fingers thread through his hair, then tilt him closer, giving him a better angle to kiss his cheek. “One of those nights?” Dennis’s answering nod against him draws a soft, sleepy, sad noise from Robby, deep from the pit of his chest. “It’s okay. We—”
Whatever he’s about to say, he’s interrupted by the front door clicking open. It’s quiet, slow, Jack gently slipping the key in and twisting the knob in a careful, well-practiced attempt to stay as silent as possible. Robby and Dennis both watch him creeping in through the front door, one shuffling step at a time, before he lifts his head and clocks them where they are, curled up on the sofa together, wide awake in the living room when they should be deeply asleep in their bedroom.
“Hey,” Jack says, pushing the door shut behind him. The snow speckles his hair, glistening white and wet at the crest of each curl. “What are you two doing up?”
Dennis wants to speak, but the words won’t come. He wonders if he’ll be embarrassed later—
No, he knows he’ll be embarrassed later, and probably want to hide himself away, but he can’t make himself care right now. Right now, all he can focus on is Robby’s arms around him and Jack finally coming home, lingering in the doorway, and his breath catches tight in his throat again.
In a heartbeat, Jack’s got the door closed and he’s crossing the room to them. With his bag and coat abandoned, he’s already on the sofa, his arm sliding around Dennis’s shoulders, his own palm covering over his and Robby’s joined hands.
“Hey,” Jack repeats in a hush. “What happened?”
Dennis shakes his head between them. Stroking his hair still, Robby holds him closer, tucked between himself and Jack, and murmurs, “Hard night,” just under his breath.
“How—” Dennis tries, then takes another deep breath, shuddering and wet into their chests. When he can speak again, he asks, “How was your shift?”
“Knock it off,” Jack replies. Dennis huffs, letting himself dissolve a little between them. “‘How’s your shift?’ Babe, who cares?”
Another breath of a laugh escapes Dennis as he twists between them, one hand staying knotted in Robby’s hair while the other finds the front of Jack’s sweatshirt. Melting into the both of them, he closes his eyes, tries to chase away the cycling torments that have been haunting him for the last hour and change— for so many nights— for his whole life, really, attempting to force them from his mind so he can focus on this. He wants the good, wants to latch onto the things that make everything feel worthwhile, instead of just the fears and failures and what ifs that haunt him through the night.
“Sometimes it’s just—” Dennis starts, then shakes his head. He’s choking again, his voice shattering underneath every word as he manages to force out, “Sometimes it’s just— too much—”
His breath halts him, strains him once more, and he’s trembling as he burrows into Robby’s chest again, Jack blanketing him from behind. The throbbing of Robby’s heart underneath his ear drowns out everything else, helping Dennis focus on this and only this— on them and only them.
“I know,” Jack quiets him. “It’s okay.” When he presses a kiss to the nape of his neck, Dennis tightens his grip on him, too, knuckles whitening, pulling him in closer against him. “You’re okay.”
Over his head, across his shoulders, behind his back, Jack’s hand slides to meet Robby’s shoulder. Though Dennis doesn’t see where they join each other, he can feel them linking up around him, and he tightens his hold further without a thought, trying to confuse where he ends and they begin.
“Hey,” Robby says, soft, hushed, tucked just between the three of them. “How about I make a drink—”
“A hot drink,” Jack amends.
“Maybe coffee or—”
“Tea,” Jack cuts him off. Robby huffs again. “Decaffeinated tea.”
“Thank you, Doctor Abbot.” Robby kisses Dennis’s cheek, holding his head steady in place. He lingers, letting Dennis feel him, making sure he’s secure with him, a long and tight hug that neither wants to break. Dennis is still melting into him when Robby eventually and softly parts from him, pulling away to press a soft kiss to Dennis’s cheek, then to Jack’s shoulder, welcoming him home before he pushes to rise.
Still, Robby is mostly-undressed, sleep-bleary, and now rumpled not only by exhaustion but by Dennis grappling at him, too. He stretches once he’s on his feet, arms spread high above his head, before he folds back down and pads through to their kitchen.
Once he’s gone, stumbling from the room and running one hand through his hair, Jack turns to Dennis, catching his chin in his hand, his thumb stroking along his cheek.
“Sorry,” Dennis says again, quiet, tucking against Jack. He smells like clinical antiseptic, and cold snow, and their laundry detergent. “I just…”
He means to explain, but when he chokes up once more, he just buries his face in the hollow beneath Jack’s throat, his arms winding around him. When Jack kisses his temple again, holding him close, Dennis’s breath hitches.
“How was your shift?” he mumbles again, this time into Jack’s throat.
His hand weaves through Dennis’s hair. A laugh escapes him into Dennis’s temple, and he murmurs, “Boring. Just a long night without either of you.” With another kiss pressed to his cheek, Jack asks, “Ready to go back to bed?”
For a long moment, Dennis just stares out the window, his cheek pushed into Jack’s shoulder, watching the snow fall. The spinning, tormenting stress inside of him is leaking away, one little bit at a time, and he nods.
“Yeah,” he exhales. “Okay.”
Jack shifts to stand, the both of them helping each other upwards, supporting each other through the darkness. When Dennis grasps downward, searching, Jack’s hand latches onto his, their fingers tangling together.
“You should shower and change, look after your leg. Get comfortable,” Dennis reminds him as they’re navigating to their bedroom, finding their way to the edge of the bed, where Dennis flops down in a heap as if he’s a puppet with his strings cut and Jack collapses backwards with a drawn-out, exhausted sigh.
“I will,” Jack mumbles. He rubs his hands over his eyes; when Dennis glances down at him, Jack’s curling around him, burying his face in the small of Dennis’s back, one arm wound around his waist. “In a minute. Let me lay down for a while first, won’t you, hm?”
Dennis strokes his hand through Jack’s curls. His fingers snag, catching on a couple tangles in his curls that he works free with gentle tugs. When Jack kisses his hip, then shuffles upwards towards the pillows, Dennis lets himself be pulled along, Jack manhandling him flat on his back and into his arms.
“Bad night?” Jack asks, buried in Dennis’s throat. Threading his arm beneath him, holding him close, Dennis nods. “Bad dream?”
After another nod from Dennis, Jack rolls over onto him, pressing him into the bed. He’s still all-dressed, but Dennis holds onto him all the same, rubbing one hand up and down his back, stroking over his sweatshirt— Robby’s sweatshirt, Dennis realizes belatedly, recognizing the fabric.
“You’re safe,” Jack tells him, grounds him. Dennis winds his arms around him tighter and hangs on, burying his face in Jack’s curls, inhaling deep from him. “You’re okay.”
“You, too,” Dennis mumbles into him, unable to stop himself. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m not— I’m not stronger right—”
“Shh,” Jack quiets him again. “You’re okay. Just feel it.”
Jack’s grip tightens on him, and Dennis’s eyes close once more. He tries not to think about anything else— and, with Jack’s hold on him, it’s a lot easier to take deep, steadying breaths. The what ifs and the torments and the agonies continue to dissipate, shuffling themselves away for another time— though Dennis would like to never feel them again, he knows they’re never too far off— and leaving space only for him to hang on and breathe.
“Here we go,” comes Robby’s rumbling voice from the doorway. Blinking up in the darkness, Dennis finds him balancing three mugs in his hands, managing to set them all down on the nightstand closest to Dennis’s head right now. “I’ve got, umm— okay, yours with honey is right here, Jack, and Dennis, your— sugar is right here—”
“There’s tea in there, too,” Dennis protests as he shuffles upwards. Robby drops himself onto the bed on his other side, claiming his own mug; in moments, Dennis finds himself squished between him and Jack, sealed tight together in their bed, sandwiched by the both of them. “Probably.”
“Not much,” Robby replies, sipping from his own mug as if it’s any good, and not far too creamy and sugarless for Dennis’s tastes. The bed dips and creaks a little as he gets comfortable, pushing closer against Dennis’s side, until he feels properly pressed from both sides and can relax into them.
There’s a few moments of quiet in the darkness. The snow falling outside suffocates everything besides them, until everything that’s left— all that there is— consists only of the three of them, tucked into bed together, drinking tea from their matching speckled mugs. Jack reaches down to pull their covers up over them, even still dressed as he is; when he sets his head on Dennis’s shoulder, and Robby’s arm brushes his from the other side, something bone-deep settles inside Dennis, and he sighs again, a great release, sending as much of the bad feelings gusting from him as he can.
“Better?” Robby asks.
Dennis lets his head fall against Robby’s bare shoulder. From his other side, Jack’s free arm snakes around the both of them, holding them close.
“Yeah. Sorry,” Dennis repeats again. “I just—” He shakes his head, then strangles out another, “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. How many times have you pulled me out of a crying jag?” Jack asks, marginally more awake than either Dennis or Robby. “Or yanked Mikey out of one?” With a slurp from his tea, he adds, “We owe you more than a few.”
Robby kisses his temple from his other side. After a couple of deep breaths, inhaling the earthy scents from his tea in hot curls of steam that roll through his system, Dennis sighs.
“I just woke up and—” He falters. “It just— You know?”
“Mm-hmm,” Robby mumbles in agreement, through another pull from his own steaming mug.
“Yeah.” Jack sets his mug aside, freeing him to slump down into their pillows with a long sigh. “Yeah. Been there. Bunch of times.” His head rolls to the side; his eyes burn into Dennis, strong enough that Dennis can feel them, feels compelled to turn towards him and meet them. They’re dark and warm and intense, and Dennis shuffles closer to him, resting his head on Jack’s chest, now. “You know you’re not alone. Right?”
Robby nods against Dennis’s other side, shuffling closer to him. His mug gets displaced onto the nightstand again so he can turn into Dennis’s hip, one long arm wrapping around his waist as he snuggles into him.
They bookend him, hold him close. The tormenting thoughts keep receding like low tide, ebbing further and further and further away, and— and—
And, even if any of those terrible things did happen, and even if one of his what ifs did end up coming to fruition, and even if his whole world did just detonate like Dennis’s mind often tells him it will— even if all of that happened and Dennis’s life melted into nothing, this is the first time he’s ever felt that— that if the worst happened, and the world did end, and his nightmares came true, Jack and Robby would somehow still be there.
It’s the first time he’s ever felt that he wouldn’t be alone. That Jack is right— that they’re right.
“I love you,” Dennis tells them. The night stretches on, and the snow keeps falling, but the fear retreats— everything retreats, all except the three of them, the warmth of his tea, and the comfort of their bed. “I— I love you.”
“Love you,” Jack mumbles back, getting more tired as dawn approaches and his flipped schedule starts tugging at his exhaustion.
“Love you more,” Robby says. Jack leans over Dennis to flick him between the eyes. “Hey.”
“Don’t give me attitude.” Jack lifts his head, tilted against Dennis’s shoulder. Him and Robby both curl up into Dennis, and he reaches to set his own mug aside on the nightstand with Robby’s so he can hold them in return. His racing heart and mind both settle somewhat, and he sinks down, too, a long sigh escaping from him.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” Robby asks, and Dennis shakes his head. Robby’s own drops back down, pillowed in his lap. “Okay. If you want to—”
“I know.” Dennis’s hand settles on top of Robby’s head, a moment before their covers get tucked up closer around them, Jack’s hand sure and steady. “Maybe tomorrow.”
“Mm,” Robby rumbles back. “You’ve got to shower, Jack.”
“Get off my back, old man,” Jack protests. “I’ll shower when I’m ready.”
Their normalcy, their comfort— them, they just make Dennis’s insides all settle, and the rattling fears that strained him to the point of tears earlier fade away into nothingness for now, leaving behind only them. There’s a moment where Dennis feels— feels good, and he grasps onto it, clings to it, refuses to let it go.
“Love you,” Dennis repeats, unable to stop himself. It all still sort of feels like he’s sleeping, but— but this, this, at least, would be a dream. The nightmares are gone for now. Outside, it’s still dark, still cold, the snow still falling— but inside, it’s warm, and safe, and Dennis is able to remember that the sun will eventually rise again.
In response, Jack tightens his grip on him, burying a kiss in Dennis’s shoulder. On his other side, Robby does the same to his stomach, a kiss tucked into his skin beneath the fabric of his stolen t-shirt, and Dennis squirms a little, smiles, lets them wrap around him until he’s part of them and no longer just himself, no longer alone, no longer lost and scared and hurt— until he’s okay again, just like they promised.
“Get some sleep,” Jack mumbles to them, and Dennis wouldn’t think of protesting.
“Thank you,” he replies. Robby’s hand strokes along his chest, and Jack’s finds the back of his neck, and Dennis holds them both tight— and holds them still when he falls asleep, grip clinging to them even while unconscious, forever unwilling to let any of this— either of them— go.