Work Text:
The shift had been a long one. It was only hour 4, but Dennis had been… off all morning. He had woken up weird, more exhausted than he usually was, even at 6 in the morning. His eyes had been all gummy and his head achy and a little fuzzy. Clammier than usual.
He was probably coming down with a cold or something. Not a good look for a medical professional.
The next few hours were spent stumbling over his own feet, hands just a little unsteady. But in the ER, it was enough for Robby to pull him aside. His heart felt funny, it was beating in his chest and he could feel it. Why he was so anxious when his boss pulled him over to a quiet (or, as quiet as you could get in the place) corner was something he was choosing to not think about too hard.
"Whitaker, are you feeling alright?" Dennis swallowed thickly and glanced out to the bustle that was central, a nervous tell. He took a deep breath and nodded his head, pressing his lips together in an attempt at a smile. In trying to run a hand through his hair, he found it caught with the sweat clinging to them. Shit, maybe he felt sicker than he realised. After a pause just a little too long to not be awkward, Dennis answered,
"Yeah. Yes, I'm fine. I'm fine, thank you, Dr. Robby."
"You sure? I mean, you can take the day if you're sick…" Robby trailed off a little and Dennis' eyes got misty. The thought of deducting any amount from his paycheck voluntarily still made his chest a little tight, even now.
"I'm fine. It's alright. Uhm- thanks, though. I'm alright for now."
Dennis was awkward and anxious, sure, but he didn't mix up his words like this often.
Still, he was determined to stick out his shift and try to sleep this off later tonight. Maybe make some chicken soup.
"Whitaker?"
"Hm?" Dennis looked up and zoned back into the conversation he was having.
"Whitaker. You're pale. And clammy. Do you need to sit down?" It was humiliating to be asked that, this whole situation was humiliating. Robby was looking at him like he knew something that Dennis didn't, but should. He just shook his head slightly and rubbed at his eyes. He felt fine, really. The ER was just… a little warmer than usual.
After messing up two more IVs within the next hour, and Robby watching him like a hawk, Dennis was finally wondering if maybe he should throw in the towel and admit defeat. Go home. Rest.
The lights in the ER dimmed and then went out.
The noise came back first. The beeping, shouting, occasional wailing. And a voice, talking to him. His head felt really foggy, slow.
"Dennis? Dennis? Are you back in the room with us?" He reached his hand up slowly and it felt like it was made of cement. He rubbed at his eyes and cracked them open with an enormous effort. He was on the hospital linoleum still, and a set of knees were pressing into the floor in front of him. They belonged to Trinity. Shit. This was pathetic, this was the most dumb he had ever felt, and probably looked, as he sat up slowly. His head was pounding. There seemed to be the whole floor staff gathered around him. They hadn't done this for Javadi on her first day, why was this any different?
"You hit the floor pretty hard there, Huckleberry." His whole body was aching and he could only half process what was being said to him. Dennis rubbed at his eyes again. At some point after that, Robby turned up. There was a weird sort of concern in his eyes every time he looked at Dennis.
The next ten minutes and his transportation to a seat in the staff lounge were a blur of bright lights and loud noises. Something was off now he had woken up. There was something… more, to the ER. A crowding of his senses to an overwhelming level. Dennis' stomach churned— whatever had been offset made him nauseous. God, he just hoped it wasn't a concussion. Right on cue, someone shone a torch in his eyes and announced he probably didn't. The world moved around outside the room he was in, but Dennis took in none of it.
Robby's gruff voice was only just audible over the ringing in his ears. How had he gotten this bad this quickly? Shit.
"Whitaker, you need to go home." Dennis nodded and stood up; he had to grab onto the table for support as his head spun again. Strong, firm hands gripped his arm and he damn near whined at the contact. "You're not driving in this condition." Before he could open his mouth to interject and tell Robby that he didn't even have a car and that he would be walking, his boss added, "I'll take you."
He had neither the means nor wants to protest that suggestion.
The car ride was silent and gave Dennis the chance to think. He hadn't got the foggiest what all his symptoms could lead to, he had never wanted to go into diagnostics (no matter how interested in that thing House had going on he was). Plus, his brain was working too slow to connect any dots that there might be.
Robby helped him out of the passenger side, and Dennis again took note of how strong and capable his hands were. Huh. He hadn't really noticed that before now, despite how many times the man had gripped onto him and steered him about at work.
By the time they reached his shared apartment, Dennis' hands were shaking far too much to get the key in the lock. Once again his face burned even hotter than it already was at the humiliation of it all as his boss had to open the door for him.
The apartment was familiar to him by now, though it smelt… weird, he noticed. Not bad, just a lot stronger than usual, like Trinity did but magnified. It was part of what was throwing him off after he passed out at work, he realised. There was something unfamiliar too. Something strong, earthy, like smoke almost. Dennis chalked it up to a neighbour smoking pot out of their window. Robby, however, seemed undeterred by this smell, but very apprehensive to enter further into the apartment.
"Whitaker," he began, slow, like he was approaching a scared stray in the road. "Whitaker, are you… should I be worried about this… are your heats normally this bad for you?"
That gave Dennis pause.
"My what?" He asked before he could stop himself. Then, tentatively after realising his mistake, "oh, I don't really— I don't really get those."
It was easy for Dennis to forget that people really did deal with heats and ruts and the like. He had been on hormone blockers ever since his parents caught onto his size and stature, ever since they had understood that their last-born son would not be an alpha like his brothers. Sure, in the long run it had probably stunted his growth a little more than it should have, but it also meant he didn't have to face any of the treatment he would have deserved from his parents if he had presented as an omega. Not to mention living on the streets as one.
"Oh," Robby paused too, a look of something akin to confusion flashing across his face, "oh, right. I just thought— Sorry. Never mind." Then, after another moment of silence, he added, "right, well… I suppose I should get back to work then, if you're alright here…"
A small, pupish whimper escaped Dennis before he could stop it. The thought of spending a day alone shouldn't give him that reaction. He had 26 years of experience under his belt, one more shouldn't be any different. Robby cut off his attempt at an apology before he could even stutter the words out.
"Dennis?"
The man in question's face was bright red, and not just from the sickness. He had just fucking whined in front of his fucking boss. Dennis wasn't sure he could embarrass himself any more.
"Robby, crap, I'm so sorry. I don't— Yeah, no I'll be fi—"
"Dennis. Maybe you should lie down. C'mon." Before he could protest this, Robby was leading him through the apartment and Dennis just let him (mostly because those hands were on his biceps, and wrapping nearly all the way around them).
There wasn't time to think about the state of his bedroom, too caught up in thinking about that pathetic noise he had just made. The state being the almost empty room, the lack of anything that could even be passed off as a nest, the notable lack of any scents belonging to Dennis or anyone else for that matter. There was a lone hair tie on the bed frame, which Dennis had found on the floor of their apartment and taken to at least have something from an alpha close by. For what felt like the hundredth time since leaving the ER, Robby stopped dead in his tracks. Dennis could notice a strong, stale smell which he was sure wasn't there before. His head started to feel funny again all of a sudden, and Robby must have noticed it because he lead Dennis to sit down on his mattress. There was one lone pillow in the centre of his neatly made bed— there had been others when Trinity had moved him in but he wasn't used to that many, so he carefully stashed them in his closet. It wasn't like anyone was going into his room anyway.
Dennis could feel that Robby was holding back quite a few questions, but he was glad of it— he was in no state to be answering anything right now.
"Please don't feel obliged to stay. You should get back to work…" Robby didn't respond for a while, and the smaller felt his heart sink. Had he upset Robby somehow? He wasn't sure he could hold it together if he was yelled at right now. "I'm sorry— I was totally unprofessional, sir. If- If there's anything I can do to make this up to you—" His head was still pounding and he had to wipe his clammy hands on the legs of his scrubs. This was the feeling that he hated the most back home. The bated breath, waiting for a punishment for a crime that he couldn't place, a misstep which he hadn't realised would get him into trouble.
"Whitaker," Robby eventually began, his tone quiet and voice slow. Like he was trying to calm a child. "Whitaker, I'm not—" Dennis is shaking so hard now it's almost cartoonish. His big, blue, terrified eyes staring up at him like he's pleading for something. "Jesus, Dennis…" Robby's eyes train directly onto the scent glands on Dennis' neck. Or Rather, the scent patches covering them. Something seems to slot into place in Robby's head and his hand reaches up tentatively to brush over them. When Dennis almost flinches back, his eyes train on the small man's face carefully.
"Whitaker, you're aware that you should not leave these on for extended periods, yes?" Dennis could see that he was holding back an additional and these cheap ones are not good for anyone, and he simply nods his head. Of course he knows this, but that doesn't mean he has to abide by it. The skin around and under where the little stickers go sometimes gets really sore, but he would rather that than expose his scent to all of the ER. It's always been sickening, even his parents thought so.
The silence stretched between them for a long while, and before Dennis could remember to give Robby an excuse for his lack of self-care, the older man was speaking again,
"Take them off, Whitaker. Give your skin a break." The commanding tone of voice had Dennis nodding quickly. He was too out of it to think much more about doing what he was told before he was peeling off the wretched things as quick as possible, eager to keep off of Robby's shit-list.
A soured, distressed smell was pumping out of Dennis; spoiled milk left out the fridge all summer.
Robby's face fell and Dennis could feel he had done the wrong thing. He can never do things right. Always managing to upset people. His parents were right.
The small boy shrunk back even further, bracing himself.
"Whitaker, you're-" Robby looked like he was going to be sick. Try as he might, Dennis couldn't stop making the awful scent. Snapping into de-escalation mode, Dennis stood up (still unsteady on his feet, and nauseated too now) and scrambled around in his bedside drawer. He pulled out a box of his scent patches and tore it open in his haste. Steady hands closed around his wrists and stopped him before any could be stuck back onto the raw skin around his glands.
"Dennis," Robby began with a voice that was a little shakier than either had been anticipating, "are you— You're still a puppy?"
Tears gathered in Dennis' eyes as Robby watched him, burning with the shameful question. His chest was tight and his stomach was turning rapidly. He wanted to be alone. Desperately.
"Sorry," was all he could muster. This was his worst nightmare, his most vulnerable and private secret exposed in front of his boss. Not even Trinity knew and they had been living together for a few months now. He couldn't look at Robby, couldn't bear to see the look of disgust on his face at Dennis' second gender (or lack thereof). In a desperate attempt to salvage any remaining dignity he might have, Dennis squeezed his hands tight to hide the shaking and really tried to swallow the nausea he always got when he knew he was in trouble.
"…How?" Was clearly all that Robby could force out. Dennis was just grateful he wasn't being shouted at yet. He shook his head, silent, he was supposed to answer with words but maybe he could get away with it just this once.
It wasn't that he didn't know the answer to that, he knew perfectly well. He had stayed on the hormone blockers even after he had moved out of Nebraska, the shame of possibly being an omega too much to handle while he was in med school. Then, it was because living on the streets meant being hurt by anyone and everyone who realised he was a vulnerable omega. Then, it was a combination of both shame and self-preservation along with the ease which staying on them provided over presenting while he was working long hours in The Pitt.
He had to sit down again, head spinning. Suddenly, Robby stood up (Dennis tried not to think about the grunt of effort he made in doing so) and mumbled,
"I'm gonna get you a glass of water, Dennis." The bedroom door opened and shut quietly, leaving Dennis alone.
The closet door cracked open slowly. It had been dark and cool in there, his bedroom felt too exposed and too big very quickly after Robby left him. The pillows which were meant to be on his bed came in handy as he pushed himself into the small boxy space and curled up tightly. Back home, he would have preferred to do this in the bathroom, pressed behind the toilet paper in the cupboard under the sink. Dennis flinched back a little when he looked up to see his boss' face at eye level with his own.
"What're you doing in there?" Robby's voice was gentle and patient. It was the same tone he used when children came in to be treated in the ER. It made Dennis feel even more self-conscious than he already did. With his body curled so tight and small, his trembling was even more noticeable. Wide eyes peered back at Robby out of the dim shadows.
His parents were right, he was fucking pathetic. A glass of water shimmered towards him in the darkness, a beacon of light. On trying to take it, his hands shook too much to hold it steady. Dennis was pretty sure that Robby holding the glass up to his lips for him to drink from would be bumped up to the top three most humiliating moments of his entire life. Even above the first time he attended church after his parents found out he was gay. So when he did, Dennis simply pushed the glass away and shook his head. He desperately needed to man the hell up and send Robby back to work. He could get through this on his own.
"I'm— I'm okay, really. You should get back to work…"
The look he got at that was a disapproving one,
"Okay. Why don't you come on outta there for me first, hey?" Dennis did not want to do that. He shrunk back further. Usually, having to leave his safe corners meant he was in for something which was too much to conduct in such a confined space. Most often it meant bruises for weeks. Never presenting and aging out of being a pup meant that, even at 26, he was cowering at the sight of his Boss.
Neither were expecting the whimper Dennis made, and Robby very immediately drew back his hands.
"Okay, pup. You can stay in there for a while…" Robby was backtracking hard. He sat down facing Dennis and tucked both hands into his lap. He looked as if he was going to say more, but the way that Dennis angles his face away from Robby gives him pause. Again. A real flinch of fear this time. He hadn't been called pup in going on 9 years now; his dad called him that. A silence fell between them again and Dennis sure as hell wasn't going to be the one to break it.
"Sorry, Dr. Robby. I don't know what's wrong with me. Sorry." His voice was quiet and apprehensive, like a kicked dog. It wasn't like Robby had meant it as an insult. His scent must be sickening by now, it always got like that when he was scared. That was why he didn't take off the scent patches other than to switch them out for fresh ones.
"Whitaker…" There was a pause like the man sat across from him couldn't decide whether or not to continue what he was saying. Probably because he was taking the reactions Dennis had already had to a lot of what he was saying into account. "Whitaker, do you think you could be going into… into heat?"
It wasn't possible. That couldn't possibly be true. He was so, so strict about making sure he did his shot on time every month. It had kept him like this all these years. Why would it stop now? Besides, he was pretty sure he would know if he was going into heat. They made all med students study it in so much depth before they could even think about a specialty. He couldn't be going into heat. That would mean he definitely, without a shadow of a doubt, would be an omega. The cursed secondary gender, the one that would mean he could never go home again. (He couldn't go home again anyway). He would go days without eating on the street to afford his hormone blockers, just to end up here anyway? And what would Trinity say, if she knew she had willingly invited an omega into her home? And not even a good one, not even one that could build a nest. Jesus, Robby was going to think he was so pathetic, maybe he wouldn't even want to work with him anymore, or—
"Whitaker? Whit— Dennis? Dennis?" Bright blue eyes snapped up to meet those deep brown ones. "Dennis, breathe for me, okay? Deep breaths…" Breathe? Oh Christ, Dennis couldn't breathe. Why wasn't he breathing? "Dennis, it's okay if you are…" Dennis just shook his head in response to Robby's calming voice. At some point during their conversation, The little omega had started to chew on his thumb, self soothing in the most heartbreaking way possible.
It took a long while for Dennis to breathe again, trapped in the small space of the closet. He couldn't bare to look at Robby's face. It was worse after Robby told him he wasn't angry. Pity was worse than anger, anger was something he knew how to deal with.
"…I languish; heal me, O Lord, because my bones are frightened. And my soul is very frightened, and You, O Lord, how long? Return, O Lord, rescue my soul; save me—"
"Psalm 6:2," Dennis cut off with a hoarse voice; Robby was praying over him. His voice was smooth and melodic, not like the empty droning of the full pews in his church back home. He could taste the dust and incense in the back of his throat, feel the bruises on his knees and sweat on his palms. Both knew the passage well, meeting in the overlap of faith.
"You know it?" Dennis nodded his head.
"We— We kept them in the bathroom, at home. Used to read them whenever— used to read them a lot." There's a lull, then he adds with a small, bitter laugh, "Never liked that one. The Lord didn't accept my prayers."
Dennis was toying with the tiny silver cross around his neck, gently tugging at it like one would a wedding band. Most days it suffocated him, the chain round his throat and the cross over his heart.
"Me neither, kid…" Robby's voice was distant. When Dennis risked a glance up at him, he was no longer looking at Dennis, but somewhere in the darkness of the closet behind him.
By now, Dennis' body heat and scent had warmed up the closet too and he was starting to get uncomfortable. Even when he was little, he was at least forced to wear scent blockers. Now, the smell of spoiled milk was making him more nauseous than he already was. He didn't want to leave yet, but he did crack the door a little more. The movement seemed to startle Robby; it pulled him out of his thoughts and his dark eyes glistened subtly when they focused back on the scared little thing in the closet.
Next thing either of them knew, Dennis had surrendered, rather pathetically, and crawled out of the tiny space. He wanted desperately to curl up in Robby's lap, but of course he couldn't. That would be entirely unprofessional. He couldn't ask his boss to wrap him up in his big, strong arms and keep him safe— Dennis whined out loud and immediately blushed so hard it felt like his head was going to explode.
His head was still pounding, and he ran a clammy hand over his face. Now, he was intentionally avoiding Robby's eyes after the primal and ugly noise he had just made.
"Whitaker… maybe you should lie down. You're clearly not well, whatever it is…" Dennis just nodded. His body felt like it was made of lead as he pulled himself up to the bed. He wasn't expecting it, but Robby followed him. In a helpless moment of weakness, he reached him arms out. The action made him feel like a toddler— maybe he wasn't far off from one. "Use your words, Dennis" The words were low and quiet, a small shift in the atmosphere of the room. Dennis was stuck at an impasse; he didn't want to ask Robby for a hug, he was his boss for heaven's sake, but he also wasn't sure that he could survive on his own.
"Dr. Robby…" He started, his chest feeling tight already. "Dr. Robby, please… please could you hold me… I'm real sorry, you can say no… Sorry, it's stupid, never mind—" His boss' arms pulled him close into his chest. Christ. He was a lot bigger than Dennis realised. Dennis wished he could turn and bury his face in Robby's chest, but he didn't want to push his luck anymore than he already was.
Robby's hands gripped Dennis' waist firmly, both could feel that he was still too tense. A moment late, Dennis felt a rough, warm hand reach up to the back of his neck and squeeze. Holy fuck, his boss was scruffing him. Dennis keened softly, completely melting under the touch. It never felt this good when he did it to himself, it was a marvel how he had gone his whole life never being scruffed without a punishment following afterwards.
Dennis stayed tense at first (a skill he had learned much too young) but eventually, when no pain followed, he succumbed to the pull in his chest telling him to relax.
Neither were sure when it happened, but Dennis stirred awake to the sound of Trinity coming in after her shift. Almost immediately, her voice rang through the apartment,
"Jesus, Dennis, it fucking stinks like pup in here. You haven't brought one home have you?—" The sound of her footsteps got louder and she poked her head through the door while gasping, "Were you pregnant this whole—" The questions stopped as she took in the scene, and what a scene it must have been. Dennis looked up at her with bleary, sleepy eyes.
"Santos," The voice from behind him cut him off. It sounded as if Robby had been asleep too as he sat up and pulled off Dennis, who immediately whined before he could catch it.
"Dr. Robby? Dennis, please don't tell me you let your boss get you pregnant," Santos stood a little straighter, eyeing her roommate carefully. Underneath the sarcastic exterior, she was definitely concerned on a genuine level. Robby was answering before Dennis had a chance— he probably would not have been able to come up with more than a strangled noise which would do nothing to convince Trinity of anything otherwise:
"Dr. Santos, I can assure you that Dr. Whitaker is not pregnant, definitely not by me…" If Dennis had turned around at that moment, he would have seen how red Robby's face had gotten, and Robby would have excused it as him being too warm or something ridiculous.
"Why's the only thing I can smell in here distressed pup, then? Either of you care to explain?"
"Trin—" Dennis' voice was still hoarse and dry. He sat up, bones cracking, and cleared his throat. Trinity had a skeptical expression as she looked at the both of them, curled up in (technically) he spare bed. "Trinity, I promise it isn't like that—" His eyes were pleading with her to believe him.
"Dennis…?" Santos pushed again, a little more cautious this time. He didn't want to have this conversation. Not now, not in front of Robby. Dennis was about 95% sure that he would get yelled at and then probably cry, and with Robby in his bedroom, there would be nowhere for him to hide that he cried whenever someone raised their voice at him.
"I just— I promise there isn't a pup— in me, or here. Not— its not what you think, okay? Can we talk about this later, please?"
"If there's a puppy in my home, I'd like to know about it, Dennis." All Dennis could do was whine at her insistence. It was humiliating, as soon as he realised what he had done. He screwed his eyes shut and muttered shakily, his body beginning to heat up and tremble again,
"Fuck, Trinity, I'm sorry—" Dennis could feel the inquisitive stare from Robby burning at the back of his head, this was bad. This was so, so bad. It couldn't get worse. Maybe some luck would find him and he would just die, right there. On the spot. It wasn't like Trinity was being cruel or harsh, she had a right to be concerned, but Dennis felt his eyes start to sting regardless.
"Dennis has been using hormone blockers, Santos. What you are smelling is him." He had spoken too soon. This was worse, Robby outing his secret. He sounded almost clinical, removed from the situation. Which was impressive, really, considering he was effectively spooning Dennis. The look which fell over Santos' face made him feel more nauseous, somehow. She was angry, on the surface, probably that he had kept this from her. But underneath that there was a large amount of concern. The room felt hotter still.
"Trinity, I'm sorry— I was gonna tell you…" Dennis did not feel good. Of course, he hadn't all day, but the pain had leveled up to cramping, in his lower stomach. Dennis just whined and curled his legs up instinctively. He could feel the pitying look from both Robby and Trinity.
"Hey, hey, what's hurting?" Robby was speaking like he would to a small animal, or the babies they saw in the ER. The answer was everything, every part of his body felt too small and too big and too hot. All he could muster was a tiny and pathetic whimper. A warm hand finds his stomach, over his clothes, and applies just enough pressure to relieve some of the pain.
"Santos, perhaps we should talk later. I can explain this all to you away from Dennis here."
At those words, Dennis tuned out Robby's negotiations; he couldn't contribute anything useful to the conversation. Not like this.
He wasn't sure how long it took for him to come back to himself a little. In the hours since he woke up, the symptoms had been coming in waves, rocking him to and fro and making him incredibly seasick. He could hear Robby talking to him gently, saying something which seemed urgent.
"…Dennis? Dennis, you're bleeding honey. We gotta get up for a moment…"
Mentioning blood snapped Dennis out of it for a moment. He felt the urgency which he got when there were arterial bleeds at work. Sitting up quickly, he looked around almost frantically. It gave him a headrush and made him feel a little nauseous.
"Where?" Robby had an unreadable expression on his face. When he responded, he kept the same tone as before,
"Dennis, you're bleeding. It's nothing to worry about, it's just because of your— your heat. Okay?" In the moment, Dennis could vaguely recall learning about this in first year of med school, "We just gotta get you some clean underwear and find you some pre-heat pads, yeah?" If Dennis were in a better state, he would have questioned where these pads would come from; he had never had a heat and Trinity was an alpha. Instead, he just nodded and let Robby guide him to stand. Robby was opening his draws in his peripheral, and if Dennis weren't so out of it, he would have been worried about whatever shit Robby was about to stumble on. He had so many things in the drawers which had become stuffed to the brim since moving in with Trinity. Robby finds a clean pair of boxers and sweats for Dennis, and he doesn't bring up the tin which smelt suspiciously like his college dorm with Jack smelt, and the cut-off vest top which was definitely for more than warmth in the cold Pittsburgh winters.
The next thing Dennis was aware of was cool air around his legs and ass. Robby was changing him wordlessly, clinically. He found pads somewhere for Dennis, and then he was being laid down again. Dennis could only thank The Lord God that secondary genders determined sex organs, and that Robby did not get the chance to remove his scrub top. He could hear that Robby was saying something comforting to him as he reached for the hem of Dennis' top, but another wave of pain made his ears ring and all he could do was whine. A sheen of sweat made his face feel clammy and sticky and he felt gross. He was lain down on the bed again, top still firmly on.
"—I will be with you; I will never leave you nor forsake you. Be strong and courageous…" Robby was reciting to him again. It was a low rumble that vibrated against his chest like a purr. To Dennis, it had the same healing properties.
"Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go. Joshua 1:5-9." Dennis finished for Robby, just a little abashed at his ability to recall verses with so much ease. A theology undergrad will do that to a man. Robby hummed approvingly and carded a hand through the younger's hair. Dennis preened under the small amount of validation.
When he comes back around from a nearly unbearable amount of pain that ripped through him hard and long enough to produce tears on his cheeks, Dennis' face is pressed into Robby's chest. He's still reciting prayers and verses from the TeNaKh softly, stroking the man's loose curls. He becomes aware that he is buried under a pile of blankets that smell like Trinity; gas station fumes and a faint, heady-green smell. She must have come in while he was out of himself and left them there. It touched his heart in a way he wasn't sure had happened before.
He fell asleep there with a small smile on his face, despite the pain and soreness clawing at his insides.