Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dennis was starving.

He'd had nothing to eat for a whole day. He was in Pittsburgh with his family for a wedding they couldn’t miss. They’d driven for two days to get here, the car ride cramped and long. That morning, he was supposed to stay with his brothers while his parents did wedding stuff. His brothers told him to sit on the stairs of a big building while they went to get food.

A minute after they left, Dennis needed to use the bathroom. He went inside the building, and a nice lady showed him where it was. When he came back out a few minutes later, his brothers were nowhere to be found.

He thought maybe they had simply gone ahead to a food stand farther down the street. So he sat on the stairs and waited. But nobody came.

Dennis didn't have any money. His parents didn’t have cell phones—they cost too much. So he just sat there, hoping his brothers would come back soon. A security guard passed by once, and then again, asking if he was lost. Dennis said he was waiting for his brothers both times. But after the second time, Dennis saw suspicion flicker in the guard’s eyes, so he slipped away from the stairs and tucked himself under a tall tree surrounded by bushes on three sides. From there, he could still see the stairs, but the guard couldn’t see him.

He wanted to ask for help, but if he got the police involved, his parents would be furious at his brothers. And then his brothers would be really mad at him. Plus, what if the police charged money? His family didn't have extra money lying around like that.

So Dennis stayed hidden in the bushes, watching for his brothers’ jackets. They were dusty but colorful. Easy to spot.

The sun found the tree he was sitting against, then found him. It slid into his eyes, warmed his hands where they wrapped around his knees. Then it moved past him onto the bushes, turning everything a rich gold. Finally, it disappeared.

Food trucks shuttered their windows and drove off. Grown-ups clutching textbooks and bags rushed out of the building in groups. The streetlights turned on, making everything look faintly orange. It was nighttime now.

Still no sign of his brothers.

Worry crept in—would they abandon him? Leave him on purpose? Because he was too small and too weak for farm work. His parents said things like that sometimes—that he was too little, that he couldn’t do anything right. A waste of space, a waste of money—his brothers called him.

He’d tried not to be a burden, tried making himself small to avoid attention. But what if they’d forgotten about him? What if they didn’t want him anymore? He remembered reading about people driving miles to dump their dogs in unfamiliar places so they couldn’t find their way home. What if that’s what his family did to him? Drove all the way to Pittsburgh just to leave him here, never to return? They’d given him no money, no phone number to remember. He was truly and utterly alone.

And he was hungry—starving, if he was being honest—but his parents didn’t like it when he used words like that. He needed to find something to eat, or at least something to drink. Water always made the hungry feeling go away.

He stood. His whole body ached from sitting cramped for so long. But he was used to that. His brothers locked him in a cabinet whenever he did something they didn’t like. This wasn't much different.

He started walking toward the building, but the guard was still there, leaning against the wall with a lit cigarette. Dennis ran the other way before the guard could see him.

He skirted around the building, crossed a yard where people sat talking in small groups, and came out on a busier street. There were lots of people walking around in nice coats and shiny shoes. Dennis slipped between them. Nobody noticed him.

Cafés and diners lined the sidewalk. The smell of food drifted out. Dennis’s mouth watered. He swallowed hard. He really, really wanted to run into one of those places and just grab food off someone’s table. But stealing was wrong, he tried to tell himself. Stealing was what bad people did. Street urchins, like in Oliver Twist.

But wasn’t he a street urchin now? Lost in a big city, abandoned by his family.

Maybe he should steal. But he’d get caught. He was too small and scared. He’d mess it up, just like Oliver Twist did. And then what? Oliver had Mr. Brownlow to help him. Dennis didn’t have anybody.

So he forced himself to walk past all the tantalizing smells, keeping his gaze straight ahead.

Snippets of conversation reached him. Someone complaining about how their food tasted. A sound—a barely-eaten sandwich being tossed into the trash. Dennis tried not to look, but he was so, so hungry. Surely, if it had been thrown away, taking it wasn’t stealing.

His feet walked over to the trash can by themselves. They wouldn’t keep going. He just stood there, looking at the can. It was almost as tall as him. But there was a sandwich right on top of the garbage. Someone had only eaten like two bites of it.

Dennis stretched up on his tiptoes, reached in, and grabbed the sandwich. His hands were shaking as they tore off the slightly damp paper wrapping. His stomach hurt from how hungry he was.

The smell of toasted bread and ham hit him at once—he took a huge bite.

It tasted so good. The best thing ever. The salty and sweet ham. The crunchy and buttery bread melting in his mouth. He forgot about everything else. He forgot where he was. He forgot to be scared. There was just the sandwich and how good it tasted.

He didn’t hear someone come up behind him.

“Hey—”

Dennis didn’t hear that either. Then there was a hand on his shoulder, wrenching him back to reality.

Dennis jerked up, startled. The hand belonged to a tall figure—a giant, dark shape looming over him. He ducked and started to run, but the hand was lightning-fast and caught him by his collar.

Dennis panicked. He shoved the rest of the sandwich in his mouth as fast as he could. It was too much. Way too much. He couldn’t breathe right. But he kept pushing it in with his fingers. They were going to take it away. He had to eat it first.

“Hey—spit it out!" The voice was louder now, sharper.

Dennis took this as a warning and shoved harder, nearly choking on the bread. His fingers hurt from pressing so hard. The bread was blocking his throat, he couldn't get air.

The hand became two arms. They lifted him up, wrapped around him. Something soft bumped against his stomach, then something firmer patted his back. Suddenly all the sandwich came flying back out. It landed on the ground in gross, chewed-up pieces.

Dennis stared at the bits of chewed ham and flattened bread. His sandwich. His food. All gone. A sour feeling rose in his chest and up into his nose. Pressure built behind his eyes. The arms were still around him, trapping him. He kicked backward as hard as he could, but they only held him tighter. He clawed at them with his hands, fingernails finding skin and dug in.

There was a sharp intake of breath, a low "Ow". Then the voice again, softer than he expected: “You’re okay. I've got you. Calm down.”

The voice kept murmuring, but Dennis couldn't hear it—there was a loud ringing sound in his ears. The edges of everything looked blurry and dark.

Lights went past really fast, first orange, then a yellowish white. Then he was in a different room. It was dark and quiet. There were bookshelves everywhere and a soft and cool surface. A couch.

The person set him down gently on it. Dennis could see him now—a man with kind eyes and dark hair beginning to gray at the temples. He crouched down so he was the same height as Dennis.

“I’m Michael Rabinovitch, but you can call me Robby,” the man said. His voice was soft. “Can you tell me what’s going on? Are you lost?”

Dennis pressed his lips together and looked at the floor.

“That’s okay,” Robby said. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. But I want to help you. Is that all right?”

The gentleness in his voice made something crack inside Dennis’s chest. He tried to hold it in, tried to be strong the way his parents expected, but suddenly tears were streaming down his face. And then words came out too, all jumbled up. About his brothers leaving him on the stairs. About waiting all day. About being so hungry. About thinking maybe his family didn’t want him anymore and left him here on purpose like people did with dogs they didn’t want.

When Dennis finally stopped talking, Robby nodded. “You’ve had a really scary day. And you must be so tired. And hungry—I know the sandwich didn’t work out. Let me go get you some food and water, okay? I’ll be right back—”

“No!” Dennis grabbed Robby’s sleeve. His heart started beating really fast again. “Don’t leave. Please don’t leave me.”

Robby’s expression softened. “Okay. Okay, I won’t leave you.” He thought for a moment, then smiled. “How about you come with me? I can carry you. There’s a little café here in the library. We’ll get you something to eat. Together. How’s that sound?”

Dennis thought about it, then he nodded.

Robby turned around and bent down a little. Dennis climbed onto his back and held on tight. Robby stood up carefully and walked out of the quiet room.

The café was warm and smelled like warm soup and sweet things. Robby walked up to the counter with Dennis still on his back. “One juice box and one banana bread, please,” Robby said to the lady behind the counter. He turned his head a little and winked at Dennis. “Best bread in the whole café. Promise.”

The lady smiled at them. “Aw, Is this your nephew?”

Dennis tensed, fingers digging into Robby’s shoulders. Was Robby going to tell? Would the lady call the police?

“Something like that,” Robby said. He didn’t sound worried at all. He just paid and took the food.

Dennis relaxed a little bit.

Robby carried him to a table in the corner and set him down in a chair. He opened the juice box—he even put the straw in—and unwrapped the banana bread. He pushed them across the table to Dennis.

“Go slow, okay? Your stomach’s been empty all day. Too much too fast will make you sick.”

Dennis nodded. He picked up the banana bread. It was still warm. He took a small bite.

It was sweet. And warm. And really soft. Nothing like the hard bread at home that was always a little stale. This was like something from a fancy bakery that he had always read about. The best thing Dennis had ever tasted.

He took another bite. A bigger one.

“Smaller bites,” Robby said gently. “I know you’re hungry. But trust me on this one.”

Dennis made himself take a smaller bite. He chewed it slowly. The juice was cold and sweet—apple juice. His favorite, though he didn’t get it very often.

After a few more bites, Dennis looked up at Robby. “What do you do?”

“What do I do?” Robby seemed surprised by the question. Then he smiled. “Well, right now I work at a hospital. I’m a doctor.”

“A doctor,” Dennis repeated. He took another small bite. “What kind of doctor?”

“The kind that works in the emergency room,” Robby said. “When people get hurt or really sick, they come to the hospital, and I help them.”

Dennis swallowed. “Like when people break their arm?”

“Exactly like that. Or when they have really bad stomach aches, or they’re having trouble breathing, or lots of other things.”

“Do you give them shots?” Dennis's nose crunched up—he didn’t like shots.

Robby laughed a little. “Sometimes. But mostly I figure out what’s wrong with them and how to make them feel better.”

Dennis thought about this. He took a sip of his juice. “How do you figure it out?”

“Well, I ask them questions. Where does it hurt? When did it start? Things like that. And then sometimes I have to do tests. Like taking their temperature or listening to their heart.” Robby paused. “Are you interested in doctors?”

Dennis shrugged. He didn’t know if he was allowed to be interested in things like that. But he was curious. “How did you become a doctor?”

“That’s a good question.” Robby leaned back in his chair. He looked like he was thinking. “I went to medical school. That’s a special school you go to after college. It takes a long time—four years of college, then four years of medical school, then even more time training at a hospital.”

Dennis had only been in school for three years, and that seemed like a long time already. He frowned. “That’s a lot of school."

“It is,” Robby agreed. “It’s a lot of studying. A lot of staying up late reading big heavy books about how the body works.”

“Is it hard?”

“Very hard. But it’s worth it.”

Dennis took another bite. He chewed it slowly, thinking. “What’s the best part? About being a doctor?”

Robby smiled. “The best part is helping people. When someone comes in scared and hurting, and you can make them feel better—there’s nothing else like it.” He paused. “What about you? Do you want to be a doctor someday?”

Dennis felt his face get hot. Nobody ever asked him what he wanted to be. “I don’t know. Maybe. But…I’m probably not smart enough.”

“Hey.” Robby’s voice was gentle but firm. “Don’t say that. You seem pretty smart to me.”

“I’m just a kid.”

“All doctors were kids once,” Robby said. “I was a kid once. And I wasn’t always sure I was smart enough either.”

Dennis looked up, surprised. “Really?”

“Really. Medical school is scary. You think everyone else knows more than you. But you know what? You just keep studying. Keep trying. And eventually, you figure it out.”

Dennis wanted to ask more questions. He wanted to know everything—what medical school looked like, what the hospital was like, what kinds of hurt people Robby helped. But his mouth was full of banana bread. He swallowed hard and tried to open his mouth to talk.

“Hold on,” Robby said gently, holding up one hand. “Keep eating first. I can talk while you eat. How about that?”

Dennis nodded.

“Okay, so medical school,” Robby said. He stretched, leaned back even more, as if settling in for a story. “The first two years, you’re in classrooms all the time. Learning about anatomy—that’s all the parts of the body. Bones, muscles, organs, everything. You learn about diseases and medicines. They make you memorize so much stuff. My roommate and I used to quiz each other at breakfast, at lunch, at dinner. We even had flashcards taped to the mirror in our bathroom.”

Dennis almost laughed, but his mouth was full, so it came out as kind of a snort. Flashcards in the bathroom sounded silly.

“I know, I know,” Robby said, grinning. “But it worked. Then the last two years, you actually go to the hospital. You follow real doctors around. You watch them help patients. Eventually, they let you help too—little things at first. Taking someone’s blood pressure. Checking their reflexes. Then bigger things.”

Dennis swallowed his bite. “Were you scared? The first time you helped someone?”

“Terrified,” Robby admitted. “My hands were shaking. But there was this older doctor supervising me. He was calm and patient, guided me through everything. And after I was done, he told me I did well. The patient said thank you. It was one of the happiest days of my life. ”

Dennis took a sip of his juice. The banana bread was almost gone now. He felt full—but in a good way. Not the heavy feeling he got when he ate too fast and made himself sick.

“After medical school, there’s residency,” Robby continued. “That’s when you’re a real doctor, but you’re still learning. You work really long hours. Sometimes I’d be at the hospital for twenty-four hours straight. No sleep. Just helping patient after patient.”

“Twenty-four hours?” Dennis couldn’t imagine staying awake that long.

“Twenty-four hours,” Robby confirmed. “Sometimes more. You get used to it. Sort of. You learn to take quick naps when you can. You learn which vending machines have the best coffee.” He smiled. “And you learn so much. Every patient teaches you something new. Every case is like a puzzle you have to solve.”

“Do you like puzzles?” Dennis asked.

“I love puzzles. That’s part of why I like being a doctor. Someone comes in and they’re sick, but we don’t know why. So you have to figure it out. Ask questions, run tests, put all the pieces together.”

Dennis finished his last bite of banana bread. He licked his fingers—they were sticky and sweet. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Why did you help me? You don’t even know me.”

Robby was quiet for a moment. His face got serious. “Because you needed help. And because…” He paused, like he was choosing his words carefully. “Because someone helped me once, when I needed it. And I promised myself I’d do the same for other people.”

“Oh,” Dennis said softly.

“Plus,” Robby added, his voice lighter now, “you’re a good kid. I can tell.”

Dennis didn’t feel like a good kid most of the time. But the way Robby said it made him think maybe it was true.

He looked down at the empty wrapper and the empty juice box. His stomach felt warm and full. He felt safe, sitting here in this little café with the soft lights and the smell of coffee and this nice man who talked to him like he mattered.

“Thank you,” Dennis said quietly. “For the food. And for… everything.”

Robby smiled. “You’re welcome.” He was quiet for a second, then said, “I have to ask you something now. And I want you to think about your answer, okay?”

A sense of foreboding crept back and landed in his stomach. “Okay.”

“Do you think we could try to find your family? I want to help you get back to them.”

There it was. The question Dennis knew was coming but didn’t want to hear. “What if they don’t want me?” His voice came out small and scared. “Would you give me to the police?”

Robby looked at him for a long time. Then he smiled just a little bit. “No. If your family doesn’t want you—which I really don’t think is true, but if it is—then you could stay with me.”

“Really?” Dennis could barely breathe.

“Really. I mean it.”

The scared feeling in Dennis’s stomach got smaller. He slid off his chair. “Okay. I can show you where I was waiting.”

Robby held out his hand. Dennis took it. His hand was big and warm. They walked out of the café together, through the library, and outside.

Dennis showed Robby the way back to the building with the stairs. His heart was beating fast. What if his family really was gone? What if they’d left for real?

But, when they got close, Dennis saw them. His parents were talking to the security guard. He could hear his dad's voice, even from far away. His mom’s hands were moving around a lot—she did that when she was upset. His three brothers were standing there with their heads down. One of them had his hand over his face. Like he was crying.

They hadn’t abandoned him. They were here. They were looking for him.

Dennis let go of Robby’s hand and ran. Fast as he could.

“Mom! Dad!”

His mother turned around first, her face going from sad and scared to shock to overwhelming relief. She dropped to her knees and swept him into her arms, and then his father was there, hugging him really tight. His brothers crowded around, all crying and saying sorry, sorry, sorry. They’d only gone around the corner but when they came back he was gone. They’d been looking everywhere. They were so scared. They were so sorry.

Dennis hugged them back, his own tears falling. They wanted him. They hadn’t left him on purpose.

After a moment, he remembered. He turned around to where he’d come from, looking for the kind doctor who’d given him banana bread and promised he could stay if no one else wanted him.

But Robby was already gone. Like he was never even there.

The rest of the weekend, his brothers said sorry about a million times. His parents didn’t let him out of their sight. Not at the wedding. Not anywhere. It was kind of annoying but also kind of nice.

Dennis grew up. He had banana bread many times over the years—baking it with his mom, by himself, ordering it in cafés and bakeries away from home. But none ever tasted as good as it did that night in that library café.

Not until the morning he stepped into Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center for his last year of med school rotation, butterflies fluttering in his stomach. A middle-aged man with a beard and much gray in his hair walked toward him and extended his hand.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Rabinovitch. You can call me Robby.”

The world seemed to still. Suddenly, Dennis was ten years old again, and the warmth and sweetness of banana bread surrounded him.

He was home.