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glennjaminhow · 1 day

Note

How about a hurt/comfort fic where Luther gets out of prison and beats Mac up and Mac takes the bus to PennU and shows up on Dennis’ doorstep all sad and upset and in need of love 👀

Thank you for the prompt! I hope you like it!

April 24, 1996

Mac is half asleep when he hears the front door unlock.

He’s lounging in bed, a box fan pointed at his feet and an ashtray balanced on his chest. The mattress is bare except for the blanket he stole from Dennis before he left for UPenn. It’s soft and blue like Dennis’ eyes, and, if Mac focuses enough, he can still smell Dennis’ fancy cologne nestled in the fabric. A mostly smoked joint smolders between his lips as he stares up at the water-stained ceiling, an arm folded beneath his head. His only plan today is to get stoned out of his mind. It’s his day off from the construction site, and his whole body fucking hurts. It doesn’t help that he works six days a week – at least twelve hour days each – so he can keep up with all the bills, especially since Mom quit Jiffy Lube.

He just wants to spend the day at home in bed gorging himself on weed and, eventually, pizza.

But that doesn’t happen.

One second Mac is taking a hit, perfectly comfortable and wrapped in Dennis’ blanket. The next second he’s yanked out of bed so hard his brain spins. Stomach swimming near his toes, he inhales sharply and immediately notices who’s standing in front of him.

“Dad? What are you doing he–”

But he doesn’t get to finish the question.

Dad’s fist collides with his mouth, sucker punching the shit out of him. Mac stumbles back, bracing himself against the wall, panting. He shakes his head and tries to talk, tries to reason with this giant anger ball in front of him, but he can’t speak. It’s like his tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth, and words just won’t come out. Dad gets closer and closer, until he’s breathing down Mac’s neck. His heart pounds, and his lips tremble, but he doesn’t make any movements. Maybe if he stays silent and still – the way his parents prefer him to be – then Dad will leave him alone.

“Son,” his dad starts, voice dangerously even and callous. “What the fuck did you do?”

Mac’s teeth chatter. He wavers uncertainly his spot. Dad must notice because he immediately puts his rough hands on his shoulders, rooting his socked feet further into the floor. Tears swell in his eyes, and he tries to blink them away, but he fails, and they stream over his cheeks, mixing with the blood coating his chin. But he doesn’t move. He can’t move. Crying isn’t his normal response when his dad – unexpectedly or not – acts like this, but it was a surprise, and Mac was half asleep, and he doesn’t need – doesn’t want – his dad to know that he scared him.

He's such a fucking baby. No wonder his parents hate him.

So why does he try so hard to please them?

“Jesus Christ. What the fuck is wrong with you?” his dad asks.

He doesn’t say anything. He looks down at the ground and sniffles, wiping at his face and chin.

And of course he doesn’t say anything when Dad’s fist smashes into his stomach, causing him to double over and spit up blood on the tattered carpet. Dad forces him to stand upright, grabbing his cheek with is rough hand and pressing the back of his head against the wall.

“I asked you a question.”

Mac’s lips quiver. “I-I… I don’t know wh-what’s wrong with me…”

“No. Not that, you little shit,” Dad says. “You ratted me out, didn’t you?”

Mac’s eyes widen. He instantly shakes his head once, twice, three times. “I would n-never do that!”

Dad squeezes his neck and cheek harder, fingers digging into his flesh hard enough to leave bruises. “But you did.”

“No, I didn’t! I swear!”

“Tell me the truth, son.”

Dad inches closer. They’re breathing the same air. Only Mac isn’t just breathing; he’s close to hyperventilating. He doesn’t like being closed in, and he doesn’t like being manhandled, and he doesn’t like how horrifying his dad is being right now. He didn’t do anything. He didn’t do anything wrong. All he does is go to work, come home, and visit Dennis on his day off during the week. He barely speaks to Mom, and all she does is grunt in response when he does try to tell her something. This is the first time he’s seen his dad in over a year since his most recent parole violation that landed him back in prison.

“I swear. I didn’t do anything.”

There’s another blow to his stomach. Dad lets go and pushes him to the floor. Mac listens to his bootheels click as he walks away, waiting until he hears the front door slam shut before he starts coughing. Only there isn’t enough oxygen in the room for him now, and he curls up in a ball on the carpet, protectively holding his abdomen and fighting through tears. He has literally no idea what just happened, but it doesn’t take a rocket genius to know that his dad hates him and thinks he betrayed him, only he would never do that to his father. Knows how serious and important his business is, whether he’s in jail or not.

He lays on the floor for what feels like an eternity, poking at his stomach and busted lip. He is trying really hard to do that thing that Dennis does all the time, where he turns off his emotions and lets himself just exist. Only he doesn’t feel like existing right now, not really. The room feels hazy, and he feels numb, yet wants to bawl his eyes out, and he doesn’t understand where any of this came from or why his father hates his freaking guts. He’s never done anything other than try to be a good son, but he knows he sucks. Until he ratted out all the drug dealers in school, he couldn’t sell even a fourth of his weekly supply on his own. Yeah. That’s probably why Dad hates him. He’s useless.

That’s okay. It’s okay. He’s okay.

He’s okay there’s just something obviously wrong with him he can’t get his parents to love him even though he pays all the bills and cooks Mom dinner every night and does all the laundry and always makes sure there’s food in the house and cleans up after himself and is super duper quiet when he walks to the bathroom or kitchen and most of all he’s tried to tell them that he loves them that he wants to be around them and be a normal family but there’s nothing normal about what just happened and he knows that he knows that so why’s he still trying and why does it hurt so much he only wants to be a good son but he can’t ever do anything right and no one else in the world cares about him except Dennis and Charlie and maybe that bird Dee but they’re not here and he’s alone and Charlie is working at a diner as a janitor and Dee and Dennis are at school Dennis he misses Dennis Dennis always knows how to keep him calm and –

Dennis.

Mac wipes his eyes and tries to control his breathing. In. Out. In. Out. Steady. It’s about precision, Dennis says. He has to be steady with his emotions.

He misses Dennis.

And even though he just saw the dude last week, the closest he feels to God is when he’s with Dennis.

Mac sits up. He winces at the uncomfortable twinge in his stomach and hiccups when he feels a slight bulge where his ribs are supposed to be securely in place. Okay. Not the best sign. But he’ll be okay. He can power through this. Dad didn’t mean to hurt him. He lost control a little bit, and Mac was in the way, as usual. You know what? He’ll apologize the next time he sees him. Yeah. He’ll say he’s sorry, and Dad will hug him and tell him it’s okay, and they’ll be father and son again. Maybe then they can go to the park and have a catch.

He pulls himself up, standing on a shaky legs and gripping his right side, where the bulge moves with each breath. He slides his feet into worn boots, grabs his wallet and keys, and sucks in a deep breath.

Outside, the sun is shining high in the sky. He breathes in the smell of freshly cut grass. He loves springtime, even if it does make Dennis’ allergies go totally insane. He loves how alive the earth feels. Maybe he can salvage today.

Maybe.

Mac walks to the bus stop and stands with his arms crossed, hand holding his side in place.

It takes fifteen minutes for the bus to come. By the time he gets on, sweat is beading on his temple and dripping from his hairline. The rest of his body feels like it’s slowly shutting down. He didn’t get home until six this morning, having got to work at noon the day before. He trudges to an open seat, watching as people stare at him like he’s a ghost or a demon dog or something. It’s probably his busted lip that they’re looking at. Or the dried blood on his chin. Either way, it’s pointless to stare.

“Mind your own business, bozos,” Mac mutters, nestling himself into a window seat.

The ride to UPenn typically doesn’t take long. It’s only, like, ten stops away. But today for some reason it takes forever, and Mac is so tired, and now his lip is starting to throb along with his side, where something is definitely dislocated. He sniffles and lays his head on the cool glass, letting his eyes flutter open and closed for what feels like an eternity.

Somehow he doesn’t miss his stop, which he’s grateful for. He can’t imagine turning around and going back home now.

The looming UPenn buildings look even more bigger than usual. Or maybe it’s just that he feels more smaller. He doesn’t know. All he knows is that Dennis understands how to make him feel better. Whenever he needs to escape, whenever he needs to get away from everything for a little while, he knows he can always go to Dennis, and he’ll be there. He’ll be there like he was when they shared blunts and cigarettes under the bleachers every single morning, lunch, and afternoon. He misses Dennis. He can’t wait for him to come home for the summer.

Mac ducks his head and trudges to Dennis’ dorm, narrowly avoiding making eye contact with anyone.

It’s 12:53 PM on a Wednesday, not his usual Saturday morning visit, when he knocks on the door to room 237.

The moment Dennis opens the door, Mac bursts into tears, hiding his face in his palms.

“What the hell happened to you?” Dennis asks.

Only his voice isn’t rough and oozing irritation – anger – like his dad’s.

No, Dennis’ voice is concerned and a little frantic.

Dennis ushers him inside, and Mac has never been more grateful for Dennis’ single suite than he is right now. Dennis guides Mac to his bed, and Mac hisses the moment he sits down, dropping his hands from his face in favor of grabbing his side instead. This makes the tears fall faster and harder, until he is fully sobbing. He pretends not to melt when he feels Dennis pull him close, allowing Mac to hide his snotty face in his neck. Mac hiccups and breathes in the smell of cinnamon and vanilla and Dennis.

And he could stay like this for the rest of his life.

If only his life were as simple as Dennis holding him.

“What happened?” Dennis whispers.

Mac splutters against warm skin. “H-He hates me…” he whispers.

“Who?”

“My d-dad.”

“Your dad? Is he the one who did this to you?”

Mac nods.

“He’s out of prison?”

Mac shrugs.

He hears Dennis sigh. “I’m gonna kick his fucking ass.”

Mac wants to laugh. Wants to throw his head back and cackle, but he doesn’t. Can’t. Isn’t sure he has the energy. But he does find it endearing – and sweet – that Dennis wants to take on his dad in a fight. Dennis may be a whole inch taller than him, but he’s half a foot shorter than his dad. Not to mention that Dennis is teeny tiny and his dad is crazy jacked.

“Are you okay?"

It’s a question that sucks the air out of his lungs.

Is he okay?

“I…” his voice trails off. He sounds stuffed up. Everything hurts. “I dunno.”

“You need to lay down,” Dennis whispers. “Let’s get you cleaned up and then you can take a nap.”

Dennis gets to his feet, and Mac finds it hard to untangle himself from the comforting embrace. He lies down on the mattress – filled with all the blankets and pillows in the galaxy – and closes his eyes.

“Don’t fall asleep yet,” Dennis says, voice soft. “Here. Take these.”

He blearily opens his eyes. Sees Dennis standing there with a bottle of water and some pills. It takes all the effort in the world for him to prop up on his elbows. The water is cool on his throat.

“'s it?” he murmurs. He falls back against the pillows, wincing at the throb in his side.

“Tylenol.”

Then there’s something warm and wet dabbing his chin, carefully wiping away the dried blood. Something else touches his lip, and he hisses.

“Neosporin,” Dennis whispers. “Try not to lick it off.”

Mac nods.

And he wonders how he ended up here, being taken care of and feeling… wanted. Loved.

When he’s around Dennis, he can’t help but feel whole, like his place on this earth isn’t dictated by anyone or anything other than the two of them.

Dennis fusses around the dorm room. Mac listens to the pitter patter of his bare feet against the tile floor, half asleep. He hears a fan turn on. Feels it being pointed at him. Feels a comforter being draped over him. Mac nestles in, curling up the best he can.

Feels Dennis settling down beside him on the twin XL bed.

Feels Dennis wrapping an arm around his waist.

Feels Dennis’ warm breath on his neck.

Feels Dennis.

It’s enough.

It’s more than enough.

#macdennis #macdennis fic #mac mcdonald #dennis reynolds #iasip #iasip fic #its always sunny #it's always sunny in philadelphia

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glennjaminhow · 10 months

Text

This is a fic based off an idea from @maccharliedennis. They wanted something to happen where Dennis couldn't wear makeup and Mac told him he was pretty without it. Thank you for the idea!

Trigger warnings: Mentions of a mugging, blood, broken bones, hospitals, panic attacks, and mentions of disordered eating.

Dennis has been gone a long time.

Mac tries not to worry too hard because he knows sometimes Den just needs a break. It’s Friday night, and the bar is abnormally busy. He doesn’t understand why. They’re not doing anything different. Unless they’re tipping again. Ooh! Maybe they are tipping! Only this time, he doesn’t have to worry about beating his avatar because he’s already ripped as shit. This’ll be awesome. Wait until he tells Dennis they’re tipping and becoming successful again. The dude didn’t have a great experience last since, what with lasering his face off and dyeing his hair to be like the ‘original’ Superman and all, but Mac can make sure tipping is more better for him now.

Anyways, it’s been, like, 15 minutes since Dennis went to take out the trash. Mac figures he’s just smoking a cigarette to get away from the loudness. The guy’s noise issues are getting worse everyday, so he honestly can’t handle much before he’s plugging his ears and hiding in the back office or chain smoking outside, an old habit he recently picked back up. Mac tries to get him to stay home from work on the bad days. Sometimes, he does good, and Dennis listens to him without complaining, but, most of the time, Dennis ignores him and chooses to be miserable because he’s an idiot who doesn’t understand that Mac’s just looking out for him.

Mac shoves past the sweaty crowd of customers and heads outside. A harsh winter wind immediately pelts him in the face, and he shakes his head, eyes burning. He should’ve asked Dennis for his leather jacket back, but Dennis was cold earlier and asked to borrow it, and of course Mac can never say no to him, even if his leather jacket is way too big on Dennis now that Mac’s gained so much mass and Dennis has lost so much.

He doesn’t expect to find Dennis sprawled out on the concrete in the alley, unconscious and bleeding.

Mac drops to his knees beside Dennis, heart hammering wildly in his chest. Shit. Shit shit shit shit. Mac breathes heavily, trying his best to focus his energy and attention on his roommate, but his vision tilts, and nausea bubbles up his throat, and he feels like he’s gonna toss his cookies. Or pass out. But that’s not gonna help Dennis, and Dennis is his number one priority right now (always). He’s gotta wake him up and assess the damage and figure out what the hell happened. He cups Dennis’ bloody chin and gently taps his cheeks.

Wait. What if he has a neck injury? He shouldn’t try to move him.

Should he call 911?

Right. Yes. He should call 911. Get an ambulance man out here to check on Den ASAP.

He’s fishing his phone out of his pocket when Dennis stirs.

“Den! Hey, you’re okay, bud. Just hold still. I’m callin’ 911 now.”

But Dennis ignores him because of course he does. He pushes himself up with shaking arms and is about to collapse altogether when Mac helps him into a sitting position; Dennis presses his back against the brick wall and coughs hard. He presses a hand to his chest and spits out a glob of blood on the concrete. Mac winces as Dennis clumsily swipes a hand under his bleeding nose.

“What the fuck happened?” Mac asks, trying to keep his voice calm. His energy levels are through the roof right now. He isn’t sure if he wants to beat the living fuck out of the asshole who did this or hug the living fuck out of Dennis. But him being panicked is a sure fire way to worry Dennis, and Dennis doesn’t need to worry right now. That’s Mac’s job. “Do you need me to call 911, Den? You look really pale.

Dennis shakes his head and hisses at the movement. “No. No. ‘m okay.”

In the grey December darkness, Dennis looks awful. His lip is busted open in two different places. His nose is really swollen. His left eye is streaked red, already puffy and starting to show significant signs of bruising. There’s a deep, jagged cut on his cheek still gushing blood, undoubtedly staining Mac’s leather jacket. But he doesn’t care. What he cares about is that Dennis is cradling his right hand to his chest. What he cares about is Dennis shivering uncontrollably, deflated and exhausted. What he cares about is that Dennis was attacked in their alleyway by some rando that clearly has no idea that Mac works here as the Sheriff of Paddy’s.

What he cares about is that he didn’t protect Dennis.

It’s Mac’s job to keep Dennis safe.

“What happened?” Mac asks again. He’s kneeling in front of Dennis now, gently dabbing at his cheek with his shirtsleeve.

“Some guy came outta nowhere. Wanted my wallet and keys.”

Mac frowns and bites his bottom lip. “What did you do?” he asks, hoping to God that Dennis wasn’t stupid enough to fight back.

“Gave him my wallet… Didn’t have my keys. You have ‘em… He didn’t like that.”

Mac feels around in the pockets of his Dickies. Shit. Motherfucker. He does have Dennis’ keys in his right pocket. He forgot that he drove here today so Dennis could finish putting on his foundation in the car. He wants to dwell on this, to beat himself into a bloody pulp for letting Dennis take the trash out in the middle of the night, but he didn’t know he was doing anything wrong. He didn’t know there would be such bad consequences for his actions (negligence). He should’ve kept Dennis inside. He should’ve kept Dennis safe.

“Are you good to move?” Mac questions.

Dennis nods.

“You okay if I carry you?”

Another nod.

Mac picks him up and carries him bridal style to the Range Rover. Dennis lays his head against his chest. His eyes are already drooping closed as Mac places him in the passenger seat.

“Don’t fall asleep, Den. You might have a concussion.”

“’m fine,” he manages. He leans forward, opens the glovebox, and grabs a wad of Starbucks napkins. Dennis holds the napkins to his still bleeding cheek and keeps his right hand cradled to his chest. “Can we go home?”

Mac blinks as the heat in the Rover starts to kick in. “No way, dude. You need stitches. Maybe an X-ray,” he says, gesturing to Dennis’ hand.

“I’m okay. Swear. Just a little sore,” Dennis says. “I want to go home.”

He sounds scared.

But God forbid Mac acknowledge that. It’ll just cause Dennis to shut down.

“Can we just pop by the ER real quick?” Mac asks, trying to keep his voice even. In reality, his brain is spinning violently, and he wants nothing more than to wrap Dennis up in his arms. To sooth his fingers through his hair. To kiss him softly, just like the old days.

Dennis swallows. “Mac…”

“Please, Den? For me?"

A few moments pass.

“Fine,” Dennis grumbles. “Can you make sure they give me some ice for my lip. It’s killing me.”

Mac smiles faintly. “Sure thing, Den.”

Thankfully, the ER is quiet, and their visit is brief. Mac fills out a police report while doctors take care of Dennis.

Dennis gets seven stitches on his cheek and a splint on his wrist, which is broken in two small places in the scaphoid area. Dennis chuckles because ‘scaphoid sounds like trapezoid,’ and is diagnosed with a concussion shortly after. The splint is ridiculous because it incases his thumb and goes all the way to his elbow; he’ll get his cast when the swelling goes down in a few days. Mac makes sure Dennis gets ice for his lip, now so comically swollen that he lisps when he speaks. Dennis giggles at nothing, but Mac’s sure that’s because he’s on some pretty strong painkillers right now.

Mac carries him from the Range Rover upstairs to their apartment without any issues.

“Head hursss,” Dennis slurs as Mac places him on his bed. “Feelsss swollended…”

Mac rolls his eyes as he removes Dennis’ shoes and socks. “Swollended? Dude, how high are you?” he asks.

“Very,” Dennis answers with another giggle.

This is.. weird. Unexpected. Kinda cute. It’s strange to see Dennis with his guard completely down.

Dennis is incredibly unhelpful as Mac takes off the leather jacket, careful not to jostle his arm too much. The jacket and Dennis’ grey sweater underneath are stained with blood. Mac removes the sweater too before gently pushing Dennis back until he’s flat on the mattress so he can work on getting him out of his jeans. The dude is floppy as shit and has, like, zero coordination when he’s stoned like this, so Mac does every ounce of the work. Mac manages to get him into a loose pair of pajamas so he doesn’t bitch about getting cold in the middle of the night.

“Love you, Mac,” Dennis whispers, now entirely out of it as Mac bundles him in blankets.

He knows Dennis doesn’t mean it in the way Mac hopes for. “I love you too, Den. Get some rest.”

“No. You stay,” he mumbles. His eyes are already closed.

Mac sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s been such a long night. He hasn’t had any time to process what happened, and Mac doesn’t do good when he isn’t given time to process. His body trembles with the crippling weight of Dennis getting hurt under his watch, and he wants to sit on the couch in the dark until his brain is numb enough to make sense of this. He’s bracing himself for a panic attack, and at this point he’ll welcome it with open arms because he deserves it.

He didn’t keep Dennis safe.

“Den, just go to sleep,” Mac begs.

“Mac,” Dennis says quietly, so quietly Mac barely hears him. “Stay.”

He breaths out. Mac kicks off his boots and lies down beside Dennis, who scoots until his head is on Mac’s shoulder.

“Love you,” Dennis whispers again. Mac feels something inside him break.

“I love you too, Den. So much,” Mac says.

Dennis falls asleep not long after that, safe, sound, and snoring softly.

Mac doesn’t sleep well, mostly because he has to wake Dennis up every couple hours to make sure his brain isn’t too scrambled.

Dennis grows increasingly agitated, and Mac grows persistently exhausted, but neither of them say anything.

It’s nine in the morning, and Dennis is awake, sitting on the couch with his head in his uninjured hand. He’s watching Bob’s Burgers on Hulu while Mac flips pancakes in the kitchen. Mac tried to get him to go back to sleep, but Dennis insisted that he was fine, even though the dude’s been getting antsy if Mac so much as goes to the bathroom alone. So Mac okays the AM cartoons as long as Den promises to take a nap later. Dennis makes Mac promise to stay home from with him, as if going to work was ever even an option.

Mac yawns as he finishes up the pancakes. He hopes this doesn’t cause a fight. Dennis has to eat. He knows for a fact that he hasn’t eaten since breakfast yesterday, which was just a measly banana and plain non-fat yogurt. Dennis has lost a lot of weight recently, and he hasn’t been trying to hide it. Dennis has gotten so bad at eating that he will look Mac straight in the eyes and tell him to fuck off if Mac gives him some pretzels to munch on. But Dennis is hurt, and he’ll heal more faster if he gets some real nutrients in him. Mac is ripped, and he knows that pancakes aren’t the most healthiest, but pancakes are Dennis’ favorite.

He only gives Dennis one pancake and cuts it up for him. He lightly drizzles maple syrup over the top, praying he doesn’t use too much. He places the plate and a fresh cup of coffee on a tray before settling it over his roommate’s lap. Dennis eyes the food skeptically for a split second before he picks up the fork and clumsily spears his first bite.

Mac cheers internally when Dennis starts chewing. He could seriously do a happy dance right now, and, as a gay man, happy dances are so not cool. But Mac doesn’t make a big deal about it because it’ll just spook Den.

Instead, Mac makes his own plate, sits on the opposite end of the couch, and focuses on the TV.

It takes Dennis close to two whole episodes to finish one pancake, but Mac doesn’t mind.

Eventually, Dennis falls asleep with his head in Mac’s pillowed lap. He’s on his back, head tilted to the side and arm resting against his middle.

But Mac’s mind is racing. He swears his heart is too loud and is gonna leap right out of his chest. Why are hearts so fucking loud? He slides his hands through his hair repeatedly and has to stop himself from jumping to his feet to pace the living room. Pacing always makes him feel more better when his brain acts like this, but he can’t pace right now because Dennis is asleep, and Dennis is asleep in the middle of the afternoon because he’s hurt, and Dennis is hurt because Mac didn’t keep him safe.

He didn’t keep him safe. He didn’t keep him safe. It’s his job to keep Dennis safe.

Some guy – some fucking random ass guy – robbed his best friend in their alley and beat him up when he didn’t (couldn’t) give him what he wanted. If Dennis had had his keys, maybe nothing would’ve happened. Dennis could’ve forked over the keys, and, sure, his Range Rover would’ve been stolen, but that’s a small price to pay. Mac could’ve bought Dennis a new Range Rover. A car is something so much easier to come by than a life. A Dennis could’ve died last night. Dennis could’ve died, and Mac would’ve been responsible, and Mac cannot live without Dennis because that just doesn’t make any sense.

Tears swell in his eyes and threaten to stream down his flushed cheeks. His insides trembles as he cards his fingers through Dennis’ hair. He looks soft and small like this. But his left eye is swollen, and his nose is bruised, and his cheek is bandaged, and his hand is in a splint, and it’s all because of him.

All because of him.

It’s all his fault.

He inhales sharply and clenches his fists. Tries to force himself to calm down. But his heart just keeps beating rapidly, and his brain can’t keep up, and he struggles to breathe, and the room is spinning, and Dennis could’ve died, and Mac would’ve been lost without him, and there’s no one in this universe that makes him feel the way Dennis does, and Dennis is everything to him, and he could’ve died he could’ve died he could’ve died and it would’ve been his fault because he didn’t have his keys all it would’ve taken is one bullet from a gun or one ill-fated harsh shove or one punch so tough and hard it made Dennis’ brain implode anything could’ve happened and no matter what it would’ve been Mac’s fault it’s his responsibility to take care of –

“Mac?” he hears.

All he’s ever wanted was to feel safe to be safe to keep Dennis safe but this –

“Mac. Mac, hey,” he hears.

The voice is underwater, warbled, but Mac knows it instantly.

Feels at home when he hears that voice.

“Den…” he whispers. Tears are flowing freely now. “’m so sorry…”

“Hey hey hey. You didn’t do anything wrong, Mac. It was just an accident.”

Mac shakes his head. He feels disconnected, like he’s not fully in his own body. “I s-should’ve kept you safe…”

“You keep me safe all the time, honey,” he hears. He feels Dennis wipe away his tears. “Last night was just a fluke.”

“You… You’re hurt,” Mac squeaks out, panic rising. “You’re hurt, and y-you could’ve died, and it’s all my fault.”

He feels a warm embrace. Fingers in his hair and on his back. Breath on his neck.

Dennis is strong and solid, and Mac is stupid and selfish.

“It’s okay, Mac. It’s okay…”

“It isn’t okay. It isn’t…” Mac cries.

All he feels is this sinking weight pressing against his chest.

But then all he feels is Dennis wrapped around him, pulling him close, keeping him grounded, holding his heart in the palm of his hand.

“Shh… Shh… You’re okay…”

Mac inhales those words, worships them, an unspoken prayer, and takes shelter in Dennis’ embrace.

He convinces himself he feels more better once he wakes up several hours later on the couch.

Mac sniffles and rolls over, expecting to find Dennis close by. But Dennis isn’t here, and he isn’t in the kitchen either. Mac’s gut immediately starts to twist into knots. He has to force himself to breathe because he cannot go through another panic attack right now. It would be easy, so so easy, to fall back into it, but he has to man up. No one likes a baby who can’t even control his own emotions. So, Mac hauls himself into a sitting position and gets to his feet. A blanket falls to the floor. His socks are off, and he wiggles his toes. He doesn’t remember how any of this happened, and there’s no one here besides Dennis.

Dennis.

Dennis who is currently missing.

Mac’s hands shake as he heads into Dennis’ bedroom. The door is open, which is weird. Dennis likes his door to stay closed, even if Mac isn’t home. But Dennis isn’t lying in bed.

The bathroom door is also open, and that’s where he finds Dennis standing in front of the mirror, poking at his cheek with his left hand. The bandage is missing.

“You’re gonna get an infection if you keep doing that,” Mac says. His voice sounds small and unsure. He hates it. He approaches Dennis with trembling legs.

“Hey, you okay?” Dennis asks. He sneaks a quick glance at Mac before returning his attention to the mirror.

Mac shrugs. “Sure. Let’s just move past it.”

It’s the only thing he knows how to do.

Dennis nods. He hisses and scrunches his face up.

Mac moves closer and sees that Dennis’ foundation is open.

“What’re you doing?” he asks.

“What’s it look like? I’m trying to do my makeup,” he says. He sounds irritated, but Mac knows the irritation is not directed at him. “But I can’t use my thumb, and my hand hurts when I try to grip anything, and I’m not some left-handed weirdo like you…” his voice trails off.

But Mac is just in amazement that Dennis doesn’t understand anything that is going on here. He can’t wear makeup right now. It would be an absolute hazard to his health. There are so many infections that he could get from putting that stuff in his wounds, probably like West Nile Virus and The Black Plague or some shit. Mac may’ve failed Dennis once by letting him get beat up in the alley, but he’s not about ready to fail him again.

“Um, are you asking for your death wish, Den?” Mac asks. He gently grabs Dennis’ left hand and pries it away from his face. “You have stitches, and your face is bruised up. You can’t wear makeup right now.”

Dennis scoffs. “I most certainly can.”

He goes to pick up one of his many face powders. Mac is forced to stop him again.

“You’ll get death rot!” Mac exclaims as he bats Dennis’ uninjured hand. “There are so many bacterias in makeup, dude, and you can’t get that shit in your skin when you’re vulnerable like this.”

“Vulnerable?” Dennis asks, voice high. “And what the shit are you talking about?”

Mac sighs and scrubs a hand down the side of his face. “I’m talking about toxins, Dennis,” he says exasperatedly. Then he adds, “Plus, you don’t need any of this stuff anyway. You look great without it.”

Dennis looks at him, ocean blue eyes (well, eye) wide. “Really? You think so?”

Mac gulps and tries to calm down his racing heart. “Yeah. Of course, Den.”

“I just…” Dennis says. “I feel weird without it.” He rubs the back of his neck.

Mac mirrors Dennis by rubbing the back of his own neck, trying to drown out the buzzing in his ears. “You’re beautiful,” he says, but then quickly backtracks. “Handsome! I mean, you’re handsome, and… a-and the makeup is nice, but I think you look more better without it.”

He pretends not to notice that Dennis’ working eye is clouded with tears. He pretends not to notice the tiny, barely noticeable smile creep across his lips. He pretends not to notice these things because noticing them would mean acknowledging them, and maybe they’re both just too vulnerable for that right now.

“Thanks, Mac,” Dennis whispers.

Mac nods. “You’re welcome, Den.”

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