something less delicate
mac mcdonald has always liked when people rely on him. no matter what for, important or not, he likes to feel needed. like he has a purpose, even if only for a short while.
which is why when he starts to notice he and dennis are depending on each other less and less, he freaks out big-time. it’s also why he’s laying on the couch watching jeopardy reruns, contemplating if he should check up on dennis in his room again yet. he’s been feeling shitty all day, and mac knows exactly why.
sure, he feels bad about slightly poisoning him, but it’s not like he’ll die or anything, right? it’s just his stupid sensitive body overreacting like always — not that dennis would ever admit that.
it’s when he hears a few rough-sounding coughs coming from dennis’s room that he decides he’ll keep him company for a minute, though he’s not entirely sure he’ll be welcomed.
“den?” he says softly, knocking on his bedroom door. “hey, den, can i come in?”
he gets a groan in response, followed by another cough. mac frowns and knocks again, a little louder this time.
“go away, mac.” dennis’s voice is hoarse and muffled behind his door, though mac can hear how exhausted he sounds.
he sighs heavily, knowing he’s not going to get anywhere if he doesn’t just get this over and done with. “alright, i’m coming in.” he announces, preparing himself for the inevitable outrage and berating when he enters without permission.
or not, he thinks to himself, blinking in surprise when dennis merely glances up and mumbles something to himself, barely lifting his head from the pillow. he’s curled up on his bed in the fetal position, shivering in his sweats and t-shirt on top of the covers.
“hey,” mac whispers, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “do you, um… do you want me to get you anything?”
dennis shakes his head, curling further into himself as a violent shiver wracks his body. mac swallows, and, god, is he guilty. he feels awful, because dennis feels awful, and it’s his fault.
“you okay?” he asks quietly, though he knows it’s a stupid question.
“too cold.”
mac snorts. “dude, that’s ‘cause you’re laying on top of your sheets. you’re meant to get under them if you wanna be warm.” he reaches for a throw blanket on the floor, but dennis weakly bats his hand away before he can get it.
“you… don’t want it?” mac questions, eyebrow raised in confusion.
“too warm.”
it’s not unlike dennis to be this picky, but it’s also not unlike mac to get pissed off at things he’s used to by now. “my god, dennis, you are… so annoying. c’mon, just this one; it’ll make you warmer, i promise. it won’t be too hot.”
dennis just nods. he’s too tired to protest, and if he’s honest, mac’s probably right — he just gets a kick out of being difficult sometimes.
mac carefully drapes the blanket over dennis, and has to stop himself from tucking him in. “all good?” he asks as he absent-mindedly brushes a loose curl from dennis’s forehead.
“yeah.”
“good.” mac smiles tightly. “you sure you don’t want anything? like, do you want another shake, or—” he catches himself. maybe he should cool it on the shakes for now. dennis is already feeling bad enough, and he’s certainly getting somewhere with the dependency aspect of things, so he’ll give him a break for while. “actually, i gave that last one to charlie.” he says, as if he can’t make another one, and he hopes dennis is too out of it to care.
“i need tissues,” dennis mumbles. “the pollen’s getting to me.”
mac thinks for a second, crafting a mental image of their medicine cabinet in his head. “i think we ran out, so you’re out of luck there. sorry, buddy.”
dennis groans. “nothing then,” he says quietly, an edge of annoyance to his voice. he sits up slowly, sniffling and coughing into his elbow.
“aw, den,” mac frowns. “you really don’t sound good, dude.”
he wonders if it’s obvious that he’s doing this on purpose. he wonders if dennis realises that this migraine, the stomach cramps, the overall shitty feeling plaguing him aren’t all from fucking pollen.
“hey, why don’t you lay back down and get some rest, hm?” mac suggests, gently patting dennis’s leg under the blanket. “you’ll feel more better in the morning if you get a good night’s sleep.”
dennis shrugs in response, clearly not 100% listening. either he’s too tired to hear what mac’s saying, or he really just doesn’t give a shit.
“c’mon, den, go to sleep. you’re, like, super sick. you need your rest.”
“not sick. just pollen.” dennis insists. “i’m a god. gods don't get sick.” his statement is immediately contradicted by another set of painful-sounding coughs, followed by a sneeze stifled into his elbow.
mac winces sympathetically and rubs his hand up and down dennis’s back as he catches his breath again. “god bless,” he mutters, rubbing little circles into his shoulder blade with his index finger.
he wonders for a second if dennis might be coming down with something else on top of the poisoning. if he is, then goddamn, he feels bad. alternatively, maybe it is just pollen.
“i don’t need to be blessed, mac; i’m a god, i just told you.” he complains, flopping face-down onto his pillow.
“right, of course.” mac sighs heavily. “look, just go to sleep, dude. it’ll help, really.”
dennis is quiet for a second, before he pats the side of the bed next to him, gesturing for mac to come over. he quirks an eyebrow, slightly confused, but obliges anyways.
“what’s up?” he says softly as dark brown eyes meet blue-green.
“stay with me,” dennis says in that whiny voice he’s been talking in all day. “just, like, until i fall asleep. please.”
mac can’t help the smile that spreads across his face as dennis curls into his side, gently carding his fingers through his hair.
“i’m sorry you’re feeling so bad, dude.”
and he is sorry. he’s really sorry, because this whole thing is all his fault, and as much as he likes when dennis needs him, he hates seeing him so miserable.
“s’alright,” dennis sniffles. “not your fault.”
mac swallows. he knows he should tell him, but he doesn’t want to ruin the moment. instead, he settles for pulling the blanket a little over his own lap, making himself comfortable.
“get your own blanket, thief, i’m cold.”
“shut up and go to sleep, dumbass.”
they lay together in silence for a while, mac keeping dennis warm as he quietly drifts off next to him.
nice, he thinks to himself. mission accomplished.
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For the WIP title asks:
Rising Tide (which is also a song by Sunny Day Real Estate)!
Tell me, do Kyogre and Groudon meet at the shore to enjoy a nice playdate while Maxie and Archie fight over land/water property lines like the suburban dads they are?
this ask is sending me, oh my lord. thank you--i laughed pretty hard at this :D
and this song is within the time frame of songs i'm referencing in the fic, so that's just perfect! thank you!
"color your skin with gold, and the violence remains
cover your eyes with rose, but the stain remains
will you repair your life
with all the holes you fill?
smother your will and drain you of your passion..."
oh yeah, that's going on the playlist.
as for our beloved suburban dads, i can't say too much without spoiling the last quarter or so of the fic--though i guess i have been pretty transparent about maxie actually succeeding in catching groudon. that's a thing that happens. gonna be mum about the circumstances and implications and fallout of that, though. i'm sure it turns out fine.
as for the wip itself, it's the first chapter of eye of the storm. the title refers to the circumstances that drive may to leave home in the first place--things get to be too much for her.
for a little context about my may, she's 22 at the start of the fic, and had moved out of her parents' house at 18, back when they still lived in johto. she opted to move back in with them temporarily when they moved to hoenn (instead of staying in johto by herself), and it's a choice she starts regretting very quickly. snippet under the cut. i feel like i should add a trigger warning for this as well--it's a bad situation if you've ever been in it before but pretty vague if you don't know what you're looking at. tw for implied emotional abuse, i suppose.
This was bad.
May sat on the carpeted top stair and gripped her empty mug so tightly her knuckles turned white. A faint “godsdammit” floated around the corner that led into the living room and up to her ears. Whatever her mother was fussing with down there had her, to be incredibly mild, extremely pissed off.
This was bad, but it had probably been worse at some point before. Not that May could put a finger on when, exactly; the last four years of solitude had papered over the memory of her mother’s moods with a series of perfectly pleasant lunches and borderline enjoyable outings to the movies. The tone of voice May was catching now, in snippets from the ground floor, was a knife widening the old wound of the six years before that, during their time in Olivine, after their last big move. The first time this had happened, May had been thirteen and stupidly hopeful.
She didn’t have age as an excuse this time.
Did she really need another cup of coffee? She could turn around, tail between her legs, and head back to her room. This one locked, though that might cause her more problems in the long run. She’d already endured the years of formless suspicion about why she kept her door closed all the time, and even that particularly bad summer where the door had been removed entirely. She didn’t need, didn’t want a repeat of that. Something told her the offense her mother would suffer over a locked door would be far greater than over a closed one. Teenagers were just like that, after all. From an adult it would be an insult.
Moving back in had been a massive fucking mistake.
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