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There’s a sickening, wet crunch as Dennis’ ankle twists and slips off the corner of the bar before he hits the floor, unable to even attempt to regain his balance before crumpling there unceremoniously. Dee runs from the back office at the noise, confusion and worry coloring her face.
“What the hell, Dennis? Are you okay?”
He’s struggling to sit up, his face white as a sheet and a small cut on his forehead leaking blood. He cries out when he tries to move, his breathing getting frantic as he lifts the hem of his jeans to look at his ankle. Dee can already see that his foot is bent at a weird angle, so it’s probably broken. His eyes close and for a second, he looks like he’s about to black out. Her heart is galloping in her chest.
“Shit, Dennis, that looks bad. Does it hurt?” She inches closer, like she’s approaching a wounded animal, her hands out in front of her so he doesn’t get more anxious.
“Of course it hurts, you stupid bitch!” He yells, but it’s hysteria in his voice, not anger.
“Goddamn you, Dee, I told you that Charlie wasn’t cleaning up there, but you didn’t give a shit, so I have to do everything my goddamn self. And now—” he gestures wildly toward his leg, really getting a good look at it for the first time. He looks like he’s going to be sick.
All the color has drains from his face and his hand clutches at his leg. His breathing is labored and heavy. He’s starting to space out, his eyes going glassy.
Dee can tell he’s about to cry.
“I’m sorry, Dennis, but you have to try and breathe, okay?” She crouches in front of him, rests a measured hand on his shoulder, rubbing gently.
“I can’t,” he chokes out, “Dee, it hurts. Shit. Oh god—” he gasps, coughing as he struggles to breathe through the pain and panic. His rage leaves as quickly as it came, and she can see him realizing how bad it is, starting to spiral. Shit.
“I can’t breathe,” a heave turns into a shuddering sob, and tears start pouring down his face as he hyperventilates.
Dee sits down on the floor next to him, running her hand over his back. She’s used to doing this for him, but it’s been a long time since she’s had to try and calm a panic attack, and she’s definitely never had to do it while he had a broken ankle.
“Dee, I can’t breathe,” he’s staring ahead at nothing, wheezing.
“You can. I’m telling you it’s just a panic attack. We know how to deal with this, right?”
Well, maybe not this exact situation, but she decides that if there was ever a time to sugarcoat things it’s right goddamn now.
“Where’s Mac?” He whimpers, grabbing clumsily at Dee’s arm.
“Dennis, you know where Mac is. He’s out filming his stupid videos, remember? He’ll be back soon, okay? Look at me.”
He doesn’t.
“Oh Jesus,” she grabs his face and turns it to look up at her, “Dennis. Listen to my voice. Try to match my breathing, okay? In and out, you know the drill.”
She takes deep, measured breaths, exaggerating how loud they are so he can hear through the crying.
“Dennis, I know you’re scared, but Mac will be back soon. Okay? I think we have to take you to the hospital, that ankle looks pretty screwed up.”
His eyes widen, and he rips her hand away from his face, trying and failing to move away from her. The movement jostles his leg and he stifles a scream by bringing his hand to his mouth, more tears pouring from his eyes.
“No.”
“Dennis, you’re a grown man. This is serious.” She tries to reason with him, but she can tell that he’s too delirious with pain and fear to act rationally.
“I’m cold.”
“What?”
“Dee, I’m cold.”
She can see him shivering through the tension in his muscles and goes and grabs the blanket Charlie keeps behind the bar. She wraps it around him, careful of his leg, and sits back down.
“Where’s Mac?” He says again, suddenly, like Mac is somehow just going to appear if he keeps asking about him. She can’t tell if he genuinely forgot their conversation from a few minutes ago, or if he’s just so out of his mind with pain and shock that all he can think about is wanting Mac. Either way, the confusion and cloudiness in his eyes worries her. Maybe he’s more hurt than she thought.
Her eyes move to the cut on his forehead, still bleeding sluggishly.
“Dennis, he’s out. Filming videos. We just talked about this, you remember?”
She speaks slowly and clearly, looking him straight in the eye.
“I... don’t know. Dee, I don’t know. Maybe? I, I don’t—” his breath hitches again, and he looks terrified.
“Dennis,” she says his name clearly and evenly, even though she’s sure some of his anxiety is rubbing off on her, “It’s okay. I’m sorry for scaring you. I’m gonna call him, okay?”
He whimpers again, nodding. His chest is rising desperately as he tries to get some air into his lungs. His hand is still firmly white-knuckling his leg.
She pulls her phone out of her pocket, hastily pressing Mac’s name on speed dial. She’s almost starting to think he won’t answer when he picks up on the fifth ring.
“What do you want, Dee?” His voice is tinny, and his reception is shit. “I’m busy.”
“First of all, screw you, Mac. But this is serious, okay?”
He gets quiet.
“I’m listening,” he responds, quieter and more focused, “what is it?”
Her eyes stay locked on her brother.
“Dennis, um...fell off the bar. And he hurt himself. It’s bad, Mac. His ankle is definitely broken, and I think he might have a concussion too,” she lowers her voice, “and he’s absolutely terrified. He’s having a panic attack and he keeps asking for you. I can’t calm him down because he’s so damn delirious, and I can’t move him on my own anyway. I think you should come back here.”
She doesn’t realize how stressful the situation is until she says it, and her hands are shaking as she tries to keep the phone steady.
“Goddamnit,” Mac breathes, all traces of humor gone from his voice, “let me talk to him?”
“Sure.” She takes the phone from her ear and presses the button.
“Dennis, Mac’s on the phone. I’ll hold it for you.”
“Mac?”
“Den, can you hear me?”
“Mac,” he whispers again, and Dee can tell that just hearing his voice is enough to put some part of Dennis at ease.
“Can you hear me?” Mac tries again, his voice even.
“Yeah,” he whispers, his voice shot.
“Good. Try to breathe, buddy. Come on, with me. In, and out.”
Dennis’s breath stutters as he tries, interrupted by a frustrated sob.
“It’s okay, you’re doing so good. Keep trying for me and Dee. It’s gonna be okay, I promise. I’m on my way there right now.”
“Mac, it hurts.”
“I know, Den, I know. I’m so sorry. But I’ll be there soon, and we’ll get you some help, okay?”
“Mac?”
“Yeah, honey?”
Dee freezes for a minute, forgetting the situation. That’s a new one.
“I’m scared.”
“I know. But you’re gonna be okay. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes and we’ll figure it out. Sound good?”
His voice is more gentle and sincere than Dee’s ever heard it sound before.
“Okay.” Dennis still sounds horrible; his eyes are bloodshot, and his face is gray-white, and his jaw is clenched with pain as he tries to stifle his crying. But his voice comes a little easier, less choked.
“Dennis, I love you,” he says sincerely.
Dee feels her eyes widen at the shock of the emotional whiplash as she struggles to keep her facial expression neutral.
Dennis takes a shuddering breath and clears his throat, still trying to calm down.
“I love you, too, Mac. Hurry?”
“I’m already on my way. I’ve got to drive. Give the phone back to Dee?”
Dennis looks at her, gesturing at the phone with a knowing expression. She takes the phone off speaker and lifts it to her ear, still trying to process what she just witnessed, and the fact that Dennis doesn’t seem embarrassed at all. Maybe it’s the shock.
“Mac?” She forces her tone to be neutral.
“Dee, I’ll be there in twenty. I told him fifteen, so he’d calm down, but there’s traffic downtown. I’m driving like a goddamn maniac though. Be there as soon as I can.”
“Okay,” she responds, “Thanks, Mac. Don’t drive too crazy though, I’ve dealt with enough bullshit injuries today. Be safe.”
“Don’t thank me, and I will be.” He hangs up.
She lets her phone drop to the floor.
Dennis looks a little calmer. She hopes that it’s because of the panic attack calming down and not because of the shock. She decides to keep him talking.
“Hey, Den?”
“Hm?” He sounds distracted, but his breathing is still shallow.
She starts rubbing his back again, a little more forcefully than before, trying to keep him grounded.
“So…what’s up with you and Mac?”
As far as conversation topics went, it was probably the worst choice she could have made at that moment, but if anything would get him talking, it’d be this.
“W-what do you mean? We’re fine.”
“I don’t mean you’re arguing. I mean you seem very...close...these days.”
“He’s my best friend.” Dennis says softly, “Of course we’re close, you dumb bitch.” There isn’t any venom in his words. He sounds spaced out, but honest.
It’s almost endearing.
She nods at him, trying to encourage him to keep talking.
“I think I’m in love with him, Dee.”
He says it with such delirious sincerity that it would’ve been absolutely hilarious if she wasn’t trying to keep him from passing out from shock.
“Dennis you just told him you loved him on the phone, did you forget that I heard that?”
“Oh. I didn’t even think about that.” He chuckles softly.
“I mean, Dennis, to be honest, it’s sort of obvious to everyone except you and—oh shit—”
She catches him as he starts to slump forward, his eyes nearly rolling shut.
“Dennis. Come on buddy.” She taps his cheek.
He blinks sluggishly.
“Sorry,” he says sincerely.
“It’s fine,” she feels her heart rate returning to normal. She vaguely hopes Dennis won’t remember this later.
They sit, dazed, on the floor of the bar until they hear the doorknob turn, and suddenly Mac is there, full of nervous energy. It snaps Dee out of the funk, and she feels the anxiety returning and her heart pounds in her chest as she looks at Dennis’s purple, swollen ankle.
Mac is on top of Dennis in a heartbeat. He crouches down next to him, wraps his arms around him in a careful embrace. Dennis melts into it, but Mac quickly detaches Dennis from him, sitting down and joining Dee in rubbing his back. He gingerly lifts his pant leg to see the full extent of the injury. Dennis starts at the contact, his eyes welling up as the ankle gets jostled.
“Shit. Dennis, I’m sorry,” his hands are on Dennis’s face, wiping the tears away, “How are you feeling?”
“I don’t know. It hurts so bad, but I can’t...feel it? As much, anymore...I don’t know.” He sounds out of it.
“Okay,” Mac shoots Dee a concerned look, “Dee and I are going to move you to the car and get you to the hospital.”
At the word “move,” Dennis freezes like a cornered animal.
“No, no, please. Please, Mac. I can’t. I can’t walk,” he gasps.
“Hey, no, don’t get all worked up. It won’t even touch the floor. We’ll hold you steady and all you have to do is keep that leg off the ground. Right, Dee?”
“Yeah, yeah. Of course.”
They lift on three, and Dee cringes when Dennis cries out as they get him vertical. All the way, Mac is whispering soothing words to him.
“You’re doing so good, Den.”
“I’m so proud of you.”
“You’ll feel better soon.”
Dennis doesn’t acknowledge them, but she thinks she feels the slightest bit of tension leave his body.
Getting him to the car goes surprisingly smoothly. Of course, having to ride in a car with an unsupported broken ankle is an absolute nightmare, but they don’t have money for an ambulance.
Dennis is starts crying again and buries his face in Mac’s shoulder in the back seat. Mac strokes his hair.
“I know, Den, I know,” he says, loud enough for Dee to hear, “It’ll all be okay soon.”
Dennis whimpers in acknowledgment.
The hospital waiting room is a goddamn zoo, but there’s a few chairs next to each other so that Dennis can stretch out and Mac can sit with him.
He leans heavily on Mac, their hands interlocked tightly, and Dee can’t believe that the dumbasses took so long to realize they were in love.
She rests a quick, comforting hand on Mac’s shoulder, and he turns to her with a small smile, tired and worried. She lifts the corners of her mouth in return, hoping she can convey how grateful she is without having to say it.