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Minutes after he kicked Dee and Charlie out of his apartment for saying 701-420-6969 was a fake number, Mac punched the digits into his phone for the first time since Dennis left Philadelphia three weeks prior.
Mac trusted Dennis with his life, forever and always. They were best friends for decades, and even through their rockiest days (which, honestly, was about once a week), they loved each other. Deep, deep down, like how the rest of the gang loved each other. Hidden in the darkest pits of their souls.
That was until it stopped being so deep down for Mac. He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment, or even the age, but it didn’t take long for a new, shinier love began to simmer underneath the surface of his skin. And then it bubbled over, and the room blew up, and Dennis was nothing but ash. Or something.
But, Mac still trusted Dennis, even through the fights and anger and screaming and leaving and emptiness.
“North Dakota Mental Facility,” came a high, soft voice from through Mac’s phone. “Deb speaking. How can I help you today?”
“God damn it. God fucking damn it!” Mac shouted.
“Sir?”
Apparently, the trust only went one way, because Dennis Reynolds left his best friend, his blood brother, his fucking soulmate, a fake phone number.
“I can’t believe this number was fake. A fucking mental health line, ‘cause I’m a joke to him!”
“Um, mental health isn’t a joke, sir. Is there something I can-”
“Why do I give him so many chances? I bet he actually got the texts I sent to his cell, and he’s just ignoring them. Why would he have to get rid of his phone anyways? I fell for Dennis’ stupid shit again , hoping-”
“Dennis? Dennis Reynolds?”
Mac felt the breath get punched out of this lungs.
“Yeah?”
“Oh, you must be Mac then!”
“Oh my god, yes, I am! Do you know him?”
“Yes, he’s one of our residents here. Shall I put him on for you, Mac?”
“Yeah,” Mac breathed.
There was a click, then a shuffle, and then Dennis was speaking.
“Mac?”
“Dennis?”
Pause.
“You called.”
“Of course I called.”
“Well - You didn’t, though,” Dennis’ voice was much too quiet. It was… frightening.
“Why are you at this number?”
“Right, uh. Right,” Mac could hear Dennis’ frown. “So, you know I’m… mad a lot? And, like… Do you remember the time in 2009 when I was in the E.R. after I slit my wrists open?”
“Yeah, dude. I don’t think I could forget that if I tried. Well. I do try.”
“Right. That’s not super normal.”
“Yeah, but that’s why you take those meds, right? Isn’t that enough?”
“Ha,” Dennis laughed without any humor. “Not even close. But the people here… They help, I think. They make sure I take my medicine on time, and I go to therapy every day, and… I’m sober, man.”
“From cocaine?”
“From everything.”
“And Mandy? And your kid?”
“They visit once a week. It’s… Fuck. It’s so good, Mac.”
“And you’re happy?”
Dennis fell quiet.
“Den? Dude?”
“I don’t think I’ve been happy for a while, man.”
“Never?”
“I don’t know. I think you make me happy, but… Not in a true way, right?”
“...Right,” Mac agreed, though he didn’t know what he meant at all.
“No, fuck, that’s not right.”
Mac felt a strange urge to reassure him.
“I just mean… You make me so happy, Mac. Really. But, nothing else does. And I need help. Professional help. It’s getting too hard to pretend like I’m something I’m not, and… I’m old, man,” Dennis’ laugh sounded sweeter, more genuine. Mac missed that sound.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Mac?”
“Den?”
“I love you so much.”
“Are you just saying that?”
“No, Mac, I’m… finally admitting it. Or whatever.”
Mac frowned against the screen of his busted iPhone 5s.
“Why don’t I believe you?”
“I don’t know,” Dennis sighed. “But you should, Mac.”
“But you’re sick.”
“So are you.”
“Am not.”
“Are too!”
Mac took his phone off his ear and stared at the call screen. Dennis wasn’t okay, he knew that much to be true. Though, he was right. They were all sick. Frank was all levels of fucked up, Charlie’s illiterate, Dee was clearly delusional, and Mac… There were things Mac didn’t understand about himself that Dennis usually blamed on Luther, something inside him that made him lash out and get clingy and drink and drink and drink.
“Dennis?”
“Yeah, Mac?”
“When can I see you?”
“When I’m back, I guess. Or whenever you find yourself in North Dakota.”
“I’ll get a flight tonight. I’ll steal Frank’s wallet or something.”
“What? Why?”
“I love you, Den. Even though we’re fucked.”
It was quiet for a moment, and Mac worried their call had dropped.
“I’ll see you soon, man.”
The line clicked, and Mac was out the door to pay a visit to Frank’s apartment.