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Dennis is in bed when he gets the call.
It takes him two tries to grab ahold of his phone from the nightstand, conveniently knocking his new reading glasses to the floor. He squints blearily, expecting Mac’s name to light up the screen, but it’s a different 215 number instead.
“Hello?” Dennis scratches his stubbly cheek and yawns.
“Is this Dennis Reynolds?”
His eyebrows furrow. “Um… yes.”
“And are you Mr. Ronald McDonald’s emergency contact?”
He swallows harshly, heart swimming in the pit of his stomach. He ignores her question. “Is he okay?”
“Mr. McDonald was involved in a motorcycle accident. He’s here at Roxborough Memorial.”
Fuck. Those stupid fucking Project Badass videos.
Dennis has been waiting for Mac to come home for hours now. The last text he got from him was around 8:30; it’s closing in on 10:45 now.
i promise i’m fine den. just tryin to get the perfect shot. go head and lay down. ill be home soon.
Dennis sits up, running his fingers through his hair and willing the intense nausea to stay put in his stomach. He attempts to breathe steadily, hands shaking as he pinches the raw skin around his forearm. His heart swims in his chest, desperately trying to cling onto something, anything. Stay in the moment. Stay in the present.
Mac needs him.
But Mac’s usually the one to get him through times like this, where his brain starts to rev up and take off, threatening to spin out messily.
He feels sick. He wants Mac.
“Um, is –” Dennis pauses to clear his throat, tears swelling in his eyes. “Is he okay?
“I’m afraid I can’t divulge specifics over the phone,” the lady says. “But he’s been asking for you.”
He nods, taking a deep breath in and exhaling slowly. Mac’s been asking for him. That means Mac is alive and at least somewhat conscious. Somehow, that doesn’t make him feel any better.
“Tell him I’ll be there soon,” he manages to squeak out. He doesn’t have it in him to feel embarrassed by how badly his voice shakes.
“Just come to the emergency department, okay?”
Dennis nods frantically, which feels stupid because he knows the lady on the other end can’t see it. He hangs up, hand over his mouth as a few tears stream down his cheeks. He hiccups and makes a deliberate effort to slow down his heavy, erratic breathing. He bites his lip hard. Okay. Okay okay okay. Dennis pushes the comforter away and swings his legs over the side of the mattress, heart vibrating in his throat. He has to go. He has to get to Mac. He has to make sure Mac is okay.
He feels a crunch underneath his socked foot as he stands.
Well, there goes his reading glasses.
But it’s not like he actually needs them anyway. Mac forced him into getting his eyes checked after noticing he was ‘squinting’ at his phone and whatever book he was reading. The eye doctor said some random bullshit about eyes ‘deteriorating’ with ‘age,’ but what the hell does she know?
He doesn’t bother changing out of his pajamas or finding his coat. He toes on tennis shoes, grabs his keys, locks the apartment, and hits the road. Outside, the late autumn temperatures slice through his (Mac’s) hoodie with ease. He sniffles as he drives on auto pilot to the hospital. He knows the way by heart. Dennis tries to block out the crippling panic racing through his veins. Mac’s awake. Mac’s asking for him. Mac’s okay.
Mac’s alive.
Fuck, he doesn’t know what he’d do without him.
Dennis barrels through the emergency room, air catching in his throat as he rushes to the nurse’s station.
“R-Ronald McDonald?” he asks, voice breaking. He doesn’t even care about Mac’s ridiculous name right now.
The nurse looks at him sympathetically. “Are you Dennis?”
Dennis nods.
“He won’t stop talking about you,” she says. “Come with me.”
It doesn’t take long to get to Mac’s bed. The nurse pushes back the curtains, and Dennis wastes no time reaching out for Mac, instincts flooding over in a messy tidal wave. Mac pulls Dennis as close to his chest as possible.
“My arm,” Dennis hears Mac rasp out painfully.
Dennis pulls away, frowning.
Mac’s shirtless. His left arm is tucked protectively against his stomach, bruised an eerie purple. The bone juts out from under the skin above his left elbow. The rest of his torso is littered with scrapes of all lengths and depths, accompanied by dark abrasions on his middle. There are gashes on his cheek and on his chin. His lip is busted and swollen. His nostrils are crusted with dried blood.
“We’re waiting on the x-rays to come back,” the nurse states.
Dennis nods. “Is he okay? Y’know, except for his arm and the uh…” He sucks in a breath, unable to stop the ringing in his ears.
He feels like he’s going to throw up. Or pass out. Or a combination of both.
“Den,” he hears. Mac beckons him closer with his right hand clumsily. Dennis obliges, legs trembling as he sits on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle any of Mac’s injuries. “I’m okay, babe. Just a little banged up.”
Mac takes Dennis’ hand in his own. He rubs his thumb over Dennis’ knuckles in a way he knows puts him at ease.
“You don’t look okay,” Dennis whispers.
The nurse leaves and closes the privacy curtain, enclosing Mac and Dennis in their own little world inside the chaos that an ER in Philly.
“But I am,” Mac reasons. “I’m right here next to you.”
“I… I’m sorry… You’re the one who’s hurt, and I’m freaking out. I… I…” he trails off.
Mac wraps his good arm around Dennis’ shaking shoulders, pressing a kiss to Dennis’ neck. “Dennis, I’m okay. Everything’s okay. I won’t do anymore Project Badass videos. I swear. I’m officially retiring.”
“You love those stupid videos, babe.”
Mac scoffs. “I broke my arm in at least two places, Den; that’s badass enough for me.”
“I love you,” Dennis says softly, tears close to flowing again.
Mac kisses Dennis’ hair. “I love you too, Den.”
While waiting for the x-rays to come back, Dennis gently helps Mac lie down against a mountain of pillows. A different nurse comes in to inject Mac’s IV with pain meds, and soon Mac is completely mellowed out, mostly asleep while holding Dennis’ hand. Dennis pulls out his phone and starts scrolling through the news because Mac’s in the hospital, and he can’t make the panic wedged deep inside his soul go away, and he needs to distract himself before he implodes.
“Where’s your glasses?” Mac slurs out of nowhere.
How is he conscious right now?
He touches his face, feeling for the stupid things Mac makes him wear any time he reads, and then he remembers. “Oh, those things are toast. I accidentally stepped on them.”
Mac rolls his eyes sleepily. “Course you did,” he rasps. The guy’s obviously high as a kite. “Guessin’ you didn’t wear a coat here either?”
“Babe, will you please quit worrying about me? Your arm is broken. You do everything using that arm. But instead you’re worrying about my glasses and my coat when I’m perfectly fine? That’s preposterous.”
“Want to make sure you take care of yourself too…”
Dennis smiles sadly. He knows he’s a mess of a human being, but Mac needs him right now. “I know, Mac. But let me take care of you too, okay?”
Mac nods and closes his eyes. Dennis puts the phone away so he isn’t on the receiving end of a largely incoherent lecture about eye strain.
Eventually, a doctor reveals that Mac’s arm is broken in three places, with two breaks in the humerus and one in the ulna. He’s also got two fractured ribs and a pretty bad concussion from smacking his head against the pavement. Dennis isn’t even entirely sure on the details of the accident and is a little too squeamish to ask, especially once the doctor starts putting a splint on Mac’s arm. Mac’s eyes fog with tears and pain, and Dennis isn’t sure he can handle that.
“Um, hi,” he starts, giving a tiny wave to the busy doctor. “Could he get something else for the pain? This looks like it’s hurting him.”
The doctor all but ignores him and continues wrapping Mac’s arm.
Mac winces, and Dennis, who’s been in weekly therapy for six months straight, feels a part of himself jar loose.
“Stop!” he shrieks. He immediately feels bad because of Mac’s concussion. “I command you to stop. Now, you will go get my partner more pain medication. You will go get it immediately. He is in pain, and I will not stand for it.”
The doctor stares at him like he’s crazy. Idiot. Savage. “Sir, I assure you that putting on a splint is not inherently painful.”
“You can’t just simply assign what is and isn’t painful! His arm is broken in three places! Three!” he exclaims, all while holding up three fingers, of course.
“Sir, if you don’t stop shouting, I will be forced to call security.”
Mac’s eyes are pleading. He watches Mac suck in a breath, lips trembling.
Dennis grabs Mac’s right hand, careful of the IV.
“Please,” Dennis begs. “He’s really hurting. I… I don’t want to cause a scene, okay? That’s not what this is about. I just don’t like seeing him in pain.”
The doctor sighs. He gestures for the nurse to listen to Dennis.
Mac squeezes Dennis’ hand once a new round of medication is plunged into his IV.
Dennis leans over and delicately kisses Mac’s cheek.
Three Days Later
“Mac, seriously, sit back down. I’ve got this,” Dennis says, trying to keep his voice even.
He’s a reasonable man, after all, but the ketchup stain on this plate is being absolutely unreasonable.
“You should’ve just let it soak like I said,” Mac points out.
Dennis turns around, hands wet with dish soap. “Will you please go sit down? You need to rest, babe.”
Mac was released from the hospital a couple days ago and put on strict bed rest for at least two weeks, but he hasn’t been doing the bed rest thing very well. He follows Dennis around like a puppy, making sure he cleans the apartment properly and cooks (and eats) three square meals a day. Now, Dennis isn’t an idiot by any means, but’s… less seasoned as a homemaker. Mac is usually the one who makes their bed, cleans their bathroom, scrubs their kitchen, and makes their food; Dennis’ only chore is the laundry. Mac does all of this willingly, always has. Dennis appreciates that about him, but having Mac out of commission means it’s time for Dennis to step up.
To which he’s done gracefully.
Well, maybe not gracefully, but he’s still trying.
“Do it like this instead,” Mac prompts, trying to reach over with his left hand to correct whatever it is that Dennis is doing wrong. “Fucking shit,” he grumbles, rubbing his very broken arm through the sling.
This has been happening a lot lately, considering Mac’s left handed and all. See, if he were right handed like a normal person, this wouldn’t be as problematic, but he isn’t, and he doesn’t get his cast until next week. Until then, he’s stuck with a shittily protected arm and an even shittier attitude about the whole thing. Dennis is fully committed to being his left hand man until Mac is fully healed from his Project Badass adventure gone wrong.
Dennis ushers Mac to the couch. He helps Mac lean back against the memory foam pillows from their bed and places a folded quilt under his elbow for extra support. Mac’s face is nothing but a giant bruise at this point, but at least the gashes are hidden by large bandages. Mac winces and groans under his breath to where he thinks Dennis can’t hear him, but Dennis has great hearing and even better eyesight, he can fully see what’s going on here.
“Mac,” he says gently, kneeling down beside the couch and rubbing Mac’s blanketed knee. “Will you please just relax? You’re hurt, and you need to be taken care of.”
The brownie-colored puppy dog eyes are in full effect. “Someone needs to take care of you too.”
Dennis chuckles at that. “Mac, baby, you’ve been taking care of me for over twenty-five years. At least let me try to return the favor.”
“I’m not used to this, Den,” Mac whispers. “It’s just really hard. I want to be there for you, and you’re doing everything alone.”
“I’m not alone, Mac. You’re right here with me, remember? Look, if you want to supervise me, that’s fine; I know how particular you are. But can you try to do it from the couch or at the very least a chair?”
Mac lets out a sigh. “I guess I can do that.”
“Good. Now why don’t you supervise me sweeping the floor.”
“Go from the window to the door. That’s how I always do it,” Mac says.
Dennis kisses Mac’s temple before getting to work.
A Week Later
“You did my hair wrong!” Mac screeches as Dennis rids his hands of cheap hair gel.
Dennis rolls his eyes. “Why didn’t you say something while I was doing it then?”
“I thought you knew how my hair went, Den! You’re the one who always talks about how much you love it!”
“I do love it, Mac! You have very nice hair!” Dennis exclaims. “But that doesn’t mean I spend every waking moment looking at how you style it.”
Mac hasn’t been out of the house in almost two weeks and hasn’t been doing anything with his hair in just as long. It’s a lot fluffier since the accident, which Dennis enjoys, but Mac’s getting his cast today and wants to try to look presentable instead of having Dennis just wash and towel dry his hair.
Dennis gently pushes Mac back into the chair he set up in the bathroom. Mac attempts to grab his comb, leaving him scrunching up in pain. Mac rubs his right hand over his ribs, the two broken ones he forgets about way too often. Dennis squeezes his shoulder and grabs a washcloth.
“Okay, tell me how to style your hair.”
Mac does. It turns out great, but Mac still whines about not being able to do it himself.
It’s all forgotten about later, though, when Dennis wraps Mac’s new black cast in a trash bag and makes out with him in the shower, Dennis cradling Mac and keeping him safe.
Another Week Later
“We have zero food, Den!” Mac exclaims as he rummages around in the cabinets like a crazy person.
“I haven’t exactly had the chance to go shopping,” Dennis retorts, spooning the last of the eggs onto his fork.
Mac pouts, bottom lip jutting out. “I want a snack.”
“You literally just ate breakfast,” Dennis says, gesturing to the empty plate across the table from him. “And will you please sit down?”
But, of course, his boyfriend doesn’t listen to reason. “I’m still hungry. What happened to all our groceries? I just bought some.”
“Mac, you haven’t been anywhere near a store in two weeks.”
His eyebrows furrow. “Has it really been that long?”
“Yes.”
“Huh. Weird. Time is weird, Dennis.”
Dennis rolls his eyes.
Mac sways on his feet as he closes the fridge. He rubs his forehead with his good hand.
“Jesus Christ,” Dennis says as he gets to his feet and approaches Mac, who immediately melts into his arms. Mac lays his head on his shoulder; Dennis rubs his back. He wishes his boyfriend would fully understand his circumstances here. He’s hurt. He has a broken arm and two broken ribs and a concussion, and he still thinks he can take care of the household. Mac has major control issues, but he has to learn that he can’t control everything, especially not when he’s like this. “You’re shaking,” Dennis whispers.
Mac nods rapidly. “Don’t feel so good.”
“Okay, I’ve gotcha. Let’s get you back to bed.”
Dennis helps Mac lie down, head and arm elevated with pillows. Mac blinks through the dizziness and then closes his eyes tightly. Dennis frowns as Mac’s teeth start to chatter. He bundles him in the comforter, tugging the blankets up to his chin. An uncomfortable lump forms in his throat. Mac really needs to take it easy. He thought it would be okay for him to be up and moving around somewhat, as long as he didn’t do any chores, but it’s obvious that that isn’t going to fly here.
He’s going to reinforce the bed rest, especially since Mac didn’t actually even do the bed rest anyway.
“Don’t go,” Mac whispers.
Dennis shakes his head, even though Mac can’t see it because his eyes are closed. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He carefully gets under the covers and settles in, cursing himself internally because, shit, he should’ve given Mac some painkillers, but it’s too late for that. Mac scoots until his head is on Dennis’ shoulder, cold nose buried into the crook of his neck, and grabs onto a wad of Dennis’ sweatshirt.
“Love you…” Mac slurs.
“I love you too.”
Two Weeks Later
Five weeks after the accident, Dennis finds Mac wiping spilled beer off a booth at Paddy's.
“What’re you doing?” he exclaims, taking the rag from Mac’s hand. “Why are you idiots making him work?”
Dennis throws the rag onto the bar counter and gestures at Dee and Charlie.
“He’s, like, fine, dude,” Charlie answers nonchalantly as he pops a peanut into his mouth.
“He can clean up one little spill,” Dee retorts. “He’s not gonna snap in half.”
Dennis puts his hands on his hips. “His arm is broken in three places! Three!” he shouts, and why does he keep having to explain this?
Three places is so many places.
“Den, I’m fine,” Mac says. He’s now sitting in the opposite booth, out of breath and eyes glassy.
“You most certainly aren’t fine,” Dennis says. “And this is all you guys’ fault.”
Dee and Charlie don’t even blink.
Dennis strides over to Mac and takes his right hand. Mac’s bruises have faded for the most part, and the gashes are healing, but he doesn’t like how pale Mac is right now. “What’s wrong, baby boy?”
Mac squints in the dimly lit bar. “Head hurts,” he whispers.
Dennis rubs his thumb over Mac’s knuckles. “It’s okay, Mac. It’s okay. I’m gonna get you home, alright?”
Mac nods, smiling sadly. Dennis is nothing but a whirlwind of energy as he helps Mac put on his coat and Eagles bobble hat.
“What the hell is Dennis gonna do once Mac doesn’t need him like this anymore?” he hears Dee ask Charlie on the way out, but he doesn’t stop to scream at them for their recklessness or for their blatant disregard of Mac’s health.
He’s going home to take care of Mac instead.
That Night
After a successful dinner – spaghetti and meatballs cooked by Dennis with Mac supervising – Mac and Dennis are curled up in bed watching The Day After Tomorrow with the volume low; they both enjoy Jake Gyllenhaal (and, to some extent, Dennis Quaid). Mac’s head is on Dennis’ chest. Dennis runs his fingers through Mac’s shower damp hair. Mac traces patterns on Dennis’ hoodie clumsily with his fingers. He knows Mac’s about to fall asleep, so he stops the movie and pulls the comforter over Mac’s shoulders.
“Mmm… Warm. Thanks, Den,” Mac whispers, snuggling impossibly closer.
Dennis kisses the top of Mac’s head. “Go to sleep, baby boy.”
Mac hums.
Dennis smiles and turns off the TV, settling in for an early night with the person he loves most.