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Sitting on the couch, watching Mac drift off in the inflatable chair nearby, Dennis shudders uncontrollably. He knows he ought to attempt to calm himself down- his ribs are broken, and the shaking motion will only bruise his chest more- but the raw terror inside of him won't abate. His eyes keep drifting to the cast on Mac’s left arm, the arm that shot out in front of Dennis’ chest when the tires of the range rover started skidding, when Dennis’ head tipped down and his eyes rolled up.
He did this to Mac. He crashed the car, and he broke Mac's arm in the process. Snapped it right in two- he couldn't look away from the X-ray image as much as he might have wanted to.
“It’s okay, Den.” Mac had said the moment Dennis regained consciousness, head against the wheel, the taste of pennies in his mouth. His best friend’s nose was bleeding hard so his words were slurred. “W-we’re okay.”
But it isn't okay.
Dennis’ POTS is only supposed to harm one person- him.
And yet… and yet Mac’s arm is broken.
The sob tears itself from his throat before he can suppress it, and to Dennis’ horror, Mac slowly opens his eyes, blinking in the low light and frowning in confusion.
“D-Den?”
For a moment, Dennis considers simply freezing, pretending that he hadn't made a sound at all- maybe he could even pretend to be asleep? When he sees the pure concern written in Mac’s expression, though, another heart-wrenched sob emerges instead, because Mac ought not to be the one concerned about him still. Dennis just broke some ribs.
Mac broke a goddamn arm.
“Den?”
His eyes are open fully now, and despite the haze of pain meds he's pulling himself up and half-stumbling over to the couch.
“Den, hey, it's okay.”
As he carefully sits down next to Dennis, the latter shakes his head, the tears now incessantly streaming down his cheeks.
“It’s- it- it’s not okay, M-Mac. It's not- it's not o-okay at all, because-” He inhales shakily, nostrils flaring. “ Because I h- hurt you.”
Mac’s eyes soften. Even in his peripheral vision, Dennis can see that, because whenever Mac softens, the sense of warmth and comfort that descends on a room is unparalleled.
He reaches his uninjured arm around Dennis’ shoulder, pulling him close.
“It’s not your fault, baby boy.” He whispers, speaking the words like an oath into Dennis’ sweat-dampened hair. “I don't blame you at all… accidents happen.”
Accidents happen.
It's the same phrase he uses when Dennis smashes a glass during one of these episodes. The tone is just as forgiving now as it is then, so gentle and genuine that even through tears that obscure the sweeping of the glass, Dennis can tell that Mac means it.
He means it now, too.
Dennis breaks down completely, crumpling like a cardboard fortress in the rain as he sinks against the man who never fails to repair him.
“S-s-sorry M-m-Mac… ‘m so- so s-sorry.”
And Mac, ever patient with him, only him, rests his chin against the crown of Dennis’ head.
“You have nothing to apologise for, Den. Nothing.”
He doesn't get behind the wheel for three weeks. The fear drives him to call Dee when he absolutely needs to go out, but soon this starts to feel pathetic, far from a long term solution.
Mac’s arm is broken, so of course he can't drive.
They're stuck. Stranded in an apartment that's too hot, running low on pain meds and bananas.
That is, until Mac murmurs aloud a yearning for ice cream into Dennis’ shoulder during movie night, and suddenly pushing past his fear doesn't seem so insurmountable. He inhales deeply. Picks up the keys. Sits down in the driver’s seat of his range rover, the car so well repaired in such a short time that it almost looks as though nothing happened at all.
His hands shake when he slots the key into the ignition, but he doesn't back out. The Wawa isn't far. It's far away enough, though, that during a hot day like this, the walk back would be sufficient to melt Mac’s ice cream.
So that decides it.
Dennis turns the key, and for Mac, he drives.