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It's two days before Dennis admits he might have a fever. By then there's a sheen of sweat on his brow and his eyes are glassy. He struggles under the oppressive heat of the sleeping bag, wondering why he's trembling with cold at the same time. One night sleeping at the goddamn pier, one! Street trash slept outside every day and didn't end up with the plague. His naturally classier immune system must not have been prepared to rough it.
Mac's been hovering around him like a mother hen, pushing Asprin and fluids at him. It's extremely irritating, and Dennis would throw him out of Dee's apartment if it didn't mean he'd be expected to get things himself.
"You have to stay hydrated," he reminds Dennis for the fifth time. "Only one beer for every two glasses of water."
"Are you trying to kill me?"
"Well I'm not leaving you sober, dude, I'm not a monster." Mac shoves a plastic bottle under Dennis's nose, and Dennis uncaps it with shaky hands. He swallows the water in fast, greedy gulps, and regrets it immediately. It's still cold from the fridge and it hurts to swallow, like glass in his throat.
"This is all an overreaction anyway," he mutters, wiping at the corner of his mouth. "I'll have this cleared up in a few hours. My body is a temple, I am in perfect -" He coughs deep in his chest. Tiny lights flicker at the edge of his vision. "Perfect control."
"Did you eat?" Mac asks immediately. "I'll peel you an apple."
"I don't even want to look at food right now."
"Well when you coughed just now, you swayed a little." Mac tucks the sleeping bag back up around his shoulders again, and Dennis immediately shakes it off. It itches, and it doesn't help that his skin was already prickling, buzzing with the frustration of being invalid and a captive audience to Mac's worrying.
"Goddamnit, that's it." He takes another gulp of water, then pulls the flap of the bag away completely. "I'm taking Dee's bed. It's the only mattress in the house, and it's absurd I'm receiving this treatment -"
"Those threats she made were super graphic, dude. I think even Charlie got a little squeamish. You don't want to be sick and dead."
Dennis rolls his eyes. "If you're so tough, you fight her off."
Mac grits his teeth dramatically. "See, I could, but if her giant man hands injure me even a little, then who's going to get you stuff?"
He bites back a retort, knowing it's useless. Mac's bragging is infuriating, his failure to back it up is even worse. It had already been nagging at him, but after they lost their own apartment it became one of a thousand little annoyances that had started buzzing and biting at him, draining more and more away and always leaving him right on the edge of anger. It was getting harder and harder to pull back. And when he'd tried...
"You know when you're sick," he mutters out loud. "And you don't remember a time when you weren't sick? You know it exists, you just - you forgot? And it drives you crazy because you just want it to stop?"
Mac looks at him for a long moment, a little bit wary. "No. I don't - I don't really know what you're talking about."
There's no slow burn anymore. There's no lighting the fuse when he's all fuse, all buzzing frustrated background noise. When he does get angry it's like something snapping, lashing out so fast it burns him a little too. Then he's shouting and railing at nothing, trying to ignore how people look at him, like he's some kind of -
He has no reason to be embarrassed. It's all their faults. He wouldn't be this frustrated all the time if the world weren't so goddamn mediocre. He's perfect, a god in their wake. He shouldn't have to contain his wrath. They should bow down in the face of it.
"I'm just tired." Dennis re-caps the water and flops back down onto the pillows, surprised they feel cooler and softer now. Mac must have flipped them when he wasn't paying attention.
"Dude, what the hell were you doing out on the dock anyway? It's freezing by the water."
"Car was underwater, I -" He coughs again, chest aching. "Couldn't miss the appointment with that guy. Useless prick."
Mac's eyes widen in alarm. (Melodramatic, Dennis thinks.) "Let Dee drive you, dude, or take the bus. Don't sleep outside like some kind of -"
"And risk some street rat stealing the Range Rover? Those vultures would kill to get their hands on it." Mac is still just staring at him, and even he knows that sounds a little unreasonable. "I hate it here," Dennis finally admits out loud. "It's stifling."
"I know, she's fucking terrible. But once the renovations are done, we'll have our old place back, and everything will be fine."
"That's not what I meant." But Dennis doesn't enlighten him, just curls up in the sleeping bag, burrowing. He's still shivering. Maybe a nap is in order.
"You've been really weird lately," Mac says, almost to himself. It's that whiny half-mutter, the one he uses to say things he wants Dennis to hear, but can't say to his face. "Like, for months. Like since we took that trip to LA, or even before, you're just..."
"Just what?" His voice is flat, barely even a question. Dennis is drifting towards sleep, too exhausted for anger, but not so much he won't press back. Ever-so-slightly, but that's all it ever took for Mac to give in.
"Shouting even if you don't want to. And jumping at things, and talking to yourself. You tore up your tapes. I just, I think that maybe you're..."
Dennis thinks about the little orange bottle in the medicine cabinet - Lamotri-something. Whatever it was. It's been months. The doctor had asked him to come back again in two weeks, but he'd never gone.
"I'm what? What are you suggesting?"
Tell me to take it. Tell me so I can refuse, so I can tell you to never ask me to do that again. Look at me, and do it.
But Mac has gone quiet. Dennis's eyes falls shut, which only stops a little bit of the stinging. After a few long moments, something cool and wet presses against his forehead. Mac tucks the sleeping bag back around him, and takes the water bottle from where Dennis let it fall from his hands. He dims the lights.
Dennis sleeps angry and fitful, sweating out the fever.