Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It hits them like a bad software update.

"…you’re bleeding, I take it" you say flatly when they come to find you, blood on their fingertips, "not an injury?"

They stare, wild eyed. "What the hell is that supposed to mean, not an injury? My abdomen feels like it’s trying to fold in on itself, I’m lightheaded, and don’t even get me started on the existential something that comes with the sudden knowledge I can bleed out of my-"

"Mac." You reach over, squeeze their hand, barely suppressing giggles, "Welcome to your first period."

Their jaw drops. "That’s… this? THIS is what you go through?"

You try not to laugh at the horror in their voice. "Pretty much. At least once a month… Sometimes more."

"Monthly?! I’m suing."

---

By evening, they’re curled up against you on the couch, wrapped in two blankets and radiating melodrama. "…I owe you an apology," they mumble into your shoulder.

"For what?"

"For every single time I’ve ever raised an eyebrow at your bad mood. Like. Ever." They tilt their head to look at you, glassy-eyed, deadly serious. "No wonder you're so fucking stubborn."

You grin, brushing their hair back from their flushed face. "Took you long enough to figure that out."

Mac groans, buries their face back against you. "…don’t make me laugh, it hurts."

---

They’re quieter. Pale. Curled in on themselves with their hands pressed hard against their stomach, jaw locked like they’re trying not to let the pain slip through.

You sit down beside them, easing the heating pad back into place. "It’s okay. You’ll feel better soon."

Mac laughs - sharp, too sharp. "Soon? That’s a damn lie, and you know it." Their voice cracks, bitter and wet around the edges. "How the hell do you do this? Every month. For years. And you just… live through it?"

You start to answer, but they push on.

"It hurts like I'm being ripped apart from the inside out. I can’t think straight, I can't-" Their breath shudders, shoulders curling tighter. "It’s endless. I thought I understood... I didn’t. I didn’t get it at all."

You touch their shoulder gently. "Mac—"

"I’m sorry." The words tumble out, breaking on a sob. "I'm so fucking sorry I didn’t understand. I should've… I should've held you tighter, I should've listened better, I should've-"

You shift them into your arms before the spiral can drag them deeper. They collapse against you, trembling.

"You don't have to apologise," you murmur against their hair, kissing the top of their head. "You couldn't have known. You're learning now. That's what matters..."

But Mac only shakes harder. "It's not fair. It's not fair you've had to do this alone so many times-"

You hold them through it, rocking gently while their body wracks with sobs and pain alike, until their breathing finally evens out. Even then, they don’t let go.

"…don't leave me," they whisper, as if the thought alone terrifies them.

"I won't," you promise, pressing your lips to their forehead. "Never."

And slowly, the panic in their eyes stops flickering, anchored back into something steady by the quiet warmth of your arms around them.

Chapter Text

It hits harder this time. Harder than before.

At first, it’s just Mac curled up with their heat pack, jaw clenched, the usual grim defiance in their eyes. By mid-afternoon, though, their face has gone white, sweat plastering their hair to their forehead. When they shift forward to transfer out of their chair, their hands slip. Their knees barely catch the weight before buckling, and you only just lunge in time to stop them from crumpling to the floor.

“Mac— Hey— stay with me,” you whisper, lowering them back into their chair. Their skin is clammy, their breathing shallow.

“I’m fine,” they rasp, eyes unfocused. "Always am."

“You are not fine. You basically passed out on me.”

Mac gives a weak, bitter laugh that turns into a whimper. “Guess… I’m dramatic, after all.”

You press the back of your hand to their cheek—too hot. Feverish. Fear spikes through your chest.

“I’m calling a doctor,” you say, already reaching for your phone.

“No!” Their hand shoots out, weak but desperate, clutching yours. “They’ll just tell me it’s normal. That I’m overreacting. I can’t—” Their breath hitches, sharp with pain. “I can’t take being dismissed again.”

Your heart aches. You squeeze their trembling fingers, grounding them. “Mac. Passing out from pain isn’t normal. None of this is normal. You deserve answers. You deserve help.”

Their wild eyes meet yours, glassy and terrified. “What if it’s something bad?”

“Then we face it together.” You brush damp hair back from their forehead, kissing it gently. “But pretending it’s nothing won’t make it go away.”

For a long moment, Mac just stares at you, trembling. And then they break—ugly sobs tearing through their chest, shoulders shaking as they collapse against you.

“I thought I was just weak,” they choke out. “All this time—I thought I was just being weak.”

You hold them tight, rocking them through the storm. “No, byte. You’ve been surviving hell. That isn’t weakness. That’s the definition of strength.”

Their sobs burn themselves out into shudders, then into silence. Their fist is still tangled in your shirt like they’re afraid you’ll vanish.

“We’re in this together, my darling. It’s okay.”

They flat out ignore the comment. “No one else—” Mac’s voice cracks. “No one else had this. Everyone else in that house figured it out, they’re fine, they’re doing life—” They drag a shaking hand across their damp face. “Why me? What the hell did I do wrong?”

You open your mouth, but the words keep tumbling out, jagged and furious;

“I thought it was just... I thought it was just normal human shit. But everyone else—everyone else gets to live their life, and I can’t even get to the bathroom without—” Their voice shatters. “I can’t—I can’t do this, I can’t— I thought being human would be good. And it’s not… it’s just been one thing after another, and I can’t- I can’t!”

You catch them before they fold in on themselves, holding tight through the sobs. Guilt chews at your chest, was making them real the right choice?

“Mac… Darling, you don’t have to do it alone. Not anymore. I’m here. I always will be.”

~~~~

“You need water,” you mutter, leaning down with a cup. They scowl, voice rough: “I don’t need you hovering.”

You don’t back off. Kneeling, your hands brush against their arm as you steady the cup. The contact lingers longer than necessary, and they feel it in a way that has nothing to do with the liquid inside the cup.

“I called the doctor,” you say softly, almost like confessing something. Their jaw tightens. “Really? You think I need—” Their words break off mid-sentence, replaced by a sharp inhale as cramps twist through them.

“You do need help, byte” you insist, voice steady but soft. “I can’t just… let this go on when I know how much it’s hurting you.”

They swallow, guilt and frustration and pain twisting together. “I hate needing you,” they whisper, almost to themselves.

You freeze for a second, heart aching. “I hate seeing you like this,” you counter, brushing damp hair back from their temple. The contact is electric, intimate, and both of you feel it but neither moves away.

For a long, heavy moment, silence stretches between you, loaded with everything unsaid; fear, care, longing, guilt.. Gods, so much guilt. No one has said it yet, but you’re both wondering if making them human was the right thing to do.

 They shift slightly, trying to protest, but your steady hand keeps them grounded.

“I… I just want to survive this,” they admit finally, voice cracking. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not a burden,” you say firmly. “You’re mine, and I’m not letting you go through this alone. Not now, not ever.”

Their lips part in surprise, and all they can manage is a shaky, almost imperceptible nod. For the first time that day, they allow themselves to breathe.