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Allie can admit that this party sucks.
She suspected it might, given it was hosted by Briar’s resident improv troupe. But it was one of the few functions at which Allie could guarantee she would not encounter Dean. Which, at this moment in time, is a major plus.
Their most recent blowout fight has left them sulking in their respective corners and waiting to see who will break first. Allie’s not sure her pride could survive giving in, no matter how long her thumb has spent hovering over his contact. So, she needed the distraction.
Hence, the bad party.
Allie wouldn’t feel so bad if not for the fact that she’d practically dragged Hannah and Garrett here with her, on the one hockey-free night they’d had in weeks.
Which leaves them all suffering through the bad music, cramped off-campus housing, waning drink cooler, and an impromptu improv session.
She’s sulking near the living room doorway, watching sweaty guys named Zack ask for suggestions from the audience, when Garrett and Hannah pop up beside her, nuzzling and canoodling in a way Allie usually endures. Tonight, her patience is incredibly thin.
“Ugh,” she breathes as Hannah giggles right in her ear. “Would you two please get a room?”
“They’re all taken,” Garrett supplies with a self-satisfied smirk that makes Allie want to groan all over again. “You theater freaks are horny as hell.”
“Okay, first of all- these are sketch comedy freaks- my people would never throw a party so lame,” she replies flippantly. “And I’m just really not in the mood for the lovey-dovey shit tonight, alright?” A beat passes; Allie watches Hannah and Garrett share a knowing glance, obviously recognizing the Dean-shaped shadow cast over Allie's mood. “Sorry- I’m being a bitch, I know.”
“No you’re not,” Hannah cuts in warmly. “Why don’t you just, I don’t know… call him?”
As if the thought hasn’t crossed her mind every two minutes for the past four days. They’ve reached the point where Allie is no longer angry- can hardly remember why she was angry in the first place. All she knows is that the vulnerability of reaching out first makes her chest seize with anxiety. Still, he’s there in every passing thought- as involuntary and imperative as breathing. She craves his voice, his touch, the way he smiles just for her. She misses dropping him into conversation when he’s not around, misses the certainty of him being a constant in her life. For once, Allie is craving solid ground.
It was all so different with Sean. As awful as it sounds, their frequent fights and breakups had always been the most exhilarating part of their relationship. It makes Allie wonder, with mounting fear, if she’s the true roller coaster in her relationships.
Instead of saying any of that, Allie just draws her brows in a look that clearly says, are you insane? To which Hannah promptly rolls her eyes.
“I can tell you for a fact that he’s sulking ten times worse than you are,” Garrett offers. “He’s definitely not out tonight, if that’s what you’re worried about. We could cut out of here and go find an actual party.”
“Or just hit up Malone’s and then head home? Whatever you want, A.”
Before Allie had the chance to consider either offer, her phone buzzes. She checks it immediately, half-hoping and half-dreading that Dean’s name will flash across the screen, like she’s been doing for the better part of this week.
Instead, she finds something even more jarring.
Aunt Angie:
Call me as soon as you can
Her stomach instantly drops. Sound goes fuzzy and her vision pinpricks on her phone screen.
“Allie?”
“I’ve gotta…” She’s not sure she even finishes the sentence before she’s shouldering her way towards the front door and ambling out onto the porch, perching herself on the bottom step and pressing call.
Voicemail.
She calls again.
Voicemail.
“Fuck! You told me to call you!” Allie whispers harshly, pressing the edge of her phone into her temple.
Her heart is thudding. She knows what this kind of text could mean, spends most of her time pretending she’s not terrified of it. This is the exact nightmare she’s been holding at the edges of her consciousness since she left for college.
Three dots appear on the text chain and Allie is already formulating what words might appear.
Your dad has pneumonia, your dad has a UTI, your dad has an infection that his body can’t fight, your dad is in the hospital, your dad is not getting better.
Allie, your dad is-
Aunt Angie:
Sorry! The doctor came in right when called. Your dad took a fall at home earlier and ended up in the hospital. He’s got a pretty bad concussion and a broken hip. They’re taking him into surgery in the morning.
A fall. Of course he took a fall. He’s home alone more than he should be, still refusing at-home care no matter how much Allie pushes, still insisting on staying in his upstairs bedroom, where half the closet still houses her mother’s belongings. Fuck.
Before there’s time to begin processing that, another text rolls in.
Aunt Angie:
The doctors are saying that we should really start talking about reevaluating his care and his living situation. I think they’re right.
Those words dig in like an accusation, even though Allie knows they’re not. She knows no one, least of all her father, expected her to give up her dreams when her dad was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis. Still, she can’t shake the feeling that college has been a useful distraction from what sometimes feels like a slow-motion horror movie waiting at home. At least she was still a kid when her mom got sick; she still had her dad to take care of things, and Allie was free to fall apart. Now, it’s just her, and it finally feels like there’s nowhere to run.
Allie:
I’ll be there as soon as I can. Call me with any news.
“Allie!”
She jumps when Hannah’s hand lands on her arm, realizes only then that her phone screen is growing blurry. She clicks the phone off and blinks hard, attempting to discreetly wipe the wetness from her eyes and steady her heart rate.
“Hey, what’s going on? You ran off without saying anything.”
“I need to, uh…” Allie stands unceremoniously, untethered if not for Hannah’s steady presence at her side. She’s dimly aware of Garrett there too, forming a bit of a human shield from the other partygoers. “My dad, it’s- I’m sorry, can we go home? I need to get home.”
“Yeah of course, Garrett- would you…?”
“I’ll pull the car up.”
Alone with her friend, Allie lets her shoulders drop and takes a deep breath, only to find it stuttering its way out.
Hannah is quick to pull Allie into her arms. “What happened?” Hannah asks softly.
Allie shakes her head and pushes out of the embrace, regaining a firm grip on her emotions. “It’s my dad. He’s in the hospital and I have to… I have to be there.”
“Okay,” Hannah takes this in stride. “What do you need?”
“I need to uhm, I need to look at bus tickets- shit, I should’ve asked what time his surgery is. Maybe I can find something early enough that I could get there before he goes in. Not that it makes a difference, I guess.”
As she rambles, Hannah is gingerly leading them down towards the curb where Garrett’s headlights are coming into view. Allie realizes distantly that she’s being gently manhandled into the car by her friend, but she doesn’t really mind. ‘What do you need’ is rattling around her head like a taunt. What Allie needs is a Xanax, or a car to get her to Brooklyn, or a driver's license for that matter. She needs teleportation technology. Better yet, she needs a time machine to go back and get her priorities straight and force her dad to install a fucking stair lift.
She forces shaking hands to look up bus times and finds herself immensely disappointed with her prospects.
“Allie, we can drive you to see your dad, you don’t have to take the bus,” Hannah leans forward to squeeze her boyfriend’s shoulder. “Right?”
“Of course,” Garrett offers with an uncharacteristic amount of kindness.
“No,” Allie immediately disagrees. “I can’t let you guys do that. It’s like four hours, and I-“
“Not a problem,” Garrett insists sternly.
“Guys, seriously, you don’t have to do that.”
“Allie.”
She doesn’t reply, not because the argument is over, but because she’s finding it harder by the second to fight the lump in her throat. It’s easier to remain monosyllabic for now.
By the time they make it to the dorm, Allie is a live wire. Hannah is being perfectly sweet and supportive as she helps Allie pack a bag, but being around anyone feels painful right now.
She’s had a lot of time to accept that her father is sick, but what she can’t make peace with is the idea that she’s failed him. That, maybe, she’s been failing everyone.
I’m a terrible daughter, three pairs of socks. I’m a terrible friend, two sets of pajamas. I’m a terrible girlfriend, toiletry bag.
It piles up quickly.
I should have been there for my dad, the way he was there for my mom. I'm making a mess of everything. Maybe if things were different, Dean would be here right now, maybe I’m selfish for wanting that. Maybe it’s better that he’s not.
She slams her dresser drawer with too much force. “Han, I love you but could you please… go? For a minute?”
And Hannah, the saint she is: “Yeah, whatever you need.”
The minute the door closes behind Hannah, Allie sinks to the floor knowing that what she needs more than anything is the one person she refuses to let herself have.
__________
Dean is sulking in his room when he gets the call.
The house is otherwise empty- deserted by a happy gaggle of hockey bros who just got their first night off in weeks. Dean graciously, or perhaps pathetically, bowed out of the night’s festivities in favor of wallowing- like he has almost every night this week.
At this point, Dean is no stranger to these little blips he and Allie go through. There’s only so much head-butting either of them can take, and Dean knows that they’re both guilty of goading one another.
Still, he thinks sometimes that Allie is pushing his limits on purpose, to see if this is the time that he’ll leave for good.
He doesn’t know how to prove to her that he couldn’t walk away if he tried.
But she asked for space and Dean is doing his damndest to give it to her, even as his thumb hovers over her contact in his phone.
In fact, he’s staring at their barren text chain when Garrett’s name flashes across his screen.
This alarms Dean for two reasons:
One, Garrett never calls.
Two, Dean knows for a fact that Garrett and Hannah are out with Allie tonight.
Dean sits up against the headboard as he answers.
“G? What’s up?”
“Hey man, are you still home?”
Unease pools in his chest, brows furrowing. “Yeah? What’s going on?”
There’s a sigh on the other end, and Dean is already on the edge of his bed, reaching for a shirt.
“Me and Hannah are with Allie right now- it seems like something’s up with her dad… I wasn’t sure if we should call you or…”
“You call me. You fucking call me.” Shirt, shoes, wallet, keys- he manages it all in a matter of seconds the instant Allie’s name leaves Garrett’s mouth, already bounding down the stairs. “Where are you?”
“The dorm- look, Dean seriously, she’s pretty upset and- oh!”
There’s a rustle as the phone changes hands and then Hannah’s voice, “Are you on your way?”
“I’m about to get in my car.”
“Good,” Hannah responds decisively. “Don’t make me hate you, DiLaurentis.”
“Understood.”
“Great. Get here.”
Dean doesn’t need to be told twice.
The six minute drive is managed in three, all of which are spent with his heart in his throat. It’s not panic he’s feeling, but something deeper and more concentrated. It’s the unique dread of knowing that someone you love is hurting. Time and space, stupid fights and temporary break-ups, dissipate in the face of that.
It’s not long before Dean is racing through the familiar hallway and knocking on the door.
He spares one glance at Hannah and Garrett as they let him inside before he’s beelining for Allies bedroom. “Allie?”
“Dean, maybe take a beat-“
Dean pays the words no mind as he gently knocks on her door. “Allie, baby, it’s me. Are you alright?”
The door swings open under his raised fist and then Allie’s pressed against his chest. He responds immediately- arms circling her tightly, one hand cradling the back of her head as she continues to push herself further against him.
“Hey,” he coos, alarmed and trying desperately not to show it. He tries to coax her to face him but she’s staunchly refusing, and Dean realizes with a terrible pang that she’s muffling her tears against his shoulder. He softens instantly, tension dropping so he can properly cradle her in his arms, ducking to place a kiss on the crown of her head. “I gotcha, I gotcha.” She turns her head so her cheek is resting against his chest and gasps for air, thoroughly alarming Dean all over again. He strokes her back tenderly, rocks them lightly, feeling helplessly out of his depth. “Breathe, baby- you’re alright.”
“Dean.” The single rasped syllable falls from her lips so desperately, Dean curses every second he wasn’t here sooner.
He brushes away the curls stuck to her tear-stained cheek, smoothing her hair back in repetitive motions. “Why don’t we sit for a minute?” Dean suggests quietly, aware all at once that Garrett and Hannah are still somewhere behind him.
To his surprise, Allie immediately shakes her head and pushes herself away, scrubbing tears away and turning back into her room. “No, no I need to pack. And- shit- I still need to buy a bus ticket-“
“You are not taking the goddamn bus,” Hannah cuts her off sharply.
Allie doesn’t really seem to be listening, too busy rifling through her dresser.
Dean can tell that Hannah is gearing up to enter full mom-mode, and holds up a hand. “Let me talk to her.”
He looks between Hannah and Garrett, who seem to be realizing for the first time what Allie means to him, how serious this really is to him. They shouldn’t be so surprised- it’s not like Dean’s done a great job hiding it.
As he closes Allie’s bedroom door behind him, he watches her panic mount.
“Allie, just…” Dean attempts to approach her, but she quickly slams the dresser and crosses over to her closet instead. He sighs, standing still in the center of the room. “Just slow down for a second.”
“My dad’s in the hospital,” Allie bites out, low and clipped. “I don’t have a second.”
“Then tell me what you need and I’ll help.”
“I need-“ Allie stops short, chest heaving with a sigh, eyes squeezed shut. “I need a ride.”
“I can do that.” Instant, unthinking.
“Like, tonight. Four hours to New York.”
“You say the word, it’s done.”
He locks eyes with her, hoping she hears the promise in his words; push me all you want, I’m still here.
She stares back intently, something like acceptance passing across her face as she lets out a shuddering breath and finally sits at the foot of her bed.
Dean follows suit, a careful few inches away.
“How bad is it?”
She shrugs. “Concussion, broken hip. He has surgery in the morning.” Her face does something complicated then, contorting with the effort of pushing it all down. “He fell, because of course he did. Like… he’s alone all the time and his mobility is only getting worse. And I’m not there.”
His heart cracks open. “Allie.”
She just shakes her head. “I’m here so I could be closer to him but I’m not even… I avoid seeing him just so I don’t have to deal with how- god, how fucking scared it makes me to see him like that.”
He reaches for her hand and she takes it for what it really is: an invitation. She scoots closer, until her side is pressed to his, nestles his arm between hers and traces patterns on his palm to distract herself.
“It’s okay to be scared,” he murmurs, lips ghosting her forehead.
“But…” she cuts herself off with a sniffle, eyes still locked on his palm as she kneads it with her thumbs. “I think I’m scared too… that most of the time, I’m here and I’m living my life and trying not to think about it. And then he gets worse or something happens like this and it’s real again, and I’m Ike… what the fuck am I doing? Why am I not taking care of him?”
“Allie,” he breathes, tugging her knee with his free hand until she’s practically in his lap. “Baby, look at me.” She does- her eyes shining and top lip pulled between her teeth. It shatters whatever resolve he had left. His brow softens and he presses his lips together, sighing through his nose to contain the rush of emotion. It matters what he says right now, and he’s never been great at saying the right thing with Allie, but they’re a work in progress. And Dean isn’t going to stop trying.
“No one wants you to give up your dreams, least of all your dad. You know that. You know he wants you here living your life and not torturing yourself worrying about him. And look at you right now, ready to catch three buses to get to him… I know you’re scared and the situation sucks, but you’re not doing anything wrong.” She shakes her head at that, ducking her forehead to his chest. “Hey,” Dean gingerly brings her gaze back up with a hand on her cheek. “You’re not.”
Uncertainty colors her expression. He lets his hand move to cup the back of her neck, keeping her eyes on him even as she tries to retreat.
“I just feel like I’m fucking everything up.”
“What are you talking about? You’re not fucking anything up.”
She raises one eyebrow, gesturing tiredly between the two of them.
Dean scoffs and shakes his head, cradles the back of her head and presses a long kiss to her forehead. “We’re all good. You don’t have to worry about that.”
Finally, finally, something relaxes in her face- as if she needed that confirmation to let herself be comforted by him. “I’m really glad you’re here.” Her lips tremble around the whispered words, but the certainty in them is clear.
“Where else would I be?”
Sitting here, just for a moment with her in his arms, nothing’s felt more true.