Work Text:
"The waitress is getting married!"
Dennis is half way through saying it when he starts to regret it. He finishes, hissing, "Suck on that."
Charlie's eyes widen, thinking for a moment he might have misheard or else misunderstood, as he is prone to do, but Dennis just stands there for that same, long moment, staring back at him slack-jawed and silent, both of them feeling the full weight of his words. Charlie knows what he heard. All the fight goes out of his face.
"I see," he says. Looking down, he continues. "Well, I suppose I'll be taking that milksteak to go then."
Dennis, if he were feeling anything but guilt and nervous tension, would feel profoundly annoyed at Charlie, would snap at him to shut up about the goddamn milksteak, but as satisfying as that would be he can't find his voice. The silence hanging over them now is heavier than ever, and all Dennis can seem to do to combat it is look stupidly between Mac and Charlie until Mac says at length "We should go."
Dennis reaches out to touch Charlie's shoulder with an unsteady, uncertain hand that he expects Charlie to pull away from but he doesn't.
"Let's get you out of here," Dennis says softly, his mouth feeling suddenly too dry.
Charlie stares at the menu in front of him in silence, leaving Dennis to wonder whether his words successfully cut through the cacophony no doubt building in his head. Just as he's about to repeat himself, Charlie stands up wordlessly and turns, left first, then round in a circle to face right. Expressionless, he makes another half turn, pivoting between Mac- whose eyes won't meet his- and Dennis- who won't take his wary eyes off him. Locked in that gaze like he might find some guidance there, Charlie says hoarsely, let's go, but waits for Dennis to lead him out.
They make it as far as the bathroom when Dennis feels the first gusts of the storm he's now waiting for- a trembling under his hand, resting high on Charlie's spine, a hiccuping sort of sound that Charlie's hand is too slow to muffle as it flies up to his face, the base of his palm pressed to his mouth, fingers rubbing at his eyes. Seconds now, thinks Dennis, and he's right.
As Charlie pulls his hand away from his face it comes back wet, but with more than the anticipated tears and sweat; There’s a shining red smear across the tips of his fingers where they grazed the still fresh hornet sting high on his cheek. Seeing it glint in the dimly lit restaurant, it hits him hard now that all of this is real. His world cracks open and a wretched sound comes tearing out of him.
"Wait here," Dennis says to Mac, with a look severe enough to quash any rebuttal, and with both hands on him now, Dennis steers Charlie back into the bathroom.
Dennis locks the door as Charlie goes barrelling across the room, fully sobbing now. "I can't believe-" he chokes, tugging at his hair, pacing tight circles in front of the sink. He stops when he catches his own reflection- looking, at best, disgusting- and goes silent. Then a sound starts building in the back of his throat that would turn into a scream if Dennis weren't there, suddenly all over him, hands on his shoulders, face in his face.
"I screwed up," Charlie cries, and Dennis can't be sure if he's talking about the date, or about the waitress, or something else entirely, but he's shutting this down now.
"Hey," he says softly. "Breathe for me, buddy."
Charlie takes a deep breath just barely short of sobbing. It gets caught in his throat, shaking his whole chest. He tries to right his breathing, can hear Dennis saying can you do that for me Charlie and if he could do it, he'd do it for Dennis. But he can't. Another failure to add to his infinite list. He tries again, but it keeps getting caught, rattling around his chest then tripping up in his throat to come caterwauling out his mouth.
"No ones gonna love me," he says pitifully.
Dennis takes a deep breath. He did this, and he can undo it too.
Charlie has always been prone to panic, almost chronically out of his depth, and there's that feral thing inside of him that comes out when his back is to the wall. It reminds Dennis of himself- Charlie always has. Dennis remembers himself as a wild-eyed, vulnerable teenager, lost at sea all through the early years of his adolescence, buoyed by the death grip he'd keep on his sister, her hand meeting his like a tether to the world. He grew out of it of course, grew up, held his head high by fifteen, stood up proudly on his own and found himself sailing through the dark thing in him, rather than drowning in it.
Charlie, on the other hand, never learned to sail, barely learned to swim, so additional stress often comes to him as sharks snapping at his heels. He's too quick to panic, too quick to lash out. There's little Dennis loathes quite like losing his composure, and its something he sees so often in Charlie, who lacks the control to reel himself back in. So, as his self-appointed duty, Dennis does it for him. With years of practice put into it now, he's turned calming Charlie down into a science, and controlling him into an art form.
He puts a hand to Charlie's jaw, the other resting on his shoulder. His face is unflattering, to put it gently. To be blunt, he's red eyed, puffy, bleeding and heaving breaths the smell of which turn Dennis's stomach. But he's Charlie, and he's hurting, so he trails his other hand up to the other side of Charlie's face and, never breaking contact, Dennis holds him steady, leaning in close now. He tries to meet his eyes but Charlie can't seem to focus on any one part of Dennis's face, like he's struggling to understand what he's looking at. Dennis presses their foreheads together.
"Nobody," Charlie chokes. "A freak. Nobody loves me."
"Hey, hey. Hey," Dennis says softly at first, then growing firm when he doesn't seem to be getting through. "I do, man. I do."
"What?" Charlie's eyes are wide with genuine confusion. Dennis can't be sure if he doesn't believe it or just didn't process it, but can't risk either eventuality.
"I..." He start to say, but stops short realising what has to happen next. They are rapidly approaching uncharted territory. He swallows hard but doesn’t back down from what he's started. "I care about you."
"Yeah?" Charlie sniffs.
"Yeah." Dennis replies. "I love you, man."
Then, as if the truth of his words depended on it, Dennis closes the last fraction of space between them.
He kisses Charlie just east of his mouth, lingering there, unsure of his next move but keenly aware of the fragility of this moment. He pulls back barely enough to breathe a hush into his skin, needing Charlie to know that this is fine, that this is safe, that this isn't a moment bent on changing all that they are to each other, but a sanctuary he's built between the two of them.
Dennis bows his head so that it's his nose brushing Charlie's mouth as he moves across to kiss the other side of it, whispering soft, placating sounds to him. Charlie is shaking still, but silent and pliant, trusting in Dennis to a degree that no one with a trace of self preservation instinct has ever been. And only because they are Charlie and Dennis, he's one of the rare few not to regret it.
Dennis tries not to think of anything at all, just to wait for Charlie to calm down, but the stubble soft against his lips begs the comparison, makes him think of Mac. It almost makes him smile, but selfish though he might be, he knows this isn't the time to get distracted by fantasy. Still, he can almost hear Mac saying his name, distant but so real, nagging at his brain. His own heart knocks hard against his ribs, like someone knocking on a door, knocking with urgency, desperate to get in, and Mac's voice in his head calling Dennis, Dennis from somewhere far away. Then suddenly a louder sound, jarring, like a shoulder slamming into the door. The voice calling out to him now "Dennis, are you alive?" and finally he realises.
"I'm fine" he barks over his shoulder, at the bathroom door shaking in it's frame. He feels the familiar heat of rage building too fast inside him- Goddamn it, Mac- but he can't break now, not again, or he'll have ruined everything. Softer now, as he turns back to Charlie, "We're fine"
Charlie's tremors are subsiding, his eyes open but only by half. He's looking less fragile than Dennis feels, like he gave all his strength up with his kisses, though he wouldn't dare to show it.
"You ok, pal?" he asks, like he's talking to a child, like he can't still taste a hint of sweat on his lips. Charlie nods, then shakes his head, then slowly nods again but Dennis is beginning to think that his silence is not reassuring. Then suddenly Charlie breaks it.
"That was-" he pauses, sniffling wetly. "Dennis, that was kinda weird."
Dennis can't help the grin that tugs at the corners of his mouth. "Nothing weird about it," he lies. "You feel better, right?"
Charlie nods again, with certainty this time. "Little bit." He says, eyes fixed on Dennis's mouth, blatantly distracted, which was after all the goal.
"Good," Dennis nods. "You ready to get going?"
He's not ready though. Not ready to walk back out into the restaurant, into the real world, into the hurt and betrayal and everything else waiting outside. He might not be crying now, but he could still use the comfort.
"In a minute, man." Charlie mumbles, but after that minute passes, he's still not saying I'm ready.
Another minute passes and what he's saying instead is- Hey Dennis? Maybe you could do that again?