#chompingwords

Cat expected to see Mack's shoes in front of the door, lined up neatly next to Ty's. Especially after the past few games they had—this off-day was needed for them to rest and recuperate.

What she doesn't expect to see is Ty sitting on the couch, hunched over a lump of mass that one can only presume is Mack. He has a fluffy white throw blanket on his entire body and covering his head, one of the really soft ones they take out when it's movie night or storytime or anything of the sort. From what Cat can see, Mack is shivering hard, blanket shaking with him as he crawls in closer to Tyler's side, a strikingly loud sob escaping his mouth every few seconds. He's trying to make himself as small as possible and oh– oh. Cat gets it now.

She sets her keys down on the dining table, the noise causing Tyler to look up and over at her with a soft smile. "Didn't hear you come in, babe," he says. Macklin makes a noise underneath him, a wet, questioning whimper through his tears, to which Tyler quickly shushes him, starts stroking his back again in a sweet rhythm to calm him down.

"Is he…?"

"Yeah. We have our baby right now, isn't that right, Macky?" Cat peeks over the couch to see Mack nodding underneath the blankets at Ty's question. If she heard correctly, she thinks she heard Mack parrot "baby" as the answer, small voice croaking around the vowel.

Cat's chest tightens as the thought of her not-baby being so aware of himself, and she frowns at the sound of Mack's voice. Coupled with the way he looks, the obvious exhaustion surrounding Mack has her eyebrows furrowing with concern. "Why's he shaking so much?"

It seems like Tyler's reading her mind, and she's never been more thankful to have married such an understanding man. "Just crying it all out. We're working on trying to let ourselves go." Ty frowns, and Cat knows it's because the little baby in his arms is trying to be so quiet, trembling from the efforts of keeping his mouth shut. "Mack, don't you wanna say hi to Catcat?"

She watches as the said boy pauses, hears his breath catch on a choking cry, and walks closer to the back of the couch as he slowly turns to his right so he can look at her from where he's lying down. His eyes are teary still and bloodshot, philtrum shiny with snot and tears as he snuffles, teeth grimacing in an effort to both appear happy and hold his cries back all at once. Her hand peeks up out of her sweater to wave at him, natural sweater paws hopefully posing her as non-threatening. Macklin wipes his tears away with the back of his hand, waves a small "Hi" back, and she smiles at his efforts to try, even though he's not looking directly at her and instead at something else. Fatigue quickly takes over after he stays up for a bit too long, and he slumps back into Ty's lap, rubbing his eyes all over Tyler's shorts like the harder her rubs, the faster his tears will go away.

Cat's heart hurts. Not just at how small Macklin can make himself look next to her ever-so-kind husband, but at how much Mack is trying to stop and shut himself up. She's again so, so thankful for her Ty and the way he's silently asking Macklin to stop holding everything in. Sometimes actions speak louder than words for Macklin, especially when he's little—the Toffolis have definitely had practice with a little Mack that prefers present touch than empty praises.

It's four o'clock in the morning, and all Macklin can think about is Will.

It's not…it's not like he doesn't think about Will. That part is pretty obvious to anyone who knows him, and even to people who don't—it's not something he addresses, but it's not something he makes an effort to hide, either. The "thinking about Will" part isn't the issue here—he pleasantly enjoys thinking about Will all the time.

The issue is that it hurts right now, even though he has Will, even though they've claimed each other in the dark recesses of the SAP Center locker room showers, bothered everyone on their team who's even two inches into their space. His thoughts twist into his chest, aching at his sternum and lodging itself in his throat, making it harder and harder to breathe, and he tosses his blankets off in a fit of frustration.

He rolls over and reaches for his phone, blindly grabbing at his nightstand before swiping to the Phone app and finding Will in his "Favorites" section like it's as easy as breathing.

The phone only rings twice before Will picks up. It surprises Macklin just a little bit, especially at this time of night, but he doesn't have the energy to worry about that right now when he hears Will's voice come through the phone, deep raspy morning tone a telltale sign that Will still hasn't opened his eyes. "Mack," Will drags out his name, croaking bass timbre vibrating Macklin's phone as he speaks, "It's four in the morning. Everything okay? Do you need me to come over?"

Macklin shakes his head, groaning a bit in frustration when he realizes Will can't see him. He doesn't need that, actually, not this time. Not when these feelings are so much that he knows they'll arise and burst into something he might not be able to handle. He's aware—hyperaware, really—that their places are only five minutes away from each other, that Will would drop everything in a heartbeat just to rush over and hold Macklin in his arms and remind him that he's Will's baby.

But Will's understood his need for space before. He's learned over these few months to just ask directly rather than pack his life up to come over and help Macklin, another odd quirk of his that Will welcomes with open arms because he's just like that. There aren't always times that they can, or should be, holding each other, like twelve in the afternoon on a Saturday after optional practice when they're both sweating and hungry but together or right now at four in the morning on a Tuesday before a game against the Kings. "No, I– I don't. And, and I don't really want you to"—and before Will misunderstands, even if Macklin knows he won't—"because I need the– the space, not because I hate you. I just– I mean..."

(The question on the tip of his tongue feels more like Do I eat at you like you eat at me?, but that can't be right to ask. He doesn't want to scare Will away.)

Will is silent on the other side of the line as Macklin trails off, patiently waiting for him to continue, and Macklin wishes he could crack a joke or respond with something snarky or anything to fill the this void he created. It's more patience than Macklin could ever ask for, so it's no surprise when all that's left to say is:

"I love you."

And.

Nothing. Not for a few seconds.

Then a deep inhale, crackling over the phone, and Macklin can see Will's lips quirking up into a smile, lips stretching out to reveal Will's toothy grin when he says, "I love you too, Mack. A lot. I do, just as much as you love me."

Macklin scoffs, but he's not really annoyed. Will always knows the right words to say when it comes to Macklin, knows what he needs to hear to soothe his worries and release his grip from his own hair and everything else Will can and will fix. Macklin hears it for what it is: he's not alone in this love, this obsession, this want that sometimes gets to be too much it hurts, because Will feels it too, they're in this together. Together. It makes Macklin feel less worried and a little more..."normal," whatever that might mean. "Not true. Love you more."

Will laughs. A wind chime rings somewhere in San Jose. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"That's why you like me."

"Love you, get it right. Seriously, if you need me to come over, I'm a call away. Go to bed. We have a game today." Will chides, and the reassurance has the tight ball of desire unraveling, flowing out of Macklin's chest and through his body. Macklin hums his assent.

"G'night, Will." A few beats. "Thanks."

"Always. Night, Macky."

"Mama?"

Tyler and Cat both sit up from her bed at the sound of Michael's voice peeking through the door, light brown bear plush making its way through the crack first before she spies Michael's soft tuft of fluffy hair, eyes barely rounding the corner of the door.

"Mikey?" she asks, watching his hair bounce up and down as he nods. Who else could it be, obviously, but it's always nice to get a response from Michael regardless. "Come in honey, Mama's here."

Once he gets the permission, Michael opens their door even wider, revealing his rubber duck pajamas Cat dressed him in before putting him to bed. He shuffles in fast, making his way from the door to her bed in two seconds flat. Cat watches him pause, looking between Tyler and Cat, biting his lips as he tries to decide which side to settle into. After a minute or so of hard deliberation, Michael opts to climb in next to Cat, opposite of Tyler, curling himself into her side with his plushie snug against his stomach. Cat mentally fist pumps the air, always taking her baby choosing her as a win, and sticks out her tongue at Tyler over Michael's head.

Tyler rolls his eyes fondly and reaches over to gently stroke Michael's hair. Cat adjusts her arm so it's snug around Michael's back. "Everything alright? What're you doing up so late, bud?" Tyler asks, running a thumb over Michael's cheek.

Michael responds into the head of his bear, not looking at either of his caregivers. Of course they both know he's shy—soft-spoken might be the better term—but they want him to be honest, work up to telling them what he wants because his opinions are just as important as anyone else's. "Can you repeat that for us, sweetheart? Mr. Bear might not be able to tell us everything," Cat says, voice featherlight. She rocks them back and forth best she can, sees Michael's eyelid's flutter shut before they jerk awake again. Cat knows he's tired, had made sure he would be before bedtime, and her eyebrows furrow at how he refuses sleep now.

"'M scared," Michael mumbles after a few moments, shaking his head back and forth, burrowing himself further into Cat's side. ""M scared to-- to sleep, Mama."

Cat frowns, both at his confession and exactly how terrified he is at going to bed. "What's got you so scared?"

Michael takes a few deep breaths like Tyler taught him, one of his hands scrambling out to wrap around Cat's side and squeeze her tight. "Sammy, 'member when Sammy 'n I, sleep-ed at the, the hotel 'n Buff'lo?" Cat nods—it's the hotel they talked about on the podcast, freaking each other out when they brought up the possibility of ghos- ohhhhh.

"You're scared there might be ghosts in your room, baby?" Cat asks. Michael breathes a sigh of relief, nodding small at finally being understood. Both Sam and Michael have been a lot more honest about their bedroom scares to the Toffolis since spilling that story to her on the pod. "That's makes a lottt of sense, yes. What if Tyler checks for you? I'm okay with him getting eaten by ghosts." She cups her hand on his ear to whispers the last sentence, causing Michael to let out a weak giggle, little fangs peeking through his lips. That's what she wants to see.

Tyler plays up the dramatics just as Cat asks for his participation, hopping out of bed and placing fierce hands on his hips, legs spread apart. "Did somebody call for Tyler Toffoli, famous Ghostbuster of San Jose?" he shouts, looking off to the side with a strong gaze. Michael squeals, clapping with Cat at the hero's introduction, and Cat can't help but cheer for her funny guy who always seems to know when to step in with his antics. "Don't worry, young Michael, Papa Ghostbuster'll drive allll of the ghosts away for you. C'mon!" Tyler gestures for Michael to follow, opening the door and waiting at the doorway.

Michael immediately looks up at Cat at Tyler's invitation, who chuckles and nods, jumping out of bed with her little boy. "Let's go!"

They all run out into the hallway, Tyler leading the way with marching stomps and Cat watching Michael from behind. Tyler picks up a vacuum tube on the way there as his ghost busting equipment, and looks back to Michael with a wink.

Michael's steps start slowing down the closer they get to his room, and he fully comes to a stop just five feet from the doorway. Tyler hears Michael's steps start to slow and turns around once more, standing right before Michael's door.

"It's alright, young Michael. Ghostbuster Toff's got it covered. Stay right here and protect Mama, will you?" He ruffles Michael's hair, sending him back to Cat, who's already waiting with open arms for her boy. Michael lets himself be hugged, hugs Mr. Bear just as tight as his eyes flicker from the door to his room.

Tyler steps in with a loud "WA-BLAM!," closing the door behind him as he keeps making old-timey fighting sounds. Some thuds and jumps are audible behind the door, causing Michael to wince a couple of times, and Cat holds him tight, strokes his hair gently as they wait for Ty to finish. Her little boy turns around and buries himself in her chest again, just a little too scared at all the hard-hitting sounds behind the door. "I know baby, but Ty's got it, you know Papa's gonna get rid of all of them. Papa doesn't go back on his word, does he?" Cat asks, feeling Michael shake his head no. "So there's nothing to worry about. We got you."

She continues to stroke his hair, shush him quietly as they wait. A whrrr of the vacuum turns on as the Ghostbusting tirade finally ends, and she sighs in relief at Tyler finishing his ministrations before Michael shakes so hard he falls apart in her arms.

Tyler comes out of the door wiping his forehead, sighing heavy, and it makes Cat wonder if he really was doing all that jumping behind closed doors when he could've just made the sounds. "Young Michael, I've cleaned out your room. No more ghosts." He pats the tank of the vacuum as if the "ghosts" were sealed away, and Cat's eyes widen as Michael breaks free to give Tyler a big, tight hug.

"The best, Papa. 'N Mama too, for, f'helping me, thank you thank you thank you!" Michael yells, louder than usual to express how grateful he is. Cat wishes she had her camera on her, Michael looking so so relieved and small in Tyler's arms, and her heart melts when Tyler puts his arms around Michael and scoops him up easy.

"Of course, kiddo. Y'need us to tuck you in again?"

"…Please?" Michael asks, hesitant, looking over to Cat who can't help but smile so softly at his quiet begging. She reads the stories the best out of her and Tyler, what can she say?

Cat walks over to give Michael a sweet kiss on his arm, pushing all of them towards Michael's room. She knows, can tell that Tyler's probably sleeping in Michael's room tonight by the way he sets Michael down gently in his bed, tucks their boy in, and sets himself on the floor next to his bed. Cat takes her seat on top of Michael's blankets, picking out one of the books from the little library at the foot of his bed.

"'Three Little Pigs' again okay?" she asks, holding the book up to Michael so he can see the cover. He nods, bringing his blanket up to his eyes as she starts reading, Mr. Bear tucked into his side.

"Once upon a time…"

-

Michael's out like a light by the time she's done. Apparently Tyler is too, if his loud snores are anything to go by.

Cat leans in to examine Michael's face, check his breathing. All his facial muscles have loosened since the first time she put him to bed, mouth hanging slightly ajar and small front teeth peeking out from his lips. His eyebrows are smooth, even, worry-free after Tyler's Ghostbusting show.

"Has anyone seen Mack?" Will asks the locker room, gear only half off when he walks in. He rests his hands on his knees, breathing heavy through his mouth.

"He's not in the showers? That's what he usually does after an interview." Delly says, piping up from next to Will's stall as he throws a shirt on. The locker room chatter starts rising as everyone asks around for Mack.

Toff's eyes narrow at Delly's observation, lights up. He takes careful steps out of the locker room and into the hallway.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven—

A whimper. Bingo.

Toff carefully knocks on the door, building them in volume after each rap. "Mack?"

No response. All the noises in the supply closet suddenly still, save for Mack's quick and whisper-soft breaths. "Mack, it's me, it's Toff. Can I come in?"

"No."

…

Right.

He should've expected this, really, but it still breaks a piece of his heart every time Mack shoves himself in a closet and believes a few minutes of panicked breathing in the dark will fix everything else about him. If Toff didn't know any better, he'd assume Mack's words were absolute and leave.

But he does know better. Because he knows Mack.

"Okay. I'm gonna sit outside until you come out. However long it takes," Toff singsongs, setting himself down next to the door, back facing the wall. He leans his head back on the cool concrete, humming a small tune to himself while he waits, some metal song Mack excitedly showed him one day after it came on during a game.

The door creaks open. Toff listens to small steps patpat-ing out and waits for them to stop before he looks up at Mack. The boy has a jersey wrapped over his head, eyes red-rimmed and lips bitten raw, and his scrunched-up posture fails to hide where Toff knows Mack is mentally: a scared, anxious, heavily guilty little boy.

It takes barely a second between Mack looking down at Toff and Mack's decision to collapse in Toff's arms, head landing with a hard thud on his chest.

"W-was bad, Toffy. Need dark, pun-ish-ment," Mack croaks, voice weak and choppy and sore after the horrendous post-game interviews he had to do. Likely fresh from a big cry, if Toff had to guess. Mack squeezes and scrunches up Toff's jersey with the overwhelming need to be good and to move his fingers around something so he doesn't bite on them so soon after seeing Toff.

Speaking in absolutes is something Toff likes to avoid whenever any of the baby sharks are regressed, but he doesn't want to hear Mack speaking like that about himself at all. They've been trying to mitigate the idea of guilt needing consequences into other stress relieving activities, but old habits die hard, and Mack's made a habit of doling out punishments for himself for as long as Toff's known him. "Oh bud," Toff says, gently stroking Mack's hair. Mack takes the opportunity to burrow himself further into Toff's chest, and Toff feels Mack pinch part of Toff's jersey and rub it between those two fingers in an effort to make himself smaller again. "It's alright. No punishments needed, okay? You did so well. So proud of you."

Mack only whines in response, shaking his head in disbelief but too tired to argue. Toff will take what he can get. "W'nna go home," Mack mumbles, not bothering to look up. He knows Toff will say yes no matter what.

"Sure." Toff smiles down at Mack, giving him a small kiss atop his head. He can address Macklin's avoidance to Toff's praise later. "Blanket? Headphones? Quiet time?" Toff suggests, chuckling a little bit when Mack aggressively nods to all of it. Mack's arms wrap tighter around Toff, hugging him so tight he can barely breathe. "We can do that buddy. Course we can."

"'M sorry f'leaving, Papa. Didn't mean it," Mack mumbles, going to shove his fingers into his mouth. Toff's quicker though, cringing slightly as he grabs Mack's hand and slowly pulls them away before he can get them in there, barely having the time to register that oh, Mack's finally letting himself be little now.

"I know buddy. Everyone was just worried about you, promise. You know how they get."

Mack thinks about it for a moment, then whispers so softly that Toff almosts misses his next words. "Care 'bout me."

Macklin tugs at hem of Igor's jersey as they return to the bench, pulls him towards the end of the line, and Igor knows that means Macklin wants to talk to him about something. Igor fixes up his hair and wipe his bucket as he walks. Will catches Macklin's gaze from towards the front, takes a quick glance down, and nods, lips firmly pressed shut. Talk to him. Gentle reminders, Mack, Will says in the back of Macklin's mind. Macklin can probably only promise that one out of two of Will's thoughts will come true.

As they're walking through the halls, Macklin takes the opportunity to sneak Igor to the side, keep the both of them against the corner that sits just shy of the locker room entrance. He grabs Igor by the scruff of his neck, pulls Igor close to his side, keeps his voice low as he mutters close to Igor's ear. "You have to calm yourself. Behave. We still have two more periods left. Control it."

"But sir– Mack, they–"

"I don't care what they did," Macklin interrupts, and Igor's lips snap shut. A burning feeling sinks into Macklin's gut at Igor's immediate compliance, and he strokes Igor's neck as a silent apology for being on the receiving end of his temper. Fuck, maybe he's still shaken from the Habs game, after all. "I care what you do. It's just how the game's played, Cherny. I got scared when your bucket came off, okay?"

Igor gulps, staring at the ground in front of him, not daring to make eye contact with Macklin because he's so, so unconfident that he won't do something he can take back. "Okay," he gets out, voice raspy and low and straining to keep himself down. He curls his tongue around the apology hanging off the tip of it when he hears the desperation in Macklin's voice, the quiet voice crack at the tail-end of his question. If he could, he'd whine out loud at the thought of making Macklin feel this bad. Macklin can tell Igor wants to say something else, so he starts petting his neck, gently, slowly, almost beckoning Igor to speak up, and who is Igor if not to listen? "Is Willy…?"

The question gets a soft chuckle out of Macklin. "Will's alright. You know him. Not very into fighting. That's why I have you, yes?"

"Yes sir," he mumbles, slurring his words together, finally letting himself relax when he can tell Macklin's softening up. He slowly lifts his eyes up towards Macklin, holding his breath and trying to steel his resolve so he can go into second period strong, strong enough to stand by everyone else. "Was it– Is it okay? That I fight like…?"

Macklin smiles, tilting Igor's head up further, almost like he's observing Igor from where he stands just a few inches below. Will should almost be finished re-taping his stick by now, so Macklin knows he has to wrap this up quick if he wants Igor to get a chance to refresh his mind as well. "Yes, yes it was okay. Even though you scared me a little, I'm proud of you. You fought well. Just have to hold back a bit, but that's what I'm here for. Thank you." His grin is wide, gums peeking out from under his lips and he strokes Igor's cheeks the way Igor did just moments prior, lightly tapping them for good measure. Igor smiles back, letting out a breath of pure fondness out through his nose, and closes his eyes as he leans into the touch.

"Anything for you, Mack."

"I know, Cherny."

Mack pats Igor's neck twice before letting go, dragging his hand towards the small of Igor's back to guide him deeper into the locker room where he knows everyone else must be waiting. Igor already misses the warmth on his nape.

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additional notes: little to no editing at all on this (small revisions as i worked), i lowk wrote this in one go. this is fiction so i can do what i want (regarding hockey technicalities) but i guess that's the disclaimer for every single fic of mine that anyway ☝️ not like the intro is accurate to game footage either from the end of 1st period, but if i dont willmack i Die. i DIE. I SHRIVEL UP AND DIE!!!

can you tell i've been thinking too much about this. is a v2 coming soon? who knows. i don't. probably yes. i wanna expand this idea but the drabble above is kinda the baseline for what i'm yapping about n i'm just writing to write #finalsweek #tryingtostaysane man idek anymore my brain is fried throws hands up in exasperation. willmack iteration of this will appear at some point in the grand scheme of time and space because like it'd be blasphemy if i didn't