#macdennis?

Dennis is still on the floor when the director calls cut and the cameras stop rolling. He’s grabbing at his hair and rocking back and forth. Mac glances at the gang, takes stock of the situation: Frank has wandered off, shuffling backstage. Dee is swaying in her seat still, eating a cracker and trying to regain her energy. Charlie is staring hard at his name tag, tracing the letters with his finger, mouthing the letters to himself. He decides to slowly make his way toward his best friend on the floor. 

He’s muttering quietly, tears streaming down his face.

“This isn’t who I am…this isn’t who I am.”

His eyes are bloodshot and far away.

“Dennis?” Mac tries.

“Dennis? Buddy?”

He blinks, the rhythmic rocking slowing a little. His eyes are still unfocused and he’s breathing fast. Mac knows that when he gets like this, he gets caught in a cycle, and he can’t keep up the “control” over his body that he’s constantly obsessing over.

“Mac…tell them…tell them that I’m better than this. Mac, they need to know. They need to know. They need to–"  

His grip tightens on his hair as a loud sob escapes his throat. Mac sighs, reaches toward him. Places a hand on his back. Ignores how his heart pounds as he touches him.  

"They… they know, Dennis. It’s okay. We know.”

A frantic nod.

“We need to get you out of here, buddy. Get you off the floor, huh? I’m strong, I can carry you. Is that okay?”

Nothing.

Mac steels himself. Regardless of what he wants, he needs to get Dennis out of here and somewhere quiet where he can calm down. Somewhere away from the crew and the cameras and the host and the bright lights and the rest of the gang. Dennis would thank him for this later. 

Slowly, gently, Mac wraps his arms under Dennis, lifting him up with support under his back and head. He pulls him close, only for a second, to adjust his body so that he can hoist him off the ground and over his shoulders. Dennis moans quietly. His hands grip the back of Mac’s shirt, hard. Mac’s heart does a flip, sending a wave of something through his body. Must be the adrenaline of being heroic, he thinks. 

He slowly carries Dennis to the waiting room. Luckily, it’s empty. He lays Dennis down on the couch, immediately going to do a perimeter and security check on the room. The glass on the windows is frosted, and the door has a lock, which he turns hastily before heading back to the couch, satisfied for the time being with the safety of the room. 

Dennis has curled in on himself even further, knees drawn to his chest. He’s sweating, Mac notices, his curls are damp and loose on his forehead. Mac sits down on the couch near his head. Reaches and begins brushing the hair off his friend’s face. He only shudders a little at the touch. 

“Shh, it’s okay, Dennis. Deep breaths. In and out, slowly. Like I showed you, remember? I’m here–Mac’s here. I’m keeping you safe.”

Any other time he would roll his eyes and tell Mac to shut up, but Dennis’s breathing slows a little as Mac speaks. He nods along with his words. He uncurls a little, the tiniest bit of tension leaving his muscles. His left hand is unconsciously grabbing at his sweater vest. Rubbing and pulling the fabric methodically, wearing a few strands loose. Mac notices and bats the hand down gently, holding it in place because he knows he’ll never hear the end of it later if the sweater is destroyed. Without the mindless action, however, Dennis sinks back into panic. He looks up at Mac and his eyes are desperate and full of sadness and anger and so much else and Mac’s heart is pounding again. 

“Stupid…stupid…it was the buzzer, it was the goddamn buzzer. They wouldn’t stop–they wouldn’t turn it down–I told them, I told them to stop and they didn’t stop. They didn’t stop. This is their fault, it’s their fault–"  

His words are aggressive, but the tone is undermined by his voice breaking. He starts crying again. Curls back up. Moves closer to Mac. The hand that Mac is holding captive is gripping back, sweaty and trembling. 

Mac has dealt with Dennis’ meltdowns before, but this is different. This one has consequences, public consequences, and he knows Dennis can’t stop panicking because of it. One of his worst fears is being realized and nobody tried to help until the damage was already done.

Mac feels guilt wash over him, but he pushes it away. Guilt is selfish at a time like this, he reminds himself. 

"Dennis…Dennis….,” Mac says his name evenly and softly, “Let it out, buddy. It’s just us. You’re safe with me, I promise." 

Fear and self-loathing fill Dennis’s eyes as the tears stream down his face. The vein on his forehead is pulsing like it does when he gets really upset. Mac strokes over it gently with his free hand. His jaw is clenching and Mac knows he’s trying to stop, to hold it in. But he’s been shaking and tense and panicking for too long and he’s exhausted, Mac can tell by the rings under his eyes and the shadows on his face that he probably hasn’t eaten all day. 

"Mac, they’re going to hate me…the public…they can’t air it. That doesn’t represent me. It doesn’t.”

 "They won’t,“ of course, Mac doesn’t know that for sure but dammit if he won’t say anything he can to help calm him down. "I know it doesn’t. Everybody gets upset sometimes, Den. It’s okay. You’ll be okay. Just keep breathing with me.”

He’s putting pressure on the hand he’s holding, pulsing every few seconds to remind Dennis that he is here and he’s protecting him. He feels a familiar hotness in his face. He assures himself that holding hands with another dude is okay when it’s your best friend and he’s having a meltdown. He thinks God will probably understand. 

He looks around the room and his eyes land on the table filled with snacks and drinks.

“You want some water, Dennis?” The words seem clumsy as soon as they leave his lips. 

If it was up to Mac, he wouldn’t even ask. But since grabbing the bottled water involved standing up, and by extension, leaving his side, Mac thought it best give some warning before any sudden movements.

Dennis swallows roughly and takes a few quick, gasping breaths, like he can’t get enough air. Mac is suddenly even more worried. But Dennis nods, almost imperceptibly. 

“I have to get up to get it. I’ll be away from you, but only for a few seconds. Is that okay?”

Dennis just nods again, closes his eyes.

Mac thinks about how under any other circumstances Dennis would be making fun of him for being a clingy worrier, aggressively taking back his personal space. With a short squeeze to Dennis’ hand, Mac stood slowly before crossing the room in a few huge strides, returning to his spot on the couch in no time. He twists open the cap in one go. Only works his “glamor muscles,” his ass.

“Want some, Den?" 

Dennis reaches out with a shaky hand, attempting to push himself up on his elbows before unceremoniously collapsing back down again. 

"Tired.”

"Oh–okay buddy. Here. I’ll scoot and put my back against the rest, and I’ll move you so you’re sitting against me. You won’t even have to work at it.” Mac slowly repositions his body, lifting Dennis as he leans back, stretching his legs out on the couch and letting Dennis’ rest between his. With Dennis pressing up against him, his cheeks flush and a warmth burns in his chest, but he’s glad that Dennis is at least in a semi-sitting position. He reaches down and around to hold the bottle under his friend’s chin. 

“I’ll support it for you, just hold on and drink as much as you want. You’re in control, buddy.”