Chapter Text
Maybe they would've been better apart.
But at the end of the day there's something about the stupidity of their codependent love for each other. Everytime the five of them are apart their life seems to get better. But they can't help the empty feeling in their guts.
They’d prefer to be fucked up.
At least then they're together.
They would rather be scrounging for scraps at the dumpster together than in a mansion with other people.
They'll say, time and time again, that they'd rather be in the mansion.
Or that they hate each other.
Or they'll try to get rid of each other.
But… At the end of the day. They'll always prefer to be getting black out drunk together. Other people just… aren't necessary.
…
Now see… Ronnie's a kid.
His mom and dad are very much in love. Until dad gets arrested. Mom turns apathetic and barely looks at him, but he learns how to read her grunts between the smoke. And dad doesn't reply to his letters - he must be very busy, Ronnie lies to himself.
He's only eight years old when he thinks that no one around him would even care if he lived or died, - he shoves that thought deep inside, hidden away with many other thoughts God wouldn't want him to indulge in - and still, he's dirt poor and alone, but he's learned how to take care of himself, at least the bare minimum.
But there's another kid. Smaller than him. Scrappy and a bit... Weird. Someone he can trust with his life. Someone that will throw rocks at trains with him when Christmas at both their houses feels like too much and too little at the same time. Someone like Charlie.
A kid that looks up to him. A kid that's a little different from other kids, but that's okay, cause Ronnie's never really felt that similar to the other kids too, try as he might.
The two can find comfort in the cigarette butts they find at the train tracks and the vodka that Charlie stole from his mom's bedside table.
He's eleven.
And then he's not.
He's just ratted out all of the drug dealers at their school. Which, by proxy, makes him the new - and only - drug dealer at the school.
Charlie's stopped bathing properly. And Charlie's begun to find comfort in huffing glue. And of course Ronnie wouldn't - couldn't - let him do that by himself. So they spend their nights and days in his basement doing just that. Along with stealing vodka from Charlie's mom and grabbing a pack of cigarettes from Ronnie's mom. A banquet of sorts.
Still, he's selling weed to the richer kids in the school, making enough money to buy himself and Charlie some snacks for whenever they go to the basement next. It's all under the bleachers of course, because where else would he do that?
Until one day.
One fatidic day.
One of the richer kids comes under the bleachers to buy weed, he doesn't think much of it at first. Blue eyes, skinny, preppy and about his age.
But it's different. Because he stays.
And now it's not just Ronnie and Charlie. Because he stays and he accepts them, even if he's pretentious and thinks he's smarter than the two of them combined and pretty-
He's manipulative and arrogant.
But he takes care of Charlie.
He takes care of Ronnie.
Even if he does it while complaining and cursing and making fun of them. Ronnie can't bring himself to care really. He'll complain and curse and make fun of him right back. But he'll stay.
Ronnie’ll hear all about how much he wants to make his father proud, which is something he himself can understand. How much he cares about his Sweet twin sister. How much his mom “fusses” over his “health”. Dennis will only eat an apple. To which Ronnie can't help but freak out over, does the blue eyed boy - Dennis, he reminds himself - not know about the toxins in the apple's skin? How can his mom fuss over his health like that and not-
Ronnie starts peeling the apples for those blue eyes to watch while he tells all about the new karate trick he taught himself so he can defend Charlie - and himself but that's not something he particularly mentions in front of blue eyes.
And Dennis'll laugh.
And it's the most beautiful sound Ronnie's ever heard. But of course it's only that way because it's the three of you laughing. Together. There's only one reason that Dennis's laugh makes Ronnie's - Soon to go by Mac - stomach flutter of course. Only one reason that blue eyes seem to be at the back of his mind anytime he considers going after a girl. Only one reason that Dennis's words seem to matter to him just as much as God's, Ronnie shoves that thought down along with the others he shouldn't indulge in.
Ronnie barely has family around and the family who is there doesn't seem to be… There. So of course Dennis and Charlie are like brothers to him.
That's the only reason.
Even if Charlie's laugh doesn't make his stomach clench. Even if the eyes in the back of his mind don't look like Charlie's. Even if he'll disregard Charlie's words more often than not. He feels the same way about Charlie as he does Dennis, of course. In fact, he's known Charlie longer so maybe he'd even consider that Charlie's his twin. Just like Dennis has Dee. Different but the same.
But he still watches Dennis eat the apple.
Skin against skinless. He'd rather not think about it.
They're fifteen when Dennis tells them about bony old fingers behind library bookcases. About losing his virginity. He says it with a prideful stupor that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
Dennis starts going after girls more and more at that point. And like a good dog- A good friend. Mac follows.
Charlie never really cared much about dating. He would high five them every time they managed to get a conquest or whatever. He would feel happy for them, he'd pretend he was trying just as hard as them. He wouldn't notice the lack of sparkle in their eyes.
Charlie didn't notice a lot of things.
Charlie doesn't notice Mac's gaze lingering. Charlie doesn't notice Dennis's prideful stupor cracking as if he's trying to convince himself more than he is boasting to his best friends about the latest hottie he's gotten with.
They are 18 when Charlie has his… first sexual experience.
He pukes up everything he had drunk as soon as he leaves the room, he's sure he left a puddle in there as well. The girl, Stacy, he thinks, didn't seem too happy with him. The party music pounds his ears. There's too many people. Mac smiles, proud, boastful and happy for him.
Charlie sobs in Mac's arms. Shushed cries, a hand in his hair comfortingly and hands holding each other with a grip that's half meaningful and half careless as they walk back to Mac's basement.
Mac knows that Charlie has a complicated relationship with touch. A complicated relationship with school. A complicated relationship with his sisters. A complicated relationship with his over protective and OCD driven mom. A complicated relationship with his uncle.
They don't talk about Charlie's Uncle Jack. They don't talk about why Charlie stopped bathing when they were eleven and Jack had just moved back in with Charlie's mom. They don't talk about why Charlie puked up after he lost his virginity. They don't talk about feelings anymore.
Maybe they never did.
But they still throw rocks at the trains.
They still scream and fight each other.
They still love each other.
It's been a couple years and now they're twenty two.
Dennis and Dee are happy or at minimum really good at looking the part. Still rich, barely working, enjoying their twenties. Charlie and Mac work at the roller rink. Mac still sells drugs and tries to teach Charlie how to… It goes as you’d expect. Charlie's good at his job. He likes the routine. He likes the roller rink. Mac works with what he's got.
Dennis wants to learn how his dad's business works. He wants to be able to take it over eventually. He wants to understand how it ticks. He wants to make his father proud. Dennis asks to join Frank for a… Business meeting.
He wishes he'd never asked to learn.
So much for his dad being proud of him, what's the point when Dennis's no longer proud of Frank? He swears that when he squeezes his eyes shut he can still see and hear everything that happened in that hotel room.
Dee hits her head at the roller rink. Maybe she should go to the hospital. She never does. There's no winning for her. The dog's are off and she's never bet on herself as much as she tries to believe she did.
She does wonder, late at night, if maybe she'd still be sweet if they'd gotten her to the hospital right away.
She knows that she wouldn't.
And then the idea comes. Why don't they buy the roller rink? Dennis doesn't want to work for his dad anymore, and he did just get hush cash from the man, 5k to be exact. Mac just saved up a little bit from his drug dealing, another 5k. And Charlie…
Charlie has 57k dollars saved up from working at the roller rink.
And that's when they buy the bar instead. Paddy's. A shithole. Dee joins them, no longer as sweet as she once was, just as messed up as the rest of them, not that she wasn't before. But it's their shithole. It's where they go from best friends, from brothers... To family.
That's when Mac moves in with Dennis. Whose laugh still makes his stomach clench. Whose eyes still follow in the back of his mind. Whose words have become way more biting and whose compliments are way more scarce.
They have dinner together in a fancy restaurant once a month. They have movie nights at least once a week. And Dennis rolls his eyes at Mac choosing Predator every time, but he'll stay. He'll stay and watch with him. And if there's a shiver in Mac's spine every time their hands touch inside the popcorn bowl or a heat in his gut when their knees brush together…. He'll just... Pray a little harder next time he goes to confess.
That's between him and God.
And even if he does have thoughts, the ones he'd shoved back in a place he hoped God couldn't see... It's, of course, the temptations and trials of being human, as long as he doesn't act on them... He figures he'll just beg God for forgiveness no matter what.
He's always wanted to be a fighter. Always wanted to be at peak strength. Because who would protect Charlie when the kid was hitting his head, huffing glue and trying to get his nightmares of the Nightman to stop? Mac had to be able to fight.
All of them would always get physical when they fought. Not afraid to pull punches, to yell. Because it's easier to put your hands on someone when you're angry if you know that they'll have each other afterwards. Even if they end up running away at the moment. At least you know at some point... They'll be back. Right back in the same bar stools they always are.
It's easy to take care of people. Mac always thought so. Make sure Charlie doesn't fuck himself up too badly and ends up in a ditch for good. Make sure Dennis doesn't starve himself to death on the concept of being youthful and beautiful. Make sure Dee doesn't let herself be swallowed over by the idea of whatever she thinks will give her the most praise.
And when it comes to himself... Make sure he's in fighting shape. That he's a rock. Even if most of the time he feels like a puddle when he looks into their eyes. Mac never had the utmost control on his life. But he prides himself on being good at rolling with the punches. Sure, some people think he's stupid, other people think he's an asshole and most people think he's ignorant.
But at least he has his family.
Dennis is the face, he'll insist he's the brains, he's wrong. Charlie is the impulsiveness, he'd say he's the wildcard and he's not wrong. Dee is the cunning, even though Mac would never say it to her, she is the brains most of the time.
Mac would like to say he's the muscle.
But he knows Charlie could kick his ass any day if he felt like it. That Dennis could scratch him and make him double over with pain, or just… Play him like a fiddle. That Dee could press just rightly into the spot that will make his very unstable beliefs crumble.
But most of the time they don't.
Dennis does play him like a fiddle. Charlie doesn't realize what's going on most of the time, especially now that Frank's living with him. And Mac never gives Dee enough time to speak for her to get her words past the fog of alcohol in his brain.
If you ask any of them… Mac's the heart. Not that they'd tell him that.
And suddenly they're almost thirty.
They're drunkards. Drug addicts who end up sick with withdrawals over going less than a day without alcohol, or whatever drug they're craving that day. It's in their blood or something stupid like that. Mac tells himself that it's how God made him. Predisposed to want relief from life.
Besides, it's not like God ever said anything specific about drug use.
His head feels dizzy when it hits the backboard of the leather couch that Dennis chose for the apartment. It's worn down at this point, the sharp pain at the back of Mac's head reminding him that the whole couch is basically wood with a thin layer on top. That's not what's making him dizzy obviously.
See, God may not say anything specific about drug use. But surely He has something to say about the daydreams - more so daynightmares - he's gotten used to having.
Dennis's hands on Mac's shoulders bring him back out of his thoughts. Fuck you, he thinks. Fuck your blue eyes. And before Mac can say anything as he's taking a deep breath and closing his own - brown - eyes for just a second... Dennis’s not there anymore. Was he even there in the first place?
Mac shakes his head. He can still feel the warmth of Dennis's hands on his shoulders. Dennis likes to say he's God and that's nothing but short of blasphemous. But Mac does wonder if there's some truth to it.
And he shakes his head again. That's not a thought he should entertain. His head hits the backboard of the couch again. The leather couch Dennis chose for the apartment. He hopes God can't hear the thoughts he doesn't like to indulge in.
Just in case he'll pray twice as hard. And he'll confess everything else. He won't open the box he's buried inside his mind, that'd be too risky, you never know what's gonna get out with boxes like that. He finally gets up from the couch and makes a beeline to his bedroom, stopping at the door to look back onto Dennis's door. It's soundproof, he knows that. He feels his gaze linger a bit too long as if willing Dennis to open the door.
He's wasted, give him a break.
The door doesn't open and suddenly Mac feels like he's eight years old again watching his dad get arrested. And then he's eleven throwing rocks at trains. And then fifteen staring into blue eyes and skinless apples. And that's where he finds himself.
One shaky step after the other until he's knocking on that damned wooden door, hoping for blue eyes and blue eyes alone.
Dennis knows. He's known for a long time. Mac still doesn't know, or he does but is pretending not to. He stares at the door. He thinks deep down he's always known. He gets up from the bed with a grunt. Head just as dizzy as Mac's, his brain just as scrambled from the alcohol. But he decides that for Mac… He'll pretend to not know.
Because God hates fags.
Dennis decides he hates God as he opens the door.