Work Text:
The moments leading up to the crash happen in slow motion. Will’s a few cars ahead of him, blinker on, patiently waiting for the light to turn green. Usually they’d drive together, but Will had been insistent about going separately, something about needing to see the trainers before the game. The light changes, Will’s car edges into the intersection, and Mack’s heart drops into his stomach.
It’s half a second, half a second and it feels like his world has imploded.
Mack’s out of the car before he’s even taken a full breath, before anyone around him has even realized what’s happened. Blood rushes in his ears, he chokes on a breath, wheezing as he sprints towards Will’s Bronco.
The entire driver’s side door is crumpled, metallic grey mottled with red from the other car. The other car is gone, a hit and run, not even a second glance at the damage they caused.
“Will!” Mack yanks at the door, whining as the metal creaks and groans but refuses to budge. “Fuck, Will!” Mack sucks in a sharp breath as his fist connects with glass. The driver's side window shatters but Mack barely feels the sting. He reaches inside the door for the emergency release, wrenching the door open from the inside.
Will blinks at him, eyes cloudy and unfocused. “Mack?” He sounds so small, voice thin.
“Yeah, baby, it’s me. I’m here,” Mack blinks back tears, wiping at the blood on Will’s cheek. There’s so much blood, too much. Will hisses, gripping at his leg. “Hey, hey, don’t touch,” Mack soothes, eyeing Will’s bleeding leg warily. He shrugs off his sweatshirt, cinching the sleeves into a makeshift tourniquet.
“I don’t want to die,” Will whines, voice slurred with pain. Mack’s heart shatters as Will’s blinking slows.
“You’re not gonna die, okay?” Mack pleads, rubbing at his cheek hard enough that Will blinks awake. “Okay, hey, come on,” Mack rubs at his cheek when his eyes slip closed again.
Sirens fill the air, lights dance in Mack’s peripheral, red and blue hues sitting starkly against Will’s pale skin. “Sir, we need to get in there,” someone says to his left. Mack flinches at the voice, hand still petting Will’s cheek as he turns to face the other person.
A paramedic is waiting for him, a whole team of people actually. She motions towards the people behind her, and Mack watches as they swarm the car. Will whimpers, crying out Mack’s name as they start cutting the car away around him.
“Will, you gotta let them help you,” Mack pleads, hand slipping from Will’s cheek as the paramedics force him back. Mack watches, horrified, as Will’s eyes slip closed again. People are yelling things, but he can’t hear any of it. His hand is shaking, frozen in air next to Will.
“Sir,” the paramedic from earlier puts a hand softly on his shoulder, “we need to back up for them.”We, Mack’s brain registers as she leads him a few feet back from the crash, away from Will. Mack stumbles back with her another few feet, “sit down,” she instructs, leaning him against the lip of a fire truck.
“I-I need to be with him,” Mack stutters, teeth chattering even though he doesn’t feel cold.
“What’s your name?”
“Mack-Macklin Celebrini,” he grinds out, jaw tight as they pull Will from the wreckage.
“You know the victim?”The victim, Mack wants to throw up.
“Yeah, Will Smith, he’s…” Mack pauses, they’ve never disclosed anything about their relationship. This seems like an appropriate time, “he’s my boyfriend.” The words are sour on his tongue, memories of their last argument still fresh.
“Were you involved in the collision too?” She asks, eyeing Mack’s bleeding knuckles.
“N-no, no I wasn’t- we weren’t,” Mack tries and fails to clear his throat, “we drove separately, I’m fine. Please, can I go with him?” He whimpers, finally turning to look at her as they load Will into the back of an ambulance. She nods, leading Mack with her into the back of the ambulance.
Mack takes Will’s hand gingerly, holding it like Will’s something breakable. There’s two paramedics in the back with him, the woman from earlier and another older woman. They’re both looking at him with pity in their eyes. “Is he gonna be okay?” Mack asks into the silence.
“We won’t know the full extent of his injuries until he’s seen at the hospital, but I’m optimistic,” the older medic says as she fixes a new bag of saline into an IV.
“Optimistic?” Mack chokes, blinking back tears.
“I don’t want to make promises but he’s a fighter, he’ll be okay,” she gives him a soft smile, a gesture of sympathy that Mack tries to digest. He nods, swallowing hard.
*****
“Mack?” Toff’s voice crackles through the receiver, “hey, bud, you okay?” He adds when Mack still doesn’t answer. Mack tries to reply, but the words get stuck in his throat. “Mack,” Toff tries again, tone dipping softly, “where are you?”
“H-hospital,” he chokes out.
“Are you hurt-” Toff starts to say before Mack cuts him off.
“It’s not me, it’s-” he braces for the tears, “it’s Will. It’s bad Toff, really, really bad,” the words tumble out. “There was so much blood, and he was so scared. He- Toff he-”
“Hey, which hospital, I’m coming,” Toff cuts him off. Mack glances at the sign on the wall, mumbling out the name. “Okay, it’s okay, I’m on my way,” there’s a beep and a click of a car door being opened.
Mack’s thumb slips over the call button as the receiver dies on the other end. He blinks, wiping at his cheek with the back of his hand. His throat feels dry, there’s a copper taste in his mouth. He doesn’t remember sitting down, his legs shaking beneath him.
Time moves slow, too slow. People fade in and out of his view; families shuffling up to the nurses station wearing somber expressions, an elderly man hobbling down the hallway, a girl around the age of his sister sits across from him in the waiting area. There’s no news about Will. No news is good news, something Will would’ve told him.
“Mack?” Toff’s voice echoes around in his brain for a few seconds before his body catches up enough to respond. He flinches when Toff’s hand lands on his shoulder. “Hey, you’re okay,” Toff kneads at the rigid muscle, trying to get Mack’s body to relax.
“M’not the one who’s hurt,” Mack huffs, arms pulled tight across his chest.
“Mack,” Toff’s voice dips, “maybe not physically but what you saw? That would scar anyone.” Mack whimpers, teeth clenched down against his bottom lip. “Look at me, bud,” Toff sounds like his Dad. God, Will’s parents, something must show on his face because suddenly Toff is pulling him into his arms.
“I didn’t-Toff, his parents, his sister, they don’t know,” his voice cracks, “they need to be here.” He feels sick at the thought of telling them, of telling Grace that her baby brother is dying. He grips onto Toff, fingers clawing at the soft material of his sweatshirt. “How do I tell them?” His voice is wet, tears sting at his eyes. He’s never cried this much before in his life.
“I’ll call them, don’t worry about that. Will’s gonna be okay, Mack,” he says, pulling Mack against him as the younger boy chokes on a sob.
“You don’t know that,” Mack weeps, “you don’t- they said they were optimistic. Optimistic isn’t sure,” Mack shakes his head against Toff’s chest. “What do I tell the team?” He whines, unable to take a full breath.
“I’ll talk to them, don’t worry about that,” Toff snakes a hand into his hair, cradling Mack like you would with a small child. He rocks them gently, the cheap plastic chairs beneath them creaking with each movement. Mack’s chest spasms as he forces down another sob. His hands slip from Toff’s sweatshirt, laying limply against his sides.
“What if he doesn’t wake up?” The thought slips out softy, broken and hollow as the adrenaline bleeds out of Mack’s body. He’s not shaking anymore, he just feels numb.
“Mack,” Toff’s arms tighten around him, “you can’t think like that.” Mack makes a high pitched keening sound, head bowed as he watches his tears dribble onto his shirt. “It’s okay, let it out,” Toff whispers, holding him together as he falls apart.
*****
Mack doesn’t remember passing out, but when he wakes up his hands are bandaged. Cat’s sitting next to Toff, eyes red rimmed, a bag clutched tight against her chest. Mack sniffles as the reality of his situation smacks him in the face. “Mack, sweetheart,” Cat coos, wiping at her eyes, “I brought you some clothes, can I help you clean up?”
Mack looks down at himself and nearly throws up. His shirt is stained with blood, Will’s blood. “I-” the words get stuck in his throat as he pulls at the fabric, suddenly itching to get it off.
“I know,” she reaches across Toff to him, rubbing softly at his forearm. “I know, honey,” her voice is so soft, “I know, let’s go clean up.” This time it’s not a question. She stands up first, pulling the bag over her shoulder, before she reaches a hand out to Mack. Mack sways as he’s pulled up, knees going weak. Cat shushes him softly as he tries to apologize for leaning into her. She leads him a few steps down the hall to the bathroom before ushering him inside.
He’s faced with his own reflection in the mirror before him. His face is puffy, eyes red and watery. There’s blood caked onto his cheek, his neck, on his arms. Memories of how it got there come in flashes — he kissed Will before they pulled him from the carnage, kissed him goodbye. He rubs at the spot on his cheek, eyes filling with new tears.
There’s blood caked under his nails too. He tears his bloody t-shirt off, wrenching the hot water on. He scrubs at his arms hard, harder than he means to, until Cat steps in and slowly pulls him away from the sink. She has this heartbroken pitying look on her face, the type of look Mack’s only seen in movies. “Doesn’t that hurt?” She asks, inspecting his red arms. Mack shakes his head, he just feels numb.
“M’kinda cold,” he mumbles, skin prickling with goosebumps. Cat’s lips are pursed into a frown as she runs a warm hand up and down his forearm.
“Sit,” she instructs, pointing to the countertop. Mack does as he’s told, pushing himself up shakily. She pulls a washcloth out from the bag, wetting it with water and soap. She begins cleaning him up, other hand holding his jaw and she slowly turns his face towards her. “It’s gonna be okay,” she says as she wipes at his tears.
She continues the process with little fanfare; wash, rinse, repeat. Mack can’t bear to meet her gaze, so instead he focuses his attention on the bag. “Is that his?” He’s reaching for the bag as soon as the words are out.
“I thought you might want it,” she sets the washcloth down, pulling the grey sweatshirt out for him. It’s Will’s, heather grey and already worn in, the sleeves have started to fray. “Here,” she pulls a t-shirt out as well. Also Will’s, it’s a BC one, one of his favorites.
Mack doesn’t even have it in him to feel embarrassed when he brings the t-shirt to his nose and inhales. It still smells like Will — coconut shampoo and a hint of ocean spray. “Fuck,” he whimpers as more tears sting his eyes. Cat slowly pulls the shirt from him, just enough so that she can maneuver it on him.
She gets the sweatshirt on next, then offers him a hand as he hops down from the counter. “I’ll be outside,” she says, holding a pair of sweatpants out to him. He changes quickly, shoving his bloody clothes into the trashcan under the sink.
Wenny, Sam, and Misa have joined Toff in the waiting room by the time they make it back. Wenny looks solemn, brow furrowed, lips pursed into a frown. Misa’s definitely been crying, Sam’s trying to act like he’s not. They turn as Mack trails Cat back towards Toff, eyeing him like he’s made of glass. “Any news?” Cat asks softly as she sits down.
Toff nods, patting the chair next to him when Mack makes no move to sit. “A nurse came out a little earlier, he’s almost out of surgery,” Mack lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “They said only family is allowed back to see him when he’s out.”
Like on cue, a nurse walks out through a set of double doors. “Family of Will Smith?” She leans against the faux granite countertop of the nurses station like it’s just a regular day. Mack springs up from his chair, startling Toff who places a hand on his shoulder as he stands up too. “Are you family?”
“No, we’re his teammates—” Toff starts to say before he’s cut off.
“He’s my boyfriend,” Mack is so quiet it barely registers at first. “Please, I need to see him,” his voice pitches up a little.
“He’s what—” Mack shoots Toff a look, something broken and indescribable, and the older man nods.
“And what’s your name?” She begins tapping away at her tablet.
“Macklin Celebrini, I should be on file, I’m his emergency contact?” His voice dies off in a question, eyes flicking between the nurse and Toff before she nods.
“Yes, I see you’re on file, alright.” She sets the tablet down, grabbing another visitor badge and scribbling out Will Smith in black sharpie. “Here you go,” she hands the badge to him, waiting for him to stick it on before she turns and motions for him to follow.
“Go check on our boy,” Toff whispers, giving him one last pat on the shoulder before he steps through the set of double doors.
*****
“I’m just going to warn you, it might be a little overwhelming to see him like this,” the nurse says as they walk down the hallway. “I’m Caroline, I’ll be Will’s main nurse.” She stops in front of a door, room 202. “Do you want us to bring in a cot? I’m assuming you’re planning to stay the night,” she asks, pushing the door open.
Mack can’t help the gasp that he lets out once he sees Will. He’s got a sling on, and his leg’s in a cast, and his face is mottled with bruises. There’s a shallow gash on his forehead, and one of his eyes is swollen and bruised. He looks so small in the bed, surrounded by wires and tubes, looking like he’s being held together by gauze. “You can sit here,” Caroline says, pulling a chair near the bed like she can sense Mack’s distress.
Mack collapses into the chair, scooting it as close as he can to Will’s bed. “Willy,” his breath catches in his throat, “Willy, baby,” he reaches for Will’s hand, threading their fingers together. “I’m here, baby, I’m so sorry,” Mack brushes Will’s curls off of his forehead with his other hand, thumb lingering over the gash above his brow bone.
The machines around them click and whirr, but Will doesn’t respond. “You’re gonna be okay,” he says into the silence, maybe more to himself than to Will. The glint of Will’s St. Christopher medallion catches Mack’s eye, and his hand slips from Will’s cheek as he runs his finger over the cold metal. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he begrudgingly pulls it out.
The screen lights up, a picture of him and Will on the Cape from the previous summer filling the screen. The Cape, Mack’s brain lags, and then Grace. His Family. “Fuck,” tears prick in his eyes as he fumbles to open his phone. He clicks the contact with shaky hands, chewing down on his lip as the familiar ring of the dial tone sounds out.
“Mack?”
“Grace,” he breathes out like it hurts, “Grace, are you-are you at home?” It must be late there, he realizes after a second.
“Is everything okay?” She sounds worried, “I’m at my apartment,” she adds.
“It’s Will,” he can feel his pulse in his stomach, “I’m-we’re-” words aren’t working for him, “he’s in the hospital.” Grace sucks in a sharp breath on the other end of the line. “I’m with him, he’s-fuck,” he’s crying again. “He was in a car accident, they’re supposed to come talk to me soon, they just let me in to see him,” he babbles, voice wet and shaky.
“Is he breathing on his own?” Her voice is soft, measured, almost clinical. Mack glances over to Will, grimacing at the darkening bruises on his face.
“Y-yeah, he is,” he exhales harshly, watching Will’s chest rise and fall.
“Good, that’s good,” she sounds much more controlled than him. “What else?” She slips back into her med-student voice, calm and collected.
“He-he’s got a sling on, and a cast on his leg, and his face is all bruised. His perfect face is all banged up,” he whimpers, “he looks so small,” his voice cracks. “He shouldn’t look like this,” he shakes his head even though she can’t see him. “You should be here, your family, fuck,” his chest spasms as he forces back a sob.
“Hey, I need you to breathe,” she says on the other end, voice soft.
“But your Mom,” he whines, “I need to tell her, I should’ve called sooner.” He can’t seem to take a full breath, “s’ my fault, we always drive together. This is all my fault,” he feels a little sick, “he’s gonna hate me.”
“Hey, Mack, unless you hit him with your car this is not your fault, okay?” Mack blinks, breath catching in his throat, “I’ll call them, they’ll want to talk to his doctor, we’ll look for flights out as soon as we can.” She sounds so much more mature than him, probably because she is.
“Okay,” he swallows thickly, “Grace, I had to tell them about us, they wouldn’t let me see him.” He inhales shakily, “only Toff heard, and the nurse, and the paramedic who let me go in the ambulance,” he’s rambling again, “shit, that’s like way too many people, I shouldn’t have told them, right? He’s gonna be so mad.”
“Mack,” she stops him gently, “he would’ve done the same thing for you, he loves you,” something cracks in Mack’s chest. “I know he would have,” the sound he makes is almost painful, “it’ll be okay,” it’s like she’s opened something in him that he can’t close. He nods, clutching Will’s hand in his own as he cries into his arm.
“I’m so sorry,” he weeps, “m’ sorry.”
“Please call me as soon as his doctor comes in, I’m leaving for our house now.” Mack barely gets out a response before she says goodbye and the line goes dead.
The silence in the room is deafening. Will’s alive, that should count for something, but Mack still feels like a part of him died in that intersection earlier. “Willy, I’m so sorry I told them,” he whispers, kissing Will’s knuckles. His hands are warm at least, not cold and clammy like they were in the ambulance. His chest is doing that uncomfortable spasmy thing again, and he rubs at his sternum hard, maybe harder than he needs to.
The knock on the door startles him more than he’d like to admit. “Hi there, I’m Dr. Knight,” Mack sniffs, swiping at his stinging eyes. “You must be Macklin, correct?” She asks, looking down at a tablet.
“Y-yeah, hi,” he says, clearing this throat softly.
“Good, I want to start by letting you know that Will’s surgery was a success, and I expect he’ll make a full recovery,” Mack lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “That being said,” she sets the tablet down gently on the counter by the sink, “with any head trauma, healing is often not linear.” Mack nods, he can feel his pulse in his stomach.
“What does that mean?”
“Will suffered a TBI, traumatic brain injury, due to the airbags deploying during the accident and the sheer force of impact from the other car. He has a concussion, grade two, and there’s some minor swelling in his brain.” Mack feels a bit nauseated, “I understand that this is a bit confusing, but we’ve decided to keep him asleep for the next few days to allow for his body to heal and for the swelling to go down.”
Keep him asleep, “wait, you mean he’s in a coma?” Mack’s voice pitches up.
“Medically induced, yes, we will be able to wake him up when we feel ready.” She shuffles around the other side of the bed, checking the gash on his forehead. “The damage to his femur was corrected during surgery, and his fractured wrist was reset.”
“W-will he have like lasting brain damage?” Mack’s leg bounces nervously, a tick he’s been unable to fully control.
“It’s not likely, although we won’t know until the swelling goes down.” Dr. Knight picks her tablet back up, typing with practiced speed. “I’ll be back for rounds in the morning, if there’s a problem you can call the on-call nurse,” she says, giving him a soft pat on the shoulder.
“Can he hear me? Like if I talk to him?” Mack blurts out, unable to tear his gaze away from Will.
“Oftentimes, yes. Once he wakes up he may or may not remember what you said though,” she nods, “we will try to move him from the ICU to the orthopedic floor in a day or so,” she adds, “it will be okay.” She waits another second before speaking, “any other questions?”
“Uhm, his parents will want to talk to you, is it okay if I call them?” She nods, pulling the chair on the other side of the room near his. Mack fumbles with his phone before finding Colleen’s contact. “Do you mind if I step out?” He asks, hands shaky as the phone rings.
“Go ahead, the nurses station is down the hall if you need anything,” she nods. Mack shoots out of his chair as soon as he hears the receiver crackle on the other end, he can’t bear to face Will’s parents right now. He sways as he stands, palm snacking into the wall as he stumbles out of the room.
He doesn’t even make it to the nurses station, just slides down the wall outside Will’s room, head in his hands, knees pulled up to his chest. He doesn’t cry, there are no tears left, but his whole body vibrates like he’s trying to jump out of his skin. He tucks his nose into the sweatshirt, inhaling the scent of freshly washed cotton. The linoleum below him is cold and he shivers roughly.
“Macklin?” A voice calls, “are you okay?” Caroline is standing in front of him with a frown pulling at her lips. He nods, or he tries to anyway, but his body feels stiff. “Can I help you up?” She asks, offering a palm out to him. He takes it gingerly, face heating with shame as she pulls him up slowly. The muffled sound of Dr. Knight’s voice filters through the quiet hum of the hospital and he flinches.
“Can I go back out for a second?” He asks, pointing back towards the double doors. She nods leading him towards the door and pushing the button to open them for him. More of his teammates are in the waiting room by the time he makes it around the corner, each one huddled next to the other. “S-sam?” He calls out, startling the other boy.
Sam shoots out of his chair, nearly taking Misa with him. “Mack, you’re here,” his voice is cautious, “is he…” He takes a few steps towards Mack who’s shaking his head.
“He’s stable,” Mack swallows hard, “they said he’s stable.” Something relaxes in Sam’s expression.
“That’s good, yeah?” He’s standing in front of Mack, turning slightly to glance back at Misa. Mack nods, “you uh, want a hug?” Mack opens his mouth to say something but no words come out, “it’s okay bud, just come here,” Sam says.
Mack falls into the embrace, for the second time that day he lets himself be held. Sam doesn’t say anything, just keeps his arms steady, letting Mack lean heavily into him. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” Mack admits after a beat of silence. Sam pulls away slightly, just enough to get Mack to look at him.
“You’re already doing everything,” Sam smiles sympathetically, “you’re here, we’re here,” Mack’s still shaking his head.
“What would you do?” Mack’s lip wobbles, “if it was,” he glances over at Misa, swallowing hard. “How am I supposed to be okay with waiting?” Sam’s expression shifts into something sad, “we fought, and then-then he’s-now I don’t-” the little bit of composure Mack had managed to possess is crumbling before them.
“Hey, hey, stop,” Sam squeezes Mack’s shoulder, “don’t do the what if’s, okay? You’ll make yourself sick.” Mack nods, averting his eyes from Sam, “he’s stable, he’s alive, those are good things. Those are things you can hang onto, okay?”
Mack nods, “I don’t think I can go back in,” his stomach rolls. “He doesn’t look like himself,” Mack bites his lip hard enough to taste blood.
“When did they say they’ll move him to a different room?”
“Tomorrow morning, if their tests go well,” Mack looks back towards the double doors. “I can’t be in there alone,” his voice breaks, “but I don’t want him to be alone either.” Sam gives him a sad smile, “I sound like such an asshole.”
“No, you don’t,” Mack starts shaking his head, “if it were me,” Sam takes a shaky inhale, “I’d also be freaked out, and scared.” He glances back over to Misa, some indescribable emotion crossing his face. “But I’d go back in anyway, because I know he would.” Misa turns to look at both of them, “and I know Will would too.”
*****
The next day passes in a blur. Mack moves with Will, going from one room to the next. Grace informs him that they’ll be delayed getting out of Boston due to a blizzard and Mack nearly breaks down for the second time in twelve hours. His dad drives down from San Francisco, taking up residency in the seat across from him in Will’s new room.
“You need to eat something,” Rick says without looking at him, thumb hovering over a page in the book he’s reading. It’s some sports psychology book that Mack absolutely does not have the energy to hear about right now.
“I’m fine,” Mack keeps his head down, cheek resting against his forearm as he squeezes Will’s hand between his own.
“Macklin,” his tone warns, “I understand that this is hard, but there’s no reason to make it harder.”
“You don’t understand shit,” Mack spits, cheeks heating up. Rick doesn’t flinch, just sighs loudly like Mack is throwing some adolescent tantrum.
“Do you really think this is best for Will?” Mack bristles, “you think that not taking care of yourself is going to make it easier on him?”
“Fuck you,” Mack’s eyes are burning, “you don’t know anything. You don’t know how this feels at all,” he sniffles. “They don’t even know when he’ll wake up.”
“So you’re going to sit here and starve until he does?” Rick raises an eyebrow, “that’s nice, Macklin. Real mature.”
“Don’t tell me about mature,” Mack snarls, “you weren’t there,” his voice goes thready. “You didn’t see him like that,” he glances up at Will’s face which is still marred with bruises.
Rick sets the book down, “I know I wasn’t, and I’m sorry,” something in his tone changes. “I know it must’ve been awful,” Mack chokes on the word, biting back a sob. “Oh, Macklin,” Rick stands up, rounding the front of the bed before he kneels next to his son. “Macklin, look at me,” he sets a hand on Mack’s shoulder, “I know you’re scared, I’m sorry, Mackie.” His dad’s features soften into something sympathetic, an expression Mack’s rarely seen him wear.
“Dada,” Mack’s voice breaks, “I need him to be okay.” He bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, blinking rapidly against the tears crowding his lashes.
Rick’s face falls, eyebrows knitting together with worry as Mack begins to cry. It’s this terrible choked off sound like someone’s compressing his diagram. “Mack,” Rick ends up cradling his cheek with one hand, thumb swiping at new tears as they fall. “Oh, buddy, come here,” Rick ushers, which only gets Mack to cry harder.
“I can’t do it,” he whines, face falling into his father’s chest as Rick pulls him close. “I can’t do this without him,” Mack shudders as he takes a breath. Rick, still kneeling on the floor next to him, pulls him impossibly closer.
“I know, bud, I know,” it sounds like more than just affirmations. “He loves you too,” something in Mack fractures, like his chest is being ripped open as he sobs. “It’s okay, you’re okay,” Rick whispers, “he’s gonna be okay, everything’s gonna be okay.”
“S’not,” Mack sniffles, “he’s gonna be so mad at me.”
“No he’s not,” Rick keeps his voice calm, “he loves you, he’s not going to be mad that we found out.” Mack shakes his head, nose rubbing against his father’s shirt. “He loves you, Macklin. He wouldn’t want you to feel like this,” Rick placates, rubbing a hand up and down Mack’s spine, feeling the quiver of his shoulders under his palm.
“I love him so much,” Mack whines, “I wanna do all the stupid romantic shit. Fuck, I wanna buy a big house with a yard and have a bunch of dogs ‘cause Will loves dogs,” he sniffles. “And fucking marry him and have a wedding like normal people,” he’s gripping onto Rick’s sleeve, shaky fingers clawing at the soft material. “And I need him to survive this and play on my wing until our numbers are in the rafters because he’s everything,” Mack hiccups, tears drying on his cheeks.
“I know, Mack,” Rick soothes, “and you’ll get to do all of that, I promise.” Mack shakes his head, unable to wrap his mind around the idea of anything ever going back to normal.
*****
When Mack wakes up a few days later, Will’s already staring back at him. “Will,” his heart feels like it’s going a mile a minute, “oh fuck,” he chokes as tears well in his eyes, “thank God you’re awake.” Mack reaches for his hand, unable to fight back the relieved sob he lets out when Will squeezes back.
Will continues to stare at him, a mix of confusion and worry etched across his face. Mack’s pulse drops into his stomach, “Will? Are you okay?” At first he thinks it must be pain, or that he is imagining Will being awake in the first place.
“Celebrini?” Something is very, very wrong. Mack flinches at the sound of his own name. Will’s voice is soft and careful like Mack is a spooked animal. “What are you doing here?”
Fear burns in Mack’s gut, clawing its way up his throat until he legitimately thinks he might throw up. “You don’t remember?” Did the room always feel this big? “You were in a car accident,” he bites his lip hard, stifling another wave of tears before they fall.
“Oh,” Will’s gaze shifts from his face down to their hands, then back up. “Why are you here, where are Leno and Gabo?” All the air rushes from Mack’s lungs, and for a brief horrifying second he thinks he’s going to pass out.
“Will,” he gasps for a breath, “where do you think you are?”
“Boston?” Mack chokes on nothing, body spasming as he fights the urge to cry.
Mack looks away from Will, “w-what year do you think it is?” He stutters, focusing on a point on the wall behind them as he wills himself to breathe.
“2024?” Mack is going to throw up, “is it not?” His body shudders as he tries to shake his head. “Where are we?”
“San Jose,” Mack can barely get the words out, “you- we play for the Sharks, together.” The memory of the game and their fight leaves a sour taste in his mouth, and for the first time in his life he doesn’t want to think about hockey at all.
“We’re teammates now?” A tear slips down his cheek, then another. If he stays here any longer he’s going to have a panic attack.
He pulls his hand away from Will’s, the warmth of Will’s palm burning him as he goes. “I’m gonna go tell the guys you aren’t up for visitors,” he stands up too fast and the room spins. “Leonard-uhm Ryan is here, we were supposed to play the Caps tonight.” He rips at a cuticle to avoid making eye contact with Will, “do you want to see him?” He waits for Will to nod before he nearly runs out of the room.
“Mack,” he hears his name but he’s too busy folding over the nearest trashcan to listen. A hand lands on his back, warm and grounding, as he continues to choke and gag on bile. It burns his throat and makes his chest ache as he heaves, “Mack, hey, just breathe.” Someone says, the hand continues to rub along his back.
“C-can’t,” he gets out between breaths, “fuck.” His eyes are stinging from tears and his body feels like it’s been ripped open when he finally finishes puking.
Ryan Leonard is standing awkwardly in front of him, hand sitting lightly on his shoulder. Mack shrugs it off, swiping a hand across his mouth. “Sorry,” Ryan clears his throat awkwardly, “seemed like you needed someone,” he shoves his hands into his pockets, a slight frown on his face.
“He doesn’t remember,” Mack blurts, gaze dropping towards the floor.
“Doesn’t remember what?” Ryan shifts his weight from one foot to the other, clearly out of his depth.
“Me,” Mack almost whines, “he doesn’t remember me, or us,” he’s going to be sick again.
“Didn’t they say he might have amnesia?” The word makes Mack flinch involuntarily.
“Yeah but, I thought it would just be the accident, not two years,” he looks up at Ryan and his knees buckle.
Ryan catches him under the armpits, strong arms wrapping around him as his body goes limp. “Shit,” Ryan curses as he fumbles with Mack’s body as he tries to pull him up. “Celly,” Ryan swears when Mack gets a handful of his sweatshirt and yanks. “Hey, hey, calm down,” he whispers, “I’ve got you.”
Mack whimpers, head spinning as black spots dance in his vision. “Sorry,” his face burns, shame clawing its way up his throat. Ryan shushes him, finally managing to get them both up against the wall. Mack ducks his head, avoiding Ryan’s worried gaze.
“I don’t think I can do this,” he admits, “he’s gonna realize something’s up and I can’t tell him, I can’t.” Tears are gathering in his lash line.
“Want me to?” Ryan asks, hands on Mack’s shoulders. Mack starts to shake his head but stops, “since right now all he remembers is Boston.”
“Yeah, can you?” Mack feels awful asking for help, “I can’t take him looking at me like I’m a stranger,” he adds. Ryan nods, giving his shoulder a squeeze before he turns and walks back towards Will’s room.
*****
Getting Will home becomes less daunting of a task than Mack anticipated. Mack sits with him until Will’s doctor comes in and finally explains his protocols and recovery, and then explains the amnesia to him. Will is just as complacent as ever, attentive as someone with a head trauma can be throughout the entire process.
Will lets him help him into the car, which tells Mack that his Will is hiding under layers of polite BC hockey Will. He can tell Will’s uncomfortable for most of the ride back, but he’s not complaining. “Almost there,” Mack tells him after Will flinches at the sound of another car honking.
“Head’s throbbing,” Will admits, forehead pressed against the glass. Mack’s heart clenches, Will looks so small and so unlike himself that it actually hurts. “I can manage though,” he adds, glancing over towards Mack through his sunglasses.
“I’ll get you settled and then you can sleep,” Mack responds, wanting nothing more than to reach over and brush Will’s curls back off his forehead. But he doesn’t, because he can’t, so instead he clenches his fingers around the steering wheel. Will curls in on himself a little, body shifting away from his injured side in a way that’s all too familiar to Mack. “Sling bothering you?”
Will’s jaw goes slightly slack, “how’d you know?” Mack doesn’t know how to respond, what he’s supposed to say.
“You just-you had this look on your face,” he stammers, forcing himself to look away from Will.
“You’ve seen it before,” Mack’s blood rushes in his ears, “I got injured before.” Mack forces himself to nod, the memory of Pittsburg flashing through his mind. “You took care of me, didn't you?” Mack nods again, white knuckle gripping the steering wheel.
“Earlier this season,” he forces out a breath, “you took a bad hit, separated your shoulder.” Mack shudders, parallel images of Will curled up in a sling dance through his mind.
“This season?” Right, they were finally coming back to this.
“Yeah, it’s our second year in the league, we just-” he has to clear his throat to stop himself from doing something embarrassing like whimpering. “We just made the playoffs,” suddenly the reality of the past few days seems to hit him and his voice cracks. He can feel Will’s eyes on him as he sniffles, blinking back new tears.
“What’s wrong? You’re still gonna play,” as if he cares about that right now. Mack makes an involuntary wounded sound, gripping the steering wheel so hard that his fingers start to tingle.
“We won’t win,” he shakes his head to stop the tears, “not without you, no way.” He feels so awful, blaming a Will who doesn’t even remember him for being the reason he can’t get them through the playoffs. “I’m sorry,” he chokes, “I’m not-I’m not blaming you,” words aren’t working, “I’m just-” he needs to get them home before he starts crying again.
“You’re sad,” oh God now Will is trying to comfort him too. Mack has to fight down the bile rising in his throat when Will says “I’m sorry.” Mack physically can’t respond, afraid of either bursting into tears or having to pull the car over to puke his guts out.
He feels Will’s hand land on his forearm, soft and grounding, and something in him softens. Will begins rubbing circles against his wrist with his thumb, and after a second Mack unclenches his fingers from the steering wheel.
*****
Mack is an anxious wreck by the time Colleen and Grace’s Uber pulls up outside the Marleau’s guest house. He’d spent the afternoon getting Will settled and had tried not to hover, which resulted in him pacing around the house instead.
“Macklin,” Colleen breathes out as she and Grace nearly jump out of the car. Mack blinks, lower lip trembling as they eye him cautiously from the base of the stairs. “Honey,” Colleen tries again but Mack has to shake his head and swallow down his emotions when she sets her suitcase down to hug him.
“I’m fine,” he tries to say, voice muffled as she cradles him against her.
“Thank you for being there,” she says, shushing him when Mack chokes down a sob.
When she finally releases him Mack’s cheeks are wet again. He swipes at his eyes, too tired to feel embarrassed about crying in front of Will’s family. He grabs their bags, leading them into the guesthouse quietly.
Colleen rushes to Will’s side immediately, cooing softly at him like he’s a child. Will, still loopy from the drugs, seems unbothered by it. Grace hangs back with Mack who finds himself leaning against the kitchen island. “I know you’re not fine,” Grace whispers, not even turning to look at him.
“It’s not about how I’m feeling,” Mack whispers back, staring down at the floor.
“Yeah but,” she glances over at him, “you look like hell.” Mack swallows hard, “he’s gonna know something’s wrong, even if you think he won’t.” Mack focuses his attention on Will, watching him blink slowly at Colleen as she combs a hand through his curls.
“We fought that night,” Mack admits quietly, “I told him I wanted to tell some of the team, maybe just Toff and Wenny but he wouldn’t hear it.” Mack’s gaze is focused back on the floor, “he told me I was going to ruin everything for him,” he takes a shaky breath, “and I asked him if he even loved me in the first place.”
“Mack,” Grace starts to say more but he shakes his head.
“I know he does, I know, and then he fucking gets into a car accident and now he doesn’t remember me and what if he never does. And the last thing I said to him was that I didn’t think he really loved me?” It squeaks out like a question, “I’d rather quit hockey and never step foot on the ice again then have him thinking that right before he–” he can’t finish his sentence.
“Mack,” her hand lands on his shoulder, thumb rubbing softly at the junction between his deltoid and collarbone. “You know he loves you, and he’s going to get his memories back and he’s still going to love you, okay?” She pulls him towards her, wrapping an arm around his shoulder as he tucks himself into her side. He looks up from the floor to see Will staring at them, gaze soft and calculating. Colleen presses a kiss to his temple before she stands up and crosses the room, switching places with Grace next to Mack.
“Will said you guys might have some soup around here,” Colleen says, shuffling around the side of the island before she begins rifling through the kitchen cabinets.
“Yeah, I got some the last time he got sick,” Mack mumbles, now back to fidgeting with his hands. He chews on a hangnail as he slumps down onto a barstool.
“You’ll eat some too, right?” She asks, although her tone tells him it's not much of a question.
“My Dad talked to you,” he says, voice sullen. “I promise I’m fine.” Colleen clicks her tongue, shaking her head at him as she turns her attention to a can of tomato soup.
“Mack, you’re like another son to me, okay?” She sets the can down on the countertop, “and I may not be your mother but I can tell that you aren’t fine.” Mack focuses on the patterns on the granite, unable to meet her eyes. “You look like you’ve barely slept, and Rick said you aren’t eating.” Mack’s heart drops into his stomach, the last thing he wants is anyone worrying about him. Will’s the one who’s hurt, not him.
“I just haven’t been hungry,” Mack tastes the bitterness of the lie on his tongue. Colleen doesn’t dignify that with a response, just begins opening the soup can.
*****
It’s later that night when Mack is faced with his first moral dilemma: sleeping with Will. Not figuratively, but in the literal manner when Will asks him to stay. It shouldn’t be a big deal, he’s already told Will that they are best friends, but something about this showing of vulnerability does something to Mack.
“I’m scared,” Will had said, and well that had felt like a knife to Mack’s gut. He’d awkwardly shuffled to the other side of the bed, laying down next to Will while trying his best to leave some space between them.
Mack can’t sleep, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever really be able to sleep again. Next to him Will whimpers in his sleep. At first Mack thinks it must be his sling or his leg that’s bothering him, but he’s laying almost completely still aside from the tremble in his shoulders.
“Will?” Mack whispers into the darkness, hoping to break the other boy out of whatever bad dream he seems to be experiencing. Will whines, the trembling becomes more of a shake, “Will.” He puts a hand on Will’s shoulder, kneading at the rigid muscle.
“…Mack?” He sounds younger, scared. Mack whispers his name again, this time a little louder. “I don’t want to die,” Will squirms under his palm.
Will’s breathing is picking up, short little huffs that are starting to sound more like a wheeze. “Will!” Mack jostles him, trying to shake him out of the nightmare he’s having. “Will, hey, come on,” Mack pleads, heart hammering in his chest. “I’m right here,” Mack soothed when Will whines his name again.
“Don’t leave,” Will’s voice wobbles and Mack feels sick again. He’s starting to properly hyperventilate now and Mack is almost on the edge of a panic attack.
“Will!” He raises his voice, not to a yell, but certainly louder than he usually would at this time of night. Will’s eyes snap open, baby blue meeting hazel as he stares up at Mack. Mack’s cradling his face in his hands, carefully avoiding the gash on his forehead.
“Mack,” Will’s eyes are brimming with tears. “Mack,” he repeats, reaching out to grab a fistful of Mack’s t-shirt.
He tugs and Mack goes willingly. “I’m here, Willy, I’m right here,” Mack tries to get his voice to sound even. “You gotta breathe, okay?” He soothes, “just breathe, baby.” There’s a second of realization where Mack registers the endearment, but it’s fleeting. “You’re okay, you’re safe,” he adds, shuffling up against the headboard as Will pushes himself into Mack’s chest.
Will curls into him, letting out a little huff of frustration. There’s a second of quiet before Will says “everything hurts,” and promptly bursts into tears.
Mack’s body takes a screenshot, momentarily faltering as his brain tries to reconcile with this new information. He shifts his body, pulling Will on top of him as he settles against the headboard. His hand finds its way into Will’s hair and he begins carding his fingers through Will’s sweaty curls. “How are you feeling now?”
Will sniffs, “better.” His voice is muffled against Mack’s chest, “I think I remembered something.”
“Yeah?” Mack’s blood rushes in his ears. There’s a second of silence before Will begins recounting their debut night down to the details of their suits.
“And then the dream or the memory switched?” He sounds unsure, “I think it was the accident.” Mack lets out an involuntary sound, something small and pained that he doesn’t have the energy to feel embarrassed about.
“You remembered the accident?” He hears himself ask, suddenly feeling out of his depth.
“Not the full thing, just the crash I think, if it was real. I-it was really fucking scary,” Will reaches for something to grab onto, landing on Mack’s bicep. “I thought I was gonna die, or I think I was thinking that,” Mack’s heart cracks a little.
“I know,” Mack’s voice is barely above a whisper as he says it, “I know, Will.”
“You really were there?” Will’s fingers twitch against his arm, “oh my God, Mack. You saw it?”
“Y-yeah,” Mack swallows hard, “we left the rink separately, I was a few minutes behind you.” He has to swallow down the familiar burn of bile.
“That wasn’t a dream then, it was a memory.” Will states, “I’m sorry, that must’ve been fucking scary for you too.” Will turns his head, peeking up at Mack. “Hey,” Will squeezes Mack’s bicep but Mack just shakes his head, worrying his lip between his teeth.
“Sorry,” Mack parrots, lip wobbling. “Can I just?” His hands twitch, one palm ghosting over Will’s ribs. “Can I just hold you, please?” He sounds so weak, like hearing the word ‘no’ might physically break him.
“Yeah, yeah of course,” Mack’s arms circle around him, fingers ghosting patterns over his skin. Will tucks his head back against Mack’s chest, and after a second of silence, Mack allows himself a moment of reprieve.
*****
His first game back is a nightmare. It’s against Anaheim and Gudas spends the entire second and third period targeting him. If Mack wasn’t so disoriented from imagining Will on his wing he’d probably be able to fight him off better.
“Celly,” Sam pulls him up for what has to be the fifth time that game, palm plastered against his back. “You good?” He’s certainly not good, and Sam knows it.
“Fine,” Mack clenches his jaw, ears still ringing from his last contact with the boards. Will’s not even in the arena, thankfully not there to witness the absolute train wreck that currently is Macklin Celebrini. “Wish he’d stop coming after me like I murdered his family,” he mutters as he hops over the boards.
Mack slumps down, head in his hands as he stares down at the floor. He doesn’t even reach for the iPad when Toff tries to hand it to him, just shakes his head and grunts. His head’s starting to throb, some combination of the hits he’s taken and the lack of a pre-game meal taking its toll.
“Mack, shift change,” Toff’s voice echoes around his brain as he stands. Black dots dance in his vision, and for a second his vision whites out before he slams a hand down on the boards. “Maybe you shouldn’t—”
“I can play,” Mack interrupts him, “fucking hell, I’m not the one who’s hurt.” He jumps back over the boards, ignoring the way his body protests as he goes. He just needs to get through this game and then he can go home and remind himself that Will is okay.
*****
The minute the game is over Mack makes a beeline for the nearest trashcan and pukes his guts out. There’s so little food in him that all he does is choke as his stomach cramps and protests. “Mack!” Someone shouts at him but they sound so far away. He grips at the sides of the bin, shameful tears burning at his eyes as his body spasms. “Shit, okay,” the voice says. An arm circles around him, pulling him away from the trashcan and towards the person.
“Toff,” he hiccups, suddenly feeling cold.
“I know, bud, I’m here.” Toff straightens as Mack slumps back against him, exhausted and defeated by both the game and his own limitations. “You don’t have a fever,” he mutters as he presses a hand to Mack’s forehead.
“Because I’m not sick,” Mack quips, making an unsuccessful attempt at wriggling out of his arms.
“Then why’d I just catch you throwing up?” He says it like Mack’s done something wrong, maybe he has. “If you’re feeling this bad you shouldn’t be playing.” Mack tries to shake his head but Toff just sighs. “At least let me drive you home,” he slowly releases Mack from his arms, reaching out a hand when Mack stumbles.
“But my car-”
“We’ll get it tomorrow,” Toff interrupts him. “And I need to make sure you eat something.”
“Fine,” Mack nods, unable to meet Toff’s eyes.
*****
By the time Toff’s gotten them back to the Marleau’s guesthouse, Mack’s whole body is properly aching. His back protests as he hauls himself out of the car, Chipper in hand. Toff throws the car in park, beating him to his gear bag. “You’re actively limping,” he sighs, giving Mack a pointed look as he throws the bag over his shoulder.
“S’ just a bruise,” Mack mutters, “don’t say that in front of Smitty.” Toff sighs louder but doesn’t say anything else, just trails him up the stairs to the door.
The house is dark, save for the light from a lamp in the living room. Toff sets his bag in the corner by the door before he slips off his shoes and pads his way into the kitchen. “Sit,” he instructs, pointing in the general area of the couch.
Mack does as he’s told, albeit a little begrudgingly. He pulls his bowl out from the bag, staring down at it without making any actual move to eat. Toff repositions him, slipping an ice pack behind his back. “You have to at least try to eat it,” he says after a second of silence.
“I can’t,” Mack whispers, “I’ll just end up throwing it up anyway.” Toff frowns, taking the bowl from Mack’s shaking hands as he tries to figure out what to do.
“Have you been able to keep anything down?” He sounds worried which only makes Mack feel worse.
“Barely,” his voice breaks, “only when he’s here,” the omission hangs heavily in the air. “I’ll try in a bit, can I just drink a Gatorade or something?”
Toff’s brows furrow, “three bites, then you can quit.” He bargains, already holding the bowl back out to Mack. Mack takes it, shaky fingers wrapping around its edges. He grabs the fork from the bag and tries to swallow down the feeling of nausea as he forces it down. “Good,” Toff exhales as Mack pushes it back towards him.
“Sorry,” Mack won’t look at him.
“Don’t apologize,” Toff takes the bowl to the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge before he finds a Gatorade and brings it back. “I know this last week has been hard,” he presses the bottle into Mack’s hands as he sits, “just know we’re all here for you too.” Mack unscrews the bottle, taking a swig without looking at Toff.
“Thanks,” he slowly finishes the bottle. “I think I need to sleep,” he adds, setting the bottle down on the coffee table as he stands. Toff helps him up, grabbing the ice pack before he can.
“I’ll clean up and lock up, just take care of yourself,” he says, patting Mack’s shoulder as he makes his way back into the kitchen.
*****
“Mack?” Will’s propped up against the headboard, scrolling on his phone when Mack shuffles into the bedroom.
“Yeah, sorry I know I’m back late,” he tries to make his voice even, “you get your meds already?”
Will nods, “Grace has been keeping track of them.” Mack relaxes slightly, “how was the game?”
Mack grimaces, “could’ve been better.” He doesn’t want to say more, “we lost.” His body aches at the memory of the game.
“I watched it,” Will’s voice is soft, “you’re still just as insane as you were in Boston, even better actually.” He sets his phone down, huffing as he tries to reposition himself to face Mack.
“I played like shit,” Mack frowns, “aren’t you not supposed to be watching that with your concussion?”
Will closes his eyes, leaning back against the pillows behind him. “I had Grace turn the brightness down, but I could still see it.” Mack’s heart clenches a little at the thought of Will waiting up to watch the end of the game. “That hit Gudas laid on you in the third was nasty,” he adds. “I know you’re limping by the way.”
“Am not,” Mack quips.
Will opens his eyes, “okay, yeah. Walk over here then,” Mack rolls his eyes, this sounds more like his Will then the polite boy who only remembered BC.
“I’m fine here,” Mack crosses his arms over his chest, suddenly feeling defensive.
“Right, you’re going to sleep standing up?” Will raises an eyebrow, “Grace did say you’re stubborn,” he mumbles, a hint of a smirk on his face. “Just come here, tough guy,” Will laughs, like actually laughs at him. Mack rolls his eyes again, letting out an exaggerated sigh as he crosses the distance between them. Will eyes him cautiously, “it’s your back that’s bothering you?”
“Ribs I think,” Mack tries not to flinch when Will reaches out a hand to touch.
“Lift up your shirt,” Will all but demands, fingertips ghosting over the fabric.
“Jeez, Smit, at least buy me dinner first,” Mack feels a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Will does smile, and it’s just as beautiful as Mack remembers. “Shut up,” he laughs, cheeks going pink. Mack pulls at the edge of his shirt, tugging it up enough to expose his left side. “Mack, this looks bad,” he says, lightly touching the already bruised skin.
“I’ll be okay,” he drops the edge of his shirt, “you really don’t need to worry about me.”
Will frowns at that, but Mack can tell his meds have started to kick in with the way his eyes are drooping. “But all you’ve done is take care of me,” Will whispers, words slurred with sleep, “why won’t you let me try to take care of you?” Mack’s chest feels tight, and the all too familiar feeling of bile burns in this throat. He vows to not let himself puke, not in front of Will, so instead he swallows it down and tries to get himself to sleep.
*****
Will’s fussing around in the kitchen when he comes home from practice. He’s out of his sling and down to one crutch, but Mack still feels a pang of worry at the sight of him alone in the kitchen. “Hey,” Will greets without turning around, “Grace and Mom went shopping for us,” Us, Mack doesn’t know how to interpret that.
“Cool,” Mack doesn’t know what to say, “what are you making?”
“Just some pasta,” Will gives the pan another stir before he taps the spoon against the rim and grabs a lid to let his sauce simmer. “You’ll have some, right?”
Mack swallows and tries to push down the feeling of nausea at the thought of food. Why won’t you let me try to take care of you echoes around in his mind, Will’s voice laced with sleep and worry. “Uhm, yeah sure,” he nods even though Will can’t see him. He never used to have a problem with eating, especially not around Will, and part of him is worried it won’t resolve itself until Will is healed. “I’m gonna shower, be down in a few,” he waits for Will to nod before he heads upstairs.
*****
Will’s staring at him, blue eyes soft and concerned as he pushes away his bowl of pasta. He doesn’t even feel nauseous, but the fear of throwing up again is starting to get to him so he just gives up halfway through his meal. “That’s all you want?” Will doesn’t sound mad, more just hurt, which only makes him feel worse.
“I just haven’t been that hungry,” he lies, eyeing the bowl. He does feel hungry, that’s the worst part, but he just can’t get himself to eat. “How are you feeling?”
Will blinks at him, “okay, head’s starting to hurt a bit but nothing I can’t handle.” Mack’s already standing up to get his meds before he’s even finished speaking, “you don’t need to get them now,” Will shakes his head, “I’ll be okay for another few minutes.”
“Sorry,” Mack focuses his gaze on the table. Will does that thing again where he lays a hand on Mack’s forearm, thumb stroking against his skin softly. Mack’s heart aches, he misses Will, his Will. His fingers twitch, the urge to help makes his heart rate pick up.
“Hey,” Will’s thumb continues drawing patterns against his skin, “what do we usually do together?” He’s giving Mack away out, letting him get away with this lie again.
“Play Chel, or watch something,” Mack feels himself relax a little, “sometimes you bake.” Will’s expression softens into something content.
“Let’s watch something, yeah?” He keeps his voice soft, eyes focused on Mack. “You want to pick?” Mack shakes his head, vision going blurry. He doesn’t know why he feels like crying, maybe it’s the domesticity of it all, or maybe it’s that he misses his boyfriend more than he’d like to admit.
“Let me get your meds, I’ll meet you in the living room,” he says after he takes a breath, standing on shaky legs and he tries to discreetly wipe at his eyes.
*****
When Mack comes home a week later the house is empty. The lights are off in the living room but the TV is still glowing, like someone paused it in a hurry. Mack clicks the remote and suddenly the screen is flooded with an image of him and Will from Cat’s podcast. The video is paused on them laughing, Mack can still hear the echo of Will scoffing at him and then dissolving into giggles.
“Will?” He calls out, assuming maybe the older boy went upstairs to take a nap. When no one answers Mack turns the TV off and heads upstairs.
Will’s not in the bedroom, or the bathroom, and Mack is starting to properly panic. They were finally getting back to them, Will was sleeping through the night and could remember at least some moments of their NHL careers. Mack’s heart drops into his stomach as his mind starts going over every possible scenario of why Will left.
“Toff?” He doesn’t remember calling, but now the phone feels too heavy in his hand. He opens the closet, the spare bedroom, still nothing. “Toff, something’s wrong,” his voice pitches up a little.
He stumbles back down the stairs as Toff’s voice fills the space on the other end. “No Toff, I don’t-I don’t know,” he mutters, “he’s not here.” His voice breaks as he tries to take a breath. “His phone is here, no, no, he didn’t drive anywhere.” On the other end Toff is trying to calm him down but it’s not working.
“Toff I can’t-can you just come over, please?” He’s starting to feel desperate. “Did he say anything? Did I do something, you think he remembered and he doesn’t want me anymore?” His stomach rolls at the thought, “I came back and he was watching the podcast, the one we filmed with Cat.” He’s going to be sick, he can’t seem to take a full breath.
His knees go weak as he leans heavily into the back of the couch before he gives up and collapses into a ball on the floor. “Mack?” The phone slips from his hand at the sound of Will’s voice, clattering to the floor as the call goes dead. His knees are pulled up to his chest as he tries to make himself feel smaller.
“Mack,” Will’s voice sounds like it’s under water, or maybe it’s that he can hear the blood rushing in his ears. He bites his lip, realizes he’s going to cry, and tries to hide himself away from Will. He can’t cry in front of Will, Will’s the one who’s injured, he’s the one who needs support.
“Will,” he can barely speak, too focused on the other boy as he takes another cautious step forward. “Where were you?” His vision goes hazy as he tries to force himself to take a breath.
Will lowers himself down slowly, “I went for a walk, just needed to clear my head.” I needed to clear my head, Mack’s brain chants. He knows, he knows and he’s disgusted. Mack puts his head on his knees, wrapping his arms around himself. “Didn’t mean to freak you out,” Mack is going to throw up again if he can’t get himself together.
Mack sniffles, “I know.” Mack’s throat clicks, “I miss you,” he says into the silence. “That makes no sense right? Cause you’re sitting right here,” he huffs out a laugh, but it’s shaky. “Right, that’s so stupid, I know. But it’s like, I don’t know.” He stops again, inhaling shakily, “because you’re Will, obviously, but not my Will, not exactly–” Mack takes a shuddering breath, it sounds a bit like he’s choking. “And I don’t know how to accept that,” his voice squeaks, “I just-I said some stuff before it happened that I really, really fucking regret. And you don’t remember, or I don’t think you do?” He turns his cheek just enough to look at Will, “and ‘m scared I’m never gonna get the chance to apologize.”
Oh, he’s going to cry. One tear falls, leaving a salty glittering scar on Mack’s cheek. Will reaches out and Mack flinches, so shocked by the action that his body doesn’t know how to react. “I got some of my memories back,” Mack curls further in on himself, but Will continues to cup his cheek.
“Yeah?” A second tear falls.
“Yeah,” Will swipes at it, “most of our rookie year.” Mack forces himself to nod for Will to continue. “My first goal, our first win, roadies, people watching,” he winks, a smile tugging at his lips as he continues. “The jersey swap, the bet with Toff in Minnesota, getting milk and cookies delivered,” more tears are falling. Mack’s breathing unevenly like he’s trying to stop himself from crying. “I watched the podcast because I wanted to remember, and it helped,” he smiles, “you’re my best friend, Mack.”
Something inside Mack shatters. Will’s his best friend, Will’s still his best friend. He feels so relieved and yet so overwhelmed that all he can do is cry and hope Will understands. Will moves closer to him until their shoulders are touching.
“C’mere,” Will beckons, watching as Mack slowly uncurls himself. He blinks at Will, lip wobbling, “you aren’t gonna hurt me,” Will adds, arms open and inviting as Mack’s gaze flicks between his wrist and his face. He opens his mouth to reassure Mack again but he’s cut off by Mack flinging himself at him, toppling them both over onto the floor.
“Will, ‘m so sorry,” he wails into Will’s chest, “I know-I know you don’t understand but,” he hiccups, “I just-I need you to know.” Will cradles Mack’s head to his chest with his good arm, “fuck, I thought-I thought you were gone,” he whimpers, taking another uneven breath. His head is pounding and all he wants to do is be held.
Will threads a hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp softly. Mack can’t get himself to stop crying, it’s like Will broke something open inside him that he can’t fix. He doesn’t know when, but Will starts whispering to him, voice pulling him out of his panic.
Mack blinks again and the haze has faded. He’s in Will’s arms, Will’s hand is splayed across his rib cage. He feels guilty, Will shouldn’t be the one holding him, he should be helping Will. “I need to make dinner,” Mack pushes himself up, forcing himself away from Will and his comfort. He swipes his phone off the floor as the familiar burn of bile stings in his throat.
*****
The minute Will’s boot comes off he insists on getting back on the ice. If Mack wasn’t so in love with him he’d be better at saying no, but instead he begrudgingly throws their bags into his car and drives to SAP straight from Will’s orthopedist.
“I used to hate skating against you,” Mack doesn’t know why he says it, but once the words are out he can’t take them back. Will’s heard their story a few times now, all from Mack, all slightly different in variation.
“Oh yeah?” Will plays along, raising an eyebrow at him. “I bet I can still skate circles around you, bud,” Will’s smirking at him, blue eyes darkening. Mack lunges after him, stick clattering down on center ice. “Don’t hold back now, superstar,” superstar, something in Mack awakens like a sleeper agent.
“You just called me superstar,” his voice goes thready. He’s back, he’s back “holy fuck, Will. How’d you know that,” Mack’s heart is racing now, body vibrating as his brain catches up with this new information.
“Dunno, it just came to me,” Will smiles and its blinding. “You like it, huh, superstar?” There’s a playfulness to his tone that is so quintessentially Will that Mack suddenly feels choked up. His face heats up under Will’s gaze, “oh, bud. You down that bad?” Mack’s breath catches in his throat.
“God you are so annoying,” he whines, fighting back a grin. “Just like you…” He’s too excited, too hopeful. Mack bites his lip and shifts his gaze away from Will.
“Just like I what?” Will’s smile dims, he knows something’s up. He’s leaning into the crossbar of the goal now, arms folded over his chest.
Mack huffs, “just like before.” He looks up to meet Will’s gaze and his breath gets caught in his throat. The lights of the arena make Will’s golden curls glow, creating a halo around his face. Will leans closer to him, putting them almost chest to chest.
“I called you that in my dream last night,” Will’s cheeks pinken as he averts his gaze from Mack. “I guess I wanted to see if it was real,” he adds, shrugging his shoulders.
“Yeah, well,” Mack can’t focus on anything besides the blue of Will’s irises, “it’s real, you came up with that last year.”
“Let me guess, you hated it at first,” he laughs, knocking their shoulders together as he skates past Mack, switching their positions around the goal.
“Yeah, asshole, I did. You just wouldn’t shut up about it,” he sighs, catching up to Will with a few quick strides. They’re almost at center ice, lazily skating circles around each other like sharks in the water.
“Don’t hate it anymore?” Will asks, looking at Mack through his lashes.
Mack shakes his head, chewing on his lip. “No, no, not anymore,” he mumbles. Will closes the gap between them, putting them chest to chest. “Will?” Mack opens his mouth to say more but Will stops him.
He drapes his arms over Mack’s shoulders, one hand coming up to tug softly on the hair at his nape. “Mack,” Will’s breath is hot against his cheek. “Mack, tell me if this is wrong,” he says before tugging softly on Mack and pulling him impossibly closer.
Will is kissing him, Will is kissing him.
Mack’s hands instinctively come up to grip at his hips, tugging Will close as Mack chases him with his mouth. It feels practiced, routine, like they’ve done it a million times. “Wait,” Mack whimpers against his lips, pulling away slightly before Will forces them back together. “W-wait, Will,” he tries again, this time pressing a hand against Will’s chest. Mack’s lips are swollen and glistening, he looks debauched yet beautiful.
“What’s wrong?” Will’s still half-holding him, palms resting on his shoulders. Mack wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, something hurt flickers in his eyes.
“This isn’t right,” he shakes his head, “you aren’t in your right mind.” Will’s arms drop to his sides and Mack already misses his touch.
“What are you talking about?” He stammers, eyes swimming with hurt.
“You don’t get it,” Mack’s voice pitches up a little, something sad glistens in his eyes. “You didn’t get it before either,” he adds.
“What are you–”
“This isn’t right, Will.” Mack’s voice is cold, “this isn’t-it’s not right, Will.” His shoulders are shaking, he’s having trouble getting a breath again. “You aren’t–”
“I’m not what?” Will’s voice pitches up, his eyes are shining with tears.
“You aren’t you!” Mack gestures, arms flailing as tears crowd his lashes. “Fuck,” his voice breaks, “God just stop trying to pretend for me.” He feels sick again, the all too familiar cramp in his stomach returning as Will’s expression morphs into something angry.
“I’m not pretending,” Will snaps back, “I’m sorry that my best friend can’t accept who he is.” Mack flinches, jaw clenched so hard he can taste copper. Will’s got it all wrong, and that’s the worst part.
“I can’t accept who I am?” Mack huffs out a wet laugh, “oh, that’s fucking rich, Will.” Tears are slipping down his cheeks, “I’m not the one who was so fucking scared of anyone here knowing about us that I ran away.”
“Mack–”
“No, Will. You left, you fucking left and ran off because I wanted to tell fucking Toff about us. Toff, who’s probably known longer than we did. But right, I’m the one who can’t accept who he is.”
“What are you talking about?” Will tries to reach out for him but Mack skates back, arms folded over his chest. If Will doesn’t catch him soon he’s going to fall.
“You know how he found out? They wouldn’t let me see you in the fucking hospital so I had to tell them you were my boyfriend, and Toff heard, because he was there for me because he fucking cares about us and he wouldn’t have cared if we had told him ourselves. But no, he found out because you almost died and they wouldn’t let me see you!” Mack’s voice echoes around the silent arena, “they wouldn’t let me see you,” he repeats, chest heaving. “And I feel so fucking guilty that he found out because that’s the whole reason we fought in the first place but I don’t care,” Mack’s shaking, “I don’t care, Will. I don’t care who knows anymore, I just need you, okay?” Mack’s voice breaks again and he turns to leave but Will catches him by the wrist.
There’s a few seconds of silence, and suddenly Will’s expression changes into something horrified, then guilty. He doesn’t love me anymore, Mack is going to be sick. “I didn’t mean it,” he mumbles, tears slipping down his cheeks. “Mack, baby, I’m so sorry,” his words come out choked, “Mack, I’m so sorry.”
“You remember?” He barely gets the words out.
“Please Mack, I’ll tell him. I’ll tell everyone,” he tugs on Mack’s wrist, pulling the younger boy into his arms. The sound Mack makes is something wounded and sad, like he’s physically hurt.
“I thought you were going to die hating me,” Mack whispers, a fresh wave of tears spilling over his cheeks. “When I saw you that night, I just-it felt like my world ended.” Mack’s body is barely holding him up, and he feels the way Will clings onto him as he begins to cry.
“I love you,” the dam breaks, “I love you, Mack. I’m so sorry.”
“I know,” Mack’s hand finds its way into his curls, “I know, Willy. I love you too,” Mack presses a kiss to his temple, lip wobbling. “No more hiding,” he says after a beat of silence.
“No more hiding,” Will nods, cradling Mack close to him as he bursts into tears. “Just us.”
Mack’s vision gets blurry, and before he can fully register what’s happening, Will’s skating them over toward the bench. He doesn’t even make it that far before his body actually gives out, so emotionally and physically drained that all he can do is hope Will can hold them both together. “Baby, hey,” Will soothes, “Mackie, baby, you’re okay.”
He can’t stop crying, and he can’t really breathe. “Will,” he feels like a kid again, unable to hold himself together.
“I know, I know,” he’s propped up against the boards, face buried in Will’s sweatshirt. “Mack,” Will pulls back enough to cup Will’s face in his hands, “Mack I love you so much, I don’t want you to ever think that I don’t love you, okay?”
Something about Will’s words drags Mack back there, back to that night. All he can see is the argument, then the crash, then—
“Look at me,” Will’s still cradling his face, “Mack, I’m here, I’m okay.” He shakes his head, choking on another sob. “Mack, baby, I’m okay,” Will’s voice breaks as he starts to cry again. Will looks so sad, “we’re okay, baby, please don’t cry.” It takes Mack a second to realize that he’s why Will’s upset.
“M’sorry,” he whines, fresh tears slipping down his cheeks.
“Don’t apologize, please Mack don’t apologize,” his chest spasms as he tries to stifle a sob. “Hey, hey, don’t do that, let it out okay?” Will pulls him back into his arms, “you’re gonna make yourself sick, just breathe.” It takes him another few minutes to properly calm down, then a few more to slowly untangle himself from Will.
“I should’ve never put you on the spot like that with Toff,” Mack says, unable to meet Will’s eyes.
“I should’ve never made you feel unloved,” Mack’s chest aches at that. He shakes his head, “Mackie, I know I did—” he’s cut off by Mack kissing him. This time Mack lets himself be held, and Will takes the lead as he pushes Mack back against the boards.
“Don’t care,” Mack says as Will shifts, trailing kisses down his jaw, “you’re still here, that’s all I care about.”
*****
Mack’s out on the ice for the first game of the playoffs, and all he wants is Will on the ice with him. Will’s up with the WAGs, chatting away with Cat. He locks eyes with Mack and waves, a smile tugging at his lips. Mack waves back, this tiny movement that he hopes no one picks up on camera.
“He seems a lot better,” Sam taps his shin with his stick, “you on the other hand…” Sam eyes him, giving him a slightly disappointed once over.
“I just haven’t been able to sleep,” Mack admits, “he finally remembers, which is great, but I guess I’m scared that I’m going to wake up and he’s not going to be okay, and that he’ll have forgotten me again.” Mack shakes his head when Sam tries to say more, already skating away from him.
*****
The hit comes late in the third period. They’re up two, Mack’s already got one goal and an assist when it happens. He doesn’t even see Gudas coming, but of course it’s him, leave it to Radko Gudas to lay him out when there’s eight minutes left on the clock.
He’s got the puck on his stick, Cherny on his right, Graff on his left. For a split second, it’s not Cherny at all, but Will, right there on his wing like always. It’s that split second of imagination that leads to him getting checked head on by Gudas, stick clattering to the ice as he goes flying.
There’s a moment where everything is silent and the world is hazy. Then the noise comes back full force, the lights in the arena beat down on him, and Mack whimpers, jerking his body away from the stimuli.
“Mack!” God, he wishes it were Will, he so very badly wants Will right now. “Mack,” the voice calls again, this time much closer. Mack forces himself up onto his hands and knees, his ankle protests as he goes. “Woah, hey,” there’s a hand around his waist and he leans into the support as he stumbles to his feet.
“Sam,” he pants, “where’s Will?” Suddenly he can’t seem to remember, all he knows is that Will isn’t there.
“He’s upstairs,” upstairs? Mack’s scrambled brain can’t figure out what that means, so instead he focuses on trying to put one foot in front of the other. He shifts his weight back onto his ankle and hisses, “hey, easy, lean into me,” Sam urges.
“Hurts,” he grunts, trying to get his eyes to focus.
“I know, let’s just focus on getting you off the ice,” Sam whispers. Another person joins him on his left side, maybe Graff, maybe Toff, he can’t fully tell.
*****
Will is sitting vigil by his side in the training room when he wakes up. It gives Mack such a visceral feeling of dejavú that he suddenly begins to panic. “Mack?” Will’s staring at him, worry etched onto his features. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
Mack shakes his head, then immediately regrets it as a wave of nausea crashes over him. “You’re not hurt?”
“No, baby, why would I be hurt?” Will reaches out for his hand, taking it into his own.
“But your accident?” Now Mack can’t seem to remember, “you were bleeding, but you’re fine?” He gestures vaguely at Will, “you were hurt-I got you hurt.”
Now it’s Will’s turn to shake his head. “Mack, what are you talking about?” His voice softens, “you got hit, not me.”
Mack looks down at himself and whimpers, “but your car-I was there,” his breath catches in his throat, “Will, I don’t—” he feels sick again. The feeling of needing to leave overtakes him, this isn’t real, this isn’t his Will. He pulls the thin sheet off himself, swinging his legs over the side of the cot.
“Mack, what are you—” Will cuts himself off as Mack stands, then sways. There’s something stopping him from leaving, the IV in his arm, and before Mack fully processes what he’s doing he’s yanking the needle out himself. “Mack, shit!” Will curses, coming around the side of the bed to him.
There’s blood slipping down his arm, dripping onto the tile below him. Mack looks down at the blood, then back up at Will, and all he can see is Will lying in his mangled car. He has about half a second to fold himself over away from Will before he’s puking his guts out again.
“Mack! Jesus, fuck!” Will swears as he catches Mack before he collapses. “Mack, what the fuck,” he sounds mad, which makes Mack almost want to throw up a second time. “Baby, hey, come on, sit back down,” Will ushers, getting him back onto the cot with minimal effort.
Mack slumps back against the wall, arm stinging, vision hazy. “M’sorry, I’m so sorry, Will,” he doesn’t really know why he’s apologizing, just knows that he feels guilty. Will stands up, startling him “w-where are you going?”
“I need to get our doctor back in here, you yanked your IV out, Mack,” Will doesn’t quite look like he wants to leave.
“You’ll be back?” Mack reaches out, catching Will’s hand in his own.
“Yeah, baby, I’ll be right back,” Will kisses his knuckles before he lets go and walks out of the room.
*****
Will’s the one who ends up taking him home. In a way it’s hauntingly full circle from the hospital a month or so ago. “Mack, I think we should talk,” Will says once they’re settled on the couch. He wants to break up, Mack’s brain chides.
“You want to break up,” he blurts, face heating up as his lashes crowd with tears. Will sucks in a sharp breath next to him, here it comes.
“I don’t want to break up, but I hate seeing you so upset,” he says. All the air rushes from Mack’s lungs, “you love hockey, but you looked miserable the entire game, even before you got hurt.”
“I don’t care about hockey,” Mack sniffles.
“Yes you do, you love it.” Will tips his head back against the back of the couch, Mack can see his Adam's apple move as he swallows. “And I love it, and I love watching you play because you’re incredible, and playing with you is one of the best feelings ever.” Will’s head lolls to the side so he can look at Mack, “but right now you just look like you want to curl up and cry, and I don’t want to see you like that.”
“M’sorry,” Mack sniffles again, swiping at a stray tear on his cheek.
“Baby,” Will’s voice goes soft, “I’m not mad, I just want you to tell me how you feel. Even if it’s bad, even if all you want to do is cry,” he gives Mack a sad smile. “Because I love you, and that means I want to hear about how you’re feeling, even if it’s not good.”
“I love you, too” Mack whines, feeling the familiar sting of tears as they start to fall.
“I know, Mack,” Will scoots closer, opening his arms. “Just come here, okay?” Mack lets Will pull him on top of him as he curls his body around the other boy. “You’re gonna be okay, I’m okay.” Will soothes, “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Will whispers into his hair.
“I think-” Mack takes a shuddering breath, “you’re it for me, Will.” He says, “forever, like I want to get married and buy a house together.” His conversation with his father flashes through his mind, “you’re everything, and almost losing you, that almost killed me.”
Will gives him a squeeze, kissing him just above his brow bone. “But I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. And we can get married, buy a big house, and do whatever you want. I don’t care, I’ll go where you go,” Will says back, “and after the season’s done we’ll tell the team about us, because I’m done hiding.”
“Really?” Mack lifts his head off of Will’s chest.
“Really,” Will closes the distance between them, meeting Mack’s lips with his own. Mack sinks into the kiss, body going slack as Will’s hands land on his hips, pulling him flush against him.
“Good proposal,” Mack whispers against his lips, “you’re missing the ring, though.”
“Who says I don’t already have one, superstar?” Will leans in to kiss him again and Mack goes willingly.