Work Text:
Max wakes not to his alarm clock, but to the smell of fresh pancakes. He sighs. That must mean that he’s only moments away from—
“Goooooooood morning, Max!”
He curses, groans. “Ten more minutes.”
“Sorry, kiddo, but you have to get up if you want to eat a nutritious breakfast! I made buckwheat flapjacks and—”
“I don’t eat breakfast. I pound a mug of coffee and get dressed just in time to barely make the bus.” When David finally stands in front of him, Max notices something that makes him frown. “Did you forget to dry off in the shower or something? You’re fucking drenched.” David looks away like he’s embarrassed or otherwise hiding something.
“I must have gotten a little overheated cooking. I’ll hop in the shower after I get you off to school.” How has he been sweating that much indoors? Max has seen David overheat multiple times, usually attempting to set up for and host some kind of terrible activity on the hottest days of the year to try to minimize the misery. Hell, he’s even seen him get heatsick once. But it’s never been from something as mild as a sto no ve, and he’s never this soaked, not to mention pale and shaky. The only times he’s seen him look this bad have been—
“Go ahead and get dressed. I’m going to fix you a plate.”
Knowing him, it’s going to be more of an ordeal to argue, so he simply bitches for a few more minutes until he’s sure David can’t hear anymore and gets dressed in clean jeans and his favorite hoodie. He shoves homework—all of it finished for the first time in a long time, because he had someone on his shoulder encouraging him and to answer questions—into his backpack and drags his tired body to the kitchen table. David has set a place for Max and Max only. As he drizzles syrup over his pancakes, he nods toward him.
“You’re not gonna eat anything?”
David’s face turns a little green. “I’m not so hungry,” he admits. “But you should eat up! The bus will be here soon, and I want to make sure your brain is fed and ready to learn.”
Max rolls his eyes, but does eat. He even tolerates the berries that David adds to his plate to balance out the sugary syrup. Max isn’t used to eating breakfast. On days he does wake up hungry, he just grabs a breakfast bar from the cabinet and eats it on the bus. These past few days have been almost… nice. He’s noticed a difference in his mornings. Sure, he begins them crabby because of the insufferable amount of David he’s already endured, but he doesn’t fall asleep during morning announcements anymore, even though his coffee consumption has decreased to next to nothing.
He supposes that this whole thing is his fault. When his parents had left for the week, he’d been confident that he’d be fine on his own. So sure, in fact, that he’d even told them he didn’t need a babysitter.
Then, the first night fell. The wind picked up, the rain poured, and thunder loomed in the distance, threatening closer and closer. What if there was a tornado? What if the sound of rustling leaves outside his window wasn’t the wind, but footsteps? What if—
Then it happened. The loudest sound Max had ever heard. He hadn’t even attempted to investigate what had happened. He tried Mom’s phone, but hadn’t gotten through. Dad’s voicemail was full. With no other options, he cursed, weighed dying against the alternative, and decided that he would, if only barely, rather call the number that David had given him on the last day of camp. He’d picked up after just two rings.
“It’s me,” he said. David paused.
“Max? Is everything okay?” There was a long pause. “What’s wrong, kiddo?”
He could hear David rustling around, likely already getting dressed, since he knew he woke him up.
“It’s stupid.”
“I’m sure it’s not. Talk to me.”
“My parents are out of town,” he said. “I heard a noise in the basement.”
The rustling stopped. “Wait, you’re home alone?”
“Yeah. It’s normally not a big deal, it’s just—raining, and I—look, I’m fine now, so how about we just hang up and forget this ever happened.”
“No way,” David said. “I’m on my way, alright? Sit tight. I have to hang up to drive, but call me if you hear anything else, okay?” Max hated how his breath shook when he drew it in, then out. “I’ll be there in half an hour. Call me if you need to. I’ll pick up.” Max scoffed because it sounded stupid and tried not to dwell on the fact that he’d just done that: called because he was scared and needed someone.
Even just knowing that David on his way made the fear easier to manage. Now, it felt more embarrassing than scary, and he contemplated calling back to tell him he’s gotten over it and to go back home. He can’t name what stopped him. The idea of comfort, maybe, was too appealing. By the time David knocked on his door, the rain had really picked up, and he was soaked to the bone just from the walk from where he’d parked his car in the street.
“Hello, Max,” he greeted, and Max could have hugged him. Of course, he hadn’t. David did a thorough monster check of the house despite that Max reassured him it was unnecessary.
“I’m ten, not three,” he’d argued. “I just… thought I heard something.”
“No way. If we’re going to stay here overnight, I want to make sure it’s totally safe. It’s for both of us!” An angry red flush crept over his features, but he had to admit that it did make him feel a little better to know that no one had broken into the basement to murder him. “How long have you been alone here?”
“Just today. They left after I got to school.”
“Mhm. Okay. And when do they come back?”
“Monday. It’s only a few days.”
“You’re far too young to be left alone without an adult, kiddo. What were you going to do for food?”
“My mom put leftovers in the fridge. And left me money for school lunch. And a pizza.”
From the way David shook his head, expression grim, he could tell that wasn’t a good enough answer.
He’d gotten Max to bed, and when he woke up the next day, David was already in his kitchen cooking breakfast. They hadn’t had the milk or orange juice that are sitting on the counter, which means that David must have gone shopping that morning before he’d woken up, not to mention that he’d called at 10:00 the previous night. He probably hadn’t slept at all.
David was still there when he got off the bus in the afternoon expecting to come into an empty house, shutting his laptop he was apparently using to work from home. Apparently he’s a freelance illustrator on the side to make money when he’s not working at Camp Campbell. Max almost thinks it’s a little interesting. What’s even more confusing is that David clearly went home to grab his laptop and some things that are in a backpack at his feet. He greets Max warmly and lets him watch TV while he cooks dinner, then helps him with the homework he’d had every intention of blowing off.
Now, two days later, he’s been here for long enough that he’s pretty confident he’s not going anywhere until Max’s parents come home and he has a chance to chat with them about the capacity a ten year old has for independence. It had been easy to slip into the familiarity he’d built up at Camp Campbell. Waking to David’s cheer is a pill he’s used to swallowing and he falls into the routine with the fervor of a child who’s gone far too long without one.
But today, something is off. David cooked breakfast, but rather than busying himself with the dishes, he’s sitting at the table, and Max doesn’t miss the deep breathing or the way his hand migrates up to massage between his temples.
“What’s with you?”
David forces a smile that looks so convincing that he wonders if he’s mistaken it before. “Oh;” he says, “I’m just a little tired. How are you feeling about your social studies test today? Do you want to go over the study guide again?”
He shakes his head. He’s smart, but he can’t bring himself to care about American history. The adventures of dead white guys isn’t exactly riveting. “I don’t care if I pass or not, so I’m good.” David winces, but Max doesn’t really mean it, and he knows that. He’d just like, for once, to hear him admit he cares about something. They sit for a while in silence uncharacteristic for David while he seems to stare off into space. He’s really on a different planet today and he looks more than tired.
He tries to put it from his mind as he listens to David’s deep, measured breathing. One hand is gripping the table so hard that his knuckles are white. He hiccups once.
“What are you drying out from?” he taunts, expecting to get a rise out of him and instead receiving a tight-jawed, “‘m fine.” His posture is stiff and rigid, unnaturally so. Before Max can put the pieces together for himself, he immediately betrays it by bolting to his feet and throwing up in the sink. Max cringes, cursing himself for not expecting it. He’s seen David have vomiting episodes twice now and is becoming familiar with the signs—the sweating, the flush to his cheeks in contrast with a pale face, the strange, secretive behavior. He waits the several minutes it takes for him to finish, catch his breath, rinse his mouth out. By the time he turns around, Max is standing behind him with a cup of cold water from the fridge.
“Here,” he says, shoving it at him roughly. David takes it but doesn’t drink.
“Sorry about that,” he says awkwardly and breathlessly. “I’m just feeling a little queasy.” He glances at the clock and frowns, having been too engrossed in his misery to realize how much time this had taken up. “You’ve only got a few minutes until the bus comes. Eat up!” The cheer is transparent.
“I’m not going to school and leaving you like this,” he argues. “You’re sick. I’ve seen how bad this gets and you shouldn’t be here alone.”
“That’s sweet, but I always deal with it by myself. It’s not a big deal. I’ll just sleep it off.”
“Yeah, on the bathroom floor. Somebody needs to be here in case you start fucking dying.”
“I promise that if it gets bad, I’ll call someone. Please, if I can’t keep an eye on you, I’d rather know you’re safely at school.”
Max wants to keep arguing, but he knows that David’s telling the truth. Skipping school would probably make him feel worse than actually being sick. He rolls his eyes.
“Fine. But if you’re dead when I get back, I’ll fucking kill you.”
“Understood,” he says with a weak smile. The bus honks outside and Max doesn’t rush to catch it but manages to, anyway, leaving David to his own private hell.
Focusing on school is nearly impossible. Focusing on anything but the pit fluttering around in his stomach proves difficult. His teacher notices and asks him to stay after class. Great, he thinks. If he gets detention, he swears he’s skipping, damn the consequences. However, when he walks up to her desk, she looks patient rather than angry.
“Hi, Max. I wanted to talk to you.”
“Well, you’ve got me. What is it? Am I in trouble?”
She frowns. “No, nothing like that. You just seemed a little distracted today. A little down. It’s just not like you to be so quiet, and you’ve had such a great week. I was wondering if something is wrong.”
Miss McBride has always been patient with him and is on the extremely short list of adults he can trust. As much as he wants to tell her the whole truth to get it off his chest, he knows he can’t, lest she escalate the fact that his parents left him home alone for five days.
“My, uh, dad is sick.” He has to choke out the word “dad,” but he doesn’t hate the taste as much as he thinks he will. She doesn’t look like she believes him. Max is a guarded kid, after all, always shielding himself from being hurt or neglected. If he’s letting that wall down, then he’s clearly not talking about his parents, the people who built it in the first place.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Would it make you feel better to call him and check in?”
He hesitates, kicks the foot he’s casting a glare down toward. “Maybe.”
She leads him to the wall phone, then steps away and pretends to tidy up the classroom to give him some privacy. He punches the buttons to his home phone and listens as it rings once, twice, three times. Dread wells up in his stomach as the phone goes to voicemail.
“David,” he says. He’s not sure what to say. “I swear to god, if you don’t pick up the phone—”
“Max?” He sounds winded, like he’d had to run to the phone to answer it in time . “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he snaps. “I’m just making sure you’re still alive.” He can practically hear David smile.
“That’s very kind of you. I’m fine, really. Just a little queasy and tired.”
“Are you gonna live through the next few hours until I get home?”
“Oh, Max. Of course. It’s not that serious, I promise. This will pass. It always does. I’ll be back to 100% by the time you get home.”
“Fine,” he says irritably, then hangs up the phone without even saying goodbye. His teacher tosses him a worried look, but rather than sticking around and opening up to her about all the anxiety in his heart right now, he just leaves the classroom and heads to lunch without even a hall pass.
He thinks about it all day until he steps off the bus at his stop that afternoon. David had said he’d be better by the time he got home, so he expects to find him resting on the couch. When he doesn’t, a little seed of worry plants itself in his stomach.
“David?” he calls, hoping he’s somewhere nearby like in the kitchen cooking dinner or the dining room dusting. He gets no answer, and that only sprouts the seed. He doesn’t even have time to wonder whether he’s stepped out to run an errand before he hears the sound of dry heaving. He sheds off his backpack and shoes so fast it looks like he was raptured out of them. “David,” he calls from the doorway of the bathroom. After politely waiting for him to finish, he tries his name again, this time to be met with teary eyes that he swipes at with his palms.
“Max,” he says in a wrecked, nearly-gone voice. “How was school?”
“You said this would be over by the time I got home.” David sighs.
“Sometimes they last a little longer if I don’t take my medicine. I didn’t have it with me because—”
He cuts himself off.
“Because you’re staying here babysitting.”
“It’s because I didn’t pack them when I left. That’s not your fault.”
“Right.” Max isn’t entirely convinced, but he’s not about to pick a fight with David while he’s limp on the bathroom floor. “Is it getting any better?”
“Yes,” David says. Max suspects he’s lying. Or maybe not lying, per se, but downplaying what’s going on so as not to scare him. But he’s already scared, even if he’d never admit it. “Don’t worry.”
“Wasn’t planning to.” He gestures to the full glass of water he’d brought in with him. “Did you drink any of that?”
He shakes his head. “I will when it’ll stay down, but not just yet.” God, he sounds so miserable. Looks even worse. “Why don’t you go watch TV? You can have a little extra screen time tonight.”
Max rolls his eyes. That’s the farthest thing from his mind right now. “Give me one good reason I shouldn’t call an ambulance right now.”
David shrugs. “It’s still manageable.” Max isn’t the authority on that. He has to defer to David’s judgment and hope that he’s making a safe call. “I wouldn’t do anything dangerous. It’d hurt you. When it’s hospital time, I’ll let you know.”
That’s an answer Max can accept. He nods, grumbles a bit, and leaves David in favor of going to watch TV.
Two hours later finds him no better. Max checks in after every episode of Spongebob and every time, he has a little less energy. He heats up leftover chicken parmesan for dinner, something he hopes won’t make the house smell too strongly of food that might make David even more nauseated. After he’s full (including the handful or Oreos he’d taken advantage of eating without David to tell him it’s too much sugar), he peeks in on David, expecting him to fake a smile and lie to him telling him this is fine. That’s not how it goes. This time, he doesn’t even pick his head up from where he’s resting it on the rim of the bathtub. He’s shed his shirt, too. Either he’s too hot for it or he’s gotten it dirty, and it doesn’t matter which it is because both are equally worrisome.
“David,” he calls exasperatedly, irritably. “Don’t you think it’s time to see a doctor?”
“No, no. Not yet.”
“Then why are you doubled over like that?”
“Just stomach cramps,” he replies. “They get pretty bad. The good news is that—ah,” he trails off in pain he can’t talk through. “The good news is that it means it’s ending.”
Max might not always like him, but it’s not like he wants to watch him writhe in pain on his bathroom floor. He grabs David’s phone from the bathroom counter and slips away quietly. David doesn’t even notice he and the phone are gone.
Gwen picks up on the third ring. “David?” she asks, sounding surprised. “Why are you calling me?”
He’d seen while looking for her number that they do keep up with one another sometimes, but it’s exclusively through text. Gwen doesn’t strike him as the type to even pick up the phone, and he’s lucky she did.
“It’s me.”
“Max? What the hell are you doing with David’s phone?”
“Long story. Shitty parents, overprotective camp counselor, a series of unfortunate events.”
“He’s babysitting you?”
Max would hate to call it that because he’s not a baby; he’d have been fine on his own and has done it before, but he can’t focus on that right now.
“Look, you know that stomach condition he has?”
“Oh, god. That again?”
“Yeah, and it’s really bad. He’s been throwing up since this morning and now he seems all… I don’t know. Really tired. Kinda out of it. He says his stomach is cramping really badly and I don’t know what to do.”
She sighs. “I’m not really sure, either. He keeps this pretty private and hasn’t ever really talked to me about it. However, I do know a thing or two about cramps.”
“Duh. That’s why I called you.”
“Watch it, gremlin,” she warns. “Do you know if you have a heating pad somewhere?”
“Yeah, my mom uses it sometimes. It’s in the closet.”
“Good. That’ll help the muscles release. I’m guessing he can’t keep down any medicine?”
“He said not yet.”
“He’s probably really dehydrated. I think you’re just going to have to wait it out on this one.”
For some inexplicable reason, that makes frustrated tears spring to his eyes. He swipes an angry palm over them, but Gwen hears his little sniffle.
“Hey, he’s gonna be fine, okay? It sucks, but it passes. I know it’s scary to watch, believe me, but he’ll get over it. How long has it been?”
“Since like 7:30 this morning.”
“Oh, man. That’s rough.” She hesitates for a moment, not knowing quite what to say next. She’s not always so good at comforting people, especially someone as prickly as Max. “Just keep an eye on him. He’s used to dealing with this.”
“How do I know when he needs to go to the hospital? He can’t keep water down.”
“He’ll tell you,” she says simply, as if it’s just that easy. Max is smart enough to know that it’s not. He actually bothers to say goodbye to Gwen instead of just hanging up when he got the information he needed. If this gets worse, he thinks, he might need her help, so he can’t set fire to the bridge.
Max has to use a step stool to get to the heating pad in the closet, but he manages to wiggle it down, even if it does involve jumping. He grabs Gatorade, ginger ale, and a banana from the kitchen while he’s at it. If David might be able to hold something down now that the episode is getting better, if that’s even true, he might as well save himself a trip. He knocks quietly on the doorframe before he enters so as not to startle him and sets his pile of things on the floor. David has to fight for it, but he does open his eyes and drag his dizzy gaze to meet Max’s face.
“What’s this?” he asks confusedly, and of course he’s confused. Max surely isn’t taking care of him.
“Gwen said—”
“You called Gwen?”
“--that this might help the cramping. Take it.” He plugs it into the outlet as David presses it to his abdomen.
“Thank you,” he says. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
“What was I supposed to do, just let you spend the night on my bathroom floor? That’s fucking stupid.” David smiles a little.
“What time is it?”
“Almost 7.”
“Have you done your homework?”
“No, and I’m not going to.” David would obviously prefer that he doesn’t save it all until the last minute on Sunday, but he supposes he understands, given the circumstances. “Is this really getting better?”
“I think it’s passed. I haven’t been sick in a while.” Relief is visible as Max’s features relax. “I’m sorry to have—”
“Don’t start that shit.” David shuts his mouth and nods, just like Max wants. “Do you think you could make it to the couch? I’m sure sitting on the tile sucks.” To his surprise, David actually nods. He really must be feeling better. Max walks behind him as he walks dizzily to the living room and plops down hard on the couch, head between his knees. “You’re not gonna faint, are you?”
David shakes his head. “Sorry. Just feeling lightheaded. It’ll be better when I lie down; I just need a second.” His face is alarmingly pale, but he does indeed lie flat on his back a few moments later, so Max doesn’t press it. At least he’s stopped sweating so much.
“Here,” Max says, setting the drinks and banana on the table beside him, then sliding the table within arm’s reach. “For when you can hold it down.”
“Thank you. I’m really proud of you for stepping up today, Max. You’re a good kid.”
No one ever says that about him. They don’t look deeper than the thorny surface, than the horrible misbehavior and the snarky remarks. Only David can see the gooey center underneath all that. Maybe that’s why he can’t stand him most of the time.
“Yeah, well. Maybe you’re okay, too. I mean, you gave up your week to stay here so I wouldn’t be alone, I guess.”
“I’m not giving up anything, Max. I’m glad you called me and I’m happy to be here.”
“Whatever,” he shrugs. “Drink what you can and go to sleep. My parents will be back tomorrow so pack your shit.” He can’t hide the disappointment in his voice.
“Of course. I’ll need to have a talk with them.” Max almost smiles thinking of how ridiculous it’ll be to watch that noodle of a man try to be assertive. He can’t believe that the predominant emotion is sadness as he thinks of that backpack no longer sitting there on the floor beside the couch.
“I might close my eyes for a minute,” he says. “Wake me up if you have any problems with your homework and I’ll help you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just go to sleep already so I can watch an R-rated movie unsupervised.”
David frowns. “PG13 at worst.”
“Fine,” he pouts. David sets an alarm on his phone for 9:00 so he can wake up to put Max to bed and make sure he stays there for a full 8+ hours of restful sleep. Rather than the movie, Max decides to actually do his homework and read a book, something quiet that won’t interrupt David’s sleep. He’s not sure when that became important to him. All he knows is that he’s been happier in the past week than he has in a long, long time. He’s received more attention and affection and certainly home-cooked meals than ever before.
And it’s about to be gone.
At best, David will become his new babysitter, there to watch Max during the long stretches of time during which his parents aren’t home. But that’s it. Other than that, he’ll go back to a shitty home life with shitty demeanor.
But he might keep doing his homework.