Chapter Text
9:18 AM
On a Wednesday
Philadelphia, PA
"Charlie, what the hell is that?" Dennis asked, walking out of the bathroom
"Puke," Charlie replied miserably, lifting his head from the bar-top.
"Who puked on the floor?" Dennis demanded. "Because I locked up last night, and there sure as shit wasn't puke on the floor last night."
"It's mine! I spewed on the floor!"
"You don't throw up," Dennis said flatly. "I don't think I've ever seen you throw up. Ever."
"I know!" Charlie wailed, flailing nearly off the stool. "I never puke, but you know, I was wiping down the urinals, and there was, like, some goop in there, and I tried to clean it, then I just started feeling really gross, and then I spewed all over the floor."
"That's not even Charlie work! That's just normal janitor shit!"
"Hey," Mac said, walking in. "What's wrong with Charlie?"
"He spewed."
"I threw up."
"Charlie doesn't throw up."
"I know!"
"Charlie, you threw up?" Dee asked once she arrived and had been filled in.
"Yes! Jesus Christ, how many times do I have to say it? I fuckin' threw up all over the floor!"
"And it wasn't even real Charlie work!" Mac put in.
"Is he dying?" Dee asked, feeling his forehead. "Should we tell his mom?" There was an almost instant collective 'no' from the guys.
"She'd freak out," Charlie said. "She'd come over here and then put all the stools in groups of three, and move everything around and stuff."
"What does freaking out and moving our shit around— okay, nevermind," Dee shook her head. "Do you think you're sick? Can you get sick?"
"I'm not sick, I think," Charlie said.
"Dude, you threw up," Mac put in, "I've seen you eat the most heinous, disgusting shit and not throw up. You cleaned up a dead guy's shit without puking." Charlie gagged.
"What the fuck?!" Dennis yelled, pointing an accusatory finger at Charlie and leaping back. "You don't do that! You don't gag!"
"Am I dying?" Charlie croaked.
"Yes!"
"For Christ's sake," Dee slapped Dennis. "You're probably not dying. Do you have any other symptoms or anything? Maybe you finally caught something from the sewers."
"I dunno, my nipples hurt a little," Charlie muttered.
"You know, I really don't think that's related," Dee said, frowning.
"It could be," he grumbled. He crossed his arms, then grimaced and uncrossed them.
"Wow, that bad?" Dee asked, and Charlie nodded. "Okay, well, any other symptoms?"
"I don't know!" Charlie says. "What does sick feel like?! I guess my stomach kind of hurts, but only sometimes. I peed like four times today," he paused, racking his brain for any other recent symptoms. "I've been bleeding, but only a little."
"Way to bury the lead, man!" Mac exclaimed, slapping Charlie's shoulder with the back of his hand. "You've been bleeding!?"
"I know! I was surprised too, 'cause I haven't in years!"
"You haven't…" Dennis blinked, "yes you have, dumbass, you cut yourself on a broken bottle like three days ago!"
"Not from a cut, idiot," Charlie said. "So? Am I dying or not?"
"If you're just fucking bleeding for no reason, probably," Mac says.
"What? No, this is normal blood." The rest of the gang stared at him.
"Yeah, no," Dee said, patting Charlie on the back. "We're going to the hospital. Up you go, Charlie, come on."
"No, I don't wanna go to the hospital!" he tried to squirm away. "I'm fine! Maybe I just need to sleep for a day, like a hangover."
"Jesus, Charlie, you've gotten fat," Dennis wrinkled his nose.
"No I'm not," Charlie grumbled into his beer. "Is the beer smell making anyone else nauseous? Am I- am I crazy for that?"
"Oh my God," Mac complained, "first you load all the Charlie work off on us, and now fucking beer is making you nauseous?"
"Yesterday I made him a grilled Charlie and he threw up on me!" Frank added.
"Please don't talk about the grilled Charlie," Charlie whined, thumping his head against the bar a few times. "I'm gonna throw up again."
"You've been like this for months, Charlie," Dee said, sitting beside him. "I mean, if I didn't know any better, I'd think you were pregnant."
"That's not possible," Charlie muttered into the bar.
"Yeah, no shit," Mac rolled his eyes. Frank frowned.
"You sure?"
"Frank, are you stupid?" Dee asked. "Charlie can't be pregnant, guys can't do that."
"I'm just saying, Charlie, I mean—"
"I'm not fucking pregnant, Frank!"
"Calm down, Charlie," Mac put in. "Frank's obviously joking."
"Don't tell me to calm down, man, I might be dying! Or pregnant! Or both!"
"Charlie, you're not fucking pregnant, oh my God!" Dennis shouted. "That is literally, physically impossible!"
"Right, because of the drugs!"
"What drugs?! What are you talking about?!"
"For fuck's sake," Frank mumbled. "I'll be back."
"The shots!" Charlie yelled back. "Frank, don't leave!"
"I'm already out the door!" Frank shouted over his shoulder. "Nobody kill anybody. I'll be back."
"No!" Charlie whined, drawing out the word. "This is bullshit, man!"
"Charlie, just calm down," Mac said again, rolling his eyes.
"Stop telling me to calm down! Stop telling me to calm down! Stop telling me to calm down!" Charlie devolved into only partially coherent shouting.
"Charlie, hey, Charlie, here," Dee pushed his beer stein into his hand. "Drink a little, you'll feel better."
"NO!" Charlie yelled. He flailed away from the bar and collapsed down into one of the booths.
"Okay, well, what do you want?" Dee asked, leaning over the bar.
"Water?" Charlie asked it like a question. "Do we even have water?"
"I mean, we have a sink," Dee shrugged.
"That works," Charlie said, rubbing his face.
"Dee, quit humoring him," Dennis complained. "He's probably just tired of working and putting on a whole show to keep us thinking he's sick." Dee didn't reply, just brought Charlie a glass of iced water in a whiskey glass.
"Thanks, Sweet Dee."
"Charlie, I really think you need to go to the doctor," Dee said, patting his back while Charlie sipped on his water. "Something is really wrong with you."
"There's always something wrong with Charlie," Charlie bemoaned, a small sniffle escaping him.
"No, no, Charlie, I didn't mean it like that!" Dee's hands flitted about anxiously for a moment. "You're… shit, I meant, like, something medically wrong!" The front door opens.
"Charlie, quit crying, you'll ruin the vibe," Mac tells him.
"What 'vibe'? Since when do you say 'vibe'?" Dee asked sarcastically.
"Doesn't matter anyway," Dennis said. "It's Frank, not a customer."
"Charlie, come here," Frank said, a small box in his hand, and marched directly into the bathroom. Charlie frowned, then shrugged, and followed after Frank.
"What are they doing?" Mac asked, draining Charlie's untouched beer. "Why are they going in there?"
"We're running on the same information, Mac," Dee sighed.
"And it doesn't even matter!" Dennis supplied, "someone needs to change the lights in the corner."
"True," Dee said. "Mac, go fix the light."
"No," Mac whined, "that's Charlie work! Make Charlie do it!"
"Charlie's dying!" Dee argued. "We can't make him stand on a table when he keeps puking and falling!"
"Okay, then you do it!"
"No, that's Charlie work! I'm not doing Charlie work!"
"We could've solved this earlier if Dee had just taken him to the hospital," Dennis complained, "I mean, you couldn't've tried a little harder to get him to go?"
"No!" Dee looked appalled. "I'm not gonna force the guy to go to the hospital! And, hey, if you're so damn worried about the Charlie work, why don't you do it, Dennis? Huh? How about that?"
"No, I'm not doing Charlie work, I'm—" whatever egotistical rant Dennis was about to launch into was cut off by a scream from the bathroom.
"Oh my God, is he actually dying?!"
"I mean," Dennis' mouth twisted. "It's possible, but I think Charlie could take Frank in a fight."
"For the love of— you guys suck, you know that?" she asked, shoving past Mac, "he could really be hurt, you know?"
"He's probably fine!" Mac reasoned. Dee sighed and opened the door.
"Charlie? You okay in there?" Charlie was on the floor under one of the sinks, knees pulled up to his chest.
"We're fine, Dee," Frank said. Dee had barely even noticed her dad kneeling beside her friend, too distracted by Charlie's face. He was pale, and his eyes looked shiny. Like he was about to cry. "Just leave us be for a bit, okay?"
"What the hell is going on?" Dee demanded. "What did you do to him, Frank?!"
"I didn't do shit," Frank said, "now get out a minute!"
"Charlie, what did he do to you?" Dee asked, stepping into the bathroom. Charlie's head slumped down onto his knees, and he mumbled something.
"Speak up," Dennis called from the doorway. "Can't hear shit when you mumble." Charlie's body shook, and he gestured vaguely at the stall. The gang turned in near unison toward the stall.
"What am I looking at, a thermometer?" Mac asked, staring at a small object on the floor.
"It's a pregnancy test, dumbass," Dee said.
"Well, why the hell is there a pregnancy test on the floor?" Dennis walked over to the test and kicked it over with his shoe.
"It's got two lines," he announced, "Dee, two lines, pregnant or not pregnant?"
"Two is pregnant," she replied.
"So Charlie is pregnant?" Mac asked.
"Oh my God, no! I think it means he has like testicular cancer or something." Charlie let out a loud sob.
"Charlie doesn't have cancer," Frank said firmly.
"Okay," Mac said, eyebrows raised. "So then what the fuck is wrong with him?"
"He's pregnant," Frank said.
"No, Frank, that isn't possible," Mac reiterated for probably the twelfth time.
"Yes it is!" Charlie screamed. "I am! It is and I am!"
"Charlie," Dee said, attempting gentleness. "You're a man."
"No."
"You— 'no'?" Dee asked incredulously. "What?"
"Charlie, what do you mean 'no'?" Mac questioned, still lingering in the doorway. Charlie's head dropped back between his knees, pulling at his hair, and mumbled quietly.
"Didn't quite catch that, man," Dennis said.
"I said I'm a chick!"
"Charlie, you're not a chick," Frank consoled, patting Charlie's back gently.
"Yeah, you've got a beard," Mac added. "Chicks don't have beards."
"You shoulda seen Dee before she found out about shaving," Dennis muttered. He and Mac chuckled.
"I have a beard cause of the drugs!" Charlie yelled into the floor, arms flailing.
"What drugs?" Mac yelled back.
"The drugs, man, the guy drugs!" The gang devolved into loud and confused yelling for several minutes.
"What are guy drugs?" Mac demanded. "Are they steroids? Are you on steroids, Charlie? Why haven't you been sharing?"
"I'm not on steroids, I'm a tranny!"
Mac laughed, "No you're not."
"Yes I am!"
"He is," Frank confirmed.
"How the hell would you know?" Mac demanded.
"I mean," Dennis reasoned, "they live together. When you live with someone, you're gonna see 'em naked sometime."
"I'm not asking."
"Good, I didn't want you to."
Dee made a face of disgust. "Freak."
"Well, you look like a bird."
"Oh my God, shut up!" Dee shouted, "That isn't important right now anyway! Charlie, are you really a transsexual?"
"I already said yes!" Charlie started flailing again. "Now can we stop talking about it? I don't wanna think about it."
"How is that possible, though?" Dennis asked. "I mean, I've seen you shirtless, you don't have tits."
"Yeah," Mac seconded, "and you for sure have a bulge. Not that I… like, looked."
"Charlie, didn't you think you got a girl pregnant?" asked Dee, "a few years back, that chick with the little delinquent kid."
"Well, yeah, I mean, I banged her," Charlie shrugged.
"I'm- I'm just a little confused about how this all works," Mac said. "Like, do you have a dick or no?"
"No, but—"
"So then how could you have possibly thought you got a girl pregnant?"
"So, you know how lesbians have sex? Where one wears the strap-on dick?"
"You thought you got a girl pregnant with a fake dick?" Dennis asked, barely holding back a laugh, "you really are retarded."
"Well, I wouldn't say I'm…"
"Dude," Mac cut in, "you thought you got a girl pregnant with a fake dick. I don't think non-retards think that."
"Also, you can't read," Dennis added. Charlie grumbled and pulled himself up off the ground.
"I'm going home." He shouldered past Mac.
"But, wait," Dee said, around an hour later once the bar was open for business, "who got Charlie pregnant? Has he been sleeping with guys?"
"Charlie's gay?" Dennis asked.
"Well, if he's pregnant, he probably fucked a guy," Dee reasoned.
"Yeah, but he's technically a woman, so it's not gay," Mac said.
"He's not 'technically a woman', Mac," Dee rolled her eyes. "And maybe he slept with another transsexual, you know? Like Carmen."
"Carmen's back in town?" Mac asked, looking hopeful.
"No, it was a hypothetical," Dee replied.
"Right. Right right right."
"Just ask him tomorrow."