Trigger Warning: past sexual assault, vivid nightmares/night terrors, depression, panic attacks

*

Note: Y'all, this was so difficult to write. Marshall is my baby and writing out scenes where he's in pain legitimately makes me upset 😭 Like, I was sobbing when I had to write about him grieving in the main story.

This chapter is important, though, because I thought it could shed some light on how much Marshall's assault truly impacted him. I wrote that he couldn't be touched a certain way without freaking out, but it also makes things more realistic to show how badly his trauma impacted him even when he was unconscious. It also would've shown Paul how important his presence is in Marshall's life because the only one to truly make him feel safe is Paul.

This scene would've been one of the reasons why he decided to ask Marshall to live in La Push--seeing as staying in the Cullen house was only making things worse.

Timeline wise, this would've happened shortly after the Cullens left Forks. It's their decision to abandon Marshall which causes his struggles with preexisting mental illnesses to worsen.

I know I don't really need to say it since it's obvious, but this is going to be a very heavy chapter. Viewer discretion is advised.

***

Marshall's thoughts were loud tonight.

The day had started out well enough: he slept in late since the theater was closed; a nice hike through some nearby mountains presented the opportunity to bask at a nature-filled visage partially hidden behind thick clouds of mist; a few songs, both instrumental and not, had been composed in a peaceful atmosphere; scrolling through social media presented the opportunity to study some new recipe videos. Paul had even surprised Marshall by showing up after a completed perimeter run to spend an otherwise uneventful weekend together.

The rest of their evening consisted of preparing a simple lasagna before plopping down on the couch to binge some horror movies. With casual flirting and a few handsy makeout sessions sprinkled in for good measure, everything was fine. Blissful, rather.

It was only when Marshall excused himself to bathe that he found his mood changing without warning.

Going from happy to sad—from perfectly content to horribly broken inside—had been happening more and more since his family members decided to abandon him.

Now, more often than not, Marshall was delighted at the Cullens' departure. But, in moments when he was alone, his mind sometimes wandered into dangerous territory. Disembodied shouts filled his head with negative thoughts to the point of physically forcing his body to curl into itself in an attempt to try and hide.

Those statements, all different echoes of his own voice, screamed at him without mercy.

They pushed the notion of his family members' distancing as being a ruse. Their real end goal? To actually get away from him. To get rid of a certain vampire who really didn't fit into their picture perfect lives. A coven member who, in their eyes, was nothing more than an inconvenience when he wasn't being useful.

While sitting beneath a hot shower with delicate droplets running along his nude form, he silently revealed just how much their lost presence affected him.

With tears streaming down his face, Marshall could admit:

He missed cooking with Esme. He missed reading with Carlisle. He missed watching sports with Emmett. He missed playing alongside Edward on the piano. He missed shopping with Alice. He missed hunting with Jasper.

He just missed Rosalie as a whole.

Feelings of neglect were so strong because Marshall had never been so physically distanced from his family before.

After being turned, he continued to travel with Carlisle's coven until deciding to settle down with Michael Hale again. Once his father was no longer alive, Marshall went right back to his adoptive family. Even when he was going across the world and making amazing strides in his career, the Cullens moved alongside him to keep everyone together.

Now, they were on separate coasts; living thousands of miles away on opposite ends of the country.

Choosing to leave Forks under the guise of keeping Bella safe not only fractured their relationship—it fractured Marshall.

Because he honestly just couldn't comprehend their unanimous decision.

How could they leave him so easily? Why didn't anyone choose to stay with him? Why hadn't anyone attempted to contact him yet to see how things were going?

Did he just mean that little to them?

Did he really not fit into the puzzle depicting a beautiful life where everything fell into place for everyone except him?

Did...no one care about his loneliness?

A train of thought which nearly pushed him off of a cliff into an inky, dark abyss was halted when the shower head stopped. A slightly warmer hand raked through soaked black waves. Soft fingers made random shapes into the vampire's scalp before running down to brace against his arm. He was pulled away from a tiled wall.

An enveloping aroma of apple, musk, and dog filled his nose as he was held, firmly, against his boyfriend's chest.

Marshall was grateful he didn't have to say anything.

Paul already knew what signs to look for when fierce thunderstorms brewed in mind.

He didn't have to ask to know whether or not his lover was in mental and emotional pain.

Because that level of silent turmoil could be seen in a shared gaze.

"...Let's get you dried and into bed, yeah? We can cuddle so you can stay nice and warm."

Not trusting his voice, Marshall gave a light hum coupled with a nod.

A feeling of detachment washed over him. It wasn't the cold but somehow inviting call belonging to his floating space. No, it was more like clumsy feet were perched on top of a flimsy piece of wood which dangled high above a merciless sea. The threat of falling away and drowning was present. It was only a small shred of hope keeping him from plummeting inside.

And Marshall knew, without a doubt, he only remained lucid because of the man helping to dry him off.

"I'm sorry. This doesn't...I don't normally get like this. I didn't mean to ruin our day."

"You didn't ruin anything, Honey Bun." Paul flashed a warm smile while moving to grab a pair of pajama pants. "We can't always control our emotions or how we react to things. It's natural. Nothing wrong with needing a little bit of help from time to time."

If only receiving such aid was that easy.

"With the right people, it is."

Marshall clenched his jaw, not realizing he was beginning to vocalize his thoughts without feeling or hearing himself speak.

It was frustrating as much as it was frightening.

The call to the void was getting louder.

Distant voices beckoned him closer to violent waves.

To take hold of him, head to toe, and trap him by pulling him deeper and deeper and deeper until there was no hope of escaping.

Golden eyes shifted upward when a single finger guided his chin in the same direction. "Hey, you're with me, okay? I know it's difficult to get out of your head. Especially when it gets really bad. But I'm here to hold you down to keep you from drifting away. So if there's anything you need me to do, tell me. I'll do whatever I can to bring some light into the dark."

Marshall's throat tightened.

"I don't know what I ever did to deserve you, Tiger."

"There was nothing to do. You just deserve to have good things in your life, honey."

After pulling on a thin T-shirt with some help, Marshall was guided out of the bathroom. Currents of steam wafting outward were observed until overhead lights were shut off. A more cozy hue of darker orange came from a few candles flickering away on the kitchen counter, coffee table, and up above on the second level. Dancing flames reflected off of surrounding windows. Shadows continued to morph and shift with each random flutter.

A nightstand on the right side of the bed had a single lit candle sitting in front of a lamp. Fluffy pillows, silky sheets, and a velvet blanket had never appeared more comfortable, courtesy of pleasant low lighting.

Carefully, Marshall was picked up and placed upon the bed. As soon as Paul was beside him and the covers were spread out, slender hands made a home against soft, defined abdominal muscles. The vampire shielded his face from view by leaning his head forward. His nose brushed against his lover's chest with each inhale.

The steady cadence of a beating heart was enough to begin silencing some hidden demons.

"I know that it's not now, but it'll be okay soon, Marshmallow."

Having his troubles acknowledged in such a manner worked to give the support he desperately needed.

Because even though things weren't okay in that moment, having Paul around to hunker down with during tornadoes and thunderstorms and blizzards—it was enough.

A feeling of ease only increased when more passes were made against Marshall's scalp.

He closed his eyes.

In no time at all, muffled ballads sung by nature's nocturnal creatures were successful in lulling him to sleep.

*

Laughter followed after Marshall as he ran down the cobblestone pathway.

His clothes were ripped and smudged by dirt. Blood seeping from multiple gashes stained his wrinkled shirt. One of his shoes had been lost in the scuffle, forcing him to travel with a muddy, soaking wet sock.

Nearby establishments were lifeless. Sidewalks and alleyways were abandoned. Cars were parked with rain droplets falling down windows reflecting faint light from tall streetlamps. It was late enough in the night for streets to be deserted.

Meaning no one was around to help.

Rosalie was nowhere to be seen either.

One moment, she was walking down the road with her brother at her side. And the next, she was gone—leaving him alone to deal with a group of drunkards who didn't understand the concept of "no".

Marshall didn't have to look back to know he was being chased. He could hear it via uncoordinated footfalls, heavy breathing, swears, and jingling of keys or some sort of metal accessories.

His throat was on fire. His chest burned. His feet ached. Every single muscle was screaming for him to stop overexerting himself. But his brain told him to run.

So he did.

He ran and ran and ran, ignoring the way his eyes stung with more tears, all the way to the edge of a forest.

As soon as Marshall was inside and completely shielded by darkness, everything stopped. 

Footsteps, shouts, huffs—it all disappeared.

Marshall kept going.

Even though he couldn't see anything, he kept pushing himself forward.

At least, there was an attempt to.

Because, like all things, his journey came to an end when an unseen tree root forced him to the ground. 

Marshall scrambled. Having the wind knocked out of him made it difficult to get back up. He relied on pulling his body across a damp forest floor to get him to safety.

He cried out as disembodied hands grabbed him. The back of his head, behind his neck, along his arms, on his hips, around his legs—Marshall was held down without any chance of escaping.

Ice ran through his veins as warm breath reeking of liquor made contact with his ear.

"Now where do you think you're going, handsome?"

*

Paul awoke to thrashing and yelling.

Out of reflex, he shot out of bed. Trembling hands fumbled around for the lamp's switch. Miscellaneous objects fell to the floor with loud thuds. Sweat ran down his temple, and an already rapid heartbeat increased in speed.

Bloodcurdling screams didn't let up.

Warm, yellow-tinted lighting engulfed the area.

For a moment, the only thing Paul could do, in his fearful and shocked stupor, was stare.

Marshall was flailing violently. His arms repeatedly dragged along sections of his body before darting outward. He kept kicking his legs outward while trying to shift his lower half to the side.

His eyes were open, but his reactions were evident enough to prove that he wasn't actually awake.

For a moment, Paul didn't know what to do.

He was frozen in place because...

Because he'd never heard Marshall scream like that before.

He'd never seen such genuine fear on his face before.

But clear pleading of "no", "stop", "don't touch me", "let go" gave Paul all the information he needed.

Marshall was having a nightmare about his assault. About the night he was murdered.

And with the way he was responding, he was trying—and failing—to fend off his attackers.

Not wanting to frighten the vampire when he finally did wake up, Paul took hold of his boyfriend by cupping his cheeks.

It was difficult to not flinch when eyes wide with fear scrunched up in what could only be pain.

"Marshall- baby- it's me," Paul called out with a wavered, unsteady voice. "C'mon, honey, come back to me- please- I need you to wake up. I promise, you're not back there. They're not here- they can't hurt you again. You're safe. Please, baby, wake up..."

Marshall's screams became more broken. More heart shattering. He started crying as an even greater panic began to set in.

Filled with uncertainty, Paul had an idea.

He didn't want to, but he had no other choice.

His grip tightened by a substantial margin.

"Marshall!"

Just as quickly as golden eyes were filled with fear, they snapped back into focus.

He attempted to scurry away from the hands holding him close.

"No, no- shh, shh, shh- it's okay, baby. It's me. It's just me."

A tear-stained face was slowly guided to look to the left.

"...Paul..?"

His bottom lip trembled in regard to a raspy but still coherent whisper. "Yeah, Marshmallow, it's me."

The reality of the situation dawned on him with brutal clarity.

Paul was practically tackled to the floor.

Marshall climbed into his partner's lap. Arms and legs wrapped snug around him, holding Paul as closely and tightly as possible without hurting him. Tears continued to fall from wide golden eyes.

They became more rapid as the empty feeling he normally had after waking up from a night terror wasn't present.

Instead—while wrapped in a warm, caring embrace—Marshall actually felt...

Safe.

Broken sobbing became more unhinged when a delicate kiss was placed against his head.

"I know, baby," Paul whispered. "It's okay- I've got you. I'll protect you. I swear, I'll protect you."