Trigger Warning: attempted sexual assault, implied dissociation, vomiting, intrusive thoughts brought on by a PTSD attack

*

Note: You know, the more I write these chapters and look back at old notes, the more I realize how much angst Marshall was supposed to go through in the original drafts 😭.

I had considered keeping this chapter in the final draft because it was supposed to act as a major event to impact Marshall's overall character development. It was supposed to be a lesson on how, while traumatic events really can change a person's life for a long, long time, it's important to realize that they're more than the pain they've been through. This would've been a chapter that taught Marshall how, even though he had demons to face, it was okay to reach out for help and to be reminded to not let setbacks erase all of the progress he was able to make in terms of trying to move on.

You guys know by now that I don't like being graphic about scenes concerning S.A. for the sake of not triggering people. Still, even though there won't be anything super explicit, viewer discretion is advised.

***

Marshall and Paul didn't get into serious arguments often.

But when they did, they were brutal.

One moment, the couple were sitting down together on the couch, the television alternating between food reality shows. Then, in the middle of trading opinions on a certain dish, Marshall received a text from Rosalie asking about how life was going. Although the older vampire was still keeping himself at a reasonable distance for the sake of having boundaries, he was tempted to text back out of preconditioned habit. Paul openly disagreed with the sentiment, stating how the Cullens, Rose especially, were only capable of causing problems.

And...things just blew up from there.

Marshall couldn't remember too much of what happened since his mind blanked as soon as intense anger took over. He was only aware that, while he agreed with Paul, the older sibling in Marshall physically wouldn't stop trying to protect his younger sister. The act of shielding the Cullens, no matter how much they really didn't deserve it, was ingrained in him.

Their sharp hooks were stuck, snagged deep within his flesh—controlling his movements and thoughts without warning.

There was a memory of Paul yelling in anger about how Marshall was worth more than a shitty family who didn't truly love or support him.

And it was that factoid being thrown in his face which led Marshall to begin screaming at his mate.

He hadn't meant to.

All of his rage and hostility...it was unwarranted. It was unnecessary and ill placed. Because, thinking back on everything, it was the hurtful realization of Paul's bluntness being completely truthful which made Marshall explode.

He knew his anger was really toward the Cullens, but it didn't come out that way.

Now, with tears in his eyes and a fierce aching in his heart, Marshall was sitting at Bobby's bar.

Alone.

His hand was wrapped around the dripping base of a half-consumed beer. Slender fingers were trembling from a rather harsh grip. Only the desire to not cause a scene kept Marshall from squeezing until his beverage's container shattered.

God, he felt like such a fucking idiot.

The Cullens were only good for causing problems for everyone else.

Paul hadn't deserved to be on the receiving end of so much: an abrupt end to a peaceful night in, a heated argument, insults being thrown at him for the sake of protecting people who never did more than ruin their coven mate's life.

Right now, Marshall wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear.

He wanted to drive back to La Push, walk into the sea, and sit, in the darkness and silence, at the bottom of the ocean.

He was tempted to call Brad to ask for permission to stay over for a few days. 

But the thought of seeing anyone familiar was just...too much.

Marshall just needed some space to clear his head.

"Hey, cutie. Mind if I take a seat?"

Golden eyes gave a subtle roll before moving toward the left.

A young man, most likely in his thirties, was standing to the side with a drink in hand. Brown hair fell above his ears. Side swept bangs framed his face. Faint birthmarks were speckled in the sclera surrounding bright green irises. His pale complexion was livened by sporadic freckles on his cheeks. A single dimple was shown off alongside a clearly interested, and unwanted, smirk.

Strangely, the man looked...quite familiar.

Curiosity aside, however, Marshall didn't have the patience to deal with childish backlash tonight.

Refusing an interested party from the get-go was usually met with shouting, crying, and a whole bunch of other annoying gestures he didn't feel like witnessing at the moment. It'd be easier if they chatted for a bit, had a drink or two, and went their separate ways under the guise of having to work tomorrow.

Playing the part of friendly-joe would still be tiresome, but it was better than dealing with an angry, drunk asshole who wanted to score.

Reluctantly, swallowing his disgust, Marshall answered with a flat, "If you'd like."

"Thanks." The man, clearly not reading the room, occupied a nearby chair. A glass of whiskey was set down onto the bar top. "You come here by yourself?"

"Yeah. Bit of a rough day. Kinda just wanted to get away from it all, y'know?"

"Yeah, yeah." An unattractive smirk grew as he leaned back in his seat. "Well, I'm not normally one to waste time, so I'll cut right to the chase. I think you're hot as fuck, and you seem like someone who knows how to have a good time. Want to get out of here with me?"

Well, there went the plan of easing into a rejection.

The expected request was met with a bemused laugh. "Had it been the old days when I was single, maybe I would've said yes. But I have a boyfriend. And I'm not interested in messing things up with him."

Further, anyway.

"Aww, come on- he's not even here. He wouldn't even know."

"He would, because if something like that ever happened- not that it would- I would be honest and tell him. Besides, regardless of whether he's here or not, I know that he'd be hurt. And I don't want that." Trying to keep himself calm, Marshall schooled his expression to seem apologetic. "Besides, it's a bit strange. You want to hook up without even knowing a single thing about me? Not even my name?"

The stranger laughed, unfazed. "You got me there, handsome. Guess my excitement got the better of me. So tell me, you got a beautiful name the way you got a beautiful face?"

An annoyed twitching of the eye was barely stifled.

Don't punch him, don't punch him, don't punch him, don't punch him...

"...My name's Marshall. Yourself?"

"Name's been passed down from my great-grandfather. I'm Royce King IV."

Marshall's expression morphed into shock.

Royce had fucking children? With who? And when? How was it such a complete oversight for the Hale siblings to have missed a crucial piece of information like that while they were tracking him down? Not that they would've harmed an innocent child or pregnant woman, but—really, what in the actual fuck?

Royce probably knocked someone up before he got with Rose, or he did so while they were together. Either way, there was no doubt that his lineage, the familiar face of a sadistic murderer, was transferred from generation to generation without fail.

Even though many of his features were different, Marshall could see the visage of the person who killed him in the man currently occupying a wooden stool to his left.

"R-Royce King, huh? Nice, nice." Marshall reached into his wallet, placed a few bills onto the bar top, and rose from his seat. "Right, well, I think I'm going to go and head home now."

"What? Don't be like that, sweetheart, I think we could have a really nice night together-"

"I said no."

Giving his money to an employee to cover the bill, Marshall walked away with fast, rushed steps. A hand swept through his hair, taking hold of multiple strands in an attempt to keep himself grounded. He pushed open the establishment's glass door with his shoulder, not bothering to offer any form of goodbye.

His boots made contact with small puddles as soon as he got outside.

Parking away from the bar's lot for the sake of getting fresh air seemed like a stupid idea in hindsight. Because now, with his head reeling, Marshall had to trek across several more blocks to get to his car.

Maybe that was for the best, though.

Giving himself time to simmer down was necessary to keep him from doing something reckless.

Like turning around and killing Royce—the man whose moral values were clearly just as depraved as his great-grandfather's.

Seriously, though, what were the odds? The one night Marshall went to the bar alone, and he ran into a face from his past.

He nearly reached into his pocket to grab his phone before remembering his situation.

Would it be appropriate to tell Paul? Would it be necessary? Nothing truly happened, so there wasn't a need for anyone else to get involved...right?

Besides, Paul looked pretty heated when being left at home. Chances of him replying to any text messages at the moment were close to zero.

Marshall only had a small window of opportunity to make a decision during the drive back to La Push.

He found himself overwhelmed by a wave of exhaustion.

"Fucking hell- I need to get out of here..."

He reached down toward the metal ring clasped onto one of his belt loops. His car key was grabbed, a large button pressed to unlock the vehicle. Rear lights came to life in a quick flash of red.

A hand taking a rough grasp of his backside made him turn around, alarmed. "Hey-"

Royce's cocky expression was menacing beneath orange streetlights.

What the hell? Had Marshall been so trapped in his own head, he hadn't realized he was being followed?

This wasn't good. He needed to leave-

"You're not going to get away that easily, pumpkin. I said we were going to have a good time. I initially asked to be polite, but you were so rude. You're gonna have to reimburse me for all the trouble you've caused."

Marshall gulped, a static-like cloudiness beginning to manifest within him.

"Fuck you. I don't owe you shit, and you don't just get to decide what to do with my body."

"Oh yeah? And how is a little thing like you going to stop me while we're all alone out here?" Royce took another step forward. "Really, though, I don't like the way you're mouthing off to me. Maybe I need to...restrain you so you'll know your place.

*

"Maybe we should restrain you to keep our sweet little toy close and compliant."

*

Marshall froze. Crippling fear robbed him of a chance to escape when being pushed against the trunk of his car. A grimy hand wove into his hair before pulling it. His head was yanked to the side, and his cheek was pressed against wet metal. Another hand began trailing down the length of his torso at a purposely sluggish pace.

He began hyperventilating.

Attempting to keep himself out of his floating space sapped away all of Marshall's strength, causing his frightened thrashing and shoving to be weakened.

His voice got caught in his throat, leaving him unable to cry out for help on the deserted street.

No.

No-

This wasn't-

This couldn't be happening again.

Never again.

Somebody-

Anybody-

PLEASE-

A series of familiar scents brought Marshall out of his head. He gasped as Royce was brutally tackled to the ground.

The man fell to the floor with a pained yelp. He was grabbed by the collar of his shirt to force him into an upright position. A sickening crack resonated outward in concurrence with a hard, unforgiving fist to the face by...

By Paul?

Realizing he'd been saved, Marshall still couldn't help but whimper when being gathered into someone else's arms.

He squirmed in panic.

"Hey, no- no, relax. You're fine," Jared stated with a gentle voice. "It's just me."

Golden eyes filled up with tears, vision blurry. "What- how..."

"Paul came to Emily's all upset. Said he wanted to go somewhere to eat with us to relax before heading back home. We just turned onto the street and...we saw what was happening. He didn't think twice before getting out of the car."

As if on cue, multiple other doors were pushed open. Sam, Jake, and Embry, all adorning their own expressions of worry, shifted their attention toward Royce with threatening snarls.

"Hey- fucking- chill the hell out, man!" He pleaded with a bruised eye, bloody nose, and busted lip. "L-Look, he was fair game! We were- we were going to have a good time, right, Marsh-"

"Don't say another fucking word." Paul stood up with hands clenched into tight fists. He didn't hold back when giving a strong kick to Royce's abdomen. "We could all tell he wasn't into your little game. I'm sure he said no to your advancements while you guys were at the bar too. And yet you still tried to take advantage of him? You must have a colossal Deathwish."

"What, are you some prick looking for a quick fuck too? He- he said he had a boyfriend-"

"And you're fucking looking at him."

Green eyes formed into saucers. "Oh shit-"

"Yeah, shit."

Royce shook in unconcealed fear. "What- what're you going to do to me?"

"Me? I've done what I needed to do. I'll let my buddies decide what happens to you now."

Marshall caught a glimpse of his mate before he was manually turned away. Still in Jared's hold, the vampire was carefully brought over to Paul's truck. An already open passenger door made it easy for him to be placed atop cozy, padded seating.

The pungent aroma of dog made tears spill.

He tried to hide it by looking down at his lap, bangs hanging over his face.

There was no reaction when keys were unclasped from his pants.

"I've got him from here, Jare. Make sure to rough up that bastard for me."

"With pleasure."

Footsteps coming and going alluded to Paul's arrival and Jared's departure.

Marshall didn't dare to look up. He wouldn't be able to handle looking at beautiful brown eyes full of rage and hurt and betrayal. He wouldn't be able to handle being yelled at right now. He just wanted-

Suffocating thoughts were slain by the presence of a warm, desperate hug.

"It's okay, baby. Everything's going to be fine." Paul pressed a kiss to his boyfriend's temple. "Let's get you out of here, yeah? We'll go somewhere safe and get you cleaned up."

Without saying a word, Marshall was guided to sit back. The seatbelt was fastened over his body, and the door was closed as softly as possible to not disturb him.

He was floating by the time Paul got into the car.

*

"Don't hold it back, my love. It's okay. Let it out."

Marshall's sniffling sounded amplified with his face perched above the toilet seat. His entire body was shaking. Fingers clenched against strands of hair still wet from his previous shower. The taste of alcohol on his tongue was further sullied with each violent heave he couldn't control.

Gentle rakes along his back were supportive.

They also made him cry harder.

Paul was too kind.

"Don't be nice to me," Marshall pleaded, his voice unsteady. "Don't be nice to me when I fucked everything up."

Paul stopped. "What? Honey- what do you mean?"

"I- I picked a fight with you that shouldn't've happened in the first place. I took out all my anger on you when it was really pointed at my family. I hurt your feelings and- and made you upset. And instead of trying to fix things, I just left. And then all this happened. God, honey, I'm so sorry-"

"No, baby, none of that. Look at me, sweetheart." Paul leaned over his imprint's shoulder so they could make eye contact. "I don't give a shit about our argument. It didn't mean anything. And while I appreciate your apology for it, that's not what I'm concerned about here. I'm more worried about how you're holding up after...everything that happened."

Marshall was conflicted in sharing his true emotions. He still felt like he didn't deserve any form of care after causing so much trouble. At the same time, however, he knew reaching out was something legitimately necessary for him to calm down. Getting reassurance from the person he loved was vital to keep him from spiraling.

The ordeal with Royce wasn't Marshall's fault.

So why did it feel like it was?

He closed the lid of the toilet and sat back to brace his head on his knees. "It shouldn't have happened. He shouldn't have been able to touch me. I'm a damn vampire for fuck's sake. It should've been easy for me to overpower him. But it wasn't. I got so scared, I- I couldn't move. I couldn't think. I just froze up and couldn't do anything to protect myself. It's just like fucking last time. Nothing has changed since I died. I'm still the same fucking weakling who can't do anything for himself."

"That's not true, Marsh. Really, it's not." Paul resumed his comforting back rubs. "Anyone in your position would be scared- especially considering your history with dickheads like that guy. The way you reacted wasn't your fault. That's just what fear and trauma can do to people.

"I know you have deep regrets when it comes to not being able to protect yourself in the past. But you've grown. You're learning to stand up for yourself and the people you love. You're learning to fight back against people who've wronged you. You're learning to take things unapologetically to make yourself as happy as you can. You're making strides when it comes to living a life human-you would've been so proud of. You're amazing, and you're so strong for being able to get past the things you've been through.

"Really, my love, even if things haven't been as perfect as you'd want them to be, you're still climbing upward each day. Even if just by a little bit. I know setbacks like this can make it seem like you're trapped at a standstill, but that's just what setbacks do. They make you second guess yourself. Believe me, honey, when it comes to your self growth, you're doing so well. Don't let a bad experience with a drunk asshole be the reason you start to lose yourself again. Something bad might've happened, but don't give it the power to make you think you're weak. You're not. And you have a better support system now than you did back then. If nothing else, it's a place to start."

Droplets falling from the showerhead broke the momentary silence lingering between them.

It was a sound that reminded Marshall he was home, safe, in the arms of someone who cared for him.

Someone who wouldn't judge him.

Someone who...understood.

"...He was his great-grandson."

Paul moved back by a small margin. "What?"

"The asshole. His name was Royce. And he's related to the guy who played a part in my death. After finding out about his lineage, even before he tried to get handsy, I considered killing him."

"...Guess it's fortunate that you won't have to worry about him anymore."

Marshall's eyes widened. He sat up straight, his hands settling on the white tiles beneath him. 

Paul shrugged in a nonchalant manner.

"What do you mean?"

"The guys knew good and well that if they didn't get the job done, I would've found him later on and done it myself. And believe me, I was close. Only reason I didn't was because getting you out of there was more important to me. That Royce guy tried to hurt you in an unspeakable way, and none of us were going to let that slide. He just got what was coming to him."

"So..." Marshall swallowed. "He's..?"

Paul aimed to reply, but his phone began vibrating on the bathroom counter. He reached up to grab it while keeping his other hand on Marshall's back. A text message was skimmed over with a light hum.

"Just got confirmation from Sam that Fuckface has been taken care of. Permanently. Spewed a bunch of bullshit about you being his first victim to escape. About how he'd never been caught before."

Marshall's heart sank. "I wasn't the only one to..?"

"Apparently not. But you don't have to worry anymore. The situation's been...dealt with."

He sighed, shoulders dropping in relief.

It was unfortunate that Royce wouldn't be able to pay for his crimes long-term by rotting in a prison cell somewhere. But chances were, if he really never had been caught before, he'd either evaded the police like an expert or paid off enough people to make him untouchable by the law. Or, worse, seeing as no one else had escaped previous encounters, it was possible they were...silenced at the hands of a crazed maniac.

It was really heartbreaking to consider.

With Royce out of the way now, however, a huge danger to society was no longer present to harm another person.

No one else would have to suffer the same fate Marshall was forced to go through by the hands of a member of the King family.

"...So what now?" he asked, turning to face his mate.

Paul did the same, observing his boyfriend's weary features. "Now? You take whatever time you need to feel okay again. Talk, cry, scream- you can do what you think is necessary to get your emotions out. And I'll make sure to be here through all of it so you know you're not alone."

They pulled each other in for another snug, tender embrace.

Marshall really wasn't the same person he thought he was after being abandoned the night of his death.

He had Paul to hunker down with to get through the aftermath of a terrifying storm.

And while the ordeal would be difficult to leave behind, Marshall knew he would have a support pillar to lean on.

He wasn't alone.

Not anymore.