Trigger Warning: a dissociative episode, themes regarding emotional and mental abuse, mentions of child abuse and neglect, a very serious mental breakdown

*

Note: This chapter was actually supposed to be a series of separate, shorter chapters; but I decided to put them all together for a more meaningful experience—both for you lovely readers and the characters themselves. My notes for the original order were: 1) the first time the pack witnesses Marshall dissociate, 2) the first time Marshall falls asleep around the pack, and 3) Marshall having a bad day emotionally and needing some support. That last one was supposed to be a heartfelt chapter between Marshall and Emily (because I love their dynamic so much), but I changed it to be a heartfelt chapter for the original pack as a whole (meaning Sam, Jared, and Paul will be involved too).

Timeline wise, this would've happened days after the events of "Bad Timing". So at this point, Rosalie would've already known about Marshall being in love and how serious his relationship means to him. Building stress from the Cullens messes things up, however, leading to the overall plot of this chapter. Since things will be a little hectic, POVs will shift from Marshall to Paul and then back to Marshall.

Please keep the trigger warning in mind and view at your own discretion. I know the aforementioned themes are quite heavy, but the premise of this chapter is to show Marshall how a healthy support system is supposed to work. It's also the big kicker for him to realize his family/coven's "support" system isn't anything to be fond of. 

More than anything, I just wanted to give a representation of Marshall having (another) genuine safe space. Because he (and anyone reading this) certainly deserves to have them.❤️

***

"Oh my god- can we just, like, not do this. Unlike you, some of us have to work to make a living. Sometimes, a job can be extremely stressful. And sometimes when I've had a hard day, I just want to relax. But here you are, yet again, to ruin the plans I'm trying to commit to."

"I'm sorry, Marsh, but I can't keep quiet about something so serious. I know you said that you love him, but I don't know if I can honestly accept you being with-"

"And that sounds like a real fucking you-problem, Rosalie! Just because you're too much of a judgmental bigot to see past a prejudiced lens doesn't mean I have to revolve my life around making sure my actions please you! Fucking hell- we're not even on the same side of the damn country, and you're trying to dictate who I choose as a mate. Again." Marshall gripped his phone and steering wheel with enough strength to make his arms shake out of poorly concealed rage. "You know, I thought you would've been delighted to know I was in love. To know someone has finally managed to tie me down. To know I'm being faithful to someone. Because sleeping around was another thing you couldn't stand about me. In light of this conversation, though, I'm starting to think I won't be enough until I meet your, along with the coven's, ridiculously high and downright unachievable expectations. Well, so sorry to burst your bubble, but it's not going to fucking happen!"

The call ended before Rosalie could aim to make a response.

As soon as she tried to resume their conversation, her attempt was rejected and the phone was turned off. It was tossed without care against the padded, leather material of a vacant passenger seat.

Out of frustration, Marshall banged his head against the hand still wrapped around the locked steering wheel.

Even with tinted windows darkening minor traces of light struggling to filter into the car's interior, it was easy to make out how pronounced veins bulged against the hand taking refuge over his right knee.

This was so fucking stupid.

He was so fucking angry. 

Marshall couldn't fathom how his lone existence became something for the Cullens to try and tweak at their convenience. How his method of living was under a constant microscope and probed at until his resolve broke, forcing him to surrender. How a detail as simple as choosing a romantic partner somehow became a group discussion.

He also couldn't comprehend how his anger, an understandable reaction for someone in his predicament, was seen as wild, uncontrollable emotional outbursts aimed at "innocent" people. How being upset at his family for trying to make him live a different life than he wanted was a bad thing.

The Cullens' sense of entitlement was too unhinged to try and pick apart. It also didn't help that they, with their warped views, biased values, and heinous actions, found a way to perceive themselves as good. Kindhearted and nurturing as well.

They were all terrible in their own ways, but Rosalie was really taking the cake right now.

What, was it annoying to not have an easy target, like Bella, to pick on anymore? Was Rosalie attempting to let out her pent up frustrations on Marshall?

It was moments like these where he honestly wondered why he bothered to pick up the phone when she called anymore. He knew she would always talk about herself for the majority of their conversations; and if she ever asked about Marshall, it always went from an amicable chat to an argument within seconds. Even back when she was living in Forks, there was just no way of having a peaceful talk with Rosalie.

Marshall knew that, and yet...

...Out of fear of being tossed away, a desperate need to try and keep their relationship afloat kept pulling him back in.

A familiar haze began to settle in his mind the longer he stared down at his feet. Uncomfortable static ran through his body before fading into an overall numb sensation.

Anger simmered down. Heightening sadness vanished. Tension lingering in his hands released.

Golden eyes shifted upward, unseeing.

Marshall didn't have the mental clarity to try and pull himself away from the detached state he knew was coming. No—he just wanted a break. He wanted to rest. He wanted to feel untethered and unshackled and weightless and...

To float.

He just...wanted to float.

*

"Dude, you can't tell me my frustration isn't warranted when I spent almost two hundred dollars to pull a 5-star character with 3, or maybe even 2-star, abilities. It felt like the hugest slap in the face when I looked back at his character demo and thought about how much I was lied to."

"Well, to be fair, you made the decision to not trial his character before actually pulling for him. So at the end of the day, the only one you can really blame is yourself."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Jared grumbled, reaching for his beer to take a long swig.

Paul did the same while purposely not hiding his amused snickers. The sound was partially overpowered by clanging pots and pans, courtesy of Emily working in the kitchen. Her actions caused a rich, savory smell to fill the room.

But it did little to erase the muted scent of sweet copper coming in from outside.

Brown eyes glanced at the open entryway to the house. Paul couldn't see the front yard because of his chair's positioning, but he'd heard the purr of Marshall's engine when his car pulled up. The vampire hadn't entered the house, however; even though he'd already been parked for a good ten minutes now.

Thanks to his own sensitive hearing, Paul caught wind of a rather tense conversation before deciding to not eavesdrop out of respect for his boyfriend's privacy.

Still, he was a bit worried.

It wasn't like Marshall to sit in his car after arriving at the Uley house. He normally walked inside, said his hellos to the others, gave Paul a kiss, and got settled in. Sometimes he'd put his belongings down to help out Emily with different recipes, or Marshall would plop down at the table and dive right into a heated yet friendly conversation with ease.

He would tell stories and give advice and laugh with genuine, honest happiness.

It's why Paul felt a knot form in his stomach when a car door was heard opening and closing. Slow, light footsteps approached the house without a hint of excitement or delight.

When Marshall walked in, he offered everyone a smile.

One that didn't fully meet his eyes.

He gave Emily a kiss and hug like normal. He gave Sam and Jared their normal high-fives and playful shoves. He slid into Paul's grasp for a quick peck on the lips before moving to embrace him with particularly weak arms.

Paul reciprocated the gesture, of course. The position just so happened to make it easier for him to look over his boyfriend's features as well.

A tall, straight posture was more hunched than usual. Broad shoulders were drooped. Light bags had settled beneath his lower eyelids.

Upon closer inspection, there was a certain detail a little too minute to properly read.

Paul could tell there was something...off.

Something in those stunning golden eyes that didn't feel right.

He just couldn't say for certain what it actually was.

"...You doing okay, sweetheart?"

Marshall nodded once. "Had a long day. Feeling a bit tired."

"Mmm. Well, how about you go sit and get comfy, yeah? There's nothing going on right now, so you should be able to take it easy."

An airy hum was the only acknowledgement given to Paul's troubled words.

Marshall gave a kiss to the forehead before releasing their hug.

He walked over to the fabric bench he routinely preferred to occupy. Instead of actually sitting on the padded surface, he slunk down onto the floor with his back leaning against a center wooden leg.

A quiet sigh escaped him. 

Both hands folded over his abdomen, sitting in his lap. 

Delicate cracks came from his neck when stretching it out and allowing his head to rest against the bench's cushioning.

Throughout the entire ordeal, Paul observed.

He continued to listen to Jared as he rambled about more videogame drama; he taste tested Emily's butter chicken when she asked for it; he gave his two cents to Sam when going over minor hiccups about scheduling conflicts for the newbies in the pack—all gestures used to portray a sense of normalcy in order to mask heightening concern.

Paul continued to watch Marshall in silence and with concrete attention, just in case he could get any answers through the faintest of shifting expressions.

And he did when golden eyes widened before becoming half lidded.

Marshall's face went completely blank, and his head fell forward until his chin made contact with his chest.

That wasn't a good sign.

"Mhmm, keep talking," Paul instructed, getting to his feet and pushing his chair in.

Conversation became background noise, though, as he took quick strides up to Marshall.

Larger, warmer hands grabbed soft cheeks. The vampire's face was cupped and slowly moved in different directions in an attempt to get a reaction out of him. 

But his gaze remained distant.

Unfocused.

He was just...gone.

Paul pursed his lips. He sat down against the fabric bench as well. Without a word, he pulled his boyfriend to lie down with his head in the wolf's lap. One hand made a home over Marshall's silent heart, while the other made gentle passes through his hair.

The room was blanketed in tense silence.

Emily looked between the couple, worried. "Is...something wrong?"

"No. Well, kind of. This...it happens sometimes," Paul explained. "When life gets to be too much or he gets too overwhelmed with his feelings, he...escapes for a little bit. Don't worry, he's okay. Might be a little startled when he comes to, but it's fine. I know how to help with that."

"But- but why did it even happen? Why does Marsh need to cope by...doing this?"

"My guess is he got into an argument with one of the leeches from his coven. As you know, they don't see eye to eye on many things. I heard him yelling in his car before he came in. Chances are one of them said something that pushed him over the edge. He actually does look pretty exhausted, so I'm guessing their fight was just the icing on the cake in terms of having a shitty day."

"Does he...I mean, can we do something?" Jared asked, drawing random shapes against the table with his fingers out of nervous habit.

Paul shrugged. "There isn't really much to do but wait. Marsh will come out of it when he thinks it's safe enough. I don't want to rush him. If he's feeling bad to the point of needing an escape this way, I don't want to force him to come back before he's ready. But really- it's fine. He'll be fine. My biggest thing is just making sure we all act as normal as possible. If Marsh comes to and notices any of us freaking out over this, he might try to 'leave' again to not deal with the extra guilt or stress."

"Are you..." Emily fumbled with her hands. "Are you sure we can't do anything to help?"

Paul wanted to be firm in his decision of keeping the others out of it. At the same time, however, he knew they were only going to continue staying on edge if not given a chance to aid one of their own—which was understandable.

They all cared about Marshall in their own ways, even if the only one who truly knew about his day to day struggles was Paul.

They were family. 

And family always protected family.

"Uh...I...guess if you really want to help, you guys could just make things a little more comfortable for him. I've found that stimulating his senses in small ways helps him make his way back in a less intense manner. Certain things like playing music or turning down the lights have worked well. Anything to remind him he's in a safe space."

That was all the confirmation needed for everyone else to jump into action.

Jared rose to his feet, careful to not let his chair scrape against the floor. Quick steps were taken to the front door to close it. The dining room's light switch was flicked downward, submerging the area in a softer tint coming from the kitchen.

Sam took the liberty of pairing his phone with the Bluetooth speaker sitting on the counter. He turned down the volume and sifted through random playlists of music. Knowing what type of genres Marshall frequented when he wanted to relax, Sam put on an alternative set. 

Upon swapping places at the stove with her husband, Emily exited the room. She came back with a fuzzy blanket in hand alongside a lit orange candle smelling of pumpkin and cinnamon. The candle was placed onto the dining table. The blanket was gently draped over Marshall's unresponsive form. Shaky hands tucked him in with great delicacy.

"Do you mind if I get his shoes off?"

"That's fine, Em."

Combat boots were unzipped, untied, and pulled off. They were hidden beneath the bench for later use.

Paul committed to his own routine of massaging his boyfriend's scalp. Quiet words of affirmation and praise were given every now and again, moving between "I love you", "You're so brave", "It's okay to fall sometimes", and "Come back home, baby, you know I'll keep the bad stuff away". His other hand continued to reside over a silent heart, thumbing small circles against the area to act as a point of guidance.

Something to show Marshall he was in a secure place and in the grasp of someone kind watching over him.

Songs came and went. A setting sun dove below the horizon. Pale rays of moonlight came in through the windows. The smell of prepared food diminished. Dinner was eaten. Plates were washed. Outerwear was swapped for comfier articles of clothing.

Paul was staring up at the ceiling when faint movement could be felt near his leg. 

He looked down, glancing between a pair of wandering, dazed, confused eyes.

They made contact with his own.

"Hey, baby. It's good to have you back. You don't have to speak. Just try and ground yourself first. Okay, darling?"

Marshall didn't respond. He did allow himself to further relax, however, by fully closing his eyes. Deep breathing happened in a set cadence—most likely to quell some lingering anxiety.

Residual tension dissipated when light snores replaced every other inhale.

"Is- is he sleeping?" Jared questioned with raised eyebrows.

Paul nodded. "I'm actually surprised. Marsh isn't one to fall asleep around others often. It took him a little bit to do so around me. It's a...trust thing. He doesn't like being in his most vulnerable state around people who might try to hurt him. You guys should count yourselves lucky. Means he trusts you enough to let his guard down."

Sam leaned against the wall with his weight displaced onto one leg. "It's good to know he feels that way about us. It's just sad that he hasn't always had such a simple luxury. Having someone legitimately care about him shouldn't even be a thing he has to jump through hoops to receive."

"...I know. But sometimes the world can be cruel. Sometimes life just decides to fuck over people who don't deserve it. The best we can do for Marsh is be here. And I'm hoping he understands that we want to be, especially for the hard stuff, once he wakes up."

*

Paul's eyes had the proclivity to dart back and forth when he was in deep sleep. His arms would twitch or shiver. A long inhale sprinkled its way into his breathing pattern every couple of minutes. Tiny groans pushed themselves out of his body if certain dreams were more vivid than others.

Marshall observed a tranquil expression with a frown—because his prior nightmare-induced tossing and turning could've put an end to it.

Paul must've been pretty tuckered out if he hadn't woken up when the body pressed against his began writhing in discomfort.

Wanting to get a breather, Marshall rose to his feet. Footsteps were silent when walking around the bed. A slightly ajar door was pulled open enough for him to leave without the hinges creaking. Sleepy sounds came from another bedroom down the hall, probably Sam and Emily's; as well as from the living room where a dimmed, muted television was about to go into rest mode. 

Golden eyes looked over Jared's half-covered form.

His blanket was guided higher onto his body to keep him warm.

Marshall walked through the rest of the house without making his presence known. He kept the front door cracked when taking residence on the front porch.

Most of the sky was still dark since the sun was still in the process of waking up as well. Constellations were starting to lose their intensity. A crescent shaped moon was fading into darkness. Shadows crept along surrounding forest life, cars, and outdoor furnishing.

Swaying branches and heavy wind were overpowered by crickets chirping.

Marshall tried to focus on that instead of reliving his moments of disturbed sleep.

He dreamt about his mother, Elizabeth Hale. She was thin, had tangled locks of blonde hair, and penetrating, bloodshot green eyes. Her hands were small, yet her fingers held impressive amounts of strength when holding Marshall's face in place. Her voice was steady and silken. She didn't react in any facet when whispering into his ear.

Elizabeth, with her tone continuously changing to mimic the voices of the Cullens as well, told Marshall everything he secretly feared was true.

She told him he wasn't important; he wasn't necessary; and he wasn't special. She told him her greatest regret in life was having him before Rosalie; because had Rosalie been born first, Elizabeth wouldn't have had a need to have more children. She told him he was wrong in everything he did. She told him no one wanted him around because he only ever caused problems.

And then...Elizabeth morphed before his very eyes...

Into Paul.

With his face—with his voice—she said Paul didn't love him either.

Marshall knew his mother's words weren't true. He knew. At the same time, though, it was difficult to not believe her to a certain extent when darkness was still creeping towards him from the edges of his mind.

When it came to the pack especially, Marshall was terrified of being cast aside. He was afraid of being replaceable. He was afraid of being unnecessary and unwanted. He was afraid of being just another obstacle in their way.

They cared way more than the Cullens, so the pack would never think to abandon him like everyone else did, right?

...Right?

"People don't normally wake up this early and stare into space unless something is bothering them."

Marshall peered over his shoulder.

He was surprised to see Sam, Emily, Jared, and Paul waiting in the doorway. They each made their way outside and occupied a space on the floor around Marshall. Not close enough to brush up against him, but close enough to be within arm's reach.

There was a passing thought of putting on a fabricated act to pacify them. It was fleeting because they were already aware of something being amiss.

Crazy how a group who'd known Marshall for a few months were more observant than his coven mates who had been with him for the past couple of decades.

"I've...yesterday was kind of just a bad day for me. I didn't mean to...you know..."

"No one here is going to blame you for needing a way to cope with life," Sam answered with a gruff yet gentle voice. 

"But I didn't even have a good reason to do it. The problem was stupid-"

"It's not stupid if it means something to you."

Marshall's mouth clamped shut.

He expected a heated reaction of some sort. Just...not one like that.

Sam's comment alone helped to silence some of Elizabeth Hale's persistent declarations.

It was enough for Marshall to want to open up. First, though, he had to be sure...

"...How much do you already know? About me?"

Emily scooted closer, taking a moment to put a hand on Marshall's knee. "Enough to know you've been hurt by the people who were supposed to love you. Enough to know you've been betrayed enough times to depend on keeping others at a distance while you stand behind a wall to protect yourself."

"We know you've been through enough bullshit to think no one cares," Jared added. He paused, looking between his friend's eyes before finishing his statement. "But we do."

Paul shifted until the couple were shoulder to shoulder. He offered a small grin. "We all do. Always have, always will. So, if it's okay, we'd like you to be honest about the things that are bothering you so we can help you move past it. There's no need to sit in limbo, waiting for your issues to bury themselves. You're worth more than that, Marshmallow. You're worth way more than that."

Two opposing voices screamed at Marshall in his head.

One of them told him to polish off his extra layer of armor and continue keeping everyone at a distance.

The other voice pleaded for him to finally remove the cork from his bottled up emotions. The voice reminded him there were good people in the world who actually did care for him.

Brad proved it on a regular basis. And, when really considering it, the pack had been doing so since they met Marshall.

Maybe...

No. No 'maybe'.

He knew they were being truthful.

He knew they meant it when they told him they cared.

And Marshall knew, deep down, he needed to reveal his wounds before falling into an abyss again.

Like Paul said: he was worth it.

"...I know that when you guys see me, I'm always cracking jokes, making people laugh, and acting like everything is peachy and perfect. But...I'm...not as bulletproof as you may think. More often than not, I- I'm fractured in some way. Crumbling. I hide more pain than I ever let on. And it fucking terrifies me to admit that because I- I'm supposed to..." Marshall forced back a sob by sniffling. He had to look in a different direction to keep everyone else from seeing his rapidly building tears. "I'm sorry. I- ehem- I tend to...release the waterworks when I get overwhelmed."

Sam shook his head, unfazed. "It's okay. Just take your time."

Marshall didn't want to. He was well aware that if he sat and thought about what he wanted to say for too long, he'd wind up chickening out and closing himself off again.

He didn't want to do that, so he pushed himself to keep going.

"I hide...so much...behind a bright smile. I hide the emotional instability, the mental anguish, the- the psychological trauma. I hide the desire to fall away and disappear because...almost every time I've tried to be open- I've almost always been cast aside. I've never truly felt safe enough to be open with anyone except Brad. To let my wounds air out and bleed like they need to before covering them up again. I've never felt safe enough to let the flawless mask fall away to reveal...me. The struggling, lonely, fucking shattered man who just- just needs somewhere to call home. Somewhere to belong. Somewhere to let me breathe because I've been so fucking close to-" Marshall's hands began to tremble. "I'm constantly feeling like I'm on the verge of suffocating, and no matter what I say or do, no one can save me. I feel like I'm drowning, and there's no one there to pull me out of the water...

"When I was young, my mother made it very clear that she didn't love me. My sister only ever saw me as a commodity for her to fulfill a selfish lifestyle. My coven mates, despite us all being an adoptive family, only kept me around when I was 'useful' and shunned me if I wasn't. Aside from Brad, I've never been anyone's first choice. I've never been someone's true source of happiness. I've just never been enough to matter. To anyone. And- and living like that- it's not a life-"

Marshall was interrupted as multiple arms wrapped around his body, pulling him into a group hug.

He didn't realize he was crying until droplets fell past his chin and seeped into his shirt.

"We love you, honey. No matter what you've been through, are going through, or will go through- we'll love you through it all."

Wait...it was that simple? For people to listen and show he mattered—it was that easy? He didn't have to give too much of himself to receive unconditional love?

The thought made Marshall crumble. 

He wrapped his arms around Emily's waist, since she was hugging him from the front, and he buried his face in her shoulder.

His muffled sobs grew in desperation when warm hands cradled him even tighter.

"We love you so much, Marshall. So much."