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the-trickster-exe · 7 months

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I’ll Call Out Your Name, But You Won’t Call Back. || Whumptober: Day 2

Fandom/Characters: Moon Knight. Marc Spector, Wendy Spector, Elias Spector.

Summary: Young Marc struggles with washing due to his trauma with water. He has to look clean and presentable since his parents are taking him out to eat for lunch the next day. One thing leads to another and he ends up severely overheating in the bath.

Warnings: Descriptions about overheating, as well as very hot water (not damagingly so but still), so it might trigger readers with heat-related trauma/anxiety. Mentions of vomiting as well.

Word Count: 3490

A/N: I’m British so writing mom was weird, but it’s from Marc’s perspective so- Anyway, hope you enjoy :)

AO3:

Washing was something that everyone had to do. Whether you liked it or not, you could only put off your personal hygiene for so long without it becoming distinctly noticeable to other people. And being noticeable to other people was the absolute last thing Marc wanted to be. He’d gotten pretty good at hiding his issues. Barely shy of entering his teenage years and he was already having to struggle with his own trauma fuelled depressive episodes that left him neglecting his own hygiene from a lack of energy and a minefield of triggers that came with washing. If he could have it his way, he’d never have to wash again. No showers, no baths, no nothing. He was doing this so people didn’t start to question his parents, because even though he was old enough to be in charge of washing himself, society dictated that they still had to make sure that he was actually washing. He couldn’t even think about stepping inside the shower without having a panic attack so bad he nearly threw up. The idea of being trapped in such a confined space and constantly pelted with streams of water propelled his mind back to that day in the cave, a constant reminder to the biggest fuck up of his life. The day he’d killed his brother. The day he should’ve been the one to die. The day that he’d ruined everything for his entire family.

But he needed to wash. And if he couldn’t even stand to stomach looking at the shower half of the time, it meant the next best thing would be the bath. It wasn’t the most ideal thing, being sat almost completely submerged in a body of water, but as long as the lights were on and he didn’t move fast enough to cause the surface to ripple and the temperature wasn’t cold enough to remind him of the rain, he could grit his teeth and push through it with minimal pain.

They were going out somewhere tomorrow. His mother, father, and him. It was supposed to be something nice, a lunch at some fancy place. He couldn’t remember where they were going, or why they were actually going there, but he just knew that it meant he had to be completely clean for it. And so if he had to work himself up hours prior to turning the cool metallic taps that flooded the tub with steaming water, then so be it. Because he had to grow up eventually and get over this. He couldn’t spend this rest of his life having a breakdown before washing just because of something he did to himself. It was his fault he was even having to deal with this in the first place, so it was a fitting punishment that he shouldn’t be able to do normal things like everyone else. He was a disgusting person, so it was fitting that his hygiene lacked so much that he could let everyone know to see him as a disgusting person.

Opening the cupboard to look at the boiler, he shakily reached out a hand to wrap around the copper pipe connected to it to check that the water was going to be hot enough. It was barely a second before he jerked his hand back from the piece, a beating warmth briefly radiating at his fingertips before fading away. He had no more excuses to delay this, so he might as well get it over with. The bath would take about ten minutes to fill up, give or take, and the longer he left it the worse it was going to get because his mom would be furious if he was doing this late into the night, it would just be more ammunition to use against him and he refused to fuck things up right before something important to her.

He walked into the bathroom, bare feet meeting the cool tiles of the floor before moving to rest on the fuzzy, old bath mat they’d had for years. Rain pelted against the closed window, a heavy rainstorm pushing its way across the area. Just what he needed to worsen this experience, but it was fitting that he should be suffering like this. His brother went through so much worse. Reluctantly he leaned over the tub, pressing his weight onto one of his hands as he grabbed the reflective silver taps and turned with the other. The pipes gargled and rumbled with no movement, and for a split second he felt hope that the would have a valid excuse as to why he couldn’t wash. Until the first few globules of water were spat out through the mouth of it, and began to cascade heavily into the now filling tub.

Panic immediately rose in his chest, his breaths heaving as he watched the waterfall fill the container. A feeling of disconnect suddenly phased into his mind as he could have sworn he heard his brother calling out for a split second. His lungs felt heavy with invisible water as he subconsciously swallowed, his throat constricting as though trying to block anything from getting in. His limbs were tense as his muscles readied themself, automatically preparing themselves in case something were to happen. As if something else took over, he jerked his hand backwards away from the taps to avoid getting splashed by the boiling water and all but launched himself out of the room, dashing down the hall to calm down in his room and wait for the bath to fill.

He crashed into the space between his bed and wall, nails digging into his legs as he huddled into himself to escape but also forcing him to stay completely present in the moment. It wouldn’t do him well to forget to turn the taps off and have the bath overfill, flooding onto the bathroom floor. His mom would do nothing short of kill him if he were to fuck up that badly. He remembers the screaming from the day she’d caught it just in time before it were to spill over, and he’d never make the mistake again. His eyes fixated on the small plastic clock hanging on one of the walls opposite him, counting the minutes before he had to get up and check on the water.

After the seven minute mark, he stood and clenched his jaw before making his way back down the hall towards the growing crash of rushing water filling up the tub. Wrapping his hand around the handle, he fought against the screaming in his mind to not go in there and pushed the door open. The cloud of steam rushed out of the room almost immediately, and in a panic so as to not alert either of his parents to it, he squeezed through the opening into the bathroom and slammed the door shut with his back firmly plastered against it. A hand reached for the lock and turned it as he processed his surroundings. The light illuminated a room in the way that made things visible through the steam, but distorted enough that he couldn’t fully see the walls opposite him. Despite the almost claustrophobic feeling in his chest as a result of the humidity, he actually found himself slightly more at ease as it felt like the room could be much bigger now that he couldn’t see it all.

‘Almost like in Tomb Buster when Rosser and Grant are walking through the jungle, with all the fog hiding the surroundings.’

Nervously, but with a new sliver of calmness wrapping over him to help him cope, he moved forward to reach over and turn off the taps. He gingerly dipped the tips of his fingers into the water to check the temperature and pulled them back with a wince. He didn’t want to have to be stuck in here while running more water to cool it down a bit, and he didn’t want to accidentally cool it down too much otherwise he wouldn’t be able to sit in it without having a panic attack. So with a resigned nod, he dipped his fingers back in and held them there to test how bearable of a heat it was. After a few moments of grimacing, he pulled his hand back out and looked at it. It was red, obviously, but it didn’t hurt as much after adjusting to it. Grabbing a towel from the rack, he folded it and placed it on the lid of the toilet, within grabbing distance from the bath for when he decided to get out. Because even if he didn’t want to, he had to. And with that thought in mind, he started to peel of the clothes that he was wearing and step into the bath.

The buzzing pain in his feet was instant. A slight burning akin to heavy pins and needles danced up to reach about just up to his mid-shin. His hands gripped the sides of the bath and he scrunched his eyes shut and waited for the feeling to become more bearable. After a minute of standing, he decided that moving into a kneel would give his body more time to adjust and be a better next step than trying to lay down submerged straight away. His eyes stung slightly as his knees moved to rest on the bottom of the tub, thin lines of tears gathering in them as he lowered himself further into the steaming water. He knew it wasn’t hot enough to cause actual damage, which was just about the only thing keeping him from jumping out of it.

He’d done this before, or things similar to it. Usually his baths were on the hotter side when he had them just because he was never the best judge of how to get the ratio into a genuinely comfortable temperature, but he would also usually add more cold water if it were this temperature because it wasn’t as late at it currently was in the evening when having them. After a few more minutes of very slow progression, he found himself lying propped up in the water and trying to not move in an attempt at keeping the stillness of the surface tension. A fuzzy wave of tiredness moved over him as the mugginess of the room beaded sweat across his brow.

His chest rose and fell with slow deep breaths as drew in more oxygen, the air heavy with heat and humidity as the steam smothered the closed off room. Briefly, he thought that he should’ve probably opened the window to let some of it out, but it was too late now because any movement caused his skin to erupt in a tingling pain due to the water. There was a noticeable absence of his usual panic, but Marc didn’t acknowledge it, he actually relished in being able to do something normal without spiralling. He missed being able to bathe without the constant terror that would make him relive his trauma.

Vaguely, he was aware of his eyes fluttering shut as an unknown amount of time passed, his head feeling more foggy and weighted with warmth. His chest felt heavy in a way that reminded him of being buried under one too many blankets when trying to sleep as his head nodded forward slightly with a tired feeling. More sweat dripped down into his eyes as the salt in it made them start to sting almost painfully. It was that pain that acted as a reminder to keep him tethered in reality when the heat started to make him feel as if he was floating away. Uncontrollably, he started to blink with an almost dizzying force to stop the burning sensation in his eyes. He gasped in pain as his skin stung, sitting up in the bath with a wave of dizziness to rub the sweat out of his eyes.

Suddenly, the pleasant blanketed feeling of warmth morphed into something borderline suffocating as he heaved in a sharp breath realising that the heat of the room and the water felt as though it was smothering him. The panic was back, but this time for a very different reason. This was a concept that never even crossed his mind, that he’d unknowingly started to boil himself, creating a makeshift steam bath that had made him feel so overheated he’d nearly passed out in the bath. He’d always try to be dismissive of the thoughts that screamed at him that the bath was dangerous, the thoughts that made sure that he was always on guard when having one so as to not risk it. The thoughts that he’d been so adamant to rationalise and chalk up to the trauma or the fear of water in order to actually be able to wash. Marc had been so glad that he could just wash like a normal person, so content with just soaking in the familiar feeling of an existence without constant distress for even just a moment, that he’d been so close to accidentally doing exactly what he was so scared would happen.

His hand shook with an unreliable lack of strength as they wrapped around the sides of the bath, his trembling arms willing himself to be pulled to his feet and remove himself from the water. Marc all but rolled over the side, his water covered legs removing any friction and allowing him to spin himself out of the container and onto the floor. Delirium began to kick in as he pressed himself against the floor, drinking in the cool relief it gave against the nauseating heat emanating from his head, stomach, and red raw skin. Blearily, he was vaguely aware of the bulging veins on his trembling limbs, his body trying to get rid of as much heat as possible by letting the vessels dilate.

He lay still, shuddering, gulping down as much air into his lungs as he could as he fought to keep conscious. The nausea in his stomach began to rise and spread upwards as his mouth started to fill with saliva, a very familiar process signalling the impending urge to vomit. Moving on pure instinct, he forces his body up and just barely manages to prop himself up and lean over the side of the tub before retching. Immediately, bile as well as the food he’d eaten no less than a few hours ago forced its way up his throat, landing straight in the lowly cooling bath water. He tried to be as quiet as possible, his remaining awareness reminding him that the last thing he needed was for his mom to hear him or try to demand he open the door to see what was going on.

The pressure in his head came and went in waves, the dizziness and heat becoming more tolerable now that he had the chilled floor beneath him to draw the temperatures away. Marc didn’t know how long he stayed sat with his face leaning against the acrylic side of the bath, trying to regain an ounce of strength to pull himself up to open the window and get the air circulating. He nudge the towel that sat to the side of him folded up on the lid of the toilet and sluggishly made a move to grab it and wrap it around himself, growing more aware of the puddle of water he was sitting in as his body couldn’t even air dry in the humidity of the room. Rain continued to steadily pelt against the window, a presence grounding him to the reality of his surroundings and he tried to recover. Shakily, he managed to move to his feet, sitting down on the lid of the toilet lethargically and moving to turn the cold water tap of the sink. The cool water slowly trickled out, running over his hands in a refreshingly welcomed change of temperature. He cupped his hands and brought the water to his lips to swish it around his mouth before spitting out the acrid taste left by the stomach acid. His eyes drooped as he leaned into the cooling feeling, a complete lack of energy leaving him unable to do much else.

In the distance, he heard footsteps outside the room, walking down the hall and towards the bathroom. A jolt of fear sparked and he sprung into motion, all but launching himself towards the handle on the window and shoving it open to let the steam out. The bite of cold air made him take an instinctual deep breath in of shock before he started to shiver at the sudden change in temperature, his skin only covered by the worn towel wrapped around him. He turned around to turn the handles of the tap back off, the noise of water against the sink ringing out louder than he’d like when his main goal was to go as unnoticed in the home as possible, not wanting to draw the attention to himself. Marc froze where he sat with baited breath as he watched the door and waited to see what would happen next as the footsteps drew closer. A shadow of two feet stopped outside the door and the faint knock on the door signalled that the person standing outside was his dad.

“Son? Are you alright in there?”

A tired whimper involuntarily worked its way up his throat and escaped from his lips as the events of the night caught up to him, he just wanted to get some comfort. And so without much thought, he pulled the towel more securely over his shoulders and around him, and shakily walked over to unlock the door to see his dad. His dad stood there with a semi-concerned look as Marc peeled the door open, the boy’s face pale and coated in sweat. With a wobbly voice, tears of exhaustion and feeling overwhelmed, he trembled out a response looking up at the man trying to seek out comfort.

“I threw up.”

Immediately, the man’s expression melted sympathetically as he waited for Marc to step back so he could also enter the bathroom. He let out a sigh of annoyance as he saw that Marc had thrown up in the bathtub but didn’t say anything other than a murmured reassurance. He looked at Marc with an awkward smile and moved to grab a hand towel, gently wiping the boy’s face before moving to dry his hair softly. The boy closed his eyes and soaked up the simple act, leaning into the affection and committing it to memory. After making sure it was no longer dripping, he picked up Marc’s pyjamas and handed them to him. A subtle sadness settled in his chest as he remembered this most likely wouldn’t be happening again. He was too old to need help drying his hair, old enough to get ready for bed on his own. He wasn’t a little kid, he had to do things for himself.

“Go to bed, son. We’ve got to be up early tomorrow.”

Wordlessly, he accepted the clothes and nodded his head, shuffling past his dad and down the hallway towards his room. His bottom lip wobbled slightly as he pushed back tears, already feeling the touches on his scalp from the affectionate actions fading, a cold emptiness replacing it as he dried off the rest of himself and changed into his pyjamas. Numbly, he stumbled to his bed all but collapsing as the last of his limited energy left him. His head steadily pounded in growing pain from dehydration as he swallowed, trying to soothe his sandpaper throat. With heavy limbs, he managed to hug a teddy bear close to his chest before starting to succumb to the uncomfortable pull of sleep.

In the distance, he faintly heard his parents talking. His father’s steady and explaining tone being cut off by a frustrated mother, just barely caring enough to keep her tone below a shout. Her words laced with disgust as she responded to his father presumably explaining that Marc had thrown up, her accusatory words muttering about how the boy must’ve done it deliberately in an attempt to get out of the lunch and ruin the next day for all of them. He registered her footsteps moving towards his door, a strike of panic nestling in his chest but he was too exhausted to react to it. She was muttering about how he would still be going and that it was no excuse to disrupt the next day for everyone. For a moment, he thought she’d open the door and come into the room, to do who knows what but make sure that he understood they would still be going out tomorrow. But instead she simply walked down the stairs adjacent to his door, her footsteps fading into the distance with her voice as Marc’s body decided he was finally allowed to fall asleep for the night.

#moon knight #moon knight system #whumptober #whumptober 2023 #fic #writing #marc spector #wendy spector #elias spector #aquaphobia #tw vomit #tw overheating

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