In the past few nights, Marshall had been getting nightmares. They typically weren't that bad, since he hid them pretty well from Lawrence, but they were still very vivid in his memory, and he hated them. Sometimes they were related to Lawrence subjecting him to torture, and other times they had nothing to do with Lawrence at all. However, none of them were as terrifying as this one.
"I'm back!" Marshall sobbed, running to hug his parents. His real parents.
Instead of acting with happiness as he expected, his mother pushed him away. "Do you really think we'd want you to leech off of us again? We kicked you out, did you think we'd change our minds because you got yourself kidnapped?"
Scoffing, his father added, "I don't think he even got kidnapped. From the sounds of it, you wanted it. Isn't that right? You wanted someone to coddle you because you refuse to grow up?"
Marshall rapidly shook his head, but he didn't get much of a chance to say anything before he continued.
"It's disgusting how you think we'd want you back. From the sounds of it, you love him more than you love us."
Marshall's mouth hung agape for a moment. "That's not true! You know that's not true!"
"It is," his mother hissed. "Get out before we call the cops."
Next thing Marshall knew, he ran out of his parents' house, slamming the door behind him and running down the street. He eventually stopped to catch his breath, and noticed Lawrence sadly watching him, arms wide open for a hug.
Without thinking twice, Marshall ran into his arms, crying heavily. Lawrence didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around Marshall.
"I told you this would happen," Lawrence chided gently. "Everyone hates you but me, Marshie. Everything I do for you is out of love. Come on." He dragged him away. "When we get home, I think you need a time-out in the basement."
With that, Marshall jolted awake.
He frantically looked around his room in search of any evidence Lawrence was there, but he was nowhere to be seen. Sighing in relief, he wiped away his tears and took a few deep breaths to calm himself. Just when he felt himself beginning to breathe slowly again, he felt the bed was wet. Marshall blinked away tears and threw the blanket off.
Sure enough, he had wet the bed. Marshall began hyperventilating again, trying desperately to remain quiet. What if Lawrence got angry? Realistically, he knew that wouldn't be the case, but it was always in the back of his mind.
Once he could finally calm himself, he carefully crept out of his room. Lawrence must've been asleep, because he didn't see or hear anyone else. After a few seconds of debating, he went to the bathroom and cleaned up, changing into a new pair of pajamas with shaking hands. When he checked the clock, he saw it was 2 AM. Hopefully Lawrence wouldn't hear him...
Marshall tiptoed out of the bathroom and carefully peeled the sheets off of his mattress, balling them up.
He felt so disgusting. His face burned with shame as he carried the dirty sheets and blanket to the laundry room, occasionally looking behind his shoulder just to make sure Lawrence wasn't lurking.
The washing machine made a lot of noise. It seemed deafening in the silence of the night. There was no way Lawrence wouldn't notice it.
Tears ran down Marshall's cheek at the thought of the inevitable punishment. Maybe he'd be left in the basement for two weeks instead of one. That happened last month; Marshall cried for hours until Lawrence let him out early.
"What are you doing up?"
Marshall yelped, whipping around. Lawrence's tone sounded accusatory, and so did his expression until he saw Marshall's tear-streaked cheeks in the dim light.
He didn't get a chance to ask what was wrong, Marshall was already crumpling to the floor and muttering incoherent apologies.
"No, hey," Lawrence hushed, rushing over to cradle him in his arms. "Don't cry. What's wrong?" Marshall opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out were blubbers. "Baby, why're you so sad? Please talk to me, I wanna help." He ran his fingers through Marshall's hair, which didn't seem to soothe him, judging by how loudly he wailed. "Shh..."
It took Marshall several minutes of heavy crying before he calmed down enough to actually speak. He looked up at Lawrence with those beautiful puppy-dog eyes. "I—I had an accident," he whimpered. It was too embarrassing to say he wet the bed.
Lawrence frowned sympathetically. "Oh, Marshie. Why didn't you wake me?" Marshall stayed silent, wiping away the remaining tears. "Did you think I'd be mad?"
Marshall shrugged. In hindsight, it did seem pretty stupid to worry about being judged about this from the man who was treating him like a toddler.
"I'm not mad. You know that, right? You know that nothing you do could make me love you less." He coaxed Marshall to look back up at him. "I love you so, so much. Nothing will ever change that." He brushed away some strands of hair from his forehead and gave him a kiss there. "Let's go get you a bath. Have you taken one yet?"
"No... I freaked out so I just changed my pajamas and put everything wet in the washing machine..." Marshall stared at the ground in embarrassment. "I'm sorry."
Lawrence shook his head and held him closer. "No need to apologize, buddy. You know you can always tell me things like that." Marshall didn't respond to that. "Come on, I'll give you a bubble bath!"
It was sweet he was trying to cheer him up. Marshall attempted a weak smile in return and followed him upstairs.
Once Lawrence prepared him a bath, it smelled like honey and lavender, two of his favorite scents. Marshall eagerly got in, and relaxing became ten times easier just like that. He sunk in the bathtub so it engulfed up to the base of his neck.
"Is it okay if I go check on your sheets? Just wanna make sure you did it right," said Lawrence. "If not, then I can—"
"You can go. I won't drown myself," said Marshall half-jokingly. Lawrence looked slightly worried about that. "Go, I don't mind. You can leave the door open if it makes you feel better."
After hesitating for a few more moments, Lawrence nodded and went downstairs to the laundry room. Meanwhile, Marshall hummed quietly to himself to pass the time. The scent of his bubbles made him more relaxed, and it didn't take long for his eyelids to get heavy.
The only thing keeping him from falling back asleep in the tub was knowing he'd likely make Lawrence have a heart attack.
"Okay, Marshie, I'm back." Lawrence reentered the bathroom and took a seat beside him. "Feelin' any better?"
"A little, yeah." Marshall sank into the water a bit more, making a small wave splash out.
Lawrence smiled lovingly. "Good. And the sheets should be done drying before the morning. Until then, I can make us a cool fort in the living room, or you can sleep in my room tonight? What do you think?"
Marshall thought about it for a moment. "Your bed's huge. I'll take that for tonight."
"That works for me! But first, we gotta wash your hair." Marshall pouted. "Don't pull that face with me, mister."
In all truth, Marshall didn't really care that much. He let Lawrence wash his hair and dry him off with a towel.
After drying his hair, he dressed him back in his fresh pair of pajamas and lead him to the bedroom, where he had already set up a makeshift nest of pillows and blankets on the left side of the bed. Marshall almost cried again. Lawrence was the only person who paid attention to little things like how Marshall preferred tons of pillows.
Lawrence tucked him in. "Comfy?"
Marshall nodded. A light smile formed on his face, which turned into a frown once he noticed Lawrence leaving. "Where are you going?" He realized too late how pathetic he sounded.
For a moment, he saw surprise flash across Lawrence's features. "You want me to stay?"
The brunet wasn't used to Lawrence giving him a choice in things like this. Normally, he'd demand it. Marshall hesitated and averted eye contact.
"Only if you want to... it just feels weird sleeping in here without you." He had only slept in Lawrence's room a few times before, and it was when he was usually injured or sick.
"Aw, Marshie... of course I want to be with you!" Lawrence kicked off his slippers and climbed into his side of the bed, turning off the lamp as he did so. "C'mere. I love cuddling with you." Marshall found himself listening, against his better judgment. He buried his face in Lawrence's broad chest, feeling the strong arms wrap around his back. "Still comfy?"
Marshall exhaled through his nose. "Yeah. I'm sorry for waking you."
"Stop apologizing, bud. I want you to rely on me. I'm your dad." He felt a kiss pressed onto his head.
His dad. Marshall thought back to his dream. It was definitely an exaggeration, but the emotions were real. His parents couldn't even compare to how Lawrence treated him.
He hated comparing them, but it was hard not to think of it, especially now that his parents were fresh in his mind from that nightmare.
He broke down in tears again, despite his attempts to hold them back. It felt like a dam broke.
"Oh, honey." Lawrence held him even closer. "Hey, don't cry, kiddo. Are you thinking about something? Can you talk to me?" Marshall shook his head, hoping that Lawrence would just drop it. "Can you look at me? Look at Dad." It was easier to ignore the shame in the dark. Marshall tilted his head up and saw Lawrence's azure blue eyes. "There we go. There's my boy." Lawrence kissed his forehead. "If something is bothering you, especially to this degree, I want to know."
Marshall sniffled, and for a couple of minutes, neither of them said anything. Lawrence rubbed soothing circles on Marshall's back, and Marshall hid his face in Lawrence's shoulder, trying to forget the pain.
"You'll get mad."
"Try me," Lawrence challenged.
Marshall swallowed his pride, closed his eyes, and exhaled. "I was dreaming of my parents." Lawrence's hand paused. "My biological parents," he corrected, in hopes of not making him angry. "I was returning to them... and they didn't want me. And then you were there and I ran to you, and you hugged me. You took me home. But for some reason it really shook me up. Apparently enough for me to... yeah."
He felt Lawrence sigh. He wondered if he made him angry.
"Marshall..." Lawrence was so soft with him. Gentle. It made his skin crawl. "I think sometimes dreams mean something. And I think you know, deep down inside, that if you were to return to them, that's exactly what would happen."
He hated the thought of that. That he would go back to his parents, and they wouldn't want him. Yet he believed Lawrence.
"I know you love them. And I know you miss them. And it's normal to want to see them again. But if you return to them, they'll throw you away just like they did when they kicked you out." His tone was cold, harsh, but he held Marshall with so much affection it didn't feel right. "And I'm sorry about that. It's so awful that they don't want you."
Marshall never heard Lawrence become sympathetic, but a part of him knew why. Lawrence knew damn well that he was finally starting to make sense to him. He felt Lawrence squeeze him tighter, as if he'd float away if he wasn't grounded.
"But you have me." His voice was firm. Marshall didn't dare speak. "And I love you so, so much. More than they ever will."
These emotions were overwhelming. Marshall didn't know what to do, so he settled for staying clung onto Lawrence like a koala.
Lawrence rested his chin atop Marshall's head. "It's gonna be okay, kiddo. Just fall asleep, and we'll talk in the morning, if you still want to."
Drabble written for this prompt. I actually kind of like this one, so I hope you enjoy it!
Pairing: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid
Tags: Nightmares, bedwetting, implied/referenced child abuse and csa, angst
Word count: 1354
Summary: Spencer was quirky in his own way. He was perfect, in Derek’s opinion, with his hand flapping and wide brown eyes, wise beyond his years, and never before had Derek felt so... complete with another human being. As different as they were, Spencer understood him and took the time to peel back every single layer of Derek Morgan. Derek had tried to do the same to Spencer, but... Spencer had a lot of dark baggage, surprisingly, and very quickly Derek began to understand that Spencer’s childhood was not a good one.
Read on AO3 here
The last time Morgan had ever wet the bed was when he was twelve years old. He could remember it so vividly, waking up to the wet sensation of soggy sheets sticking to his bare legs, the brief cloud of confusion that was quickly overtaken by shame as his consciousness returned fully. He had met Buford when he was only ten, just months after his father had died, and shortly after meeting Buford, the bedwetting had started. It was sporadic at best, and each time he was left feeling embarrassed and disgusting. Not even in his dreams was he safe from Carl Buford.
It had been over two decades since the last time. He still had the dreams, but with age, the bedwetting stopped. Buford would forever be an ugly stain in the quilt of his life, but to overcome the lingering shame he felt he helped people, and saved them from all of the horrors that humanity had to offer. It was when he couldn’t save people that he was reminded of his past though, and how he had failed to save himself from the hands of Carl Buford.
But even so, that feeling of wet sheets clinging to his skin was not a feeling that he would forget. He pushed himself up in the bed almost immediately, only to realize soon enough that it wasn’t his own incontinence, but instead, his partner’s.
He and Spencer Reid had met nearly four years ago. From the start, their differences were quite clear, and they were both okay with that. They were aware of each other’s limitations and strengths, and they depended on one another as coworkers - in and out of the field. Only after Derek’s past was disclosed did the relationship between them begin to shift from friends to lovers, and in that brief period, Derek was reminded how amazing love could really be. He had given up on ever finding a true partner, believing himself to be ruined after Buford, deserving of nobody. He didn’t think he would ever be able to find a partner that would love him despite his issues, and one that he would wholeheartedly love in return, but Spencer shuffled out of the elevator on his first day in his scuffed up Converse and an ugly brown sweater, and Morgan was enamored.
Spencer was quirky in his own way. He was perfect, in Derek’s opinion, with his hand flapping and wide brown eyes, wise beyond his years, and never before had Derek felt so... complete with another human being. As different as they were, Spencer understood him and took the time to peel back every single layer of Derek Morgan. Derek had tried to do the same to Spencer, but... Spencer had a lot of dark baggage, surprisingly, and very quickly Derek began to understand that Spencer’s childhood was not a good one.
Spencer had once told him that he could remember walking into a casino one age at the ripe age of fifteen with a fake ID and ten dollars, and leaving with close to two grand which he used on bills, food, and medication for his mother. Reid had talked about it like it was a good, happy memory, and Derek couldn't help the pang of pity that ached in his chest for his lover. Neither of them came from good beginnings, but they began to build a happy future together on top of their past ruins.
It had only been a week ago though, when Spencer had confronted his dad for the first time in nearly twenty years, and in all of the years that Derek had known his lover, he had never seen him so distraught; so physically uncomfortable to be in the presence of someone that he should have felt safe around. Spencer had accused his own father of being a pedophile and murdering the young Riley Jenkins. That turned out to be false, but even still, Derek saw a bit of a change in Spencer. It wasn’t something he could necessarily describe in words, but Spencer just... changed ever so subtly. Derek couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
But those sheets. Wet, clingy, warm. Derek felt a shiver of horror run up his spine as he watched Spencer whimper in his sleep before gradually waking up, sitting up slowly and looking down at himself before pushing the blankets away to confirm his suspicions. The expression on his face was at first blank, but the way it quickly twisted into one of disgust, horror, and shame broke Derek’s heart. Spencer glanced over to him, his eyes widening even further as he realized Derek was awake too, and without wasting another second, he got up and bolted to the bathroom.
“Spencer, wait...!” Derek calls after him, quickly following after him without a care in the world of his nudity, a remnant of their lovemaking the night before. Spencer was too embarrassed to even worry about closing the door, so Derek followed him inside, albeit hesitantly. Spencer was white-knuckling the sink countertop, doubled over and breathing heavily, but the shake of his shoulders was evidence enough of his misery.
“I’m sorry... I’m sorry...” Spencer repeated over and over again through the sobs, shaking his head raising a hand up to drag his messy hair away from his face. Derek felt helpless, standing in the doorway and watching his lover fall apart.
“Baby... It’s alright, you don’t have to apologize. Let’s get you into the bathtub, okay?” Derek suggested warmly, and soon, Spencer was nodding his head and standing up a bit taller, stumbling towards Derek who sat him down on the toilet. Derek let the water run and when he deemed it warm enough, he helped Spencer in, holding one of his hands and pressing his lips over his bony knuckles.
Spencer didn’t say anything through the duration of his bath, but about halfway through, his sobs had tapered off and he had transitioned to an eerie calm. Derek practically carried him to the guest room wrapped in a towel, sitting him on the edge of the bed and promising to be right back. After washing himself off and stripping the sheets off of their bed to wash, he returned to Spencer and frowned at the sight of him in exactly the same position he had left him in, those dark eyes staring down at his toes which flexed occasionally in the carpet.
“Spencer?” Derek hummed softly, sitting down beside him and gingerly placing a hand on his knee, squeezing slightly and rubbing his pale skin. “How are you feeling?”
Spencer sighed and shrugged, not even bothering to brush his hair out of his face. “I don’t know.”
“Do you... want to talk about it?” Derek asked softly, “You know it won’t help to keep it all bottled up inside. You close yourself off from me sometimes and you can’t do that right now.”
“Derek, please, I just...” Spencer sighed again, this time in frustration, bringing both hands up to drag down his face. “I didn’t want to believe it at first.”
“Believe what, pretty boy?” Derek murmured, squeezing his leg again as encouragement, scanning his lover’s face carefully.
“That he... William, he...” His lips began to tremble again, and Derek didn’t need to hear anymore to know what was going on. He wrapped an arm around Spencer’s shaking shoulders, pulling him close with gentle hands and encasing him in the protection his embrace. Spencer was a sobbing mess all over again, his tears tracking down Derek’s bare skin like dew dripping down a blade of grass.
“I’ve got you,” Derek whispered, cradling his lover’s petite form against his chest and squeezing him, tears burning in his own eyes. “I've got you, baby... I’m here.”
“He... He...” Spencer could never actually say it as his sobs shook his entire body, and as he wailed, Derek felt his heart ache a little more, Spencer’s childhood now tainted with an irreversible truth.
And as Spencer cried himself to sleep in his arms, Derek only hoped he could offer him a moment’s rest from those wretched childhood memories.
