Edited 6/25/22.

A/N: WARNING: This chapter contains mild swearing, vomiting, blood, two detailed panic attacks, mentioned dissociation, and a depressive episode. Viewer discretion is advised.

***

Marshall's favorite song is playing on a speaker beside him. It's a bit muffled as a running faucet is louder than the actual music. His hands are slippery. One is holding onto a soapy sponge, while the other is swirling a glass filled with hot water. Steam rises into the air. It makes his face feel warm.

Marshall's attention is kept on his task as he does his best to keep his mind from wandering.

Everyone else is lazing around the room. Sam left earlier to go check on Emily, and Seth went home to grab some more supplies for the group not-sleepover. Leah's playing a game on her phone. Jared is sitting on the floor with his back against a wall. Paul is lying down with a cooling gel patch on his forehead.

His temperature's gone down some, so he doesn't need as many methods of keeping him cool. Still, he's out of it. He keeps staring off into space. He isn't eating much either. With how much he's been vomiting though, perhaps that's for the best.

Fortunately, Paul's lucidity is returning to normal-albeit a slow endeavor. He blanks out every now and again, yes, but he's more aware of his surroundings than he was last night. Although he isn't eating substantial amounts of food, he's holding down water and broth a little better as well.

It's baby steps but still counts as proof that Paul's healing.

Marshall places the sponge down in its holder. He turns off the faucet. Light shakes clear the glass in his hand of water. He aims to put it on the dish rack. Unfortunately, he misses his mark by not lifting his hand enough. Glass meets the edge of the sink, and the cup cracks. A long gash runs up its side near Marshall's palm.

He freezes.

He stops breathing. He stops blinking. He stops moving altogether.

A pronounced crevice against his skin makes unfocused eyes widen.

Over and over again, the sound of cracking flesh runs through his head. He can smell leaking venom. He can feel phantom arms going completely limp around his body.

Marshall stiffens so violently, he squeezes the glass in his hand with enough ferocity to shatter it. Pointy shards fall toward the bottom of the sink. And it brings him back to the present.

He sucks in a breath. He realizes that his eyes are watering.

Trying to get a grip, the vampire takes hold of a drying rag. He cleans his hands before burying his face in them. An attempt is made to take slow, even breaths.

"Marsh, honey," Paul's voice is quiet, "you're shaking."

Blackened eyes come out of hiding. A single hand lets go of a damp rag. It's observed how the appendage in question is, in fact, trembling. The spastic movements travel all the way up Marshall's arm. It's only then that he notices it's not just his hand that's shaking, but his entire body.

Somehow, that makes everything worse.

"Oh God..."

His breath gets caught in his throat. A deep ache in his chest is exacerbated so heavily, he feels like he's broken all of his ribs. He falls to his knees, leaning his head against a cupboard. Quaking hands partially hide his face while also pulling his hair. He sniffles.

And everything just breaks.

Harsh sobs wrack his body. Tears stream down his face. Marshall's frenzied emotions force him to feel an excruciating stinging in his throat. The hands in his hair tighten by a substantial margin. He ends up covering his ears in an attempt to stop the phantom cracking noises resonating throughout his skull.

Someone grabs him by the shoulders. He's gently pulled into a more comfortable seated position on the floor. He leans against a hard chest. Two other pairs of hands settle on his arms. Soothing shapes are traced against his skin. From the position, Marshall realizes that everyone, even Paul, has come to aid him in his sudden panic spell.

"I'm sorry- I don't- I don't know what- what happened..!"

"It's okay," Jared says with a patient voice, "you don't need to apologize. You're hurting, and we understand that. We just need to get you to calm down. We'll try and deal with this after that happens. But don't force yourself. You come back down at your own pace."

Marshall rests his head against his knees. Both of his free hands are grabbed by other people. He realizes who is sitting behind him, and he leans back a little more. Heated arms snake around his waist. He's held by Paul in a loose hug from behind. Pacifying musk secretes from the vampire's husband and his bonding mark. It helps ease violent shakes.

Marshall doesn't know how long they're just sitting there. He doesn't know how long he keeps himself hidden. At some point though, his eyelids start feeling too heavy. He loses consciousness before he realizes what's happening.

*

It's snowing. The surrounding area is an endless stretch of fog and cold air. There's no sun. There are no clouds. There's not even really a sky. But it's snowing. Or is it ash? Both are too similar to really tell any difference.

Marshall is alone. He's clad in a black suit. His formal wear is marred by specks of dust from who knows where. His footsteps echo as he walks. He can't smell or hear anything else. He can barely see.

Still, he decides to press on in the same direction.

The vampire is unsure of how much time passes, but he walks far enough for his feet to start hurting-which is odd since it isn't something he experiences in his daily life. His attention is pulled to the floor for a moment. When it's brought back up, he freezes. And the aching sensation in his feet is forgotten. It's replaced by a stabbing pain straight in his chest.

A short distance away, on the ground, is Brad. His body is full of cracks and deep crevices. His arms and legs appear to be broken. His fingers are stuck in a clawing gesture, as if rigor mortis has set in. The male is lying on his back. His neck is bent, and his head is facing directly toward Marshall.

The corpse is still. Its eyes are a milky white instead of hazel or red. Its mouth has fallen open as if it were previously screaming.

Marshall can't move.

He's only able to stare for a fraction of a second before Brad's corpse jolts to life. Limbs individually snap and elongate to make the body move. It drags itself across the foggy plain.

Golden eyes close to try and hide. Everything is still silent.

Marshall is suddenly grabbed by either side of his face. His eyes snap open. Brad screams. No sound comes out.

Marshall tries to reach for his friend. As soon as pale hands make contact, the body crumbles into ash. Fog and snow shift into bright fire. The vampire can't even yell as he's engulfed whole.

*

Marshall sits up with a sharp gasp. Heavy breaths are ripped from his body. He's crying. Although his natural temperature is freezing, that burning sensation from his dream can be felt all over. His insides are screaming for reprieve. His frantic gaze moves around the bedroom.

He's alone.

Paul's side of the bed is empty.

Horrible burning increases.

Marshall finds himself hyperventilating. His limbs are shaking; he's not even sure he can actually walk. When he tries to get off the bed, he's sent sprawling onto the floor. The minor pain is barely registered.

His body burns, and he needs to get it out.

The frightened male drags himself over to the bathroom. He doesn't bother switching on the overhead bulb, as bright sunlight is peeking through multiple open windows. Warmth against his skin makes everything worse.

Shaking hands smack against the tiled floor. It's too loud. But he can't stop. The heat needs to get out-it needs to go away.

Marshall has the fleeting thought of trying to float. It's immediately shot down as his floating space seems a lot like the endless terrain from his dream.

Groaning, he stops in front of the toilet. He dry-heaves into it for a few minutes.

It burns-everything still burns.

The sound of his gagging is too loud. Everything is too much.

After some necessary prodding, he finally vomits. With Paul's blood being his last meal, that's what expels from Marshall's body. It gets into the toilet but also stains the hand near his mouth. A trembling appendage is pulled away.

The sight of blood makes the vampire panic even more.

He tries to wipe it off, but the fluid just spreads and stains more areas of his skin.

He's still burning. It's too hot.

Bloodied, quaking hands reach into matted dark waves. He pulls harshly to try and get a grip. The pain is too much. His breathing and crying is too loud. It's still too hot.

Marshall feels a scorching hand grab him. He scurries away from it, backing up until his spine meets the wall. He pulls his knees to his chest and hides his face. He takes a firm grip against his shirt as a means to not accidentally hurt himself.

The vampire continues to cry and shake and screech until a thin blanket is placed over him. Blinding sunlight is immediately dulled. The blanket feels cold. Wet. It helps stop the burning. Careful hands on his shoulders are grounding. He takes in the sudden silence with a gasp.

Next thing he knows, he's passing out on the bathroom floor.

*

Marshall awakens back in his room.

His... everything... feels tired. There's still a faint burning sensation, but he's come to realize it's his body's reaction to foreign venom which hasn't stopped coursing through his veins just yet.

When looking down, he notices that his clothes are different; a warm shirt and shorts not belonging to him. And his body has been cleaned.

A single hand is draped over the vampire's stomach. The other is lying against the surface of the mattress. He notices the sun is much lower than it was earlier.

Distant sounds of birds chirping outside can be made out. As can the sound of people talking. He doesn't have it in himself to really care about figuring out who it is.

The house smells like food-either cooked steak or brisket. It also smells like potatoes and sour cream. He can hear the sounds of the television downstairs, along with scraping of silverware against plates.

Good-he's not alone.

Marshall hears a movie get interrupted by commercials twice before footsteps can be heard coming up the stairs. He looks toward the door without moving his head. He blinks when Paul peeks in.

The shifter looks much better. He's not sweating or teary eyed. He's not half lucid. He looks okay.

Well, aside from clear worry marring his handsome features.

"Hey, honey. How are you feeling?"

Marshall simply looks toward the ceiling before looking back.

Paul walks further into the room. He settles on the edge of the bed with a hand braced against the mattress. "Can you speak?"

There's no verbal or physical answer.

"We'll do one blink for no, two blinks for yes."

One blink.

"Okay, that's fine. Can you move?"

Another longer blink. He really doesn't have the energy for it.

"Do you remember what happened earlier?"

No response.

Marshall can remember bits and pieces, but most of it is a big blur to him. Paul seems to understand and continues to talk with a soft voice.

"You had a panic attack in the bathroom. I ran upstairs when I heard you throwing up. By the time I got there, you were covered in blood all over your arms and hands. You were freaking out, and you couldn't hear me no matter how much I tried to call out to you. When I tried to grab you, you just got so scared. I don't think you knew it was me. I ended up having to grab my blanket from downstairs. I threw it in the sink before putting it over you because you kept saying that you were hot. You calmed down afterwards and passed out.

"While you were sleeping, I bathed you. Changed your clothes too. I brought you to bed. You clung to me for a few hours, so I couldn't leave. Nothing wrong with that though. You kept whimpering in your sleep. I held you to make sure you knew you were safe. I didn't move until you let go. I only left to get dinner done. Some more company came over to check-in. They're downstairs eating. They won't come up unless you want them to."

Marshall blinks in understanding. His gaze is pulled up to the white ceiling.

He wants to scream. He wants a hug. He wants to cry.

He wants to do something. Anything.

Somehow, he's able to muster up enough energy to cause his pointer finger to twitch. It's small, but the gesture immediately catches Paul's attention.

He comes closer, settling beside his husband with his head propped up on one arm. "Your hair's all messy. I don't really mind- I just don't want it to get uncomfortable for you. Want me to brush it out?"

Two blinks.

Paul reaches over to the closest night stand. He takes hold of a wooden bristle brush. It's set down atop the mattress for a moment.

Large, careful hands take hold of Marshall. He's slowly pulled up into a sitting position. A pillow is placed in his lap in case he needs something to hold at any point. He slumps forward. Luckily, the pillow keeps him propped up.

"Do you want me to talk to fill the silence?"

A breath is taken. "... Mhmm."

"I'm doing better." Paul begins brushing through knotted hair. "Still a bit of residual pain, but it's very manageable. A few painkillers is enough to make it stop. As you can feel, my temperature's back to normal. I haven't thrown up since this morning. And my appetite is back. So, overall, I think I'm good.

"I have some papers downstairs on the dining table. One's a self solemnizing marriage document. Means we don't need a signature from the person who did our commitment ceremony. It's legally binding and counts as an official document. Once we send that in, along with any other necessary documents like IDs and stuff, our marriage certificate will be sent out.

"I also have the papers for either of us to change our last names. I wasn't sure if you wanted to change yours, or have me change mine, or have us both hyphenate; so I got sets of documents for both of us. We're going to need to get new licenses, passports- and all that other boring stuff. But... later.

"What else... oh! I found this new recipe for something called Puerto Rican Sancocho. It's like a stew type of thing with meat and veggies and all that good stuff. It looked really tasty- I think it'd be something cool to make. It's really up your alley. If you want at some point we could-"

"Tiger."

"I- yes, Marshmallow?"

"...I miss him."

"...I know, honey."

"I'm sorry I'm like this."

"Hey now, none of that."

Paul sets the brush down again. He leans forward, settling his head in the crook of his husband's neck. The shifter wraps his arms around a slender waist. He snuggles against slightly damp hair, and a cold ear and cheek. His chin rests against a pronounced collarbone. He takes in the familiar scent of sweet copper. He also revels in the strong smell of musk coming from the imprint bonding mark. Soft lips kiss the skin around it.

"You're grieving. And that's okay. You have to deal with this, yes, but you deal with it in the way you need to. Now I'm not trying to say I want you to shut down, or shut the world out. I want you to be open. But if you can't be- that's okay too. I don't want you to be forced into anything. Like you said, it's going to get bad. And I'm ready for that. I know I'm not the greatest when it comes to comforting people, and sometimes I may say stupid stuff- but I'll do my best to do whatever you ask of me. I can't promise that it'll be perfect, but I'll do my best to be here for you."

The two are quiet for a moment.

Marshall has a bit more energy than before. He's able to pull his hands into a clasped position above the pillow in his lap. He sits up a little straighter and leans into his husband. Blackened eyes look over a dual colored wedding band.

Despite festering emotions and lingering depression, the vampire actually feels a bit of warmth in his chest.

It makes him want to cry.

"... Lahote."

"Huh?"

"It- it has a nice ring to it. Marshall Alexander Lahote."

"Yes, it does." Paul chuckles. "So, Mr. Lahote, is there anything I can get for you? Is there anything that you need right now?"

"...Just be here for me."

"Always, Honey Bun."