#Wendy Spector

[traveller-of-the-knight]

[guruan]

The Mind Electric - Moon Knight Animatic

Read the card at the start for warnings!

I don't know why but I suddenly had the urge to draw something for this...

I wanted to grab even more verses, but it was too much for now 😂

If I ever go back to this, I'd like to reduce some loops and add some more things...

I had some ideas for some verses that I had to ignore because it didn't follow the flow of the previous scene. Like the Dr. Harrow scene, funnily enough haha Know that's the fav one of some friends

Brief creative process note, I really wanted to show a parallel between Wendy's pose and Marc's (as Moon Knight) pose.

Either way, he ends up falling down to his knees cos he can't bear it anymore.

At the end, it's Steven who wakes up, and finds comfort on thinking it's all a dream. And Marc's brief comfort, its not to be there to be thinking about it.

There's a little mess of timeline, but... you know... hahaha

You can also find this in my Youtube channel ❤

This was shared 1 week earlier for patrons, consider joining for early access to future stuff ❤ and other exclusive posts 😊

[moonknightblog]

Steven only knew Wendy as loving

Jake only knew Wendy as abusive

Marc only knew Wendy as both

[wortsandall]

not going to my dads birthday dinner means i can focus on writing but also me skipping on my dads birthday dinner means i can think about moon knights relationship with their dad instead of my own.

because to be honest, i dont think moon knights relationship with elias is all bad. definitely complicated and stressful. i think from an outside perspective its easy to see that he was neglectful but it doesnt mean that he doesnt care.

i think ultimately, thats part of the problem. elias spector does care but not enough to solve the problem at the root. while his last living son is getting abused and hurt, he keeps thinking the same solution will fix marc-when an obvious one was right there.

sending marc to various wards and therapists but never getting rid of the abuser living in the home.

elias was trying to cure symptoms without actually curing the disease. getting rid of wendy wouldn't fix marc's DID but it could help him actually start to heal. what good is the therapy if he's still getting actively harmed?

and that harms the relationship overall anyway because marc sees where elias' loyalties lie. and its not with marc, and its never been with marc. and he gets that confirmed over and over when elias chooses to look away instead of helping his kid.

it makes me think what about wendy had elias hooked. was it just a sense of loyalty? latching on to what was left of their family-despite that doing so guaranteed that it would fall apart forever? was he just a coward who couldn't practice what he preached? its interesting.

[o-kaythislooksbad]

ailesswhumptober day 5: overstimulation / migraines / "i can't take this anymore"

chapter 5 / 7 of the memory of you marks everything i do | not rated, chose not to warn

marc stares at the bathtub, making no move towards it. downstairs, people are yelling, arguing about anything and everything related to roro's burial and shiva. his body didn't even go to the hospital; marc had pulled him out of the cave and screamed his little lungs out until their dad came running. by the time an ambulance was called, there was nothing the medics could to do help. they zipped roro up into a large plastic sleeping bag in the backyard and put a thick blanket around marc's shoulders, and that was it. 

someone from the shul showed up to sit with roro's body, saying something about it being her job to stay until the rabbi could arrive. she offered marc a hug and a lollipop, like she's done this a bunch of times before, and marc nodded and said 'yes, please,' because imma pushed him away and abba was too busy trying to calm her down and everybody forgot about marc.

the nice lady didn't mind that marc's clothes were still wet. she didn't mind that he was crying, even though he's a big kid and he's not the one who got hurt and it's his fault roro's gone. she excused herself to wait somewhere else, in her car, probably, when the rabbi arrived to sort out the details of where roro's gonna go to get cleaned up before they can bury him.

and now marc's still wet and crying, sat on the muddy lawn and the sun's shining like the sky never rained. imma and abba are fighting in front of the neighbors and the new rabbi; marc doesn't remember his name or what the older rabbi's name was, but that doesn't matter. his voice pipes up whenever abba or imma stop to take a breath, reminding them that randall led a great life and wouldn't want his parents to fight over him. for once, abba agrees with imma in saying 'no,' but imma's on her own when she says it wasn't an accident. 

"he did this on purpose and you know it!"

"darling, please. we're all hurting, but let's not say things we'll regret."

imma laughs, but it's not her regular laugh, light and bubbly and comforting. "seriously, elias? you think i'll regret being honest with you?"

the rabbi clears his throat awkwardly, tilting his head towards marc. abba starts to walk towards him, but then imma pulls his arm back because "don't you dare walk away from me" and "we've got actual problems to focus on" and marc wishes the nice lady would come back to give him another hug.

they're fighting about who should be allowed in the shiva house, wherever that is - marc's still not sure what shiva is, exactly - and abba says he would welcome roro's friends from the neighborhood and hebrew school.

imma doesn't want any kids in the house or around her.

including marc.

and now they've sent him inside to bathe - "it doesn't matter if you shower or take a bath, you need to clean up! make yourself presentable!" - but he hasn't been able to do anything other than close the door behind him. he's still dressed in his clothes from earlier, still clutching a torn piece of roro's t-shirt in his right hand, still replaying the scene over and over again. it's been only an hour, maybe two, since the medic shook her head and put her equipment away. marc is still shivering in his rain-soaked shirt and flooded socks, still shaking from the cold and the shock. 

"i want to die i want to die i want to die," marc chants through chattering teeth, believing every single syllable. he looks up from his legs, across the room to his mirror, but he's not there. no one is there. or maybe someone is, but there's no way to know.

a dark cloth covers the mirror in marc's room. similar cloths cover mirrors throughout the house, along with picture frames; there's nowhere to see any of roro's features anymore. 

the thought draws something dark and angry out of marc, pulling him to his feet to tear the cloth away from the mirror. his reflection stares back, a blank face resting on hunched shoulders. no smile, no dimples; the only thing it shares with randall is the boy's flannel pajamas. 

the person in the mirror scares him. he readjusts the cloth, walks in circles for a moment, and then steven is sat at his desk with some colored pencils, driving the sharp points deep into his paper.

and now someone nudges marc's shoulder, holding out an open siddur to him, and marc's starchy white shirt itches his arms. he does his best to stay still as the man explains that "even though you're too young to count as part of the minyan, you should say this for your brother," and marc wishes that abba and uncle yitz never taught him how to read hebrew. 

"okay," marc whispers, taking the siddur. "thank you." 

he stares at the page, at the words he can sound out but not define, but those aren't the words he hears in his head when he tries to read.

"you know," uncle yitz would casually say as he circled around marc, "the only good jew is a dead jew. however," he would add, raising a fist closed around a knife, "jews like you are a close second."

with the blade pointing at the ceiling, displaying the chain that once held a chandelier but marc knows is used for other games, uncle yitz would talk about marc being up there, one day, "if you and your kind can survive the next few years." 

"what d'you mean?" marc had asked one time, and his uncle must've been in a good mood 'cause he didn't even slap marc for talking back. 

uncle yitz explained, with the practiced patience befitting a shul rabbi, that the cabal has big plans in motion. he'd said things about realism and money and marc had no idea what it meant or who 'his kind' were or why these plans would make it hard for them to live. his uncle must've seen the confusion on his face, 'cause he got frustrated and started yelling about breaking minds and genes, about creating slaves and hurting them 'til their blood tasted like defeat.

everyone says 'amen' after the chazzan, the sound of their united voice startling marc away from his memories. at least ten voices overlap in a familiar rhythm, echoing around marc, and he doesn't mean to but he drops the siddur so he can cover his ears.

wrong move, marc. 

it hits the ground and mostly everyone turns at the sound. multiple sets of eyes land on marc and he knows at least two are friendly, 'cause one is his abba's and one is the chazzan's, and chazzan gavriel isn't like uncle yitz, but marc has no idea about the other men in his house. some are yitz's friends, they have to be, 'cause even chazzan gavriel and his abba were friends with yitz, and a coldness runs down marc's spine. he shivers as the thought pops into his head: what if abba was one of those friends? what if he was there, in the basement, when marc begged to be saved by him?

easy, marc. i need you to take a deep breath for me.

he doesn't know if it's his own voice or an imaginary friend talking to him. he can't make himself care about what the answer is, 'cause he hasn't talked to an imaginary friend since the games with uncle yitz. he hasn't even thought about them or him since forever, doesn't even know if what he's hearing and seeing is from his memory or a terrible imagination, but the voice is right.

marc needs to breathe, so he does. he doesn't dare close his eyes or lower his hands, in case something bad happens. he just takes a deep breath in, lets it out, and repeats until his heart no longer feels like a rabbit trying to jump out of his chest.

and now marc is at the cave, alone. except he's not alone, 'cause there's another set of footprints on the dusty path beside him, and soon he sees abba walking out of the cave.

"there's nothing there, marc," he says a bit sadly. 

marc's brow furrows as he tries to figure out what abba is talking about. what would be in the cave, anyway?

abba sighs. "i see him sometimes, too. out here and around the house."

"who?"

"your brother."

marc must've seen something like a ghost of randall, and abba went to check, like he used to do for monsters under the bed before marc learned that monsters don't bother with beds.

"sorry," marc apologizes, 'cause this is all his fault. 

abba sighs again, and in the fading sunlight, he looks much older than he did only two years ago. "no, son. you have nothing to be sorry for."

"but -"

"you're only a child, marc. i've told you before, and i'll keep telling you, no matter what your mother says - you're a child, and it was an accident. you didn't do anything wrong, and i'm so sorry if i've made you feel that you have."

he spaces out for a bit, lost in thought. imma doesn't always agree with abba, doesn't always treat marc the way he does, but that doesn't mean abba has said this before. marc doesn't remember hearing this at all. 

"can i ask you something, son?"

"just did," he grumbles, but there's no malice behind it. 

"you're right. you don't need to answer me, or even have an answer, but…" abba trails off. he clears his throat, then tries again. "right now, are you marc?"

who else would i be? dies in his throat. sometimes, he has conversations in his head with imaginary friends, but sometimes it's like he's the imaginary friend. 

"no matter what, you are still my son. i need you to know that, okay?"

"but not hers," leaves the boy's lips before he even knows what he's saying. "she never wanted me, anyway, and you know it. she proves it at least once a week and you just let it happen," he says, gaining confidence with each word. he raises his chin and stares up into the man's eyes. "it happens to marc's body, yes, but he doesn't need to know how he got his scars. you, however," he takes a step closer to the man, "you've been there when it's happened, and done nothing to stop it. so, please, look me in the eyes and tell me that i'm your son. tell me that you care for me as much as you care for marc." he sets his jaw, and through gritted teeth, begs for the first time in his life.

"tell me i'm real."

his teeth hurt from clenching his jaw so tightly, and his eyes begin to fill with warm tears, but he doesn't look away. he's already let down too much of his guard for someone who will only use the words against him. 

and now marc is somewhere in a desert, the heat and humidity unbearable. images of the ten plagues pops into his head, along with a sneering old man brandishing a razor. someone shouts for him to get down, and his body slams into the sand before something explodes a few meters away.

[thedevilsoftruth]

Marc Spector and how he spends Mother's Day

Alone. On the rooftop of his house, wine in his hand as he watches the sun go down. In Marlenes favorite suit of his, playing her favorite songs.

With the thought of his daughter he didn't even know.

He wondered if Marlene had thought of him too.

He thinks about Wendy and remembers how he failed all the important people in his life. He didn't know his daughter. The mother of his daughter hated him, and his mother was ashamed of him.

He thought about it every Mother's Day since Marlene left.

He thought about what would have happened if Khonshu had just left him alone. He could have been at peace and happy. Instead, he was still repaying his debt to his father.

But at the end of the day, he was never going to have what he wanted. He would never be satisfied.

----------

You all better give your mama's a good Mother's Day. It's hard being a mom. Moms do a lot to keep families striving, especially if they are single mother's. Happy Mother's Day, ya'll. Stay strong, you sexy, gorgeous people.

[moonymelly]

-Hello!!-

I am a young artist called Moon Mel, aka moonymelly aka Mel…whatever you wanna call me. 🤭

I’ve been around on Tumblr for a little while and I’ve loved everything I’ve seen so far. :D When I joined I was part of The Onceler fandom, and I’m sorry to inform that I’m not really…as obsessed with it anymore…😬

(PLS IM SO SORRY ONCELER MOOTIES…*sobs*)

Note: Hypertixations change all the time…I draw what I love, K?

As of recently, something happened in me that just urged me to revisit my first ever hyper fixation:

- M O O N K N I G H T -

Yep, my Moon knight phase is totally back and stronger than ever. During my unwanted and unexpected hiatus, Moon Knight had seriously changed my art for the better, and I am so excited to share it with you all, and to hopefully make friends because of it along the way!!

When I love something, I really love that something. Actually, Moon Knight is what even got me into drawing in the first place!! 2022 me was inspired by the fan art I would see online, and that’s how my fandom and art journey started.

(EDIT: LITERALLY HOW COULD I FORGET, OSCAR ISAAC!! I LOVE LOVE LOVE HIM…SO YEAH)

Like I said, I am SO excited for this fresh start and to share my art with you all. I’ll probably post random stuff alongside my art, too!! ;D

So, friends, that is my re-introduction and hopefully the start of something fresh and exciting.

I am MoonMel. >:)

Out!!

[trickster-jpeg]

Can’t You See That You’re Lost Without Me?

Summary: Snippet from the system's childhood. They were around seven years old when their mum left them on the side of the road one day. The whole thing must’ve only lasted with them chasing after the car for no longer than a few minutes, but it still stuck with them.

Warnings: I mean just major warning for child. The whole thing is triggered by them having a meltdown because they're overstimulated, so obviously Wendy's not gonna react with compassion or sympathy.

Word Count: 1123 It's On AO3 -> Here

They were around seven years old when their mum left them on the side of the road one day. The whole thing must’ve only lasted with them chasing after the car for no longer than a few minutes, but it still stuck with them.

They couldn’t remember the circumstances properly, the best that they could work out was that they’d been walking around shopping with their mum all day. From what they can remember, they didn’t think the day had even been that bad in all honesty. Their mum had even bought them a small stuffed teddy from a garden centre. A soft grey elephant that they’d fallen in love with upon sight.

They didn’t remember anything else until they were seated in the car, utterly exhausted as well as both hungry and thirsty. This combined with their legs aching after having done so much movement without break was really the perfect recipe for overstimulation and a meltdown. Neither of which was a fun experience to say the least. So when their mother said that they were going to stop off at and walk around another shop, the lump that had been growing in their throat suddenly swelled further.

Their sandpaper mouth and the hunger-pained knot in their stomach became apparent as they tried to soothe it by swallowing what little saliva they had in their mouth. A wave of frustration washed over them as they were suddenly aware of how drained they had become from the day’s events. Burning tears welled up in their eyes as they failed to verbalise their needs, not knowing how to formulate the words to tell their mother that they physically couldn’t will themself to use up anymore of the energy they didn’t have. Too exasperated to think properly, they kicked their feet out at the dashboard, their shoe colliding against it with a heavy clatter. In irritation, they violently shook their head in an attempt to convey what they were trying to tell her.

“NO!”

It was such a stupid thing to be pushed over the edge by, so ordinary. They knew now that they couldn’t help it, that meltdowns and overstimulation were just things they had to be careful of and at worst all they could do was try to minimise the damage. But at the time, they hadn’t known any better. Didn’t have the reassurance or the vocabulary to explain their behaviour. They had simply just been labelled a problem and told that they had to grow up. To learn how to act their age.

They couldn’t remember how it suddenly got worse. How it reached the point it did. All they knew was that it suddenly jumped to their mother pulling over on the side of the road and shouting at them to get out. They could remember the fear that coursed through them as they continued to kick the dash, desperately trying to get their words out to apologise and explain. But they couldn’t.

She reached over to harshly unbuckle their seatbelt. She angrily grabbed the handle and all but threw the door open, all while ordering them to get out of the car. Their breathing was heavy as the tears streamed from their eyes, their throat closing even tighter the more they made attempts at spitting their excuses out for her to hear. Not that she would’ve listened. She just kept shouting.

And then suddenly they were outside of the car. They couldn’t tell whether they’d voluntarily exited the vehicle with the terror of their mother’s fury acting as a catalyst, or whether she’d done something to push them out. All they knew is that the next moment in the sequence of events was that they were watching her reach over the now empty passenger seat and slam the door shut. All they knew was that they had been stood on the roadside as they watched in horror as the car began to speed away from them.

It took a moment for their brain to send the signals to their legs because they remember the shock as they tried to process what was happening at that moment in time. The disbelief as they stood on the patchy, dying grass and blinked the tears out of their eyes. Full body tremors rippling throughout their body like a beacon as the dirt kicked up on the road from where the car had been stationary not moments ago. Then they were clutching their new elephant friend in their hand desperate to not leave it behind and running after the vehicle as fast as their short legs could take them.

They know that they had screamed after her, begging for her to stop driving away from them. Breaths catching in their chest as they pushed themselves even further past the physical exertion they had been suffering as they wailed for her to come back. Their legs erupted with searing pain as their muscles consumed energy reserves they didn’t have. They howled with dread as they begged for her to stop and listen to their apologies. That they’d do whatever she wanted if only she’d let them back into the car.

They remember she stopped eventually. It must’ve felt longer in the moment as a child, because looking back on it she probably hadn’t driven that far away from them. She’d pulled up onto the side of the road again and as they sprinted to the door, they could still feel the way she’d stared at them as though she was looking into their very soul. Her piercing and uncaring gaze judging every fibre of them. They felt sick as they remembered the apologies that spilled from their lips like a tsunami. The trepidation as they felt the pressure to convince her to let them back into the car. To not leave them to find their way back home on their own.

Eventually, she muttered under her breath begrudgingly before reaching over and just barely popping the door open. They could still see the way they’d lunged to tug at the door, their body all but diving into the car seat as they thanked her for her patience. As they felt the relief at how ‘kind’ she had been letting them back into the vehicle and for putting up with their awful behaviour.

They didn’t remember anything else from that day. They didn’t try to. Why would they when they didn’t even want to know anymore about it? They just wanted to collect what they could to eventually try and bury it in the earth next to their mother and never visit the cemetery full of similar events that they had created. They didn’t bother marking its grave. It didn’t deserve the recognition of a headstone.

[little-cereal-draws]

Get out, get out, get out, get out, get out, get out, get out.

He needed to get out.

Marc ran up the stairs and slammed the door to his bedroom. He locked it and pressed his whole body weight against it, chest heaving with labored breath like he was running.

No one was physically after him at the moment but that didn’t mean he was safe. He had gotten back from the library after school and quietly shut the door in hopes not to draw the attention of the monster that lived in his house. It was a futile effort.

--

Marc runs away.

[raurquiz]

#Happymothersday #pepperpots #meredithquill #gotgvol2 #frigga #mariarambeau #spiderman #auntmay #wandamaximoff #mariastark #maggielang #hopevandyne #JanetvanDyne #shangchi #yingli #laurabarton #ramonda #nakia #eleanorbishop #MuneebaKhan #melinavosokooff #wendyspector

[pokimoko]

in another world - Moon Knight fic

Written by pokimoko and beta read by @tiptapricot

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 11K

Fandom: Moon Knight (2022), Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Marc Spector & Wendy Spector, Steven Grant & Marc Spector, Elias Spector & Marc Spector

Characters: Marc Spector, Wendy Spector, Elias Spector, Steven Grant (Marvel)

Tags: Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Child Abuse, Character Study, Angst, Pre-Season/Series 01, Childhood Trauma, Unreliable Narrator, Extended Metaphors, Emotional Hurt, unreality, Child Marc Spector, Child Steven Grant, Marc Spector Needs A Hug, Steven Grant Needs a Hug (Marvel), Marc Spector-centric, Parent-Child Relationship, Headspace, Distorted Reality, Inspired by Coraline

Summary: Marc discovers a door that leads him back to his real life, where his mother loves him and his father doesn't pretend. But the world he left behind won't let him go quite so easily.

[tiptapricot]

MKcember day 21: Judgement and/or Negative Space

(Warning for content/themes/implications of parental abuse and neglect featured in the show)

———

Wendy is alone. Ever alone.

Bitter air blows over bottle mouths, filling an empty kitchen, and she watches as the drapes flinch when she stands to get another. They want to strangle her, she knows. They’ve tried to for years. Nasty things. She’s made sure to keep her distance, where their bare threads can’t touch her.

There are other traps laying in wait, though. She feels barbs sting at her ankles as she crosses the living room, and looks down to find toys quickly pulled out of the way. Something watches from the stairwell. The portraits stand solemnly.

It aches to live in an empty home. She often wishes she had someone to help her on the hard days, on the days she can’t get out of bed, but no one comes. No one cares. She finds homework strewn over the table. Shoes lined up in the hall. Feet shuffle behind a bedroom door and quiet themselves when she opens it. They are waiting. Taunting.

The house is full of nothing.

There is a paper cut out boy who sits on the couch next to her sometimes. She makes him. She needs him. He is flimsy up close, and crumples if she touches him, but he is a reminder all the same, an outline to trace of what used to be. A space where the light stands still.

What a cruel imitation.

She scribbles him out and waits to start again.

———

Check out the prompt list here!

[wortsandall]

Steven Grant-mother edition

here I go again. had more thoughts prev

steven thinks of his mother as nice. fond memories. but what he says and how he acts are two very different things. there's a cognitive dissonance there.

even in the fake memories he remembers, his mother can't possible be the mom he talks about. he keeps her at arms length on those calls-lies and tell hers what he thinks she wants to hear. that's not a healthy relationship at all

even through the illusion-real elements of his mother factor in. he's trying not to upset her, making himself smaller. is it for his or her benefit to steven? and I think it's for her benefit because he sees her as a kind mother who loved him so much. so I can only imagine that in his head, not telling her the bad things about his life spares her from having to feel bad for him

when in reality it's for his benefit. the less his mother knows the better. that's a boundary that he's keeping and he doesn't even realize it. he's still acting like his mother isn't a good mom while telling himself and others that she is one. he's doing one thing and claiming it's another while not even knowing why or the real reason behind it. just going through the motions, unquestioning.

because if he even thought about it a little, holes start to be poked in the story. and that's bad. he's not supposed to know, he's supposed to believe that they had a healthy nice childhood. because marc needed a reprieve and steven could give him that. so without even knowing it he just continues along, doing his part for the system unconsciously. only it's not perfect and deep down he knows there's something not right and it involves his mother. just not exactly how.

steven grant may think his mother loved him, but he has no idea what an actual relationship like that would entail. he has the idea of it, the objective knowledge, but when it comes to actually acting like it we get what we saw in the show. hanging up postcards but only talking to his mother through voicemails-she never seems to actually pick up the phone. or one sided conversations with the most basic small talk questions. he's making it up as he goes and it's so clear upon rewatch.

drawing on that for my au, steven will tackle the fact that even the fake mom he knew wasn't a good mom. that he'd didn't know what that could possibly look like in reality as he, and the system, and had never experienced it. and now they never will.

the lies we tell ourselves au masterpost

[o-kaythislooksbad]

ailesswhumptober day 4: painful transformation / non-consensual body modifications / "you're a monster"

chapter 4 / 7 of the memory of you marks everything i do | not rated, chose not to warn

sirens blare as flashing red and white lights up the stretch of road. there's a ringing in his ears and a sharp pain forming in the center of his forehead, like the time he got hit by a fly ball during practice. it spreads across his face, clouding it, blurring the ground in front of him. 

"abba! mama!" baby roro cries. his voice, so small and shrill and scared, breaks marc out of his own head. 

or it would, if he could just turn around. his body is stuck in place; he can't feel his limbs. he can't even open his mouth to comfort his brother. 

helpless, marc sits through the pain. it's not his own, it rarely ever is, but this time is different because it's roro's, and roro doesn't deserve it. 

"you're a monster," uncle yitz would tell him, holding his cheeks and forcing marc to meet his eyes. "you understand? you must know who you are, what you are, or else this is a waste of my time. i'm trying to teach you about knowing your place, but you must be open to learning." 

marc would nod, giving the man permission to pick up his tools. this is marc's value, his reason for existing, and he's worthless if he can't do that. feeling worthless hurts almost as much as the cold blades pressing into his skin.

that worthless feeling is barely more than a paper-cut compared to what he feels right now.

"m'ac! i hurt!"

he closes his eyes, and the next time they open, everything is different. quiet. marc stares at the ceiling, vaguely aware of a rough blanket laying over his body, of beige curtains surrounding him. 

"you're a monster," she hisses, sending marc back to early mornings and late afternoons trapped in the basement. 

"you awake!" randall squirms in his mother's arms until she lets him go, dropping him onto the hospital cot. "lookit, we match." he points to his bandaged forehead and arm, then babbles on about everything he sees, until wendy picks him up again and deposits him on the floor, effectively silencing him. 

wendy's eyes flash with something steven can't recognize, but whatever it is, it's somehow loud enough to mostly cover up the sound of squeaking shoes entering the room. 

"and how's my brave patient doing this morning, hmm?" an elderly voice accompanies the squeaking steps. it takes steven a few moments to process the question - he's still uncertain as to why he's in a medical facility, why the little boy is injured as well, and why their mother's eyes look murderous.

it's the realization of that being the thing in wendy's eyes that causes steven to flinch away from the nurse. 

"not so brave after all," wendy sneers, guiding randall through the curtains to exit the room. hot tears prickle at the corners of steven's eyes, and he hurries to push them away with his palms before they can fall. 

the nurse tuts and shakes her head. "it's okay to cry, honey," she tells steven. "you had a very eventful day, yesterday, and slept right on through the night." she picks up a clipboard from the bedside table and flips through the papers.

steven watches the nurse mutter as she reads the file - her name's dotty, according to her polka-dotted name plate - and tries to remember yesterday. randall was excited about something, and somehow steven's precious crayons had been broken. perhaps they were running down the stairs? it would explain randall's bandages. but why is he allowed to move around while steven is in bed?

it takes a few tries for his mouth to move and for him to ask, "what happened?"

nurse dotty uses words like concussion and cranium and trachea, pointing to steven's head and his throat. she explains that their car swerved off the road and into a tree, and that he was tussled around, bumping into the seat a few too many times. 

steven frowns. if everyone was in the car, why can they move and he can't? why has he seen randall and wendy, but not elias? when he talks, it feels like his throat is full of volcanic rocks, but he manages to ask, "dad?"

"his arm is in a brace, but your father is fine, honey. he's visiting your friend, the driver."

the IV isn't the only thing chilling his veins. steven's blood runs cold; his teeth chatter as he shivers, and his vision blurs. 

"honey, i hate to ask this of you right now, but we really need to put the report together." nurse dotty wears a sad smile as she holds out a set of polaroids, but jake is busy burrowing down into the blankets. he tries to curl up on his side, but dotty tuts and reaches out to stop him. "your arm has to be straightened out for the medicine to work."

jake grumbles. "fine," he says, stretching his legs and arms all the way out. "happy?"

dotty sighs. "no," she replies, her smile dropping, and the honesty startles jake. "seeing little ones in the hospital doesn't make me happy."

"i'm not little."

"my apologies. can you help me out, please, and take a look at the photos?" dotty genuinely seems to be sorry, and jake is built for helping, so he nods and holds out his hands.

the pictures don't make any sense. he expected to see marc's recent injuries or what the car looked like after it crashed, but the bruises and scars he sees are faint, even on the glossy papers.

"how'm i supposed to help?" jake asks, already knowing the answer. but knowing and hearing it from someone else, someone outside, are two very different things, and he needs to see where dotty expects marc to be. 

"those are pictures of your torso and your thighs," the nurse says. "you were hurt for quite some time before you arrived here yesterday."

so? jake wants to retort. hurt? you think that's hurt? that's any given tuesday, dotty. sometimes early sunday, sometimes late friday, if he's got time. what do you want from me? he wonders. what do i need to say for marc that keeps us with the baby?

jake may be built for this, but he's still a kid, built from a kid's view of what a teenager or adult looks like. as much as he desperately wants his foundation to be brick and mortar, he's only alphabet blocks and modeling clay. 

for the first time in his long life, jake doesn't know what to say. or, rather, he knows what marc is meant to say and how he's meant to say it, but that answer will bring nothing but pain, actual, real life, tangible pain to everyone around him. everyone around randall and their parents, their neighbors and teachers and peers, and there's no way on earth jake is going to let that happen.

for the hundredth time in his short life, jake knows what he has to do. 

play the part of the eldest son, the obedient son. play the part of the older brother, eager to help but whose patience is easily tested by the younger brother. lie through his teeth, but remain calm, remain steady, even when - no, especially when - they question his statements. 

"i'm here because the car crashed," jake says. "and you're here to treat me because of it. you're doing your job; please let me do mine."

dotty stares at him for a few seconds, but jake holds his ground and stares right back. he'll take the IV out of his arm if he has to, march right through the curtains and scoop randall into his arms, leave the hospital with nothing but determination. it turns out he doesn't have to, because the nurse's mouth sets in to a tight line and she nods at him with a look of understanding in her eyes. 

"i'll let your doctor know that you're responding well to the medication, and we'll see about letting you go home tomorrow."

jake's shoulders slump, relieving tension that he hadn't realized was being held there. "thank you." 

dotty takes something out of her pocket. "my nephew and niece," she says, showing him a picture of identical dimpled smiles on sunken cheeks. "i took them in a few months ago."

"congratulations?" jake tries. he's usually better at following conversations, especially with adults, but he's not usually concussed. 

"thank you." dotty chuckles, tucking the picture back into her pocket. "i want you to know you're not the only one with this sort of pain, honey. it might be months or years, and one day you'll be far away from here and it will still hurt, but you don't need to be alone."

"i'm not alone," jake instantly replies. 

the nurse doesn't patronize him, doesn't try to 'correct' him or press for any more information, and jake is more grateful to her than any adult he's ever met. 

"i'll let you get your rest now," she says, pulling the curtain behind her. she calmly explains to randall that his brother is sleeping, firmly tells wendy to leave him alone, and jake's heart is so full it might just burst out of his chest. 

it's funny, jake muses, finally alone in the small section of the ward, that the nurse is the first person who has seen him for who he is. she's the first person he introduced himself to, albeit without a name outside of his head, but she'll likely be the last as well.