Moon Knight Nonsense

Marc's POV: Behind Closed Doors

Little Marc

Summary: Some darker scatterbrained memories of abuse and trauma and the things they tried to protect. From the minds of Marc Spector/Steven Grant/Jake Lockley and their formative years.

Continued: Steven's POV: Happy Simple Normal Life

Warnings: Dead dove?? Heavy child abuse + family death. C-PTSD. Domestic violence. Childhood trauma. Self-hatred. No comfort, only hurt. 

A/N: To my fellow survivors. You were not a bad person. You were not a burden. You were not difficult. You were not evil. You were a child. You deserve to heal and find what makes you happy. Take care of yourself first, no one can do it better than you can.

~~~

Knew from the way the house sounded what mood his mom was in when he got home from school. How each person's footsteps sounded, and their mood based on how they walked. Not a usual thing to pick up on, but Marc had gotten to know how she was. Knowing when to expect her to be at her worst made it easier to deal with it when she was less cruel.

TV was blasting some soap rerun. Less to watch and more for background noise while she moved around the kitchen. Any noise in the house was a comfort. Meant it was safe. It was when it was silent he knew to hide. Out of sight, out of mind. Most days he would rather stay out of sight.

Heading through to the living room he stopped at the kitchen doorway and watched her. She'd been chopping at the cutting board. Not looking happy, but not looking so sad either. If he stayed quiet for long enough he could pretend this was a good day. When she looked at him he saw that look in her eyes change. Disappointment he was back? Sad to see he was near? She reached for the drinks cabinet and Marc left for his room. Didn't want to stick around and wait for her to start with the berating.

He rarely saw her smile anymore. He couldn't remember the last time she smiled at him, but he could remember a time. They'd been out grocery shopping and heading back to the car. Marc had seen old lady struggling to push her cart back to the car beside theirs so he helped. The woman complimented his mom over what a kind boy she had. His mom made some noncommittal comment and forced a smile in his direction. He could tell it wasn't genuine by the way it never made it to her eyes, just out of sheer politeness for the woman. By that point, he'd take anything he could get. Whatever crumbs of kindness she'd give him he'd gladly accept. He wanted to show her he still had the capability of being good even if he'd done terrible things.

She cried on the drive home.

He didn't ask and she didn't point out why, but he already knew what the answer would have been. Should have been her Roro doing all that. Helping old ladies. Offering to do chores to get more pocket money. Helping their dad clean the car. Where Marc was more introverted and liked keeping to himself, his little brother shone as a people person. The true baby of the family. Everyone loved him. Marc was just trying to be more like him to appease his mom. Got him a smile, didn't it?

He remembered after one bad night, she'd come into his room and pulled him out of his sleep to pull him out of bed and beat him. Supposedly for not taking the trash out, but it was the middle of the night and he couldn't remember her ever asking. She was drunk and not making much sense. Her insults always made the most sense.

This is all your fault.

You disgust me.

You're a horrible child.

Something is wrong with you.

You're evil.

Marc internalized it all. Every single word. Felt like he was going crazy, but maybe he was a bad kid. He got told it enough times he'd started to believe it. He often didn't do the right things. He knew he deserved most of it. But then when he went to the homes of friends and saw how much their parents fawned over their children. It filled him with a fit of bitterness and envy.

There was one family he loved. Treated him like he was their own. Preferred being there after school and on weekends instead of at home. He'd help them pick raspberries from their bushes to make into desserts. He was always allowed to eat his fill in raspberries. He also remembered stealing from them. Just once, but it was one time too many. A small decorative paperweight that reminded him of someone. Couldn't tell you why he put it in his backpack. Deep down he knew it was wrong. Had a good thing going with this family. They were always kind to him and he'd stolen from them. He was never allowed back after that. His mom got the call and found the paperweight hidden in his room. She used it as part of her arsenal to give herself more reasons why she needed to beat him. He was a bad kid, after all.

There was only one time he'd been taken to the hospital for an injury and not for the constant noise in his head. His mom took it too far when she threw an object at him. He didn't realize he'd been bleeding until he saw himself covered in it in the mirror. On the drive to the hospital, she went over what he should say. She stayed in the car while his dad took him inside. Couldn't have a drunk parent and an injured child going into the hospital, no, that would have raised too much suspicion. He got taught early how the naughty kids' home was worse than anything she'd ever do to him. How he'd be sent far away and lose anything he cared about. So he lied.

I fell.

I hit my head on the corner of the cabinet.

I hurt myself.

When it came time to glue the wound back up he thought they were going to use real glue and refused to let any staff near him. Got transferred to a children's hospital where he'd be put under and stitched back up. Couldn't remember if they ever asked him what happened.

More times than he could count, he remembered getting woken with ice water being poured over his face, or by being punched awake. All because he'd overslept and was late for school.

Took him years to bring the nightmares down to only a couple each month. He'd lived longer away from the abuse than he had within it. The only time he'd ever see his mom's face was in his nightmares. After he'd left home, she never once tried reaching out to him. He felt it was better that way, but a small part of him hoped one day she'd come to her senses and tell him she was sorry. She'd never told him that before and it took him accepting Steven to realize he never needed it.

The most fucked up thing about it all? Marc still loved his mom. If he had to choose, he'd still choose her to be his mom. He just wished she'd believe him when he said it was an accident. He didn't mean to kill Roe. He never meant for his little brother to drown in that cave. He was sorry. He'd always be sorry.

He remembered long before Roe died, she would make him a hot chocolate and they'd sit together and talk for ages in the kitchen. She'd talk about her life. How she grew up in a big Latino family and was raised Jewish. Laughing over his silly nonsensical strung-together phrases in Spanish. She'd respond more seriously, teaching him in her mother's tongue to make sure it got passed down to her boys. Prompting Marc to find more ways to be sillier with it and to make her laugh. He couldn't remember what her laugh sounded like anymore.

He vaguely remembered the way she'd look at him like she loved him. He remembered more vividly seeing those same eyes hate he ever existed.

Was he really that terrible? Why didn't he deserve to be loved?

Where was his dad in all of this? Right there. Pretending not to hear any of it. Going to Marc's bedroom long after his mom had left with food or a warm drink to comfort him. Telling him he needed to listen to her. How he should appease her rather than talking back or arguing. How she wouldn't be so bad if he tried harder to be better. That he shouldn't take any of it to heart. His mom was hurting too, but she still loved him.

Every single adult in his formative years had failed him.

He wasn't going to be the kind of adult that turned a blind eye.