Archive of Our Own ^beta

Malcolm white knuckled his grip on the edge of his desk as nausea swelled in his belly, making him swallow heavily as his merger breakfast of dry toast threatened to resurface.

His last weeks had been plagued with random bouts of nausea that often led to him needing to rush to the nearest bathroom ever since his Doctor had changed up his meds. They were trying to combat his new symptom of paralysing terror as his mind threw him into random scenarios of his Father killing people in their basement at the most inconvenient moments. He just wanted it all to stop. The nausea, the terrifying flashbacks that weren’t really flashbacks, the nightmare that was his life now.

He wiped at the sweat beading across his face as the nausea swelled again and he had to swallow down the bile that burned the back of his throat. He was not going to make it to the end of class, no matter how much he willed it. Knowing he needed to get out now or embarrass himself in front of his entire class, who already hated him and bullied him daily, he shakily raised his hand trying to get the teacher's attention.

He knew it wasn’t going to go well as soon as Mr Browning rolled his eyes at seeing Malcolm’s hand raised while they were all supposed to be reading the chapters assigned in the textbook.

“What is it now, Whitly?” Mr Browning’s deep voice echoed out across the classroom making Malcolm cringe as every single eye turned to look at him, whispers and smirking already starting as he swallowed again before answering.

“I…I need the…the bathroom,” Malcolm stumbled out, each word and effort to get out without letting go of the nausea pressing at him to be released.

He ignored the mocking repeats of his stuttered question and closed his eyes against the wall of judgement facing him as he waited for the teacher’s response.

Malcolm almost whined when Mr Browning huffed at him and denied him telling him he had ten minutes of class left and could surely hold on that long.

Malcolm took a few deep breaths then gave Mr Browning a pleading look before resigning himself to more mocking and admitted to why he needed to go now.

“Please, Mr Browning, I’m going…I’m going to be sick,” Malcolm begged, pressing his hand to his churning stomach, willing it to settle enough to let him get to the closest bathroom in time. He desperately did not want to throw up in front of his whole class.

“Ewwww, vomit boy, no don’t let him throw up on me, gross,” and various other taunts and teasing rang out across the classroom as the whole class erupted into chaos at his confession. All the ruckus and stinging retorts at his expense did absolutely nothing to help with his nausea and he clamped his hand to his mouth as salvia started to pool in his mouth.

No longer caring if he got in trouble he fumbled out from behind his desk and made a dash for the door as Mr Browning attempted and failed to bring the room back into order.

Just as he thought he had made it, a hand gripped firmly around his bicep and pulled him to a halt, swinging him back to face a red face and angry Mr Browning.

“Where the hell do you….” Mr Browning started to question him as he pulled him round to face him.

The spinning on the spot was his undoing and before he could hope to pull himself free or lean away, he was heaving up his breakfast and what felt like what he’d eaten for the last week all over a startled Mr Browning’s suit and shoes.

“Sorry…I’m sorry,” Malcolm mumbled out before he was heaving again as his stomach clenched painfully trying to purge itself of everything it possibly could. Mortified and unable to deal with the horrified taunting of his classmates, he clamped his hand over his disgusting sick covered mouth and pulled his arm out of Mr Browning’s shocked grip as the man gaped at his ruined clothes.

He pushed his legs to run as fast as he could from the room, his eyes frantically searching for anywhere he could finish being sick in private. The first thing he found was a janitor's closet that he pushed his way into just in time to retch into a mop bucket stored in the corner. He fumbled his hand behind him to pull the door shut behind him, not caring that he was now plunged into the dark as his stomach continued to rebel and had him coughing and retching his way through another ten minutes of heaving into the bucket.

By time he was done his body was trembling with exhaustion and tears of pain and humiliation were dripping down his cheeks. He flopped back against the wall of the little closet and brought his knees up to his chest, curling in on himself as tight as he could, rocking in place as he tried to block out the mocking voices of his classmates gossiping and sharing his shame with the whole student body as they moved between classes.

He hated it here. They all hated him and constantly went out of their way to tell him that he was going to be a monster just like his Father. Regular beatings by the next bully out to prove he was better than deadly The Surgeon's son.

It didn’t matter how many times that he told them he had called the cops on him and had stopped the sick reign of terror that his Father had dealt over New York, all they could see was the son of a serial killer. A killer in waiting, lurking among them just waiting for his chance to chop them all up. It was ridiculous. He was just a kid. He wasn’t his Father, he wasn’t!

Eventually he got his breathing back uncontrol and the noises outside had changed to the quiet of empty corridors during classes. Not really wanting to move from where he was, he fumbled into his pants pocket and pulled out the new cell phone his Mother had insisted he have with him at all times. He hadn’t really wanted it. It was just a reminder that no one liked him enough to ever give him their number for him to text them or call them. He had a whole five numbers saved into it. Their home number; his Mother’s own cell number that she never answered because she hated carrying it with her; his Sister’s cell number in case she needed him; and Gil’s work desk and his home number.

He held back his tears as he scrolled through the numbers, his thumb hovering over the call button, his hand shaking as he contemplated who he should try. He knew he should call his Mother and get her to send the driver out to pick him up, but he didn’t want to hear the disappointment in her voice that he wasn’t coping again. It felt like all he did lately was fall apart. He moved on to Gil’s work number. He might not even be there. He could be out on a job. He was a detective now. He didn’t have time to run around after kids who couldn’t even make it to the bathroom to throw up. He nearly pressed to scroll back to his Mother’s number, but then he remembered Gil’s warm smile and comforting hand rubbing his shoulder the last time he had come to pick him up from school. When he’d been picked on and beaten up enough that the nurse wanted him to go home and rest. Gil had made him feel safe and he didn’t judge him. He’d just been there and let him talk when he was ready.

Taking in a trembling breath, he pressed the button to put through the call. The phone rang for a long time and Malcolm was just about to end the call and give up on ever getting out of the closet when the call was picked up.

“Arroyo,” Gil’s gruff voice answered, making Malcolm second guess himself for a moment and he sucked in a shaky breath.

Before he could get any words out, Gil’s warm voice tinged with a hint of concern came through the cell’s tinny speaker, “Kid, is that you?”

Malcolm nearly burst into tears again as he breathed out a sigh of relief.

“Yeah…can you…can you come get me. I really don’t feel well,” Malcolm whispered into the cell, scared that someone would hear him and pull him out of his dark little place of safety.

“Ah Kid, what happened? No, nevermind you can tell me later. Where are you?” Gil asked getting straight to the practical and not doubting Malcolm that if he was calling that he needed to get out of there.

Malcolm stumbled his way through explaining where he was in the school and braced himself for the questions that were bound to come.

“Janitor’s closet? What the hell are you doing in there?” Gil’s tone shifted to incredulous as he asked.

Malcolm whimpered slightly without meaning to and hugged at his knees tighter. The cell creaked in his hand as he gripped it tighter and pressed it into his ear until it was a distracting pain from the burn of tears in his eyes.

“Shit, no, I’m sorry Malcolm, I’m not angry at you, kid. I just…no it’s ok. Just hang tight ok. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Will you be alright until I get there?” GIl apologised to him and checked in that he’d wait for him.

Malcolm sniffed back the tears that escaped his hold and wouldn’t stop now they had started again as he nodded his agreement.

“Kid? You gonna be ok, or do I need to call someone to get you while I come to you?” Gil asked him again, his voice tight as his worry came through even on the tiny speaker of the phone.

Malcolm hiccupped a little sob into his hand trying to hide it from Gil’s ears, but of course Gil picked up on it immediately.

“Kid, if I need to call the nurse for you, just tell me and I will,” Gil urged him as Malcolm did his best not to cry in earnest. He already felt crappy enough, he didn’t want to share this with the school nurse, who already sighed as soon as she saw him coming these days.

“No! I’ll be ok. Please Gil, just come get me,” Malcolm pleaded with him as he swiped at the tears still slipping down his cheeks.

Gil sighed heavily into the phone and didn’t say anything for a few seconds, making Malcolm’s anxiety rise with the nausea creeping back into his belly.

“Please Gil,” Malcolm begged him again, his voice wrecked with his tears.

“Ok, alright kid. I’ll be there as soon as I can, ok?” Gil urged him, his voice sounding tired and worn all of sudden.

Malcolm felt guilt rest heavily on his shoulders, knowing he was the cause for his friend’s stress and not knowing how to make it better.

“Ok, I’m sorry,” he breathed out in a whisper as he curled back into himself and willed the sick feeling in his belly to go away.

“Kid, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for. Just hang on and I’ll be there soon. I’m gonna hang up now, ok?” Gil told him his voice back to gentle and warm.

Malcolm nodded and then remembered that Gil couldn’t see him, so hummed in agreement before the call clicked off. Now he just had to wait. Gil would be here soon and would make it all better. He’d shield him from all the curious faces. The kids never dared to taunt him when Gil was there glaring at anyone that stared at him. He could do this. Gil trusted him to hang on, so he would. He’d do anything for Gil if he asked him to.