Chapter Text
The fear motive challenge was something Mal had been expecting for a while. He wasn’t particularly worried about it, given he had been excessively careful not to reveal any information about weaknesses in the past seasons.
Some of the others had gone already- Gwen’s had been a bit different then the last time, as she ended up buried alive but with a snorkel to breathe. Mal supposed they had to step it up a bit, given the first season and fourth season they had already used the “burying her alive” trick.
Hebichi’s had been a mix of a few basic phobias- obviously, she also hadn’t shared her fears with the group, so Chris had to resort to defaults. Putting a tarantula on her neck (really? This was Hebichi, after all. She enjoyed having reptiles crawl all over her, a spider was just stereotypical), putting her inside a dark coffin, having her stick her hands into mud. Hebichi had stayed calm the whole time, only getting a little repulsed by the muddy part of the challenge.
Next had gone Alejandro, who got berated by his brother over the TV live in front of the other campers. Alejandro had mainly kept his composure- Mal could tell he was more embarrassed and upset about the whole thing than actually scared. He hadn’t missed how Hebichi tensed up when Alejandro had gone up, though. How classic, that her first response of fear had been when her boyfriend-friend-ally (Mal didn’t really know what they were supposed to be and didn’t care) was put in potential harm. He noted that down as something for later. When Alejandro was done, he went back to Hebichi, who took his hand and whispered something to him Mal couldn’t hear. It seemed to soothe him, whatever it was, and Mal resisted a sigh. It would have been fun to see what messing with Alejandro’s frayed nerves would be like- then again, it wouldn’t have been a great idea. It wasn’t like he had many allies in this game anyways- Chris had foiled that when he revealed him as Mal right away. It was a shame too, he probably could have imitated Mike again and gotten away with it. It wasn’t like Mike was original enough for people to miss, after all- if no one recognized Mike was gone, what right did they have to get mad when they found out it was him? It was their fault for being so weak and Mike’s for being so..pathetic.
He tuned out one of Chris’s dramatic monologues again- he wasn’t saying anything important. Eventually, when he heard his name, he focused once more and went up to see what Chris had in store for him.
…The host was grinning an unusual amount. It was a sad attempt to intimidate him. As if Mal hadn’t seen and used every trick in the book. He sighed, staring Chris down.
“Let’s get this over with, shall we? So, what will my challenge be.”
“Wellllll, you, Mal, will be going in a box!”
That was all? He masked a scoff and nodded, already starting to walk over. Before he had quite reached the box, though, Chris stopped him with a black piece of fabric in his hand.
“I’m not done, dude! Not cool. You have to wear this blindfold, and you can’t come out before I tell you to unless you call uncle. Got it?”
Mal nodded- Chris was transparent. Refusing to tell him how long he would be in the box was a tactic designed to make him nervous- what, did Chris expect him to start shaking at being left in the dark for some scary undefined number of minutes? Mal was the one who haunted other’s nighttime fears and dreams, a little bit of DARKNESS wasn’t going to scare him. Chris had had all season last time to learn about Mal, and he was still pathetically underestimating him.
He stayed still for the blindfold, then regretted it as Chris walked away to mess with the box. He moved towards where it had been, and realized a moment later that Chris had moved behind him.
“Do you mind showing me where the box is?” He grumbled, turning his head towards where he thought Chris was.
“Sure thing buddy!”
Chris’s overly cheerful tone hit him right before the shove, and without his sight to keep his balance, Mal went toppling forwards, grunting as he hit his shins on the box and scraped his hands on the bottom. His shins and hands stung, and Mal really hoped he hadn’t ended up with splinters from the wood. That would be remarkably annoying.
He rolled over and delivered a sarcastic “Thanks” to Chris, and then the light shining through his blindfold and eyelids went dark with the thump of the wooden lid.
The box wasn’t big- he didn’t have enough room to sit up, just to try and raise his torso a bit and hit his head. With a groan, Mal laid back down. A claustrophobic box, how original.
Then the thumping sounded, of a…hammer? Were they seriously hammering him in here? It was a bit overkill, wasn’t it. Still, it didn’t bother him. He’d done worse (and had worse done to him, but he wasn’t going to think about that). Chris shouldn’t have chosen the juvie kid for the claustrophobia challenge.
When Chris began laughing, Mal got a bit unsettled. Then he got irritated he had fallen for such a basic trick- evil laughter? Really?
And yet, some part of him still felt off balanced. There was nothing he was missing from this equation, was there? There couldn’t be.
And then the grating of wood was heard again, and something in the lid opened up.
“So, Mal! There’s actually a surprise part to this challenge. Have fun, and remember that all eyes are on you!”
Mal didn’t bother trying to squirm into a position where he could see whatever was happening- he didn’t have enough room for that.
Something scraped the wood, like it was being lowered in. Next came a click, like that of an unlatched box- and then out poured a pile of something that felt weirdly full of poky bits onto his stomach.
Then they start moving. Mal started to feel uncomfortable- they’re bugs. With a lot of legs. Centipedes? Some of them skitter off him, crawling off to who knows where- the walls, probably. Some crawl down to sit on his pants or shoulders. Soon enough, the prickly little legs and slick shells falling on him chill his blood.
It’s a coincidence, only that. Bugs are a normal fear. Mal isn’t afraid of them, that would be weak and pathetic. They’re just.. disgusting. That’s what it is, yes. He’s only repulsed by them.
How long is he supposed to be stuck in here again? Mal doesn’t remember. Oh right, Chris didn’t tell him. Has this box always been so small, his breathing so loud?
Everything was dark, and he couldn’t get out. Mal shifted and one of the roaches crunched under his shoulder, forcing a pathetic noise out of him that he decided he was never going to think about again.
Breathe, yes, breathe. He’s stronger, scarier, smarter. This was different. This was a challenge to win the game, for control and money. He wasn’t sneaking up the stairs late at night, listening to his parents yell, stepping on something disgusting and yelping and then there’d be a pause and a yell and stomping and-
Mal will not stoop to such a pathetic level. Chris’s challenge will not get to him. To be afraid is pathetic. The others would be scared about this. He is above their level, right? So he needs to stop thinking. He is in control. In control of part of it.
This is ridiculous. He is ridiculous, and Mal reminds himself to breathe, to calm down, he’ll get out of here and take a shower. He’s in control of this as long as he stays calm. He’ll win this challenge, and enjoy the luxuries of his team in first place. So this is fine. Really, this is fine. He’s better than this, stronger than this.
He can’t get out.
It’s a thought that creeps into his mind and makes his lungs feel tight. Mal is not in control of the situation- no, no, he’s in control of himself. Chris can’t leave him in here for that long… he’d starve after two weeks or so. But anytime between now and then was technically an option, as unlikely as it was.
No it wasn’t. The challenge would be finished by the end of the day. They couldn’t just leave him here while the others continued to compete- that wouldn’t be fair. One team would be at a disadvantage they had not earned. That had to be against the rules, right?
Mal breathes slower, keeps his eyes shut because it’s useless to try and see in the dark.
Then, one the reprehensible creatures runs up into his shirt, and Mal is almost certain he bit his lip hard enough to split it. He’s shaking- he hates that. They’re scurrying around and there’s nothing to be done and Mal can’t breathe in this small space.
Locked alone in the dark in a box teemed with roaches. One scampers along his neck and he swears it’s in his hair, and Mal tries not to shudder but a shaky little breath too similar to a sob escapes him.
No. He will not cry, not with the others outside. Are they even outside? Do they know what’s happening? Has he been left alone? Can they hear him?
He feels sick to his stomach, something in his chest is tightening up. Being scared is being pathetic and weak, crying is pathetic and weak, he is…he is…he is…
He is pathetic and weak, failing at the simple task of controlling himself just like back then .
Mal’s eyes are wet, and his body itches with hundreds of little legs crawling on his skin, some phantom, some real.
This is pathetic. He’s childish. He should be above this, but he’s not. He hates his weakness. He hates the way he’s tensing up to hide from a fight. He hates the wetness on his cheeks that he can’t understand. He hates the fact he’s powerless again, weak again, when he promised himself- he hates himself.
Mal feels disgusting, and utterly worthless. The next roach against his bare skin triggers a cry he can no longer hide, and then Mal realizes with horror that the others can hear him. They’ll be able to hear him. Did they hear him?
It’s the thought of the humiliation, of the hard work lost and his reputation shattered on national tv that makes Mal tremble. Is he being recorded right now?
That thought brings a mortified sob from him, and Mal chews his lip to stop.
A speaker crackles, and Chris’s voice cuts in. Mal breathes a sigh of relief- it’s ove-
“Hey Mal! Enjoying the family time in there, buddy?”
There’s no way he knows, and yet it hits too close to home. Chris is only calling him a roach, right, not…not…
“Say hi to your dad for me!”
His shallow breathing becomes unbearable, the tears boil over. How did he know? How did he learn? Who told him? It wasn’t Mal. Why is this happening to HIM? His plans were crashing down, just because some stupid Tv show host had decided to fucking humiliate him on camera. It wasn’t FAIR. He HATED Chris.
One torn sob escaped him, then another, and to his horror they wouldn’t stop. His chest heaved as he gasped for air, the only noise in the awful box his crying and WERE PEOPLE LAUGHING OUTSIDE? LAUGHING AT HIM THEY WERE LAUGHING AT HIM-
-and it wasn’t FAIR and he was BETTER then them and it was all because of Chris, stupid, stupid Chris cackling and saying things that Mal could no longer understand between his sobs and the ringing in his head. He shook against the wall, eventually bringing his hand up and pressed his wrist to his mouth. It only muffled him a bit- his cries went to hiccups and choked sounds. He would have bit down, but he was almost certain there had been at least one roach to scamper across there.