#this took me 3 goddamn hours and made my chronic arm pain so much worse but I HAD TO I LOVE HIM!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

howaboutcastiel · 2 years

Text

Helping You Through, Part 1 (Marc Spector)

Summary: You have to start a new chemotherapy regimen and you're understandably dreading your first dose. Your boyfriends try to help you through the experience, each contributing in their own way to your comfort. (3 parts, one for each Moon Boy)

Part 2.

Content Warning: Medical stuff (needles, medical centers, illness), angst, fluff. Reader is female. This shit is angsty on a personal level and you can't stop it.

Word Count: 4k

Author's Note: I'm writing this literally because I take chemo. That being said, I do not have cancer (I have an autoimmune disease) and I'm not trying to compare my experience to cancer fighters <3.

Marc absolutely insisted on driving you to your first appointment. You protested, of course, not wanting to ask him to take several hours out of his day just to sit with you in a doctor's office, but he was having none of it. He was going with you, end of story. You were relieved to have someone with you, but you weren't going to tell him that.

It wasn't your first dose of chemo, but it was your first time on the new regimen. Higher dose, more often, with a couple of pre-med injections to ensure that your body didn't reject the medication. It was no fun, to say the least, and you were nervous about the whole situation. No matter how many times you took it, you would forever be wary of the needles, the smell of alcohol, and the sickeningly bright fluorescents. You were also scared about the side effects of taking such a higher dose. The ones from the low dose weren't too fun to begin with.

You had tried not to make a big deal out of your chronic illness when you explained it to your boys. Sure, it was lifelong, it was debilitating, and it straight up knocked you on your ass to deal with the medications you took. But you had gotten used to downplaying it for others' sake, as well as for the sake of your own sanity. Both your parents had the disease; it was hereditary and they'd been diagnosed long before you were. So when you finally started getting treatment as a teenager, there was no room for moping, for sympathy, or for comfort. Your parents had been dealing with it all your life, and they never complained. There was an expectation for you to be strong.

That expectation was moot when it came to your boys. As much as you tried to assure them that you could handle yourself just fine, the moon boys saw right through your facade of resilience. Steven had done a deep dive on your diagnosis the first time you'd told him about it, spending hours researching what it meant for you. Marc was quick to dismantle your habit of trivializing your pain; it had taken him long enough to do the same in his own life, he surely wasn't going to watch you make life harder on yourself for the sake of saving face. And Jake, he did what he knew how to do best. He treated you like a goddamn princess.

You tried to hide your anxiety as you approached the familiar medical center. You had been here a hundred times before. Sometimes with your parents, oftentimes by yourself. You had never allowed any of your boys to come with you; in your mind, you could maintain the illusion that you were healthy if they never saw you on your treatment days. You didn't want them to see you as weak, as a burden.

Marc placed a reassuring hand on your arm as he turned the engine off. He saw right through your attempt to put on a brave face, which just made you feel even worse. But you knew that there was nothing to be ashamed of; Marc would never think less of you just because you were sick.

"You really don't have to come in with me." You made one last effort to push your partner away as you stepped out of the car. He shook his head, scoffing at you with a patronizing half-smile.

"We're not having this conversation again, baby." He entangled his fingers in yours as you exited the parking deck, rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. "I'm coming with you. You don't have to do this alone."

You were familiar with almost all of the staff here, having been one of their patients since you started taking treatments in your teens. The receptionist greeted you with a familiar smile, raising her eyebrows at the handsome man accompanying you.

"Who's this with you today, sweetheart?" She asked sweetly, eyeing Marc up and down with a cheeky grin. "Never seen him with you before."

"This is my boyfriend." You replied. Well, one of them at least, you thought. "His name is Marc."

"Pleasure to meet you." He greeted politely, nodding his head in replacement of shaking her hand.

No matter how many times you came here, the anxiety never really went away completely. Now, it was amplified by your fear of the unknown. The new dosage, the added medications, everything different about today had your heart beating just a little bit faster. You had gotten used to your old routine; you'd get your meds, you'd spend the afternoon in bed, and you'd feel like crap for a few days afterward. You hoped that the higher dosage didn't change too much about this.

Your heart jumped a little in your chest when the nurse called your name a few minutes later. Marc sent you a reassuring glance as the two of you followed her down the hall and to the main room of the treatment center. Marc seemed surprised by the size of the room; you guessed he'd been imagining something much smaller.

It was artificially bright, illuminated by harsh fluorescent lights and full-length picture windows on one wall. Dozens of beige leather reclining chairs lined the borders of the room, separated only by curtains and small cupboards holding medical supplies. Cheap plastic chairs were positioned at each side of a patient cubicle, an afterthought for those accompanying the people being treated. The air smelled of rubbing alcohol, which sent a subconscious rush of discomfort down your spine.

There was a large nurse's station in the center of the room. You recognized most of the staff as you walked to your appointed chair, giving polite half-smiles to those who noticed your entrance. Marc waited for you to sit down before situating himself in the chair to your right. It creaked underneath him, obviously not built for comfort or durability.

"Okie-Dokey," The nurse checked a box on her clipboard. They were often over-enthusiastic with the patients. Something about boosting morale. "Just confirm all of your information here and we can get that IV ready for you."

Marc crinkled his nose slightly at the nurse's words. You were used to the needle by now, but that certainly didn't equate to enjoying the experience. The thought still sent a shiver down your spine. Sometimes they would have to stick you multiple times, especially if you were dehydrated or malnourished. Which was often. That's part of why you took the medication in the first place.

You confirmed your name, date of birth, and current medications with the nurse. At this point you had the whole little blurb memorized because you’d been asked so many times before. Marc gave a half-smile at the way you absentmindedly gave the information.

Not that you could ever fathom it, but Marc could not be more proud of you. Despite all of his big endeavors, his strength through loss, childhood abuse, military service, and even worse, was somehow no match in his eyes for your resilience here and now. Medical stuff was a no-go for Marc Spector. He hated the thought of doctors poking and prodding, of patronizing nurses and convoluted treatment plans. All the meds, the needles, the surgeries—every bit of it was terrifying to him. And you were doing so well, he couldn't believe it. In his mind, you were the bravest of all.

But you couldn't see that. You had convinced yourself that his look of admiration was nothing but pity. He must see you as weak, as too sickly to handle this on your own. And of course you knew deep down that it wasn't true. You knew him and he knew you, and there was no mistaking how highly he regarded you. But you just couldn't shake your feeling of inadequacy, the one that had grown into you during your formative years. You were not only too sick to be viewed without pity, but hell, you were too weak of a person to even handle your illness alone.

So guilt began to build in your chest when you felt the familiar panic wash over you. You wanted nothing more than to hide your fear from your partner; to put on a brave face and save him the hurt of seeing you scared and in pain. The nurse returned with all the necessary equipment; she had alcohol wipes, medical tape, a saline syringe, and a 21 gauge retractable needle. The lump in your throat was unmistakable and you turned away from Marc so that he couldn't see the color drain from your face.

You had a bad feeling about today. It was more than just the new dosage. More than the fact that this was the first time that Marc would be here to witness. Normally, you could grit your teeth and swallow your pride and the IV would be in before you knew it, leaving you to sit and relax at least for the duration of the appointment. You couldn't put your finger on it, but today certainly felt different.

"Okay, hun," the nurse's voice rang in your ears like birdsong, too sharp and too high. "Which arm would you like me to use?"

A dull scraping sound echoed behind her words as you aloofly held out your left arm to answer her question. It didn't matter, there was scar tissue on nearly every good vein at this point. You turned your head to the source of the noise, seeing Marc drag his chair subtly closer to you. Despite your best efforts, he must have noticed the dread emanating from your body. He placed his calloused palm over your right hand, squeezing the skin lightly with his fingers.

"You haven't introduced me to your friend here," the nurse attempted to distract you as she ran an alcohol wipe over the skin on your forearm. You appreciated the gesture well enough. "Tell me about him."

"This is my boyfriend, Marc." You faked a smile as you muttered the words through gritted teeth. God, you hated the smell of rubbing alcohol. You knew what it was a precursor to. "We've been dating for a few months. He wanted to make sure I was okay with the first dose of the new treatment plan."

"Nice to meet you, Marc." The nurse nodded her head toward him, tossing the alcohol wipe into the bin beside your chair. He gave an awkward nod in return. Marc wasn't really one for small talk, but he tried to keep the air light for your sake if nothing else. "It's good to see that you have a support system. Hopefully, the higher dosage doesn't do you too bad."

You sucked in a small breath as she pulled the IV needle out of its plastic wrapping. The feeling that something bad would happen definitely didn't shake as she touted her usual preparatory spiel.

"I'm going to count to three, alright? Just take deep breaths. Ready? One... two..."

Normally, you would shut your eyes and squeeze both your hands into tightly-wound fists. You debated whether to grasp at Marc's hand instead. You didn't want him to think that you were in more pain than you actually were. Your grip tightened slightly on his hand, bracing for the sharp pain digging under your skin.

"Three."

Your gut feeling turned out to be right. The wrong kind of pain shot all the way up your arm and an instant wave of nausea washed over you. You looked down to see your skin raised in an oval shape around the needle. Of fucking course your vein had blown today of all days.

"Aw, I'm sorry." She whimpered a dissatisfied breath and pulled the needle back out, pressing a square of gauze into the injection sight as Marc shot a confused look her way. His puzzled expression quickly turned to concern as he met your gaze, seeing nothing but resignation and the unmistakable face of someone who was about to faint.

"Honey?" He pressed his hand into your shoulder, leaning you back in the chair so you wouldn't fall forward. You had no energy to respond; his words sounded far away as they reached your ears. "You're okay. Just take deep breaths, okay? Lie back and just breathe."

He turned to the nurse, who took only one quick glance at you before coolly pulling an emesis bag out of a drawer and placing it on your lap. Your brain was conflicted between processing on hyperfocus and resigning altogether to deep, black nothingness. A thin veil of sweat covered your skin and everything was too hot and too cold at the same time. It wasn't an unfamiliar feeling, but it sucked just as bad nonetheless.

"Is she gonna pass out?" Marc sheepishly asked the nurse. He was out of his element here. You focused on taking slow breaths as the nurse handed him a cold pack for your neck.

"She might. Or she might throw up." You groaned at the words. Marc pressed the pack to the back of your head, gingerly parting your hair with the tips of his fingers. "But she might calm down here in a second. Veins are funny like that."

It was obvious that Marc viewed the nurse as coldhearted. You wanted to tell him that the reason was that this happened fairly often. Everything was routine at this point, even fainting sometimes. But talking was hard in this state and you didn't want to exasperate the white-hot feeling in your head. You sent a pathetic smile his way, one that said something like she's right. Veins are funny like that.

Once everyone was confident that your stomach content was going to stay in its place, the nurse took your other arm out of Marc's grasp. It was standard procedure to get the IV in as soon as possible, even if you hadn't stopped sweating yet. You saw something shift in Marc's eyes as she cleaned a second potential injection site.

"You okay, baby?" He stroked the side of your head with the pads of his fingers. You nodded lazily, sucking in a breath that wasn't as nearly stable as you would have liked.

"I'm good now." You said it more to convince yourself than anything. The nurse began her spiel again and you stared down at the needle with covert dread.

"Hey, don't look at that." Marc used his pointer finger to lift your chin. The nurse subtly rolled her eyes at his display of gentle affection. "Don't look at that. Look at me."

You met his gaze as the nurse once again counted to three. His eyes were the softest you'd seen them in a while. He could table any feeling when needed if it came down to your wellbeing. You wavered only a little when you felt the sharp pinch in your arm. This time the pain wasn't nearly as bad.

"Okay! All done," the nurse's singsongy voice was loud enough to draw the attention of the patient in the chair next to you. "I'm going to flush your IV with saline and then we'll get your pre-meds in, too."

Your doctor had ordered a dose of steroids before your body took the new dosage of chemo. It would help to keep your body from rejecting the medicine. You hoped that it wouldn't add any side effects. There were just so many unknowns about today.

Marc sat back as the nurse finished setting up your IV. The next hour or so was fairly peaceful and you almost could have napped in your chair. Your boyfriend sat patiently as your body drank in the medication. You assumed he was playing games on his phone as you closed your eyes and leaned yourself back in your chair, finally somewhat content after the close call with your blown vein. His voice was gentle and quiet in your ear, pulling you from a half-slumber.

"How are you feeling?" You opened your eyes to see a genuine look of soothing concern. Your IV bag was more than half-empty now, you'd be ready to leave before long.

"I feel fine, love." It was odd how he seemed so worried about you. You had been coming and doing this as long as you could remember and no one had ever seemed to care so much about how it affected you. You honestly didn't even know how else to answer him. How were you feeling? You'd not really thought about it before.

"Is your arm okay? It had you feeling pretty bad earlier." You didn't know how to take his concern.

"Yeah, It'll be okay. Gonna leave a nasty bruise, though. Probably." You rubbed at the edges of the bandage. The dull pain in your arm was barely noticeable. Marc seemed to be holding himself quite stiffly like he couldn't stand the thought of you being in pain. You almost chuckled at the idea.

"You're not a big fan of the medical stuff, are you?" Your question aimed to re-direct the conversation away from you. You didn't want to talk about yourself.

"It's not a big deal. Haven't put much thought into it." He replied. You figured that Marc hadn't been to a doctor in a while. There was no need, not with Khonshu's healing armor. Besides the occasional therapist visit, you reckoned that the boys never saw the need for medical treatment. Probably a damn good thing, too, because they would have racked up quite the medical bill at this point, Moon Knighting around like they did. If it weren't for that armor, they'd likely be in the ER once a week. Or more.

"Are you hungry?" You figured there would only be a few hours window before you started feeling the effects of the medication. If you were going to stomach any food, then now was the time to get it. You already had the medical center's address entered in your Doordash account; like everything else, lunch was often a part of the routine.

"I could eat." Marc looked at you with that same confused expression from earlier. You had just nearly passed out half an hour ago, and now you wanted food? He just followed your lead at this point.

"I'm gonna order Chinese food. Will you pick it up from the delivery driver?"

"Of course, babe."

When your meal finally came, you savored every bite of the rich, tangy food, effectively distracting yourself from the gloom of the space around you. Marc watched you with satisfaction, relieved that you seemed to be in such good spirits. He was still in disbelief that you could handle all this so well. It seemed like such an intense experience from his view.

You had just scraped your box clean when the machine pumping your IV began to beep angrily. You laughed at the way the noise startled your boyfriend; it was only a signal that the medicine bag was empty, meaning you were finally free to go home. The nurse made quick work of removing the tiny tube from your arm, making a sarcastic remark about how she wished you'd ordered enough food to share. You were fine with the joking at this point; the hardest part was over. As far as you knew.

Marc supported your weight a little more than necessary as he guided you out the door and toward the parking deck. You were happy to be done with the endeavor, so much so that you ignored the lingering gut feeling that something wasn't going quite right. The familiar pull of fatigue began to weigh on your limbs as you crawled into the passenger's seat. You wanted to succumb to your tiredness as your partner started the car.

"I'm so goddamn proud of you, baby." He hummed as he checked his mirrors for a safe moment to back out of the spot. You didn't look at him, which was fine. He knew that you had a hard time receiving praise, especially from him. "Seriously. You're impressive. That shit is scary and you just... trucked on through. That's amazing. You're amazing."

You allowed your exhaustion to pull you deeper from him as he sent praises into your ears. It was a short drive back to your shared apartment, but you would take the rest regardless of the duration. This was the first dose you had taken of your meds since you'd moved in with Marc. You didn't really know what to expect when you got back home, but you knew that you didn't want to burden him. Even more, you knew you didn't want to worry him.

You struggled to coax yourself awake when he parked the car in front of the apartment complex. It didn't seem to matter much, though, whether you could manage to wake yourself up or not. Marc unbuckled your seat belt for you, exiting the car and making his way to the passenger door at record speed. You lazily protested when he wrapped his strong arms around your back and behind your knees, clumsily trying to lift you out of the seat.

"I can carry myself." You slurred at him, eliciting a soft chuckle.

"No, it's okay. I got you. Just go back to sleep."

"What about the neighbors?"

"As if they ever pay attention to us."

"Put me down, Marc. I'm not a baby."

"And I'm not treating you like one. I'm just... taking care. I'll always take good care of you."

"Ugh." You made a face at his sappy remark. He could be such a softy sometimes. Only with you, though. He was a buff, jaded man to the rest of the world. To you, he was gentle and caring and sweet enough to rot your teeth out of your mouth.

He carried you onto the elevator without so much as a huff, effortlessly holding your weight against his steady chest and arms. You wavered in and out of consciousness as he made his way to your apartment door, shifting you slightly so that he could turn the knob underneath your weight.

"Here you go, babe." He lowered you onto the couch, withdrawing his hands from under you and running his palm along the length of your arm. You put little effort into re-adjusting yourself as you heard him shuffle around for a blanket. You opened your eyes just in time to see him unfold your favorite quilt, draping it gingerly over your frame.

Marc looked at you like he was overflowing with love. He adored the peaceful, careless expression that you held as you bordered on sleep. He planted a kiss on your forehead, pulling the trashcan from his desk over to you, just in case.

"Just rest now, sweetheart." His voice was dripping with affection. His doughy eyes were all but bursting with desire to bring you comfort. His gaze remained on you until you once again shut your eyes, sinking into the fatigue that your day had brought you. "I'm right here. I'll be here when you wake up. Just go to sleep."

And you did. You fell asleep to the sound of his voice. It was the most comforting noise that you could ever imagine, and it coaxed all of your worries away as you sank deeper into the peaceful abyss.

Part 2 (ft. Steven) coming, like... immediately. Tagged peeps:

@libsybum @rmoonstoner @fandoms-pizza-wifi-ym13 @moony-artemis @gabewerk, @lunarlockley

#marc spector #moon knight #steven grant #steven grant x reader #jake lockley #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #steven grant x you #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #marc spector x reader #marc spector imagine #marc spector x you #masterlist

164 notes · View notes