Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Perfectionist. A word Malcolm commonly used to define the surgeon. A fact that was undoubtedly true, for not even the man himself could deny. Another word, yet one not near as common in association as one would like was passionate. Martin Whitly was a man of passion, especially when it came to his children. Often times his need for perfection clashed with his passion. However, with precise planning and convenient timing, everything went exactly as Martin planned. 

It all started with Jessica’s unexpected visit, a visit twenty years late no less. He knew the decision to take Malcom off the list, albeit not the easiest to make, would initiate a chain reaction. First the rejection would set in and out of desperation he knew his son would return wanting answers, presumably after Jessica broke the news. Malcolm did exactly that, even more distraught than previously anticipated. The second event to come, although unplanned, was Ainsley’s visit. A pleasant surprise in which helped Martin formulate the checkmate to his plan. 

Martin’s plan went without a hitch. Not only had his connections lured Malcolm back to him, but he discovered something in the process. Watching Malcolm’s endeavors to save that inconsequential camera man was a sight to see, the panicked look in his eyes, the shaking… All clear signs of distress. Then Malcolm’s attempt to lie when clearly something was wrong. His boy needed him, now more than ever. 

Post-haste, a new plan was set into motion. See, Martin’s list of connections was broad and getting out of that hospital? Effortless, a little chaos didn’t hurt either. Finding out where Malcolm resided? Also effortless. 

A free, handcuff-less, hand brushed against the fabric of unmade sheets, eyes taking quick notice of half-assed restraints that hung on each side of the bed. “Now, Malcolm, Why would you need these?” Martin frowned at the thought. “My Malcolm…” 

He did a full sweep of the apartment, shocked to find the vass amount of prescription drugs and near empty shelves. Not so much the mixed drinks, given his mother’s drinking habits. It made sense that her habits would spread to his precious Malcolm. After unscrewing the only bottle in sight, he pulled out a small vial of liquid, quickly emptying its contents into said bottle. It would take some time to fully take effect but taking Malcolm would be far less strenuous as soon as it did. 

The second feet were heard shuffling up the stairs, Martin slipped into the shadows. He looked on as Malcolm poured himself a glass. The events of the day was having an apparent effect, his boy’s body was wearing down and his hands were shaking. 

“You know, alcohol won’t help. Then again, you are mother’s son, and oh boy does your mother love her drinks.” Martin remarked with concern as he stepped out of the shadows, caught off guard by Malcolm’s immediate reaction to jump back in shock. After all, he didn’t see a reason why such a loving father would warrant such a reaction. “Hello, Malcolm.” He smiled softly at Malcolm.

“-You’re not here, it’s just my head playing tricks.” Malcolm closed his eyes tightly, the glass in his hand crashed onto the ground and shattering to pieces. “When I open my eyes, you won’t be here.”

Every word was like a dagger piercing his heart. Truly he had hoped to have a warm welcome or at least a proper response back, but not this. Malcolm was breaking at the seams.

Martin took small, subtle steps towards his son, much like approaching a wounded animal. Until he was close to whisper softly into his boy’s ear. “I did warn you about chasing memories, Malcolm. Now look at you, you’re a mess. Really, I expected you to take better care of yourself.”

Malcolm’s body quaked instinctually in response, part of him realizing that this was just some parlor trick. That he was indeed the devil in the flesh. There appeared to be a moment of relief, Malcolm not knowing that Martin had maneuvered around him. Despite the need to wrap his arms around his boy, to keep him close, Martin ultimately decided against it. Merely aiming to avoid another undesirable reaction. 

As a father, seeing his child in such a poor, fragile, condition wounded him. Perhaps more combined with Malcolm’s previous words. Anger coursed through his veins. How could Malcolm allow this to happen himself? Why had his wife insisted on shoving pills down his throat instead of providing the proper love and support he needed? His wife who undoubtedly planted the idea in their child’s mind that he was a monster. Their child who clearly needed a father’s love.

“You know, hearing your sister call you a victim? Calling me a terrible father? That hurt Malcolm, a lot.” Martin whispered softly, causing Malcolm’s body to quake. 

Malcolm made a move to get away but the contents of the vial finally began to kick in. Movement was hampered as a result as Malcolm stumbled forward, and would have fallen had Martin not caught him. “What did you-”

“Shh, it’s okay, just relax and rest now.” He murmured soothingly and wrapped an arm around Malcolm and covered his mouth with the other. There was a small struggle, but it didn’t take long until Malcolm was limp in his arms. Martin quickly scooped him up, a falling against his chest.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.” 

Chapter Text

The Nature of the Forest was so serene, filled with the sound of birds chirping around them. Ever so present winds blew past them, causing the branches to sway. Not a single care what was going around it as the two figures knelt on the ground below.

“Make a small incision in the neck, right about there.” Soft, warm hands guided a small shaking one, the knife lightly touching hide, not yet piercing flesh. The fear of making a fatal mistake in the driver's seat. “Careful, Don’t want to miss and cut an artery, Malcolm.”

Deep breaths calmed his nerves, just enough to cease the tremoring. However the second he pressed the knife into the flesh, the scenery changed. Deer hide was now human skin and blood sprayed all over him. Panic set in as he desperately tried to stop the profuse bleeding.

Suddenly Malcolm’s eyes opened wide as his body shot up. The relief he felt knowing it was only a nightmare was short lived the moment he failed to recognize his surroundings. He was on a bed but it wasn’t his bed. These walls weren’t his walls either. 

“What do you think, Malcolm? Do you like it?” Malcolm’s eyes widened as a younger version of his father appeared in front of him. “Bought this place just for us, it’s a perfect spot for a camping trip. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Malcolm was now wide awake, the memory of the previous night's events hitting him like a freight train. “Fuck.” He muttered to himself as he took the time to fully process where he was now. There had to be an exit somewhere. If he got out now he might have a chance to get far enough where his father couldn’t find him. From there he could call for backup.

In the background he could hear the clamoring of pots and pans. His father was humming some sort of tune he couldn’t quite catch onto. The man was clearly distracted, a perfect chance to get away. Upon further inspection, Malcolm managed to find a back exit but it was locked. Shit.  He took a deep breath, looked around to make sure the coast was clear before promptly kicking the door with all his strength. Much to his relief the door busted open and he wasted no time running out. 

Once Malcolm felt like he’d ventured far enough away, he pulled out his and immediately started to dial Gil’s number. “Wrong decision, Malcolm.” The voice was sudden and right behind him. He didn’t even have time to react as the phone posthastedly snatched from his hands and thrown to the ground, followed by the sound of it shattering. “Now how about we go back to dear old daddy.”

A  clothed hand covered his mouth as he tried to fight his way out of the strangers grasp, whose voice seemed oddly familiar. His vision started darkening before pure black greeted him, his body going limp.

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He should have properly secured Malcolm,  He should have seen this coming. Should have took off the second he heard movement. Martin paced back and forth, cursing himself. He should have rushed to his son’s side the second he heard him screaming in the bed. But he didn’t do that in the fear that it would scare him. Instead he’d  chosen to give his son the benefit of the doubt. That maybe he would either not remember or stick around. Now he was left too many regrets and should haves, waiting for some saving grace.

Seconds, minutes...More time seemed to pass and his hope was fading. What if it was too late? By now Malcolm would have called that damn cop and they would be on their way to arrest him, again. Martin relaxed when he heard a friendly engine approach the cabin. Needless to say he was out the door once the engine shut off, eagerly craving to reclaim his son.

“Found him not too far down the road, gotta admit, he’s a fast one.” the man before him remarked as he handed an unconscious Malcolm over Martin. “Don’t worry my friend, you won’t have to worry about him calling anyone anytime in the foreseeable future.”

Martin clung Malcolm’s unconscious body as if it was life or death, feeling his boy’s breath against his chest. “Thank you, Paul. I owe you a big one for this.” Martin said softly as he smiled down at Malcolm. “Would you like to join us for breakfast?”

“Nah, I got some trash to take care of that your boy here got interrupted.” Martin smiled thankfully at Paul. “Just try to keep an eye on him this time.”

Oh he definitely would do that. No one was going to keep him from his son ever again. “Trust me, soon he won’t want to leave.”

Chapter Text

As a father, Martin prided himself in caring for his boy, being there for Malcolm when he needed him most. Causing any kind of harm, no wonder how little, wounded his that very pride. 

Martin played the role of a loving, faithful husband to Jessica. However, none of that was for her sake. In the beginning the only use Jessica served was to help him blend in. That was, until the mention of a family, a child. He thought the idea preposterous. Children would only get in the way. With time and Jessica’s persistence, his perception of the matter expanded.

Once Malcolm was born his entire world shifted. The difference between a guise and reality skewed. Malcolm was his perfect boy, the only human being he would truly come to love. Malcolm became his world. Everything he lived for, everything he did was for his son. There was nothing Martin wouldn’t do to keep him happy and safe. Never once would he willingly hurt his boy.

Yet there he stood, watching Malcolm’s unconscious form violently toss and turn, freshly cuffed hands loudly clashed against each side of the bed frame. His poor boy was suffering from terrible night terrors, very evident by the monotone screams escaping Malcolm’s lips. It was clear now why the bindings were in place in Malcolm’s apartment. The prescribed drugs, the complex PTSD...

“To think that my child suffers this much.” If Ainsley’s accusations were anything to go by, Martin was to blame. Untrue. No, if anything Martin was the only one who could truly help Malcolm. Better than the medications forced down Malcolms throat. Better than anything. 

Martin approached Malcolm’s sleeping form and shook lightly. He shifted accordingly to dodge flying limps. “Malcolm, wake up, it’s not real.” He called out but to no avail. No matter of shaking seemed to be doing the trick either. Slapping hard enough would do the job, but Martin couldn’t hurt his Malcolm. 

It appeared as though luck was on his side as Malcolm’s eyes opened wide and his body flung up. He could hear a deep exhale, momentary relief. The relief didn’t last long once Malcolm saw him, though. Instantaneously Malcolm moved as far away from him as possible. Didn’t take long before his boy tried to break off the handcuffs.

“So you know, I didn’t want to resort to this. You left me no choice, Malcolm.” If only Malcolm had been a little less stubborn and more cooperative. Maybe he wouldn’t have had to resort to these measures but he couldn’t afford to lose his son. Not again. “I told myself to give you the benefit of the doubt, yet you tried to leave me again .”

Malcolm continued to struggle with his bindings. “You can’t keep me here, Doctor Whitly, eventually they’ll know I’m missing. They’ll find us.”

“There are only two people who know where this place is. Myself and a dear friend of mine.” Martin smiled sadly, “I know you’ve been wanting answers, and now I’m going to help you. I’m going to take care of you, I promise. For now, it’s time to get something in your stomach.”

-------

Something wasn’t right. The occasional silence was not uncommon here and there, but a little less than 24 hours and to not hear anything from Malcolm. Not even a single text. When her phone rang she felt some relief, at least until she saw the caller ID.

“Well if it isn’t Gil Arroyo, are you the reason my son hasn’t contacted me? Keeping him busy are we?” The silence that followed quickly changed the atmosphere, however. 

“So you haven’t heard anything from Malcolm, either. I was hoping that wouldn’t be the case.” Gil’s voice sounded shaken at the realization.

Nerves were building, suspense in the air. Not even Gil had been in contact with Malcolm? Oh god, please tell me this is a joke. If this was a joke Malcolm decided to play than it was sick. But as strange and unorthodox as her son was, this was nothing like him.

Jessica reached out towards the door in front of her, the door to Malcolms apartment. She’d only arrived mere minutes before Gil’s call. Oh god, her hands were shaking. Malcolm had to be there. He was just playing some joke, right? It wasn’t his usual schtick, but perhaps could be the case. Just this once…

She twisted the knob. Locked . Silent panic began to sink as Jessica pounded on the door. “Malcolm? It’s your mother, open up!” Jessica called out. When no response was heard, she repeated her previous action, only to be met with the same result. She swiftly retrieved a set of keys from her purse. Thankfully after that epic fight , Malcolm hadn’t changed the locks.  

“Malcolm?” The silence was deafening, not even a hint of movement from above. So much so that the sound of her heels touching the surface of the steps as she proceeded up reverberated through the walls. Her optimism dwindled further when there was no sign of Malcolm. His bed looked like it hadn’t been slept in. Another glance around had her discover shards of glass on the floor beside the island.

Jessica gasped, hands now covering half of her facial features. The Junkyard Killer. Martin. One of the reasons she’d come here was to tell Malcolm the news of Martin’s breakout. Who was she kidding? He would have definitely known long before herself. But more importantly to make sure he was okay..

Martin was on the loose.

And Malcolm…

“Jessica…? What’s going on, talk to me!” Gil’s voice pierced through the trance she was in. She had completely forgotten the fact that she never hung up.

“Malcolm’s gone. Gil, somethings wrong, there’s glass on the ground.” Jessica’s voice was shaken. On the other end of the line she heard Gil order multiple someones to head her way.

“Don’t go anywhere, we’re on our way.”

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Malcolm was stubborn to the core. He wasn’t going to just let his father have his way. If that man thought for a mere second that they could go back to what they were before, before the chloroform and before he found out who his father truly was, he had another thing coming. Martin Whitly was a manipulative psychopath incapable of genuine emotion. Ten years away from him put all of that in perspective. So why would he accept anything his father offered?

“Why do you insist on doing this, Malcolm?” He could hear his father’s irritation, or perhaps concern? “I made sure to check your everything before I brought you here. I know there wasn’t anything in your fridge. You do know that’s not healthy, don’t you?”

What’s it to you? It’s your fault I’m this way. Malcolm wanted to say aloud, to give his old man a piece of mind. God knows he fucking deserved it. “Fuck off.” Was all he said as he turned his head the other way. 

Suddenly a hard smacked harshly against his cheek, no doubt leaving a red mark. That was surprising enough, but what he truly didn’t expect was the look of guilt on his father’s features. Had that actually hurt him too?

Don’t you see he loves us? He never meant to hurt us in first place. The soft spoken, childish voice of his younger self made itself known.

“He doesn’t love us! He doesn’t even care about us. He’s a psychopath who doesn’t care gets hurt.” Unbeknownst to him, the sentence was said out loud. 

The same hand that had struck him was now caressing his cheek softly. The warmth from it was calming even. Only for a moment, though as he moved back slightly, enough to create more distance.

“I’m sorry you feel that way Malcolm, but I never wanted to hurt, or your mother and sister. I only wanted what was best for you.” Martin Whitly knew something was going on, Malcolm could tell by the softened, yet still pained, gaze. “I still do, and now I’m going to take care of you. No matter how long it takes.”

Malcolm looked on as his father left him to his thoughts.

Maybe Martin Whitly did love him after all.