daredevilkink | Prompt Post #1

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Prompt Post #1

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Ok so the other interrupted suicide got me thinking...

Just a canonical interrupted suicide with a Foggy who is used to Matt's lows and a Karen who is experiencing it all for the first time.

YAAAASSSS I wanted to give this a try as soon as I saw the other one. I'll try to do it by this evening

Damn that was fast! THanks!!!

I'm not the first author anon who said they'd fill, and I'm very excited for their fill!

Warnings: Depression, suicidal ideation, and more than one attempted suicide

+++

Matt doesn't own a gun.

This is a blessing, because Foggy knows what would happen if he did. Foggy would never get there in time.

Matt's been low, lately. Spaced out, quiet, and fake. Fake smiles, fake stability, just...fake. Foggy can tell at this point, when Matt's getting really low. It's hard for anyone else to tell, probably, but Foggy's just as tuned in to Matt as Matt's tuned in to him.

So when Foggy called Matt to invite him to a night out with Karen and he didn't answer, he figured he might as well check up on him. It's true that he could be out as Daredevil--and doesn't that terrify Foggy, the idea that Matt could be putting his life in danger while he's down--but it's better to check.

Foggy has a spare key. He usually only uses it in these situations.

Karen's concerned. Foggy's tried to brush it off, tried to just say, "Maybe he's sick," because that's not a lie. Sick in the head is still sick.

+

Foggy's known Matt for three months, and when he bursts into the room to inform him of the fact that Punjabi girl is totally into him, he sees him sitting on his bed, cross-legged, holding a knife to his wrist. It's a pocket knife. Pocket knives aren't even allowed in the dorms, and Foggy had no idea Matt had one.

Foggy's brain goes blank with panic. "Hey, Matt," he says because he can't think of anything else to say.

'Hey, Matt, I see you're feeling a bit suicidal. Wanna talk about it?'

That seems a little blasé, honestly.

"Hey, Foggy," Matt says hollowly. "Could you leave? I want to be alone."

Foggy almost laughs. "Maybe not, buddy," he says. "How about you give me the knife?"

Matt's not wearing his glasses. His eyes, unfocused as always, are wet with tears, but the face he's making is mostly one that Foggy would call 'dead inside'.

Foggy really hates himself for not noticing, especially since hindsight is 20/20 and now that he thinks about it, Matt's been stressed and quiet and he's been spending a lot of time lying in his bed. Foggy thought that maybe he was just getting sick or something.

"Matt?" Foggy says, and his voice is thick with tears that he can't even bring himself to be ashamed about right now. "Please don't do this, just...don't," he finishes weakly.

"I feel like I'm lying flat on my back," Matt says. "All the time." There's still no emotion in his voice.

Foggy doesn't think he's ever felt this freaked out. He's so freaked out he's almost calm. "But it..." he starts, and then his breathing gets shaky and now he's really crying. "It'll pass, Matt," he says, even though he knows that probably isn't all that comforting. He doesn't know what to say. He's never been in this situation before. He's never even dreamed of feeling this way.

He guesses he's been really, really lucky.

Foggy sits next to Matt. He's starting to feel nauseous. Matt still has the knife poised over his wrist, ready to slice down.

"Down the road," Matt says. "Not across."

Foggy's trying not to let on how freaked out he is, but he takes the knife from Matt's hand.

Matt just kind of lets him, like he's too exhausted to fight for his suicide attempt.

"You should go to sleep," Foggy says. "You're...you're really tired. We can...talk. About this tomorrow. Maybe get help."

A tear runs down Matt's face. Just one. Foggy doesn't know how he does it. "Help," he says.

"Yeah. Come on. Go to bed. You're tired," Foggy says. "You're just tired," he says again, trying to convince himself way more than he's trying to convince Matt.

Matt finally lies down on top of his covers. He's asleep in less than a minute.

Foggy turns the knife into the front desk, says he just found it lying around and he knows those aren't allowed here, so he figured he'd do his duty as a student and as a citizen of the United States of America and bring it in.

"Don't want anyone getting hurt," he says, shrugging and trying his best to smile.

When he gets back to the dorm, he grabs every sharp object he can find and hides it in his pillowcase and stuffs it under the bed.

Foggy's not a Catholic. He's not anything, really. But he lies back in bed and says to the ceiling, "Hail Mary, full of grace..."

+

Matt's apartment is dark, which isn't a surprise, considering the fact that Matt's got no use for light.

("NLP," Matt says, drunk and giggling. "Nooo light perception.")

He saves a lot on his electricity bill.

Foggy flicks on the light.

Karen makes a wounded noise, and Foggy just sighs and then he feels terrible about it, because who in the world gets used to this?

Matt's sitting at his kitchen table. There's a bottle of pills--painkillers, probably, almost full, Matt's terrible at taking painkillers when he needs them, he's one of those ridiculous work through the pain kind of guys--in front of him. The bottle's tipped over, and the pills are spilling out of it. The light of the billboard outside makes the orange of the bottle really pop.

Matt's picking up the pills and then letting them spill out of his hand, over and over again.

There's another bottle of pills on the table. It's half empty, and that's when Foggy goes into high gear.

He walks over to Matt while Karen's still standing stock still and horrified and picks up the bottle. "How many did you take?" he asks.

Matt mumbles something.

+

They're out of the dorms, just moved into their apartment building, and Foggy's been watching Matt.

Matt's been spending a lot of time in bed. Foggy's not even sure if he's sleeping. He drags himself to class, he studies, but his movements are listless and by this point Foggy's not falling for his attempts at seeming just like his usual self.

Matt's depressive episodes don't last for more than a month, usually, but they hit hard and pretty often. Matt's never gotten to the point of actually slitting his wrists (not out of lack of desire, Foggy thinks sometimes, but just because he can't muster up the energy to try to kill himself), but Foggy's walked in on him contemplating knives more than once, and there was the time where he actually did take too many pills. He threw them all up, though.

Foggy's locked up the sharp objects in the apartment and he keeps the key in his pocket. The only knives out are butter knives, and Foggy tries to be discreet when Matt's shaving, but he always knocks on the door if Matt's locked himself in the bathroom for more than five minutes. He knows he's mother henning, Matt complains about it enough, but Foggy really, really doesn't want his best friend to die, which he doesn't think is unreasonable.

Today Foggy finds Matt on the roof, leaning over the railing precariously. Foggy fucking hates heights, but he walks over to Matt and tries really hard not to look down. "Hey, Matt," he says, more casually than he did the first time, or the third time, or the fifth time. This is number thirteen of the Serious Contemplations of Suicide Foggy's witnessed, or at least, he thinks it is.

"Hey, Foggy," Matt says. "Could you leave? I want to be alone."

Foggy's so used to this that the feeling of deja vu he got the first few times they had this conversation is all but gone.

"Maybe not, buddy," Foggy says. "You should come down. It's cold up here."

Matt leans further over the railing and Foggy finally breaks and grabs his shoulder, pulling him back as he feels a sharp spike of panic.

Matt blinks. He's not wearing his glasses. For some reason, when this happens, he never does. It's a good way to tell what's going on when it's something like this, though. If Matt's on the roof, he could be contemplating life or whatever the fuck it is that Matt does, or he could be considering jumping. Without the glasses, Foggy's pretty sure of what it is.

"Fifteen floors down," Matt says. "What does it look like down there?"

Foggy swallows down his fear and quickly glances down and back up, head spinning. "Lots of concrete," he says. "Nothing much to see."

"That's what I thought," Matt says. "I bet it's not that bad. Falling."

Foggy's had way, way too many of these morbid conversations. "Maybe not. But it's probably better to just stay on solid ground, right?"

"I feel heavy," Matt says. "Like lead."

Matt gets poetic when he's like this. Foggy's got a whole file of Matt's suicidal descriptions of depression in his head. Sometimes when he feels beyond frustrated at Matt's behavior when he's low, he thinks about them and he doesn't really get it, but it makes him less angry. Being angry doesn't work in this situation, it never did. Panic isn't great either.

Foggy says, "Nelson and Murdock, right? Our own practice."

"Nelson and Murdock," Matt whispers.

"Would kinda be a shame to miss out on that. I mean, if you went splat."

Matt hums. It might be an agreement.

"C'mon, let's go downstairs. You should go to sleep. You're tired. You're just tired."

Matt takes Foggy's elbow and eventually he's in bed, asleep. Safe for now.

Foggy wonders when the fuck this happened to them, and pours himself a drink.

+

"How many did you take?" Foggy says, more firmly, grabbing Matt's shoulders.

Matt shrugs.

Foggy checks the mostly empty bottle of painkillers. "Matt!" he says, louder. "This is important! How many did you take?"

"I don't know," Matt says. "Not like I counted."

"Right, smartass," Foggy mutters, grabbing one of Matt's shoulders. "Help me get him to the bathroom," he tells Karen, who looks like she's about to cry.

She shakes her head, though, like she's clearing it, and nods, walking over to them with purpose. "Time to get up, Matt," she murmurs, low and comforting, and Matt lets himself be hauled to his feet and practically dragged to the bathroom.

He kneels in front of the toilet--he's been there before in this exact situation--and Foggy grabs his toothbrush and tells Matt, "Open your mouth," and then slots the flat end down his throat.

Gagging seizes Matt's body and he throws up. Foggy makes a face at the pills floating in bile and fits the toothbrush down Matt's throat again until he's dry heaving painfully.

Matt's panting, eyes drooping. Foggy checks his pulse. A little high. Fine, though.

Karen's rubbing Matt's back, humming. There are tears running down her cheeks, and her voice is completely steady.

She's doing better than Foggy did the first time. It's a good thing that Matt's so weirdly agreeable when he's like this, though. Foggy's pretty sure he wouldn't be able to stop him if he got aggressive about it.

"Let's get you to bed," Foggy says.

Matt nods and gets up off the floor with Karen's help, leans on her as they head to his room. He collapses on top of the covers.

"Go to sleep," Foggy says. "You're tired. You're just tired."

Poor Foggy :-(

Oof. :( This is so sad, but also really <3, author!anon? Poor everyone :(

aaaarghhhh author.

this is both sad, and very realistic; i can almost see it, y'know?

(...um. nooooot to be a shit, but: errybody already knows that foggy is being a Fictional Best Friend, right? never ever never try to induce vomiting in real life even if you have evidence the person has poisoned themselves, never ever.)

Nooo, you are right, I should've put a disclaimer there!!! Foggy did not really know what he was doing. Though granted, I was under the impression that one shouldn't induce vomiting for poison such as rat poison rather than pills because the poison coming up can end up being just as damaging as when it goes down. So I was under the impression that Foggy was doing something that wasn't a particularly good idea, but also wasn't particularly life-threatening. I've read...conflicting literature on it and heard conflicting things about it from other people who take lots of meds, so, um.

Yeah, listen to the anon above, people. They probably know more than me about this.

So thanks for reminding me (and everybody else) of this, anon! Also, I'm glad you liked (? I figure finding it sad is liking) it.

ALSO don't use a toothbrush to induce vomiting. That's a terrible idea, it really is.

Yeah, going to second the DON'T INDUCE VOMITING part; call POISON CONTROL (1 (800) 222-1222 in the USA)

In a case like Matt's, Poison Control could tell Foggy whether or not inducing vomiting would be helpful, help identify medications and what dose would be toxic, plus what signs and symptoms he should look out for in terms of toxicity. (For free!) So yeah. Go for the phone and poison control, not straight for the toothbrush.

Oh! i am the first NO VOMITING anon! aiii thank you, OP, for understanding: I felt so bad butting in with, like, the "in real life monkeys don't fly," thing, but in this case I worry about this stuff. the fic was...sad in that way that i'm clutching my chest going "MY TINY PERFECT FICTIONAL SONS, I WILL PROTECT YOU," so you did a wonderful job. :D

*winces* sorry to start drama on your prompt.

Vomiting up poison burns the esophagus, totally, but the problem with vomiting is that your body is designed in a really awful, inefficient way. The tube going to your lungs intersects with the tube going to your stomach, and that's - where we have problems, because your lungs are delicate.

First aid/wilderness first responder here, anyone with training more extensive than mine is WELCOME to chime in, but: every time you induce vomiting, you are running a very good chance of asphyxiation - where the vomit blocks the victim's airway and they suffocate - or aspiration, where a drugged-up Not Okay person vomits, gasps for air, sucks vomit/bile/particulate matter into their lungs, develops pneumonia, dies. (or the particulate matter/bile burns the lung tissue, or causes fluid buildup so that the person drowns, or - like. SO MANY EXCITING ways that things can go wrong.)

I think current procedure is a) IMMEDIATELY CALL 911 and/or Poison Control, b) attempt to keep victim awake and talking, or if b) is not an option, c) put victim in recovery position and wait for medical professionals.

A!a here. No, you didn't start the drama, it's cool! This is actually good to know for everybody. And actually, I should've known/guessed at the aspiration thing, considering it's one of the things I learned about in my doomed flirtation with Speech, Language, and Hearing Sciences as a major.

Anyway, yep, learn something new every day, and it's always fun to learn something from a story you write, haha.

Oh god, this hurts so good. This is amazing, author!anon.

OP here! That was amazing and so intense. Thank you so much!!!!!!!

I'm glad you liked it, OP! :)

"I feel like I'm lying flat on my back," Matt says. "All the time."

Oh no. Way to punch me in the stomach and then swiftly in the face, anon. <3

Thank you! I'm glad you noticed that line. :)

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Prompt Post #1

ANGSTY INTERRUPTED SUICIDE

Re: ANGSTY INTERRUPTED SUICIDE

Re: ANGSTY INTERRUPTED SUICIDE

Fill: First Step Second (and So On)

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Re: Fill: WAIT THIS IS IMPORTANT, PSA EVERYONE

Re: Fill: POISON CONTROL PSA EVERYONE

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Re: Fill: First Step Second (and So On)

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