So I know a lot about suicide/depression but not so much about catholicism, so sorry for any inaccuracies or errors!
same TWs as above
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Foggy is not amused when his phone starts screaming at him early Sunday morning. Well, maybe not screaming at him per se and maybe not early per se, but he’s hungover, leave him alone.
“Hello?” Foggy mumbles into his phone.
“Hello, is this Franklin?”
Who the hell…?
No.
He can only think of one reason Matt’s priest/therapist would be calling him and his heart feels like it’s in his throat, his stomach dropped down to his feet.
“What’s wrong with Matt?” Foggy manages past the growing lump in his throat.
“I was hoping you could tell me, Franklin. He didn’t show up for Mass this morning for the first time in months. I had hoped he had reconciled with you or at least reached out to you if he had been thinking about doing something… dire.”
Something dire? Sure, Matt has depression, but he’s a stubborn son-of-a-bitch and he wouldn’t go out like that. Would he? Foggy’s not so sure now. Elektra left him again, this time permanently, and he, Foggy Nelson, had allowed Matt to push him out of his life.
“Fuck,” is all Foggy get’s out before he hangs up, pulling on pants and a shirt, grabbing Matt’s spare key that he hadn’t been able to bring himself to return. He hails a cab quickly, shouts Matt’s address at the driver and calls Matt for the first time in months.
Voicemail.
Foggy keeps trying because he doesn’t know what else to do, he can’t fly across rooftops and save people like Matt does and isn’t it ironic that now Matt’s the one that needs saving, a bit of manic laughter bubbles up, and can’t this cab go any faster.
*******
“Foggy, Foggy, Foggy, Foggy,” Matt can hear his phone chirping at him as his begins to slip blissfully towards unconsciousness. His lips quirk up in a smile as he thinks, “this is alright. I’m glad Foggy’s voice will be the last thing I hear.”
Matt squeezes his rosary in his hand, feels the crucifix digging into his palm, feels his blood flow quicken with the motion, feels the bliss of finally being done wash over him.
“Forgive me Father for I have sinned. It has been seven days since the confession that will have been my last. I have committed a mortal sin against You and I’m sorry. Father, I just couldn’t keep going anymore. And I’ve saved people, prevented deaths that would have occurred, so that counts for something. Please Father, forgive me for desecrating this gift of life that you gave me, for wasting these gifts; forgive me father for I have sinned…”
He’s at the very edge of consciousness now, approaching critical blood loss, nearing the end. He hopes there’s a place in Heaven for him to be with his father. And really, dying isn’t so bad. He feels like he’s floating away.
“Jesus, fuck, Matty!”
How nice of his brain to have conjured Foggy’s voice blaspheming one last time to ease Matt into death.
Fill: leave me out with the waste (this is not what I do) 2/?
same TWs as above
-----
Foggy is not amused when his phone starts screaming at him early Sunday morning. Well, maybe not screaming at him per se and maybe not early per se, but he’s hungover, leave him alone.
“Hello?” Foggy mumbles into his phone.
“Hello, is this Franklin?”
Who the hell…?
No.
He can only think of one reason Matt’s priest/therapist would be calling him and his heart feels like it’s in his throat, his stomach dropped down to his feet.
“What’s wrong with Matt?” Foggy manages past the growing lump in his throat.
“I was hoping you could tell me, Franklin. He didn’t show up for Mass this morning for the first time in months. I had hoped he had reconciled with you or at least reached out to you if he had been thinking about doing something… dire.”
Something dire? Sure, Matt has depression, but he’s a stubborn son-of-a-bitch and he wouldn’t go out like that. Would he? Foggy’s not so sure now. Elektra left him again, this time permanently, and he, Foggy Nelson, had allowed Matt to push him out of his life.
“Fuck,” is all Foggy get’s out before he hangs up, pulling on pants and a shirt, grabbing Matt’s spare key that he hadn’t been able to bring himself to return. He hails a cab quickly, shouts Matt’s address at the driver and calls Matt for the first time in months.
Voicemail.
Foggy keeps trying because he doesn’t know what else to do, he can’t fly across rooftops and save people like Matt does and isn’t it ironic that now Matt’s the one that needs saving, a bit of manic laughter bubbles up, and can’t this cab go any faster.
*******
“Foggy, Foggy, Foggy, Foggy,” Matt can hear his phone chirping at him as his begins to slip blissfully towards unconsciousness. His lips quirk up in a smile as he thinks, “this is alright. I’m glad Foggy’s voice will be the last thing I hear.”
Matt squeezes his rosary in his hand, feels the crucifix digging into his palm, feels his blood flow quicken with the motion, feels the bliss of finally being done wash over him.
“Forgive me Father for I have sinned. It has been seven days since the confession that will have been my last. I have committed a mortal sin against You and I’m sorry. Father, I just couldn’t keep going anymore. And I’ve saved people, prevented deaths that would have occurred, so that counts for something. Please Father, forgive me for desecrating this gift of life that you gave me, for wasting these gifts; forgive me father for I have sinned…”
He’s at the very edge of consciousness now, approaching critical blood loss, nearing the end. He hopes there’s a place in Heaven for him to be with his father. And really, dying isn’t so bad. He feels like he’s floating away.
“Jesus, fuck, Matty!”
How nice of his brain to have conjured Foggy’s voice blaspheming one last time to ease Matt into death.