Heronstairs: A Fluff Collection

Day 7

Heads up- This one does feature a character speaking very frankly about their mental health problems and some topics might be sensitive if it feels a lot like your own problems. If this is going to hurt you in any way or make you feel like this in your own life, please do two things for me:

1. Skip this chapter. There will be another update tomorrow and I promise I will not be offended.

2. Remind yourself that I think you are strong and beautiful, so if you ever feel alone, you aren't. I love every single one of you.

Take care of yourselves, and enjoy our boys trying to navigate their feelings!

(Also I know I'm a day behind because of school, so there will be  Day 8 later today.)

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The sinking, heavy feeling was back in Jem's veins, and he was wandering the streets in the wee hours of the morning before he even registered being out of bed.

God, he was tired. He was tired down to his bones, and everything felt as flat and gray as the smoke filling London's sky. They had warned him that intensifying of depression was a possible side effect of the new medication, but he hadn't expected to be so empty.

Before, it had all been raw and emotional and fiery, like his own heart was trying to claw its way out. He'd just lost his parents and his home and his life, and then for all intents and purposes had an expiration date slapped on his forehead by these new English doctors.

It felt like a shadow sometimes, dogging his footsteps and wrapping a hand around his chest when he was alone, constricting until it was so hard to breathe that he wasn't even sure he wanted to.

It tried to strangle him, suffocate him alive when he was alone, whispered darkly about his friends and made far too jealous of a lover to ever go on a date.

He'd stopped eating regularly for a while, the ungodly mix of his ailing body and ailing mind destroying him until Magnus and Alec sat him down and began to help him through it.

They hadn't let up until he'd joined an orchestra, gained back ten pounds (Alec still thought he was way too thin), and got a rather demonic cat. He'd made his peace with the shadow. It was there, but it was faint. He was leading.

Now it was back and he felt blank. It was the emotional equivalent of watching paint dry interspersed with moments of heartache and panic so intense they left him gasping with tears rolling down his face.

So why did this new medicine make it stronger? Why were they trying to fix his lungs at the expense of his brain?

With a start, Jem looked around and found himself on Blackfriar's Bridge, gloomy and empty and completely alone.

The icy water below seemed to call to him, but Jem stayed away from the edge, not trusting himself.

The call of the void was strong, and he was reluctant to let himself near enough to be influenced by it.

Fingers fumbling for his phone, he pulled it out and dialed the old hotline number, suddenly needing to hear another human's voice telling him to keep his feet firmly on the ground.

The phone rang three times, Jem's heart beat accelerating as he waited, until a deep voice finally picked up.

"H'lo?"

Jem stumbled through his story with a shaky voice, running through the routine that always followed the same pattern without being prompted.

Why are you calling?
I'm afraid I'm going to kill myself.

Where are you?
The bridge. Always the bridge.

Is this the first time?
No. First time this month, though.

Do you need an ambulance?
No, I'm not hurt. Please just tell me not to jump, I need to hear another person that can be louder than the water and the heights and the figure behind me pushing me forward and the one waiting for me with arms open at the bottom.

Be strong. People need you. Go home.
Right. Home. Okay. Thank you.

Needless to say, the gruff male voice saying "Who the fuck is this?" startled him quite a lot.

"You are not the suicide hotline. Oh my god, I am so sorry, I just totally overshares and probably woke you up, I am so so sorry. Just go back to sleep. I'm sorry I woke you." Jem could barely breathe out of embarrassment, suddenly feeling drawn to the edge.

"Don't hang up," the boy said quickly. "Please! My name is Will Herondale and you sound like the kind of person the world would miss if it lost you. Are you on Blackfriar's Bridge? It's freezing out, do you have a coat?"

"Yes, I'm at the bridge. I don't have a coat. Why?"

"I'm coming to get you. We'll find a twenty four hour diner and get you some food and then you can tell me the whole story."

"It's three o'clock in the morning, I'm on a bridge in the freezing wind, and you sound like a nice guy. Nice guys don't get out of bed to get breakfast with suicidal idiots with lung cancer." Jem was touched by the stranger's concern, and he found himself clinging to the voice on the phone even if he was turning him away.

"You are not an idiot, and I am not a nice guy," Will retorted, muffled shuffling coming from Will's end of the line. "And I'm bringing you a jacket. Stay where the fuck you are. I'm coming."

Soon, Jem found himself wrapped up in a jacket that was far too large for his thin shoulders, sitting opposite a Grecian god come to life in a tiny diner at three-thirty in the morning.

They talked until the sun came up, banishing a little of the shadow and sipping coffee and talking until they felt like they had known each other forever.

Will walked him home and saved his number in Jem's home, saying he lived nearby and would see Jem again soon. He kissed his cheek and walked down the street with a bounce in his step, leaving Jem a melting, blushing mess on the doorframe of his apartment building.

When he recovered enough to walk inside, the shadow was trying to tarnish the glow of happiness bubbling in his chest.

Jem closed the door in the shadow's face, refusing to let it inside.