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tw suicidal ideation

Reader who is passively suicidal. Who maybe doesn’t even realize it, but it bleeds into everything.

You’ve always had a dark, dry sense of humor that was easy to brush aside, but the first time this habit was glaringly obvious was on an op when you were almost hit by an enemy vehicle.

In this line of work it was natural to contemplate your death. Maybe you did it too much. So when that car was speeding your way, your first thoughts weren’t how to get out of the way, or survival, but rather how painful this death would be. Not because you wanted to avoid death, but that ideally it wouldn’t be that bad. So you didn’t move.

Instead of the unforgiving force of the car, you were hit with the warm body of Ghost shoving you out of the way. You both land hard on the dirt out of the road, but there’s no moment to speak as you’re immediately under fire once more. It’s like the impact kicked you back into gear, refocusing you on the objective and letting you continue fighting.

It doesn’t mean the boys didn’t notice. And it doesn’t mean they let you off easy. Once you’re back to safety, Simon drags you into the makeshift war room, basically tossing you in.

“What the hell was that, sergeant?” His voice is hard. Loud. He’s mad.

The rest of the team trickles in with varying degrees of dread on their faces.

You don’t feel much of anything. “What was what?”

Simon scoffs, looking away in exasperation briefly before crossing his arms and stepping into your space to look in your eyes, “you know exactly what.”

You’re confused. Why the hell would he care that much? Your eyebrow barely twitches. “Look I get I fucked up okay, I’m sorry you had to save my ass.” You really don’t give two shits that he saved you. If that had been the end of the line for you, you would’ve been okay with that.

Everyone releases their air heavily, the room shifts. You don’t get why, it’s not like they haven’t had incidents like this themselves—close calls.

“I don’t give a rat’s ass that I had to cover you, that’s what I’m here for, sergeant. I care that it looked like you weren’t going to do anything.” He’s speaking softer now like…like you’ll break. That just pisses you off.

“So what, I froze?” You take a step back, arms crossing over your chest, angling away from them.

“You don’t freeze.”

There’s a heavy silence that sneaks its way into every corner of the room before Johnny breaks it.

“It…it looked like you wanted to get hit.”

The scoff that leaves you is unconvincing. “I wasn’t…” you can’t finish the thought. Honestly you don’t know what you were thinking. You just know sometimes you get tired. And sometimes you think the easiest way to get rid of the ache is leaving.

You’re not looking at them when Simon comes back and grabs your shoulder. He forces you to look at him, “‘s not happening again. Clear? We need you.”

You just nod.

They begrudgingly let it go. Who among them isn’t a little fucked up? But from then on you’re under a tight watch. All they find are more red flags.

You don’t take care of yourself, leaving eating and sleeping and showering to the last minute. You don’t seem to do anything you enjoy, no hobbies outside of duty. When you have time off they don’t see you and they assumed you left base, but then they see you emerge haggard from your room three days into their leave. Had you even been out of your room before then?

They don’t say anything because they know you’ll deflect and scatter, but they’re scared. Yes, you were their teammate but it’s become more than that. Even with the lack of energy you seem to display, you’re still unrelentingly there for them.

When Johnny got shot and miraculously lived, semi-paralyzed, and had to do months of PT, you were there. At every appointment, staying with him to take care of him and make sure he did his exercises.

When Simon went to his own dark places, you were there. Finding him half-delirious from nightmares in the rec room and making sure he made it back to his room. Giving him water and someone to talk to, making sure he didn’t go too deep. Which is why he was confused you couldn’t recognize the signs in yourself.

When Kyle’s mom unexpectedly passed, you were there. You booked the flights, packed his bags, kept him standing during the funeral. You negotiated for his extended PTO, never letting anyone mistreat him when he was down.

And when John was court marshaled for what happened with Shepherd, you were there. You helped Simon keep the team together, coordinated with Kate to keep him informed, you even helped formulate his case.

They might say loyalty was your fatal flaw. They just wished you could see these signs in yourself and give yourself the same treatment you gave others. But if you couldn’t, they would.

It was easier to see the signs now. You volunteering for the risky roles on ops, offering to be bait, choosing hand-to-hand encounters when you could’ve easily used your gun.

They’re lost. They don’t know what to do. If they stop you from taking these roles, chances are you’ll say they’re coddling you. If they take you off duty entirely, they might lose you forever. How do they balance supporting you and helping you?

They start with words. Making sure you understand how much the risks you’re taking affect them.

It…confuses you again. You didn’t realize they gave this much of a shit if you lived or died. You kinda just thought you were teammates. Any deeper feelings toward them you pushed down because you knew it wouldn’t be possible.

But when you’re strapping in to be repelled off a cliff, Johnny stops you. He grabs your shoulders and forces you to look in his eyes. “Yer comin’ back, ya hear? We need ya.”

You don’t even get time to respond before Kyle is swooping in and kneeling in front of you, finishing strapping your harness and double-checking the other connectors. He looks up at you and you try to ignore the image that invokes. “You heard Johnny, love, we need you to come back.” He’s smiling that blinding-white smile that could probably cause world peace.

You figure your COs will be as stoic as always, but instead, John places a heavy, warm hand on your head, giving it a pat. He takes a deep breath before his hand comes down to the back of your neck and tells you, “we trust you sarge, come back to us.”

Your brain is basically empty trying to process all the excess affection when Simon brings a hand up to fix the hair John just rustled. He’s never done that before. You never imagined him ever doing that. You can feel the warmth of his skin on your forehead through the glove. “We need you back. Rog?”

You can’t even think before you’re nodding and saying “rog” back.

You’re halfway down the cliff before you even register half of what happened. Your chest is warm, and you think your cheeks are too. You can’t place the feeling but it feels almost like the ice in your body is thawing, like you’re coming back to yourself after being gone for too long.

It doesn’t cause too much permanently the first time, but they keep doing it. Every single time before an op, every time you volunteer for some risky procedure, hell even randomly at lunch now. Some of it is starting to worm into your brain that maybe you have people that care about you. That would care if you were gone.

It’s not a cure, not a quick fix, but it’s making you rethink some of the things you had taken as fact—like that you are expendable. They keep insisting, silently and loudly and in all the space between, that you aren’t. Maybe you should start to listen.

rumi: god i need someone to take care of me

mira: what do you need? lie down and i can get it for you

rumi: no take care of in the same way you’d take care of a violent dog you know

zoey: what like treating it gently and accommodating it and letting it know it doesn’t have to lash out to protect itself?

rumi: no like shooting it in the back of the head guys

#flushing out some of the line ideas for skpomdtihh that i know i won’t be able to use #polytrix #kpop demon hunters #rumi kpdh #zoey kpdh #mira kpdh #huntrix #mine #tw suicidality