Title: Unknown Love in the Moments of Hurt.
Rating: M, for suicide attempts
Summary: A prequel to Unknown Moments of Kindness of all the times that Ghost!Bae stopped Gold from trying to kill himself
Warning: this is SAD and ANGSTY. NO HAPPINESS HERE! Trigger Warning for Suicide Attempts! Also, not beta-ed
A/N: This was number 5 in the poll I did today, so here you go! Also, I wrote this to 'Hurt'-the Johnny Cash version. Thanks, Sluggy!
Steam filled the room. He stood in front of the mirror, his hair in wet rope against his shoulders. The eyes that stared back at him were lifeless, had been for nearly two weeks. And they would never not be again.
His son was gone.
He knew something was wrong when Milah arrived to pick Bae up for her one overnight stay a month. From the time her and her boy-toy pulled away he was agitated. Barely sleeping and as the return time got closer, took to pacing. When the time passed, his voice mails tuned from inquiries of where they were to demands for her to return his son.
The next three day were terror filled as the police searched for them. The one spot of hope when it was reported that they were spotted in Augusta, was crushed when Sheriff approached the house. He backed away, head shaking, backing into Dove standing behind him. He was barely aware as Graham told him about Milah running, taking Bae, and the car crash.
His son was gone.
The time between now and then was a blur of waking up in his bed, watching the sun rise and set outside his window, Dove leaving a tray and admonishing him to eat as he took a still full back. There was no point in eating anymore. His son was gone. Gone and was never coming home.
Now he stood in his steam filled bathroom preparing to go to his son's funeral. He pulled the straight razor through the shaving cream once before letting his hand drop. The memory of Bae standing on the counter holding a disposable razor with the cap still on as he 'shaved' his Papa brought tears to his eyes again. He remembered thinking at that moment that he couldn't wait until a few years later when he would once again guide Bae's hands as his son shaved for the first time. Maybe even to go on his first date. Two things that wouldn't happen now, because his son was gone.
He raised his hand again and jerked as the tip of the blade pierced the skin. He watched the drop of blood run down his neck and it felt like a moment of clarity. His son was gone, but he could see him again. He rinsed the blade and held it at eye level. It wouldn't be quick or painless, but he failed his son, he didn't deserve quick or painless. And he would be with Bae again.
He placed the blade low on his throat and closed his eyes. Breathing deeply he felt the sting, muscles tensing, ready to pull, when little hands tugged at his arm.
"Not like that Papa."
He opened his eyes and could almost see Bae standing in front of him.
"No, Papa."
The vision faded as he fell to his knees, sobs filling the bathroom.
The stretch of road leading back to Storybrooke was a small two lane road. The streetlights were few and far between, leaving the most illumination to come from his headlights, which made the swaying of the scraggly winter bare tree branches even more bleak.
He was coming back to Storybrooke after spending the day in Boston trying to forget what day it was. As he had every year for the last ten years. But there was no way he could forget. He shook his head and concentrated on the road, trying to ignore the pit in his chest as it roiled and throbbed and grew just a little bit bigger.
It was Bae's birthday.
His son was fourteen today.
Should be fourteen today.
Would never be fourteen.
He sighed as he tried to image what Bae would look like. Would his eyes have remained dark like his fathers? Or would they have lightened so that he even more resemble his mother? Would he have inherited Gold's short stature? Or would he tower about his Papa?
His hands tightened on the steering wheel and his eyes sting at the next thought. Would he still be with Gold, or would Milah have somehow convinced him to live with her? Since Bae was the only happiness in his life, he couldn't help thinking that it was entirely possible.
He was never allowed to stay happy for long. And he hadn't been happy in ten years. Only just barely existing.
The wind rattled his car as he drove onto a bridge. The winter had been very cold and there was ice floating in the rive he was passing over.
He blinked.
It wouldn't be so bad. Just a tug of his hand and the car would go over the rail. The water temperature was cold enough that he was freeze before he could even start to drown. With his reputation in Storybrooke, no one would miss him. They would probably throw a party, like in that one musical 'Christmas Carol' after Scrooge dies. And he could see Bae again.
His fingers tighten around the steering wheel again, and with a small jerk, he crosses into the other lane. He takes a deep breath, holds it, knowing that when he releases it, he'll hit the gas and tug the wheel enough to send the car over the edge.
He doesn't know what makes him look in the review. But the sight has him slamming on the breaks, causing the car to skid and stop sideways across both lanes. His heart is pounding in his chest as he spins around to stare into the back seat. There is nothing there, but as he turns back he was still there. Bae, sitting in his car seat. His little head shaking, a frown on his face.
"No, Papa."
There was no sound, but he could hear it just the same. The image faded, and he thought back to the time in the bathroom on the day of Bae's funeral. Afterwards he had dismissed it as a symptom of his grief, but what if...
He shook his head in denial, but didn't start the car for a long time.
It was with a relived sigh that he hung up the phone. He thought he would miss the date, but all the loose ends were wrapped up. The heavy darkness he had lived with for the last twenty years pressed him down just as much as it always had, but there was also a seeming weightlessness as he stepped into the bathroom and open the cabinet. The stack of boxes seemed innocent enough, and he wondered of Mr. Clark is startlingly ignorant of drug interactions or if he was just too afraid of him. He hoped it was the latter.
He kept his eyes shut as he closed the cabinet, not wanting to look in the mirror. He kept them shut as he opened the boxes. The crinkling of the pills popping out of the blister pack was loud and he filled a cup with water. Returning to the bed, he took a mouthful of water and slipped he pills in, and leaned back into the pillows to wait for them to work.
He would do it this time. He would see his boy again. There was no stopping it now.
As he lay there, he brought up his only happy memory. Belle. The sound of her laughter, her smile, her gasps of pleasure as they moved together and the peaceful look on her face as she slept. He wonders what it was about him that night that made her decide to take pity on him. But he was glad she did and, as he starts to have trouble breathing, he focuses on the way she said his name.
"Sheldon."
No one had said his name is so long.
The lack of air must be making him hallucinate as the bed dipped and hand shook him. He was losing consciousnesses and was happy when he heard Bae's voice. Just a little while longer and he would be with his son again.
"Papa? Papa, wake up! Wake up, Papa! Hello? Please help my Papa. He won't wake up."