Disclaimer: Don't own Merlin.

Warnings: Discussion of depression and suicide

A/N: Thanks for reviewing and following! I'm afraid this chapter is a bit sad.

~III~

"Saying no
to the pull of the world.
Straight out, he said it
(burning but not yet
consumed) he said 'Weight
is bad. Bad.' On the blanket.
In the desert of his bed."

He means to go straight back home even though it's all pointless because Arthur's driving and there's no way he can beat him there. But he perseveres, right up until the point when he's standing outside his flat and somehow his feet carry on moving, leading him down the street and round the corner to the children's playground.

The playground is deserted, because it's past nine and all the children are in bed. The swings are creaking slightly in the breeze and he sits down on one absentmindedly.

Merlin used to come here when he was a little boy. Used to draw pictures in the sandpit with his fingers. Used to hide inside the big blue tunnel with mirrors on the inside and stare at his distorted reflection. Used to swing for as long as Hunith would push him, legs kicking out in the air, convinced that this would finally be the time he'd go so high that he'd fly off into the atmosphere.

Merlin feels earthbound now. Heavy. Weighted like he's chained down, in the grip of something stronger than himself.

He feels sad, and old.

He was happier than this, once, he's sure of it. He remembers being contented as a child, remembers things like birthday parties and trips to the zoo and reading books in the library and jumping in puddles in the rain. He used to be like other children and then something changed and now he can't seem to be normal. Can't seem to function day to day or say the right thing or hit the right notes.

Somewhere along the way, he has stopped believing that he'll get better. Stopped believing that he can be happy again; that he can go to university and get a job and have a normal relationship and grow old with someone by his side. He cannot have any of these things because there is something sick at the heart of him and he can't get better.

And now this, with Arthur.

Arthur claimed to be scared for him but it wasn't true. Arthur wanted rid of him. He'd been exposed to the truth, seen the messy wounded raw insides of Merlin and he couldn't handle it. So he was palming him off on Hunith and getting the hell out.

Merlin can't blame him. This was the difference between love and friendship, at the end of the day. Friends were people you laughed with, swapped jokes and stories with, played sports with, drank coffee with. Whereas people you loved… those were the people you could show yourself completely to and they would stand by you. Those were the people who cared enough to fit together your broken pieces and make sure you didn't shatter again. They were the ones who held onto you through thick and thin.

You couldn't expect all that from a friend. Arthur had tried to help, had done his very best, but he didn't love Merlin. He was scared by the darkness that Merlin had revealed and, without love to bind them together, he was running away.

Merlin had been angry before but he feels all that ebbing away now. He would let Arthur go, release him from the burden of trying to help Merlin. He would make good on his hot tempered threat to not speak to Arthur again – not out of hate but out of compassion. He will absolve Arthur fully from his duty of care; drive him away so he can be free of Merlin for good.

Merlin knows it will be painful but what other choice does he have? He loves Arthur enough to do this for him. And it's all pain, isn't it, anyway? He can't remember the last time he felt right within his skin, comfortable in his body. More strongly than ever he feels the urge to just disappear, fade into the air until there's nothing left. He doesn't want to be here anymore. It's too hard and he's so tired.

They don't talk about suicide in his house. Hunith's best friend from school had hung herself when Merlin was seven, after losing her new-born child to cot death. He was too young to understand what had happened; at the time he just wondered at the pinched set of his mother's face, at the constant bouts of crying at night. She told him that Marnie, the nice lady who used to bring him toy cars and pick 'n' mix, had died very suddenly and it was a big shock for mummy. He knew what dead was, sort of, but he still had a vague idea that Marnie would be coming around again sometime. It was only when he asked his mother when she'd be back that Hunith had smashed her hand hard down on the table and shouted "For God's sake, Merlin," that he realised something was really wrong. Then Hunith cried and apologised and the next two weeks he stayed with his Uncle Gauis. When he returned Hunith had stopped crying, and though her face was still tight and drawn, she was more like the mother she had been before.

Even now, suicide was rarely mentioned. It wasn't forbidden in any sense; Hunith had always been the type to encourage Merlin to talk to her about anything. He knows that if he brought it up, she'd tell him all he wanted to know. But he doesn't, because it would cause her pain and he never wants to take her back to that place. When he read Mrs Dalloway in school he never mentioned it to her and he tucked his second hand copy of Madame Bovary behind a stack of other books. It's stupid, he knows, but he doesn't want anything to set his mother off.

So how could he ever sit her down and say to her: "Mum, sometimes I feel like…"
I want to disappear.
I want to stop existing.
I want to go away forever.
I want to die.

So he pushes those thoughts deep down inside himself and never gives them free rein, because even thinking about it is a danger. He fears the moment he reasons it out is the moment he steps closer to accepting it as an idea. He has to pretend it's not an option, because he loves his mum more than anything in the whole world and he could never put her through that again.

But today. Today is different. He doesn't have the energy to push it down inside himself, pretend it doesn't exist.

Today he wants to kill himself.

It's not just because he can't eat. It's not just because he's in love with someone who doesn't love him back. It's not just because he's sad and desperate every day. It's not just because he feels alone.

It's because he's lost all hope that those things will ever change. The way he is today seems like the way he'll be forever. He can deal with those feelings in the here and now but what he can't deal with is the fact that they will never go away. He can't see a future without this thing inside his head, his guts, that torments him. It won't ever leave him alone and he can't bear it.

He is crying now, tears trickling down his face onto his neck as he rocks back and forth on the swing.

He's scared of death but he's more scared of this. Of feeling this way forever.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he jumps, nearly losing his balance. When he pulls it out, he sees a text from Gwen.

'Are you ok? You ran off and we were all worried. Are you with Arthur? Call me when you can xxx'

He can almost see Gwen typing the words, anxious frown on her face as she taps in the kisses. He is overwhelmed by such a rush of love for her that it's shocking, and the tears come even faster. He wants to call her and explain everything, to ask her for help and beg her to not let him fade away like this.

His friends. All of them. What would they say if he died? Would he leave them like Hunith after Marnie's death, sobbing and desolate? He's struck by a sudden image of Freya weeping, her pale face contorted with grief and he feels sickeningly guilty.

(but if they really were your friends, they wouldn't want you to feel this way. they'd understand you had to go.)

Merlin shakes his head. He's confused, it's getting cold outside, and he's exhausted. He needs to go home.

He needs to not think right now.

He walks slowly up the street and lets himself into the flat with a jangle of keys, so that he won't take Arthur and his mother by surprise.

They seem shocked anyway, turning to look at him in unison but Merlin makes sure his eyes only meet his mother's. She's obviously been crying and his heart sinks. All that time in the park and he never figured out what to say to her.

"Sit down, love," Hunith says gently and he moves forward automatically before he remembers what he has to do and he hardens his features.

"Not until he goes," he says and his voice comes out flat and stony.

"Merlin!" Hunith says, shocked, but he keeps his face impassive. He can feel Arthur looking at him but he knows he cannot look back because if he meets Arthur's eyes right now he is sure to weaken.

There's a pause, and then Arthur gets to his feet.

"It's fine, Hunith, I was leaving anyway. You two need to talk."

As he heads for the door, Arthur stops next to Merlin. He's standing so close Merlin can feel the heat from his body.

"I'm sorry," Arthur whispers and Merlin nearly cracks right there and then because Arthur sounds so miserable.

But he loves Arthur too much to let him down now so he turns away as though he heard nothing, and then Arthur leaves.

"Don't be mad at him, love," Hunith says softly. "He only wants to help you."

"I don't need help," says Merlin automatically, though he knows his mother won't be as easily dissuaded as anyone else.

And she isn't. They talk for nearly three hours and though Merlin tries every trick under the sun, Hunith won't let him off the hook. She doesn't give in until Merlin makes a promise to follow a new diet plan under her supervision, and to see a counsellor or psychiatrist.

Merlin agrees, eventually, worn down by arguing. Privately, he is making plans. Hunith's job simply doesn't allow her to monitor him all the time. If he's clever, he can figure out ways to adapt the diet plan to suit his needs. As for the counsellor, surely he can play it smart? Drop a few breadcrumbs; talk about his dad a bit, the trauma of coming out etc. etc. Hopefully the shrink'll conclude that he's perfectly normal, just understandably stressed by the 'pressures of teenage life'. Besides, it's all confidential anyway, isn't it? Even if the shrink decides he's a raging nutbag, they can't tell Hunith or anyone else.

What all this will achieve, Merlin isn't exactly sure. He's pushed the thoughts about suicide deep back down inside himself, to be re-examined at a later date. Right now, he just wants to be left alone. If he can get through these last few months of school, scrape some good grades in his A-Levels then he'll be out of here. Off to uni, away from Arthur and Hunith, free to do what he wants. Even if he doesn't know what that is.

Planning helps focus his brain, make him feel less disconnected. He lies awake in bed thinking of strategies and tactics, a strange kind of nervy adrenaline running through his body.

But when he finally falls asleep, his dreams are full of Arthur and he wakes up crying.