Disclaimer: Don't own Merlin.
Warnings: All previous warnings apply, you can see a (spoilery) warning at the end if you want to know before you read.
A/N: Thank you so much to Aerist, Alicia Roth, wholocked12, Sarrasponda, Lightning Lily, LaRiEnGuBlEr, mersan123, DrarrySmurf, bubzchoc, lovePEOPLEandCOWBOY, FrancesGamble-too, grayember13 and Alex J oker for your fantabulous reviews. It's so great to hear from you and I love all your opinions on what should happen!
~III~
Co-ordination
slipping now, caught out –
fraud, fraud! –
he plays the cheapest trick of all.
Merlin can hear Arthur shouting behind him but he doesn't care, he's running and running and he can't stop for anything. Halfway across the field he senses Arthur's gaining on him but then the footsteps falter and he sprints on, widening the gap between them. By the time he's crossed the road, he knows Arthur's given up.
Merlin carries on running, forcing himself not to think, to concentrate solely on the pounding of his trainers on the pavement. He runs until there's no breath left in his body, runs until he reaches the outskirts of St Andrew's fields and then he collapses on the ground. For a moment or two he blacks out but then a wave of nausea overtakes him and he rolls over to be sick. But there's nothing in his stomach to come up so it's only dry retches that tear painfully at the back of his throat.
When he's finished, he turns onto his back, listening to his breath coming in short, harsh pants.
He can't block it out anymore.
Arthur knows.
Questions of who and how and why fly round his head but they're not really important. All that matters is that Arthur knows and now it's all over.
His brain won't stop replaying the words he overheard, a repeat that gets more ugly and distorted every time. It makes his head ache.
(hey merlin)
(heard you've been in love with me since forever)
(how's that working out for you?)
Has Arthur known this whole time? Is that why he's been trying to help Merlin? Out of pity? The thought makes him sick. Arthur feeling some twisted sense of responsibility to his poor gay friend with the tragic crush on him…
He thought Gwaine and Arthur might be laughing at him, but the truth seems much worse: they were feeling sorry for him. Shaking their heads at how pathetic he is; to nurse a secret love for his straight best friend.
Arthur sounded embarrassed when Gwaine was questioning him. It's probably humiliating for him, to discover that Merlin fancies him. Probably makes his skin crawl. But he's too good a person to just turn his back on a friend so he's tried to stick by Merlin, even though the thought of being near him doubtless repulses him.
Merlin feels like crying but his eyes are dry, there's nothing left inside him.
How can he ever face Arthur again?
He can't. He won't.
He lies there for a while, listening to the whispering in the trees around him, feeling his eyes prickle and sting without ever giving way to tears.
When his phone suddenly buzzes in his pocket, he jolts in shock.
He shouldn't be surprised, it's been vibrating on and off since he started running but he's ignored all of Arthur's calls. But this time when he pulls it out to hit reject, he finds it's his mother calling instead.
"Hey Mum," he says carefully, trying to sound normal.
"Hello love, how are you?"
"Fine," Merlin says.
"I was just ringing to check if you've remembered you've got the nutritionist at 5.50."
Shit. He'd forgotten.
"No worries, Mum, I'll be there," he says quickly.
"I can't join you, but I'll be home at about eight for dinner. How does spag bol sound?"
"Great."
There's a slight pause, in which Merlin can almost hear all the things his mum wants to say to him. But she only sighs softly.
"Okay love, see you then."
"Bye," he says and hangs up, checking the time on his phone as he does.
It's half past five now. The hospital's only ten minutes away, he can make it in time, but he'll have to leave now if he wants to buy a litre of water from Tesco on the way.
~III~
Merlin's far too preoccupied with Arthur to be nervous about seeing the nutritionist, but he's in for a shock when he arrives at the office. Straggly bearded guy isn't there, instead there's a smart looking man of about forty sat behind the desk.
"Merlin, isn't it? Come on in."
"Where's-" Merlin starts and then realises he can't even remember the other guy's name.
"Dr Rickle is on annual leave so I'm taking over his patients for a while," the man says, smiling. "You can call me Paul."
Merlin nods, discomfited. "Paul" already seems a lot more engaged and focused than Merlin would like.
"If you want to just pop up on the scales for me."
Merlin does and watches as Paul scrutinises the digital display.
"Would you mind doing me a favour Merlin?" he asks pleasantly. "Would you mind just using the toilet in there? We find we get a more accurate reading if patients are weighed on an empty bladder."
Merlin's pulse speeds up.
God, he knows.
"I, er, I don't need to go right now," he stammers.
"If you'd just humour me," Paul says lightly, gesturing to the bathroom door in the corner of the room.
"I went before I came," Merlin says, trying to sound nonchalant.
Paul doesn't bat an eyelid.
"Well you're my last appointment of the day, so I suppose we could wait around a while until you're ready to go."
It's no use. Merlin's bladder is already screaming for relief, he doubts he'll make it five minutes, let alone the time Paul's prepared to wait.
He knows when he's beaten. He trudges off to the bathroom and then mounts the scales like a man mounting a scaffold.
Paul makes a note of the new number, and then directs Merlin to have a seat. His voice is gentle.
"Okay Merlin, so looking at your weight now compared to when you first came in, I'm afraid there's actually been a decrease. Considering you were underweight when you were first referred to us, this is quite a worry."
"Dr Rickle said I put on weight," Merlin says.
"I suspect that may have been down to excess water weight," Paul says evenly. There's no accusation in his tone but Merlin feels it anyway.
"Okay, well, I guess the diet plan's not working then," he says defensively.
"I think maybe the problem is not with the plan, but with it not being properly followed," Paul says quietly.
Merlin opens his mouth in denial but Paul holds a hand up.
"Merlin, let me speak frankly. You are dangerously underweight. You're currently highly susceptible to infections and viruses, as well as a host of serious health issues that accompany a BMI as low as yours. If you continue to lose weight, you will be at risk of collapse, heart failure, and possibly even death."
Merlin feels a sort of sharp fear tugging at him as Paul's words sink in, but it doesn't overwhelm him. There's a distance between the words and him; he can't quite see how they fit together. It's like Paul's talking about someone else altogether.
He looks up as the man continues.
"I'd like to suggest that you take up a place at the retreat centre for a while. I understand that you're currently seeing a therapist there, and I think it would be highly beneficial if you went to stay for a while to receive some treatment."
Merlin can't make sense of it for a moment. They want to lock him up? Like in a mental institution?
"I don't need treatment," he says loudly.
"Merlin, please understand that you are in very poor health-"
"You can't make me go," Merlin says. "I'm eighteen. I'm an adult."
Paul looks very tired all of a sudden.
"That's true. But under the Mental Health Act of 1983, you can be detained in hospital if we believe there is sufficient risk to your life."
Merlin gapes.
"Detained? You can't do this. You can't lock me up!"
"No-one wants to lock you up, Merlin. The retreat isn't some kind of prison; it's a place to get better. And I want you to agree to try it out."
"Otherwise you'll make me."
"I don't want to make you. I don't want to get the law involved. I want you to make this decision yourself."
The fear that was tugging at Merlin before slams into him like a freight train. This is actually going to happen. They're actually going shut him away. Shut him away and watch him and force feed him and never leave him alone.
Raw panic is clawing at Merlin's throat. He feels like he might start hyperventilating right there and then, his heart skittering in his chest.
But then a voice cuts through the fog in his mind, calm and clear.
Keep it together. If you lose it now, they'll drag you there in a straitjacket. You have to pretend to play along.
Merlin takes one deep breath, then another.
"Okay," he says at last, when he trusts himself to speak. "I'll give it a try."
"You will?" Paul looks cautiously optimistic.
"Yeah. I want to… get better."
"Good," Paul says encouragingly. "That's really great, Merlin. I'll make the call right now."
Merlin sits in silence through the phone call. He tunes out the words, desperately trying to formulate a plan.
When Paul rings off, he looks at Merlin.
"That's all sorted then. Do I also have your permission to call your mum, let her know what you've decided?"
Merlin nods.
"Lovely. She can come and take you home to collect your bits and bobs to take to the centre, then we can all go there together."
Paul must notice Merlin's sickly expression because he leans forward, a reassuring smile on his face.
"There's no need to be worried. The retreat's a wonderful place and they've helped a lot of people like you."
He looks around his desk.
"I think I have a leaflet about it somewhere round here, hang on."
He searches through his drawers for a few seconds.
"It must be next door, just a tick."
Paul opens the door connecting his surgery with the next one and leans in.
"Julie, trust you to still be here. I was just wondering…"
The rest of his words are muffled as he leans further into the other room and Merlin realises he's not going to get another chance.
As quietly as possible, he gets to his feet and slips out of the door.
Then, for the second time that day, he runs.
~III~
He slows to a walk only when he's well clear of the hospital.
There are spots in his line of vision, and he collapses onto a bench, exhausted.
Where now?
He can't go home. They'll be waiting for him there.
Can't go to a friend's, they'll turn him in.
Can't go anywhere. There's nowhere safe to go. Wherever he tries to hide, they'll find him eventually and drag him away to that place to pry inside his brain, to make him eat whatever they want and lock the door on him at night.
And then what? Say they let him out one day. What will he do then? He'll have missed his A-Levels. He'll have to go back and repeat a year, if they let him back at all. And his friends will all be gone, to university or jobs, making successes of their lives while he's stuck treading water in the same place. Stuck feeling the same way he always did.
And Arthur.
He can never see Arthur again. All the future holds for him is the bleak certainty of having loved and having lost. There's nothing else to go on for.
It seems like it should be bigger realisation than it is, like a thunder clap should sound or a fork of lightning rend the sky. But it feels entirely undramatic; simply like coming to a long expected conclusion.
There are no longer any doubts. It's the end of the line.
He knows where to go now. He gets off the bench and his feet lead the way.
~III~
It takes far too long to find the medicine aisle in the supermarket. But he gets there, and grabs two packets of paracetamol, both 32 tablets. He figures that's more than enough. He read somewhere that if you take too many too quickly, you throw them up before they ever hit your liver and start to do anything. He'd take barbiturates or something stronger if he could get his hands on them, but this is all he has so he'll have to make do.
The young cashier smiles apologetically when he puts the packets down on the conveyer belt.
"Sorry, you can only buy one of those at a time."
"Why?" Merlin says automatically and then has to restrain himself from collapsing in hysterical laughter because he knows why, it's for the exact reason he wants them.
The girl shrugs.
"It's a rule."
Merlin just stands there for a moment, unsure of what to do. He can go elsewhere, the Tesco on Oakland might be open but it's a long walk away-
"Oh, I'll just put them through as two transactions," the girl says suddenly, smiling conspiratorially at him. "Stupid rule, anyway."
And she does. Merlin feels like it's the closest thing to a sign that he's going to get.
He buys vodka at the liquor store next door, because he knows it'll help things along. Then as an after-thought, a pint of milk from the all night garage, remembering something he saw on TV once.
He's got everything he needs now; the only other factor is time. If they get him to a hospital within a few hours, they could bring him back and he doesn't want that. That's why he's not going back to the house for his mother to find him and call an ambulance. There's a park a few streets away that gets locked at night, he's going there. No-one will find him till morning and by then it should be too late. He fishes his phone out of his pocket, he doubts it could be used to track him but he doesn't want to take any chances. He looks at the missed calls list one last time, then switches it off.
He stumbles blindly past the entrance to the park, and slips round the back, away from the main road. Once there, he holds his bag of supplies between his teeth, and climbs over the ivy covered wall. It's not easy, especially in his weakened state, but he manages.
Inside, he heads straight to the middle of the park. A few years ago, a town committee built a tribute to Alice in Wonderland there for the kids. It's a sort of hidden den under a huge oak tree, with painted figures of the Mad Hatter and the Cheshire Cat inside. At the back there's a large stone slab with a passage from the book inscribed on it.
Officially, he was too old by the time the tribute was built to play in it, but Merlin's always loved it. The structure has something of the secretive nature of childhood in it; inviting and enigmatic.
Merlin sits down on the slab and lays his supplies out beside him.
He drinks the milk first, to line his stomach.
Then he begins to take the pills, one by one, each with a swig of vodka.
It's beginning to rain but the branches above him protect him from the worst of it. The odd drop slips through and lands on his head, trickles down his face like a tear, the one that he can't shed.
When the last pill is gone, he drinks the rest of the vodka and lays the bottle down on the grass. Stares out into the gloom.
He wants… He doesn't know what he wants. Maybe someone to tell him that it's not really like this, that this isn't all there is.
But it is like this. This is what it's like. There's nothing more than this now, just the slow beat of his heart as he lies down on his side, the steady drip of rain on the leaves above him.
The end of a long day, that's what it feels like. He's been tired all his life, always one step behind, always missing something. Like a boy in a fairy-tale, cursed not with a grotesque face, but an unlovely mind. A mind that wants to eat him from the inside out. A mind that acts like a cancer cell, destroying everything around it.
He's lived a long time with poison in his brain.
It's enough now, he thinks. It's more than enough.
And he doesn't feel cold anymore, for the first time in months. He turns onto his back so he can see the sky filtering through the branches above him. It's a clear night, with a handful of stars dotted around.
He loves stars. He remembers camping with his mum when he was little, being allowed to stay up late to look up at the sky and listen while she pointed out the constellations and told the stories behind them.
He's getting tired now, his eyes are closing of their own accord, but he wants to keep them open for as long as possible, wants to count all the stars in the sky.
There's Draco, and Arcturus, and Cassiopeia. What was the story of Cassiopeia again? She was beautiful and vain, and so was tied to a chair and frozen in the heavens for all eternity… Cruel, the way most myths are.
He thinks of Arthur. If life was a Greek myth, Arthur would be one of the boy heroes; a Perseus or a Theseus. He'd do great deeds of bravery and cunning, and when he died the gods would cast him up into the stars, so he'd always be remembered.
Merlin knows he won't be remembered long. But he hopes Arthur won't forget him. Now he's truly at the end, he almost feels glad that Arthur knows the truth.
Let him always remember that someone loved him.
That Merlin loved him.
He can't really keep his eyes open any more so he lets them drift shut. He feels a kind of numbness spreading up his body but he's not in any pain not anymore.
He thinks of his mum. And Arthur, always Arthur.
And then the pain starts.
A toothmug of tap water,
sixty paracetamol.
He tries hissing himself offstage.
~III~
Warning for suicide.
Edit: Guys listen, over on AO3, a commenter made a very good point that suicide by overdose is an incredibly painful way to go and Merlin wouldn't just slip away like that. So I have edited the final line to indicate the pain Merlin would be going through, whilst not explicitly writing it.