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How did someone decide when they were going to do it?
At their lowest point? Was it immediately after they hit rock bottom, or did they allow the desperation to sink deeper into their bones first?
Thranduil had never thought about suicide before, he’d never had the thoughts pop up swimming through his thoughts and anchoring themselves in his mind.
Not until Bard stopped answering his messages.
They’d had a fight; Bard had seemed on edge and had instigated the argument and wouldn’t let it drop. He inflamed the situation, egging Thranduil on until he had lost his temper, and with a strange look on his face, Bard had shuffled toward the door leaving without looking back but calmer than he had been when he’d arrived at Thranduil’s apartment.
Whatever Bard had hoped to gain from the argument had apparently been given in the form of Thranduil yelling at him and while he had instantly regretted it he was left more confused than upset. It had been the first time Bard had really forced a disagreement to escalate, he’d laughed in Thranduil’s face and coaxed him into a rage until they were nearly at blows.
Strangely, he’d backed down immediately when Thranduil had balled his hands into fists, a conciliatory tone for the briefest of moments and he disengaged immediately. There had been a certain point Bard had wanted to push him to but no further and it left Thranduil pensive for the remainder of the evening.
Thranduil allowed a few days to pass for them both to cool off before he contacted his friend.
Lying curled up on his side covered in several blankets, he had tapped out a short message that he’d spent a good 20 minutes wording so as not to fall into another angry back and forth between the two of them.
Not wanting to wait around for a response, he figured it was best to get up and start his day.
When there was no response by dinner time Thranduil tried again. Nothing.
With little choice, Thranduil pulled on his coat and boots and headed out into the dark and over to Bard’s apartment, it was a short walk a few blocks away from his own place, but the light rain made it feel far longer. But it didn’t matter, once he’d spoken to Bard and once they’d patched things up it would be fine.
They would be fine.
He hoped they would be… the alternative wasn’t an option.
He had loped up the stairs to stand under the awning out of the rain and knocked on the door only to find there was no one home, none of the others in the apartment complex had seen hide nor hair of the man either. Someone suggested he would be at work which was a perfectly normal thought to have.
As much as he truly hoped Bard would be there deep down he knew it wasn’t likely, but it was a lead all the same. If he was at work it would explain the lack of messages and they could finally talk about what happened. He wasn’t going to leave until Bard promised to talk to him about what was going on.
Unfortunately, upon arrival, Thranduil found the bar was not even open. Had been closed for 2 days due to renovations i.e. the roof had to be fixed due to rainwater leaking in over the patrons.
All which had led Thranduil to wander aimlessly until he found himself down by the river, the water rushing past a roar in his ears as he trudged along beneath broken or flickering streetlamps towards the bridge.
It was unavoidable that his thoughts would turn back to Bard and his strange behaviour. Looking back, Thranduil should have known something was wrong with all the cancelled plans and stupid fights they’d had of late.
At one point, Bard had shown up and offered Thranduil his favourite coat. Bard’s pride and joy, an old battered leather jacket held together with patches and safety pins, it was a worn out memory of his father and so dear to the man that Thranduil had been speechless for a good while before turning him down.
I can’t take this from you, you love that jacket.
Yeah, but I want you to have it. It means a lot to me and so do you.
Bard…
Please, Thran. I know you’ll take good care of it.
At the time, he hadn’t really understood what Bard had meant, that he would take care of it. Of course, he would but Bard would have known that whenever he dropped in.
It hadn’t sounded like a final gesture, but the more Thranduil thought about it he could recall how tight Bard’s voice had sounded and just how exhausted he looked. Whatever was taking its toll on Bard was doing it with a vengeance fierce and draining.
Why hadn’t he asked what was wrong?
The rain was heavier now, Thranduil cursed himself quietly under his breath for forgetting an umbrella or a jacket with a hood. There was no reason for him to be down by the river and he had thought to return but the bridge was close, he could get home faster if headed up the bank and walked the woodland road.
Bard’s apartment was en route, he’d try his door again, if there was no answer he would call him over and over until he answered him. Even if it was to tell him to fuck off, it would be something. Because anything was better than where his mind was taking him.
The pit in his stomach was cold and heavy. Guilt slid through his veins and gripped his heart. Bard had never mentioned being miserable, had never given any hint that he had ever thought of ending it all and Thranduil hoped he never would.
And yet… he had vanished off the face of the earth within 3 days.
Trying to rid himself of the horrible visions his mind had conjured up, he moved his gaze up to the bridge ahead, and for a moment he believed he’d seen someone sitting on the edge of the stone, feet dangling high above the raging river. It would be easy to imagine people were there when he had been the one who out searching for someone.
To clear his conscience, and to ensure he wasn’t seeing things, Thranduil broke into a run and forced himself up the hill at a pace he knew he would regret much later. His panicked breathing so loud in his ears as he approached the bridge and saw that there was indeed someone sat on the very edge.
A streetlamp bathed them in an orange glow from behind leaving their face in shadow, but he could clearly see them drinking from a bottle clamped tightly in their hand as he leaned forward, far too forward to be safe.
With another push, Thranduil forced himself to the apex of the hill and grabbed at a stone column to catch his breath before lurching forward and wrapping his arms around the stranger from behind and pulling them from the edge.
With a cry of surprise, the stranger dropped the now empty bottle which smashed against the wet stone floor, glass skittering every which way, as they were pulled to the centre of the path away from the roaring and rushing water below.
There was a struggle between the two of them, Thranduil released them but was wary of the possibility they might make another bid to jump.
“Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to be sitting out here on the edge of a bridge drinking? You could have gotten hurt or killed?!” Even without knowing who this person even was, Thranduil had yelled with his voice tight with concern almost on the verge of tears.
"Why do you even care about whether or not I jump?" The familiar voice coloured with bitterness wasn’t hard to miss and Thranduil felt his mouth go dry.
Bard.
He was wearing an old ratty hoodie with the hood pulled over his dark hair, Thranduil had seen him in it a thousand times before. It was soaked and the weight of the water had left it stretched and shapeless, his ripped jeans and old converse were soaked too, and he could see him shivering still with his back to him.
“Bard, I’ve been trying to call you all day. What is going on- were you trying to get yourself killed?” Thranduil tentatively reached out and placed his hand on Bard’s shoulder in a bid to coax him into looking at him.
Slowly, Bard turned on his heel and Thranduil was greeted with the pale and haunted expression he had so hoped Bard would not be wearing. Dark circles ringed his almost lifeless and dull eyes. The spark that once had been within, Bard a living flame, that had ignited their friendship was extinguished and the orange light of the streetlamps was all he could see in the reflection.
“Talk to me, tell me what is going on?” He wasn’t demanding, he tried to keep his voice soft. All he wanted was for Bard to be safe and happy.
“Why did you have to find me? Why do you want me alive so much?” But Bard didn’t wait for an answer, he threw himself at Thranduil in a tight embrace and sobbed into his shoulder trying to apologise.
He reeked of alcohol, he had probably been drinking all day and the thought of this only made Thranduil tighten the hug holding Bard to him for as long as he could. If he let go his own worry would spill out and the moment wasn’t about him.
“It’s ok, I promise, it’s ok. Whatever it is on your mind that has you feeling like this, we’ll get to the bottom of it. You’re not doing this alone and I’m so sorry if I ever made you feel like you were.” There was little else he could say, or rather, there was much more he could say much, much more, but it wasn’t the time to divulge his feelings or how scared he had been.
Bard was scared and he would do anything he could to help him feel safe and to feel better, it would take time, but time was all they had, and Bard deserved to have that time even when the man believed he didn’t deserve it.
“Let’s go home, you’re like an icicle.” Thranduil managed to murmur out and Bard withdrew from his embrace and nodded mutely.
There was relief in his eyes, the haunted and lost expression was fading but he was still tired. Getting Bard back on his feet would be hard but the sooner they were inside and dry the better, and things would take an upturn.
For now, it was one step at a time.