jumpthegun | IC Inbox (v1.0)

[That's not good. They need to keep moving or Bucky needs to set him down so that the other man can rest. John's silent for a long moment, though. What good is a soldier who can't walk? It's a poisonous thought. Sherlock's here now, too. Sherlock needs him to be able to keep up. He needs to be able to keep up with the other man to protect him. John doesn't look up at Bucky, but his tone is equally neutral.]

I did. I won't again, sorry.

[That won't stop him thinking about it, though.]

Put me down if you need to rest, mate.

[He's not an idiot. John saying he won't mention it again doesn't mean he won't pursue it, or actually go through with it. His jaw firms. If John were in even slightly better condition, he would punch him pretty damn hard for even suggesting it.

He ignores the stupid offer at the end, though he does start up walking again with a deliberate tread.]

What would you say if I told you I wanted to die to get my arm back?

[He's trying to approach this rationally, though the anger is evident threaded through his words.]

I'd say an arm isn't a leg. [Granted, the reason John's leg is in the shape it's in is because he'd fought so hard to keep Bucky away from injuring his hand.] I'm not planning on doing anything, Bucky.

You just... have thoughts sometimes. It's happened before. I'll be fine.

[He's no doctor to try and make this better, but he isn't going to forget and he will be watching John a lot more closely now just in case.]

Happened before when?

[John's silent for a long moment while Bucky walks. When he speaks, his neutral tone has changed to something flat, just relaying facts.]

I kept my service pistol illegally after I was discharged. I had intermittent tremors in my hand. I couldn't find work as a surgeon at a regular surgery or hospital. I wasn't having much luck looking for work as a GP, either.

[He'd been incredibly depressed and unmotivated, but everything had sort of piled up.]

I barely slept. I had nightmares. My leg didn't work, even though there was nothing wrong with it. My parents have been dead for years, Harry and I don't get on, everyone I'd known for the last five years was still in Afghanistan. I'd look at my gun sometimes and think about it. Quick and easy.

[Emotion returns to his voice as he goes on.]

Meeting Sherlock... He changed everything. He saw everything about me and still wanted to look at a flat together. He asked me to help him with his case, even though we'd only known each other a day--less than that. Sherlock was there when I needed someone. He didn't have to be. I still don't really know why he was. Months of therapy, and he cured my psychosomatic symptoms in under a week, too.

[He doesn't exactly feel pity as the story is told, more an understanding and even a slight relief. Those thoughts were very specific, unlikely to be repeated. Perhaps he may think of the easy way out because of his leg, but he has to try and trust that he won't do anything.

Especially not now Sherlock is here.

Not with how he's speaking about the other man, such warmth and devotion. He understands that implicitly, far more than the suicidal thoughts.]

Then it's good he's here now, to be here for you again.

[He wonders how many people John has told that story to, and how many haven't understood what it was like to be pulled out of darkness by a friend. It prompts him to share again, something he hasn't really done since the casebook fiasco.]

I understand, that's what Steve did for me. Not exactly, but he wouldn't give up on me even when I was trying to kill him. He broke my programming, I'm still not really sure how.

I just want to make sure I'm there for him. [He looks up at Bucky finally, listens as he shares his own story of a friend. John can't help a small smile that curls up his lips.]

You did tell me he was stubborn.

Yeah, that's why I know he'll be back. He never knew when to stay down.

[It's getting harder to believe that.]

And you can't be there for him unless you're alive, don't forget that.

[The point is taken.]

Yeah, I know.

I'm sorry. What I said... it was poor taste. I'm really not going to do anything. I don't mean to worry you more than I have already.

Good, because if you died, that's three murders on my head.

[He's tired, irritated, and in pain, he didn't mean for that to slip out.]

[John cringes slightly.]

I'll keep that in mind.

[And shut up now because he can hear the irritation in Bucky's voice and he doesn't want to distract the man or make him work harder to talk and carry him at the same time.]

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cw: mention of suicide

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