Chapter Text
This was never something he did, not on the TARDIS. he loved her, sure, and she wanted the best for him, but she was a snitch. But gods, he needed to. he needed to feel the blxde , the cold, sharp metal. it was an all consuming desire that overrode the part of him that screamed it would get him caught. shaking, he grabbed the box cutter, a manic smile plastered on his face. he could feel her eyes on him already, not that he cared. the metal was half an inch into his wrist before he even realized he did it. so much blood poured out of him, coming up in spurts, so he knew he hit an artery. not his intent, but it felt so good. he dragged it up to the crook of his arm, in the shape of a T, before doing the same on the other arm, albeit messier, since it wasn't his dominant hand. he was so dizzy immediately, looking down at his work. the human body has so much blood. he barely registered his door slamming open, and the horrified scream of the Doctor. he screamed? that didn't seem much like him. Simeon blinked slowly at him, his vision a blur. Someone, (who? Him?) was speaking rapidly. he was so, so tired, so he laid his head down on the cool bathroom floor, and closed his eyes.
The doctors train of thought was interrupted by the ringing of the cloister bell. he looked around rapidly, but nothing was exploding, or crashing. everything was quiet and calm, and normal, except for the persistent ring of his TARDIS's alarm system. "what? what is it?" he asked her, praying for it to be a malfunction. a single thought enter his head, his ship projecting it to him. "Simeon." The Doctor rushed to his feet, and sprinted down the hallways, directly to the door of Simeons room. He didn't knock, because if it was bad enough for the TARDIS to be screaming, he didn't have time. the door opened with a slam, and he found Simeons room to be dark, illuminated only by the light from the ensuite bathroom. he tentatively stepped forward, calling Simeon's name. "Are you okay? Simeon?" he looked into the small ensuite and screamed. a genuine, horrified scream. Simeon was sitting in a pool of his own blood, both of his wrists xlit. blood was rushing out in a way that very clearly told him he had hit his major blood vessels. Simeon was still alert (ish), looking up at him. the Doctor dropped to the floor, immediately trying to stop the bleeding. normally he would complain about his favorite tie being stained , but this was hardly the time, and he doubts Simeon could even comprehend any jokes he would try to make.
SImeon laid his head down on the tiles as the Doctor tied makeshift tourniquets on his arms. he noticed he was unconscious, but made no attempt to wake him. it would be easier to suture him this way anyways. he couldn't waste time and bring him to the infirmary, so he grabbed the first aid kit from under Simeon's sink and started damage control there. it was okay, he could fix this, he could fix this, he could fix this, he could fix this, he could fix this, he could fix this, he could fix this, he could fix this, he could fix this, he could fix this, he could fix this, he could fix this, he could fix this, he could fix this, he could fix this, he could fix this. this is all his fault he wasn't paying attention, he should have been paying more attention, oh rassilon, he could fix this, he had to fix this. the stitch work was as precise as his shaking hands would let it be, and the blood had mostly stopped. he untied his makeshift tourniquets and picked up Simeon.
after about an hour of transplanting blood, monitoring vitals, redoing bandages, and being crushed by guilt, Simeon was stable. he would recover, just fine. he just needed to rest. and rest he did. Simeon was still asleep after 2 consecutive days. his wounds were healing, and there was no reason he should still be awake. in that time, the Doctor had gone through the entire TARDIS and locked away all sharps, as well as all other dangerous things. he had decided on a plan, found a therapist, gotten medication, he had everything set up. eventually, he got restless. "Simeon?" he whispered, shaking his shoulders, trying to wake him. no response. a few more tries lead to nothing. there was nothing physically wrong with him. he was stable, his neural activity was normal, he just, wasn't responding to any stimulus. a coma. but why? why? he had fixed it why wasn't he waking up?
he must not want to.
that's okay, he can go in there and coax him out.
he's good at that.