bucky barnes imagines

lxxviii. SAVED

A/N – TRIGGER WARNING: graphic descriptions of self harm / suicide. DO NOT READ IF THIS IS A TRIGGER FOR YOU.

For weloveyasmin again. :)

—— ★ ——

You still remembered how it had all started. You were at one of Tony's stupid parties, the vast room filled with some of the world's richest (and, consequently, most arrogant) people. Two women who you didn't recognise had indiscreetly laughed at your dress – presumably it wasn't expensive enough for them. And that was what triggered it, your first doubtful thought in a while: am I good enough?

Funny, really, how one simple, seemingly insignificant event could lead to you spiralling into a place you never thought you'd find yourself in again.

You were great at hiding it. Your friends had absolutely no idea, or if they did, maybe they just didn't care enough to help. That was what you'd convinced yourself, anyway. The only person who ever truly showed even a hint of suspicion was Bucky.

He helped a little, probably without even knowing it, and you weren't confident enough to tell him. He'd ask how your day had been, watch over you on missions, hug you from time to time even though he wasn't the most tactile of people. However, with every sweet gesture came a barrage of self-hatred. He secretly despises you, he's just trying to be polite, you don't deserve him.

Before you knew it, you were out of control. You didn't sleep, you didn't eat, you isolated yourself from everyone who honestly had no idea just how bad things were. The scars on your wrists and thighs stung horribly, the pain and the sight of your own blood being the only thing reminding you that you were still alive.

By the time you finally made your ultimate decision, you'd lost track of everything. What time was it? What day was it? It didn't matter. All that mattered was the gentle swooshing of the now cold water in the bathtub, a peaceful juxtaposition to the image of the sharp blade in your hand.

The first deep cut made you cry out; you needed the pain, but it still hurt. The second cut made you smile through your heavy breathing because this was it, it was finally ending. The gruesome sight of the water turning crimson was a welcome one, to say the least.

For most of his life, Bucky had never been in the right place at the right time, but this was an exception. He'd only stopped by your room to bring you some dinner, but the noise of sheer distress echoing from the bathroom made him think twice about leaving when he couldn't find you anywhere. He called your name once, twice, but there was no answer.

You were dimly aware of the door being forced open, of a blurry figure rushing towards you. You could see, hear, feel, but you couldn't react. You didn't know what you would've said, anyway.

"Shit, shit– doll, can you hear me? FRIDAY, check Y/N's vitals and call an ambulance, or Bruce, or just– fuck, c'mon sweetheart, we gotta get you out of here..."

When a metal arm wrapped around your waist, you wanted to scream at Bucky to leave you be, to let you die. Even if you could speak, he wouldn't have listened, not now.

He ran through the tower until he reached the medical room. You thought he was crying, but you didn't know why. By the time he set you down on a stretcher, you'd blacked out, unable to take in the scene that no doubt would've made you feel the tiniest bit remorseful – several of your teammates, your friends, staring through the glass screen in horror and disbelief. Bucky sitting by your side, sobbing as the doctors worked frantically to save you.