With Him | Bucky x Reader | Enemies with Benefits

-15-

TW: MENTIONS OF TRIGGERING TOPICS INCLUDING DEATH AND SUICIDE

Y/n's POV:

My mind felt black.

All I could see was black.

A never-ending black that was pulling me in.

All I could hear was the sound of bullets and fireworks. 

You would think that they sounded very similar but I could hear a big difference. 

One gave me a tiny bit of hope, it meant that things could be changed and saved, and it meant that people could be rescued. 

But the other-

The other made me think of the end, of death, of loss. It took my mind to places that I didn't want to go, and it killed me.

One reminded me of survival while the other reminded me of how I lost him.

And that is why I prefer bullets to fireworks.

Because I was choking on the blackness while explosions went off in my ears.

Because I was being suffocated by my guilt.

And because I couldn't breathe and I was going to die.

I sat up quickly, hyperventilating and feeling physically sick. I was covered in sweat with tears rolling down my face.

I ran to the bathroom and started to simultaneously cry and throw up into the toilet bowl.

This wasn't because of a hangover (although my head felt like it was going to explode) this always happened. I thought it had stopped, it hadn't happened on the mission. I thought it was over.

They were nightmares. I had had them every single night since I lost him and they were always the same. Always the same sinking feeling, the pain, the blackness, the choking, the explosions. I had forgotten how intense they were. I was never usually sick, normally just shaken but I had forgotten, and I couldn't go back to sleep now. 

The walls felt like they were closing in on me.

I had to get out of here.

I grabbed my swim stuff and walked down to the pool, It was the only thing I thought I could do to calm myself down.

I dived in and let the cool water glide over my body as it broke the surface. 

I took slow breaths, every three strokes.

 I closed my eyes. I knew this pool. I had swam in it almost every day for the past two years.

It took twenty-three strokes to get across it. Seven breaths. It normally calmed me down, but it wasn't today.

I needed to get out. 

Even here I felt trapped.

Shit.

I ran my hands through my hair and paced up and down the side of the pool.

What the fuck was wrong with me?

I pulled on my sweater. I walked to the kitchen. I sat on the cold, tiled floor. And I cried. 

I couldn't explain it, whatever was wrong. I couldn't breathe. So much reminded me of him. I loved him so much, I missed him so much. And it was my fault that he was gone. 

My. Fault. 

I had killed my own brother.

It was my fault.

I was supposed to die.

I heard gentle footsteps walk in and I felt gentle hands resting on my shoulders.

I looked up to see Steve's face in front of my own. 

He embraced me, and I held on for dear life. I held onto Steve because I was scared of what would happen if I was alone.

I had tried to go before, when I missed him the most. 

I had slit my wrists, but I had been found. I had taken pills, but not enough of them. I just wanted to join him.

He had been there, through the pain and the rigorous training. He had held my hand while I had cried. And ever since he had left, ever since he had died, I had missed him every single day.

Steve didn't know, none of them did. Nobody knew, not even the people we had worked for, because decided to leave them as soon as his body fell to the ground. SHEILD knew that I had had a brother (it was on my file) but nobody knew how he had died, and nobody knew that it was because of me.

I was so grateful for Steve's presence, he always supported me, even when he didn't know what was wrong.

"Shhhh," he said quietly and calmly. "Hey, it's okay, you're okay."

He held me up as I let my emotions pour out with my tears.

"You're alright, I've got you. You're safe."

As my tears began to slow, I just felt numb. 

Steve helped me up and into a chair, he grabbed me a cold glass of water and he did what he always did when he found me like this, he began to distract me. 

He told me about every little thing that had happened in his life. He told me about every drawing he had done, every new thing that he had learned, every new movie that he had watched, and book that he had read.

I didn't have to talk, he just knew what to do, I had never asked him how he knew, but he did.

Eventually, he took me to his room, knowing I wouldn't want to go back to mine alone until I felt better. He put on an audiobook so that I would have a comforting voice in my ear. Normally, he sat in his chair and read me a book himself, something old like the hobbit or some fancy fairy tales, but he said that he had to go sort something out first and I fell asleep again before he got back.

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Bucky's POV:

I heard somebody knock on the door.

"Come in." 

Steve walked over and sat on my bed. "She's okay now, why did you come and get me? Why didn't you help her yourself?"

"I knew she wouldn't want me to." I replied, "We had another pretty big argument this morning, yesterday, what time is it?" 

"03:23."

"I saw her sat on the floor like that and I knew she'd rather talk to someone she trusts."

Steve nodded silently and walked out.

I still didn't like her, but I knew how bad that could feel and I wouldn't want anybody to be alone in that situation.

(1003 Words)