RvB x Readers Ended

Washington (2)

WASHINGTON X READER
(SUICIDAL/DEPRESSED!READER)
(WARNING: SAD)

All you ever did was train. You were at the bottom of the leaderboard, struggling to keep your place and possibly move up.
You knew that you weren't as strong as the rest of the elite team, and it bothered you a lot. The rest of the freelancers teased you about it. You laughed along with them, even though their words hurt. A lot.
You sat in a group during lunch break, but you didn't feel like they needed you there. It just felt like you were taking up space at the table. You were rarely included in conversations, and the only person that you really considered a friend was Agent Washington. But of course, you didn't only like him as a friend. He was blind to the affection that you had for him.
So now, you were loading a weapon in the armory, preparing for a mission. Your only friend was sitting beside you, talking aimlessly. You drowned him out, wondering if he was only using you so he could complain to someone.
He grabbed your wrist violently, and you looked up in surprise at the sudden action. He very slowly and delicately grabbed the edge of your sleeve, but you fought against him, trying to pull your arm back.
"What are you doing?! Let go!" You screamed. He managed to hold your arm in place, and pulled up your sleeve, examining the horizontal scars that lined your arms.
He stared down at them for a very long time. You gave up on trying to get your arm back, and your head dropped in shame as you waited for his reaction. He was probably going to say that you were weak. Pathetic. Stupid.
"S/n..."
Here it comes.
You looked up, but only saw fear in his eyes.
"How long has this been going on?" He asked, cradling your hand, as if he was afraid he would break you.
You opened your mouth to speak, but you shut it quickly. You wanted to tell him how the war and the project had affected you, but your throat felt tight, and you couldn't give him an answer.
He quickly realized this and started asking different questions. "Why? You have friends... people care about you. You always seem so happy. Why would you do this to yourself?"
Your bottom lip quivered, and a tear fell from your left eye. "I don't... I just..." Your voice was hoarse as you tried to come up with a way to tell him how depressed you were.
He sighed deeply and pulled you into a hug. Surprised, more tears began to streak down your face.
"Promise me that you'll stop. Promise me that you'll never cut yourself again."
"Okay." You mumbled, and he pulled out of the hug, focusing on your dull e/c eyes.
"Say it." He pleaded, squeezing your arm lightly.
"I promise." You said. You smiled weakly. For him, you would try.
At least, that's what you thought.
After one of the worst missions of your life, you  stumbled into your room, ripping off your armor. You put on your sleeping clothes and went into the bathroom, running the bathwater.
"S/n? Are you okay? Today was kind of rough."
You heard Washington's voice, and tears trailed down your face.
"I'm fine." You answered. "I'm just going to take a hot bath."
"Alright." You heard him start to walk away, so you threw open the door.
"Hey, Wash?"
He turned, looking at you from over his shoulder.
"I'm sorry." You couldn't stop shaking.
"Sorry for what?" He asked with a confused look on his face. "If you're talking about today, what happened wasn't your fault. You couldn't have stopped that ambush."
You shook your head and smiled weakly. He didn't understand why you were apologizing. You were about to break your promise.
"Yeah, I guess so." You gave him a half-hearted laugh, brushing it off.
Your heart ached. You wanted to tell him that you loved him, but you couldn't. It would hurt too much.
"So, I guess you should go take your bath, right?" He suggested, a small smile on his face. "I'll wait for you out here, so we can walk to the locker room together. Is that okay?"
You wanted to scream at him, and throw something, telling him to get out and stay away. But you didn't have the energy, or the strength.
"Sure. That'd be nice."
"Alright." He gave you a thumbs up, then went to sit down on the side of your bed.
You shut the door and locked it.
You took your razor from the drawer and then closed it, then looked down at the water. It was close to overflowing, and as you climbed in and sat down with your clothes still on, the water started to spill out.
The cold shocked you, but you had a very limited time to do this. You gripped the razor tightly between your fingers, and dragged it across your left forearm, whimpering as it cut through your flesh.
It traced your skin, leaving a fresh crimson line across the ones that were already there. The vertical cut started to leak as you grasped the blade in your freshly cut hand. You moved on to the right arm, cutting this one underneath the water. It burned, but the pain was bearable since your arm was underwater.
Someone knocked on the door as you finished the last cut.
"Hey, uh... there's water leaking out of under the door... should I be worried?"
It hurt to hear his voice. Now that you realized he would be hurt by what you were doing, you wanted to stop. You wanted to live.
You sobbed as the blood began to spread throughout the water, staining the liquid and your clothes.
He heard you crying and banged on the door even harder.
"S/n?!"
You couldn't respond as you started to feel light headed. Your breaths came in rapid bursts, and you jumped slightly when there was a loud noise coming from the door. You soon realized that he'd kicked it down.
Your heartbeat slowed as he quickly knelt by the side of the tub, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you, trying to keep you awake.
"S/n! S/n!" His voice echoed through your mind.
Your eyelids felt heavy, and you allowed them to shut, unaware of anything else as you slowly drifted out of consciousness.
Washington continued to talk to you, even though he could tell that you had passed out. "Come on, it's okay. You're gonna be fine." He told you, as he lifted you from the water, screaming for someone to come help him.
North turned around the corner, watching as Wash carried your limp, drenched body out of your room. He helped his friend carry you to the medical bay where they set you down on a bed. The staff tried to get Wash out of the room, but he refused, and security had to drag him out, while he fought back, trying to get to you.
Once he had calmed down, he paced back and forth, waiting for any news. North and York had tried to get him to sit down, but he couldn't. He had to be ready to rush back in, so he could hold you tightly, and tell you to never do that again.
The doctors and nurses stepped out and tried to talk to him, but he pushed them aside and barged into the room.
The first thing that he noticed was the long, loud beeping noise that pierced his ears. Then, he saw you.
Your body was still motionless. Your eyes were open and you were facing him, but you didn't see him. Your once bright eyes were now dull, gray and cloudy, and the bandages around your wrists were stained with the little bit of blood you had left. Your skin was pale and cold as he gripped your hand, expecting you to react to his touch. Your fingers were limp in his, and his heart shattered when your hand didn't tighten around his own.
He didn't want this. Nobody did. Why couldn't you see that he loved you? Why didn't he tell you before you decided to do this?
Why did you deserve to die this way?
"You promised me..." he whispered into your cold hand, as he lifted it to his lips, planting a small kiss as tears fell from his eyes. "You made a promise to never cut." He whispered, his voice cracking halfway through. He shook violently as he cried above you, looking down at something that was his fault.
Why hadn't he noticed anything?
It was hard not to blame himself... he was right outside the door. If only he'd heard you, or realized what you were trying to do.
He moved your damp hair out of your face, wishing you were still alive, so he could tell you how he felt.
He remembered when you were crying and saying that you were sorry. He hated himself for thinking that you were talking about the mission. He should have known. He should have tried to understand.
He squeezed your hand once more, hoping that he would wake up from this nightmare. He would wake up, and you would be there to comfort him as he cried and held you close, swearing to never let you go. He slowly released your hand, watching as doctors stepped around him, preparing to remove your corpse.
You didn't deserve to die like this.
But maybe he did.

(Sorry for the sad ending)
( ;( )
(This fic was inspired by the song I added)