Stucky oneshots

Help Me

TW Depression, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts
I didn't proofread this so ignore any mistakes

Bucky was struggling hard and he was alone. Depression had hit him hard leaving him feeling just as low as ever and it was driving him crazy that he couldn't pinpoint why.

Steve was out with Sam, Natasha, and Clint. Bucky wanted to call him, to tell him he was hurting, to beg him to come help, but he couldn't bring himself to burden Steve when he was out having fun.

So instead, he stayed in their bed sitting against the headboard and pulling on his hair. He racked his brain to try and figure out why he felt so low only to get more and more frustrated.

He felt he had no plausible reason to be feeling like this and it made him feel more worthless and broken. After several hours, he couldn't take it anymore. He needed to do something to feel better, to feel pain that had a undeniable, valid reason.

He got off the bed, shoving the covers into a tangled heap on Steve's side, and grabbed one of his pocketknives from his sock drawer. He quickly opened up the blade and pressed it into his flesh palm, sighing in relief at the justifiable pain as blood surfaced.

He pulled the blade away and studied the cut as blood continued to flow from it. He knew it would be wise to stop at just that cut. It would heal quickly and he could come up with a cover for one cut. But he couldn't. It felt too good so he took to his forearm, drawing the blade quickly over and over again until he reached his elbow.

He stopped and watched as the blood dripped from his arm, falling to the floor and staining the carpet.

Stop. Stop before Steve comes home. I did enough. He tried to control himself. But the stinging of the cuts felt good and it distracted him from his brain. So, he rolled up his shorts and repeated the actions on his thighs.

He grew dizzy from the blood loss, the room spinning as he collapsed onto the bed. His blood began to stain the bed sheets. He was faintly aware of it as he tried to regain his bearings. He wanted to stop feeling dizzy so he could continue cutting.

He held the blade up in front of his face and studied it, the silver coated in his blood. He smiled sickly at it, hating that this was making him feel better but also loving it.

All it would take is one more deep cut. Then no more pain. No more feeling worthless. No more being a disappointment. I could make it all end.

He heard the front door open but his mind was already set. He put the blade against his neck, right over the carotid artery. Before he could apply enough pressure to end it, Steve walked into the room.

He leaped into action, unwilling to watch his bloodied husband slash his own throat. "Bucky, stop!" He yelled, instantly finding himself standing over him and forcing the knife out of his grasp.

Bucky tried to fight and keep the weapon in his hand but, due to the blood loss, he was weak and Steve quickly got it. He threw it across the room before pulling Bucky into his arms.

"Bucky, no. No, no, no, it'll get better. Don't do this. It's okay, I'm here. I'm right here with you, it's okay. Oh my God, I love you so much." Steve breathed heavily, his heart racing a mile a minute as he hugged Bucky tightly.

Bucky squirmed to escape his grasp at first before giving up as tears start to fall from his eyes. "I fucking hate it here! Let me die! Please, make it-make it stop hurting!" He screamed as sobs began to overtake him.

Suddenly someone was wrapping something around his flesh arm tightly, bringing more pain to the wounds. Bucky looked towards the sensation and saw Sam working meticulously to repeat the action on his thighs.

"Why didn't you call me? Bucky, I would've came right home." Steve held Bucky still as Sam continued to put pressure on the cuts.

"I'm worthless and-and a burden and I don't want to be here! I wasn't meant to live! I-I was born to die. Just let me die! I hate it here! Every week is the same thing, just-just never ending days that are full of meaningless pain! I don't want it anymore!" He continued to scream, his throat aching from his agonizing cries.

"It doesn't have to be like this. Sweetheart, we can get you help. Real help. Life doesn't need to be pain. You deserve to live a life full of happiness. Things can get better, you just have to let people help. Let me help you." Steve begged, tears streaming down his own cheeks and falling on Bucky's hair.

Bucky turned in Steve's arms and clutched his shirt desperately. "Help! Steve, just help me! Make me stop feeling like this, please! Please. Please, Steve, I-I need help. Help-help me."

Steve kissed his forehead, crying harder at Bucky's pleas. "I will. I'm going to get you help, I swear to you."

Sam left the room to call 911, asking how fast an ambulance could get there. Within a matter of minutes, they were at the house.

The paramedics began tending to the deepest cuts as Bucky remained sobbing in Steve's arms, barely aware that anyone else was even in the room.

When he was ready to be transported, the blood loss caught up to him and he fell unconscious. Steve looked at them, tears on his face. "Is he going to be okay?"

One of the paramedics gave him a supportive smile. "We are here to help him. Let's get him on the gurney and to the hospital. When he wakes up, they will start finding him the right help he needs. Sir, he's alive and he will be okay."

Sam helped get Bucky on the gurney before helping Steve stand up. "It's okay. I'm driving you there, okay? Let's get you cleaned up first."

As the medics took Bucky to the ambulance, Steve looked down at himself and choked on a sob when he saw Bucky's blood covering himself. "I have to go with him. I need to stay with him."

"It's okay, come on. Let's just change your clothes at least and we'll be right behind them." Sam helped him, handing him clean clothes from the dresser.

Steve got dressed shakily before hurrying to Sam's car. They followed the ambulance and were soon sitting beside Bucky in a hospital room, listening to the heart monitor beeping steadily.

Steve held onto his hand with his head on the pillow beside Bucky's, crying silently as Sam rested a hand on his shoulder supportively.

"I'm right here, baby. We're going to get you help. It'll get better, I promise." Steve repeated softly in his ear, meaning every single word. He would never break the promise he was making, he'd make sure of it.