Just the typical sad marvel thing /Peter

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Bucky's pov:
I walk out of Peter's room with the blades. He pushed me to my limits with that non-caring tone and then the yelling. I understand that he had enough today and he's tired but this needed to be done. I couldn't let him cut himself. Even if I had left the blades there, guilt would've taken over my mind and I would have had a hard night then. I know he'll have one now but I'm just trying to help him.

I'm about the reach my door when Steve steps out and calls me into his room to talk. I know he probably heard us yelling and he wants to know what's going on with Peter. "Buck, come, I want to talk with you" he invites me in. I go inside. He sits down on his chair and I'm sitting on his bed. He's facing me. He leans forward and puts his elbows on his knees. He looks up with a sight of worry on his face but I see that he's trying to stay calm and serious. "Firstly. What's that?" He points to the box in my hand. "Noting just... something I had to take care of," I say. I didn't lie just didn't tell anything about it. "Then what's wrong with him?" He asks looking into my eyes deeply, trying to find the answer because he knows I don't want to tell him anything. "Buck" his face softens "Please... I'm worried." I'm just looking at the ground now. I'm just shaking my head no but don't say anything. "At least then on a scale of 1-10 if 1 is the worst." "Only if you let me go after," I say. He nods. "Umm..." I think maybe a 2-3 but I'm gonna lie a little to Steve. "Maybe like a 5?" "A five?" He squints his eyes. "Mhm," I respond as I stand up. Steve opens the door for me but before he closes it he says "You know, I can tell that you're lying when you think for too long. You usually have an answer before I even say the question. So you were lying. Right?" Shit. I don't look at him. "Is it like 4? 3?... 2?" I look next to him when he says two. "Oh, so two? Shit, that's bad." I sigh and say "Yea I know but I'll try to take care of him. I'm really trying. You know I promised him that I won't tell anyone, so don't say anything to anybody. Until he does. Please, Steve." "Okay," he says. Then we talk about other things for a little time and then I go to my room and sleep. I was so exhausted after everything so I needed that sleep.

Peter's pov:
Bucky went away half an hour ago and I'm still sitting in the same place I was after he stepped out of the room with my blades. I'm so anxious, I'm biting my nails. What makes it worse is that I'm overthinking. Why did I do that? Why did I let Bucky see what he saw? Why am I even here? I just make things worse than they already are. I just caused more trouble for the whole team now. It's all my fault. That's why Bucky raised his voice at me. Tomorrow everyone will ask questions about what happened. I'm so dumb, why did I even do this?

I'm so exhausted from overthinking and everything. My thoughts. I've bit my nails as short as possible now. I want this to end. I want silence in my head. But I can't do anything. I'm sure Bucky would've taken it if there was anything sharp in here besides my blades. My arm is itching, I deserve it. I should be punished for all the problems I made. I start shaking, panicking again. It's too much. I put my head between my knees as I cry. I start hitting my head. Out of anger or just to get the thoughts out or to hurt myself in a way. I don't know but I'm hitting my head and pulling my hair while crying more. Eventually, it turns into a rage and I feel like I'm gonna throw up and pass out. I open the window to get some fresh air. After a few minutes, the view, the lonely but calming, empty city, and the coldness of the air calm me down.

I decide to sit outside my window. I inhale deeply to feel the air and I try to let everything out. Every feeling, every thought. I don't care if I have another panic attack or if I fall. I want these things to leave for a small amount of time. My eyes fill with tears as I exhale shakily. I just know if I choke back everything, it will explode in me a few days later and it'll not be good. I let my thoughts take over. I don't even try to fight them, I accept that they're actually true. It makes me so disappointed and angry with myself. Finally, I can cry a little louder, I don't have to worry about someone hearing me. Of course, I'm nervous about that someone will hear me so I cry quietly and eventually it gets so bad that I have to scream silently. It's so loud in my head. I step inside for my headphones and listen to some music, to try to drown out the noise inside me. I try to just squeeze my arm, the one with the bandage on. To create a similar feeling to self-harm. Of course, it doesn't work. I roll up my sleeves and just look at my arm wrapped with a bandage. I take it off, slowly peeling the layers down my arm. At the last layers, I notice some blood. When I take it off I see the one with the stitches, the other deep ones, and also some healed ones under it. I'm just looking at it. Does it make me calm down? No, not really, it makes me want to do it more.

I trace my finger down on them. Again and again. My thoughts tell me constantly to just do it. And they win. I push my nails inside my wound, making it bleed. I scratch over all of them and then again but now I push my nails into my arm harder. I make my arm bleed and ache again. The blood is running down my arm. I'm calming down as I watch the red drops run down and then fall onto the rooftop. It starts to get pretty cold so I take a big deep breath and go inside. I sit back on my bed. I continue scratching my arm until it bleeds very much. I also scratch on intact parts of my hand and I scratch until they bleed as well. Finally, my head quiets down and my thoughts fly away. Instant tiredness and exhaustion hit me and I go to bed. I don't put back my bandage, I just roll down my sleeves and do not care.