Stucky oneshots

Too Busy

Idea by Cool_RanchDoritoes

TW: suicide theme

I should get Steve. I shouldn't do this.
Okay, but what if I really want to?
No, no, no. I really shouldn't. I promised I wouldn't. I signed a contract at therapy, which is null and void if I'm dead though.
How relieving would it be to just be gone though? Just one pull of a trigger. It would be so easy.
Go tell Steve.

Bucky found himself walking down the hall towards the office. As he got near the doorway, he could hear Steve talking. He sounded stressed, maybe Bucky shouldn't tell him. But his legs took him into the room anyway, his last slivers of self-preservation instincts kicking in.

"Steve." His voice was a whisper, barely audible to his own ears.

Steve didn't hear him, arguing with Fury over mission report details. "... well that doesn't make it right!... what are you even talking about?... No it doesn't!...-"

"Steve. I'm-" His voice was louder this time, cutting him off before his next argument to Fury.

"I'm busy, Buck. Can it wait?" He didn't even look at him, still looking at the mission report to find his next argument.

Bucky's heart sank to his stomach but at the same time, part of him lit up. Steve was too busy. But he did try to get help. Now he could follow through with the plan.

Steve was back to arguing into the phone and Bucky stood silently watching him for a moment before turning around and walking out.

He went to the gun safe in their room and pulled out his handgun. It only had one bullet in it and that's all he needed.

This was it. He'd be gone soon. Relief filled him at the idea of dying. Finally. He should've died so many times before. This was it.

He didn't know when he'd started to cry but he felt tears dripping onto his shirt. A mix of emotions swirled inside of him, part relief, part agony. He wanted this. He wanted to be done. He wanted to die and be gone. But a tiny part of him was still screaming to stay. Screaming for help.

Maybe the scream for help wasn't only coming from inside of him. As he put the gun to his temple, he heard Steve yelling for him.

Too little too late.

Bucky exhaled and closed his eyes. Just as he squeezed the trigger, something collided with his arm and knocked him to the floor.

He opened his eyes to see Steve kneeling over him, breathing heavily. Wait. He could see Steve, he could feel his hands on his face right now. He missed. He was still alive.

He looked around and saw the bullet lodged into the wall, not his head. He looked back up at Steve and started crying harder.

"What the hell, Bucky?" Steve cried, pulling him up and into his arms. "You can't do that."

"I tried to ask for help. You were busy." He cried. "I just couldn't stop myself."

Steve felt like he took a knife to his heart. He wasn't there for Bucky when he needed him. "I'm sorry. Bucky, I'm so sorry. I-I wasn't here when you needed me."

"You aren't responsible for me." He spoke quietly against Steve's shoulder.

"You tried to ask for help. I was supposed to help you. I'm so sorry. Come here, look at me." He guided Bucky's head up to look at him. "I love you. I need you here with me."

"But I don't want to be here anymore." He sniffed. "I'm sick of it."

"I know, sweetheart. But you can't leave like that. That's not a choice you have."

"Isn't it though? Because I almost did." He challenged, looking up at the bullet in the wall.

Steve's breath hitched. "No. You-I need you to stay."

"But I don't want to." He whimpered, holding onto Steve's shirt. "Part of me does but most of my doesn't want to."

"Listen to the part of you that does want to stay. The part of you that was screaming for help before you pulled the trigger." He kissed his forehead. "Let's go call Dr. Raynor."

"Fine."