(Trigger Warning: Self Harm and Panic Attacks)

Bucky was low. He was so low and he didn't know how to get out. Everything just came crashing down on him. He hated it. He hated all of it. He hated the voices in his head, the constant, crushing fear he was going to fuck up, and then the eventual point when he did actually fuck up. He always did. He hated himself. 

He didn't deserve him. He didn't deserve Steve. He always shut him out when he tried to help. He wanted to keep him away from the demons that threatened to take him over.  

As uneven cuts trailed up his forearm from the knife in his hand, all he could think about was how much of a fuckup he was. 

He tried to be happy. He tried to be the happy Bucky that Steve wanted. But that Bucky was dead. He could pretend all he wanted, but he crashed hard every time reality set in. 

He hated how Steve worried about him. He hated how he had to remind him to take his ridiculous amount of pills every day (all of which he hadn't taken for a week now). He hated how damn dependant he was on them. He was tired of the constant hospital visits every time he had one of those stupid seizures and he was even more tired of the panic attacks. 

The panic attacks had no rhyme or reason to them either. Some of them did. Like when he was having a nightmare or when he was having a moment like this. But most of them came out of nowhere. Watching a movie? Oh look, you can't breathe. Doing dishes? Ha! What's oxygen? Or maybe he was just brushing his teeth, or having a shower, or doing dishes, or making dinner. They were constant. He hid most of them from Steve, but some were worse than others. The nightmare ones always woke Steve up and he would hold him and kiss him until he calmed down and fell back asleep.

He was so dependent! He couldn't be left alone. Nobody trusted him. And they had good reason for that. 

Blood trailed from his arm to the cold tile floor beneath him. The warm crimson reminded him of them. The innocent. The ones he killed. He deserved this. All of it. He deserved the hurt and the pain, but he didn't deserve Steve.

Steve would be back from his jog any second, but there was no way that Bucky would be able to pull himself together. Good thing he had locked the bathroom door. 

He was doing this so he wouldn't hurt Steve. Maybe he'd be a little upset, but he'd get over it. Bucky was useless. He was so damn useless and the only thing that felt real to him was the medical bills that kept showing up in the mail. The one's Tony hid from him because he was a 'billionaire' and 'he could take care of it'. He wasn't a charity case! He was a human being!

He heard the door opening and counted the familiar steps of his fiance as he entered the living room. Each step meant a new cut on his arm. He was running out of space. None of them were deep enough to kill because he was a coward! He was a goddamn coward! 

He heard a soft knock on the door, followed by Steve's equally as soft voice, "Buck?"

No, no, no, no. The crushing weight on his chest grew as he struggled to get oxygen into his lungs. No.

"Go away..." Bucky managed as a response. 

Steve tried the door, but it was locked. "Bucky, open this door. Please, love..."

Bucky's only movement was to slam his head back against the cupboard in anger. Why wouldn't he just go away?! He was worthless. Worthless!

Steve knew what that sound meant and he simply started to pick the lock with his pocket knife, trying to stay calm.

Noise. All he could hear was noise. It was too much. He tried so hard to be Captain America's perfect boyfriend. But that wasn't who he was. Everyone knew that. He couldn't take it. Too much... too much... too much...

He hit his head again to try and get it to stop. It didn't stop. There was more noise. Steve noise. Bucky could just barely hear him over the noise in his head, but he knew he was worried. Why was he always worried?! His ears were ringing and Steve was calling someone that Bucky prayed wasn't the hospital. He did this all to avoid that. Why did nothing ever go right for him?! 

He heard Steve telling him to breathe. He was breathing, dumbass. Wait. No, he wasn't. Shit! What was the protocol?! He listened closely and heard Steve soothingly chanting the protocol. Thank god. He tried to match his breaths to Steve's counting. Yeah. That was good. He could somewhat breathe now. Fantastic. 

By the time the ambulance did get there,(Yes. Steve had called the goddamn hospital. Of course) he was calmed down quite a bit. Steve had tried his best to wrap a towel around the cuts to stop the bleeding. Bucky was tired. and cold. He was tired and cold and now he had to stay in the hospital for god only knew how long. And Steve would stay with him. Because that was what that selfless bastard did. 

Why couldn't Steve just see that he wasn't worth all this?