Characters: reader, Steve (Natasha, Bucky, and Sam mentioned)

Summary: After a disastrous mission and harsh romantic rejection, you find yourself in a downward spiral of destructive behavior until Steve steps in and shows you you're worth saving.

Warnings: All the angst. Little bit of fluff. Mentions of death, sex, destructive behavior, suicide and self harm (mild), alcohol abuse.

Word Count: 2.4k 

Song Inspiration: Save Yourself by Kaleo

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Ding.

Wincing at the unusually loud noise, you exited the elevator and tiptoed barefoot down the hallway toward your room. Rounding the corner, you placed a hand to the side of your head, hoping the incessant pounding would subside soon. You snuck forward quietly, high heels dangled from your other hand with a clutch purse wedged under your arm. At least you remembered to grab your purse this time.

"Have a nice time last night?"

You cringed. Only ten feet away from your room, you heard the one voice you hoped not the hear coming from the one man you were avoiding. Straightening up from your sneaking position, you slowly turned toward the voice.

"I had a great time, thank you very much," you replied icily. "And I feel fantastic! I was about to head out for a run, care to join me?" you asked, sarcasm dripping from your words.

"Y/N..."

"Save it, Cap. I don't want to hear it. We're not on a mission, I don't have to listen to you. In fact, I won't be on any missions 'for the unforeseeable future', right? So why should you care what I do?" you snapped, then whirling around and crossing the ten feet to your room. The quick movement was too much for your head though, causing you to pause with your hand on the door jamb to steady yourself.

"Y/N! Are you okay? Can I..." Steve had rushed forward to your aid, placing a gentle hand on your back.

"Don't!" you shouted, pushing his hand away. "I'm fine."

Against your better judgement, you met his eyes to see the genuine concern there. You could only imagine that you were quite the sight. Still wearing last night's crumpled dress with your hair in a rat's nest and smudged mascara around your eyes, you were the poster child for the walk of shame. As much as you didn't want to see him at all, you especially didn't want him to see you like this.

He huffed out a sigh, stuffing his hands in his sweatpants pockets. "Y/N...you can't keep going on like this. The drinking, the partying, the...staying out all night..."

"Oh, you mean the sex? The one-night-stands? The guys whose beds I've been warming who I don't even have numbers for or sometimes not even names?" you spewed the words like vitriol, smirking as he winced at your confession. "What're you gonna do, Cap? Slut-shame me into straightening up and flying right? Huh?" You knew Steve didn't deserve this but you couldn't stop yourself.

By then you had crossed the threshold, fleeing into the chaos of your room but leaving the door wide open. He wouldn't leave the conversation at that and you knew it. You dropped your heels on the floor with a clunk and grabbed a few shirts off your bed, smelling them to see if they were still wearable.

"No. I can't make you do anything you don't want to do, but you had to know that there'd be consequences. You showed up to the last mission so hungover, you couldn't stand up straight without dry heaving. Luckily Natasha could cover for you..." he trailed off, then pausing with a sigh. "I care about you, Y/N. You can spend the night with anyone you want, as long as you're safe and that they make you happy. Are you happy, Y/N?"

After a lengthy silence, you finally looked his way. You didn't answer his question but you didn't need to. He knew. Steve leaned against the doorway, his handsome brow furrowed in that honest worry for you that both broke your heart and made it soar. You really let yourself look at him this time. Dressed in navy blue sweats and a short-sleeved shirt several sizes too small, his dirty-blond hair soft-looking and free of product. Along with that strong jaw, clean shaven with those bright blue eyes, he was the epitome of wholesome goodness. You looked and felt like a disgusting mess. No wonder he didn't want you.

He shoved off the doorway and took a few steps in, still giving you space. "You deserve so much better than them. Someone who can see how amazing you are. How kind and funny and beautiful..."

"I tried that," you cut him off sharply with a slice of your hand through the air. "I went for the good guy and he turned me down flat," you spat, holding his gaze intently.

"That's not what happened, Y/N, and you know it," he said with a stern point of his finger.

You dropped your gaze, fighting against the blurry memories of that night but they came anyway. It was a few nights after a rough mission, Tony threw a party as a sort of "Oh Hey, We Survived Thank God" kind of celebration. You just needed the images to go away. The faces. The screaming...So you drank the night away.

From champagne to whiskey to tequila shots, by the end of the night you were slumped against Natasha and couldn't stop laughing. It felt so good to laugh, the warmth and lightness of the alcohol flooding your veins. Somehow you made your way across the dance floor and Nat dropped you on the couch next to Steve, who steadied you with an arm around your shoulders.

With all inhibitions removed, your raging crush on Steve broke through to the surface. You didn't remember what was said, but what you did know was that you launched yourself at Steve, pressing your lips sloppily against his. After the shock wore off, he gently pushed you away and suggested you drink some water and sleep it off.

Rejection slammed into you like a sledgehammer, plunging you from the highest of highs to the depths of uncontrollable sobbing in a matter of seconds. He, along with Natasha, had helped you to your bed and laid you on your side in standard drunken-pass-out position. You woke up the next morning with an alcoholic hangover as well as an emotional one. You had put yourself out there only to be brutally rebuffed. The shame and embarrassment still kindled heat in your face to this day.

"Call me old-fashioned, but I think a woman should be able to stand under her own power before things go any further," he lightly joked from the doorway.

You let out the tiniest of smiles at his calling himself old-fashioned, since his 100th birthday was quickly approaching. You settled on your bed, one leg tucked under you.

"That mission...it wasn't your fault. We save as many as we can. Sometimes that doesn't mean everyone," he stated soberly as you felt the weight of his words.

The memories returned unbidden once again. It was a standard mission: recon, infiltration, containment, and extraction. That was until one of the bad guys tapped your radio signal threatening that there was a bomb on a timer set to go off in 10 minutes within a certain 4 block radius. There wasn't time to find it, the only concern was evacuation. You ran like a mad woman throughout one building, ushering everyone out the door and to a safe distance, confident all civilians were out when you looked back to see small hands waving out the window and screaming. There wasn't time. You knew that, but it didn't stop you from trying to run back in. Steve and Sam pulled you back just in time to see the whole block explode in a ball of flames.

You dug the heels of your hands into your eye sockets, trying in vain to rub out the images forever burned in your mind. After the party and the moment with Steve, you could hardly look him in the eye. You practically ran from the room whenever he entered and confined all contact with him to missions. You threw yourself completely into training and missions. Maybe if you had been faster, better, more observant, it wouldn't have happened...

Running yourself ragged for weeks trying to be your best had seemed to pay off, but the nightmares never left you. The lack of sleep was having a negative affect on you during the day so you started drinking a glass of wine before bed. Or a few. Then a whole bottle. It dulled your senses, making it easier to sleep and to not think at all. You still put everything you had into missions and training, but you started going out and partying more often as a means of distraction. It became a habit. You wanted to feel nothing and yet everything at the same time. And then the men. They actually wanted you. It felt good to be desired. Helped ease the sting of that night months ago, to forget about him even for a few hours.

Now as he stood before you, the lies and time spent avoiding the truth last night no longer carried weight in the breaking light of dawn. Your heart still wanted him, even if he didn't return the feeling.

"I think you need to go talk to someone. If you don't want to talk to me or any of the Avengers, I understand, but you can't keep it all in. It's destroying that light inside you, Y/N. We all miss that part of you. I know I do," he confessed, taking a seat on the end of your bed with elbows resting on his knees.

You shifted on the bed and turned toward him, pushing wrinkled bedding out of the way.

"Are you going to fix me, Captain Rogers? Save me?" you asked with a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes.

"No, but I think you can save yourself, if you really want to. No one can do it for you, but just know you have people here who care and who will support you no matter what," he assured you, placing a warm hand on your bent knee.

Taking a deep breath, you picked at the frayed edges of your blanket. "I thought that was your mission in life: saving people. Always the strong one, you know, get knocked down seven times, stand up eight. Mr. 'I can do this all day'. I don't know why you'd bother with me. I'm sure you have much more worthy people to help," you mumbled, feeling the harsh vulnerability of the morning after a night of unwise decisions.

"Because you ARE worth it, Y/N. And I've been where you are," he spoke honestly, watching your eyes widen in shock. "Not quite in the same way, but I recognized the reckless behavior and lack of self-preservation because it was pointed out in myself by a friend."

You must have offered a look of disbelief because he leaned back on the bed with his hands propping him up behind him before he explained.

"A while back, I was in a bad place. I didn't really recognize it because I kept myself occupied and focused on others, trying to be faster, stronger, better. I felt like the next mission would be the one to make me feel like I had accomplished something. Or that the next clue would lead me to Bucky after a year of searching. One successful mission or another dead end in the search, it didn't matter. Nothing changed. I started taking risks and putting myself it dangerous situations. It mattered less and less if I came home in one piece because I still wouldn't be whole. If that makes sense..."

You nodded, finally able to hold his gaze. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. This was not the Cap you knew, but somehow you were glad to know he struggled. Not because you wanted him in pain, but because you knew how strong he was now. You listened on intently.

"It was Sam. He recognized the signs and sat me down, forcing me to look at my actions. He didn't care if it wasn't him I talked to but he demanded that I get some help. I guess I never considered that although my body was strong and able, my mind had suffered after all I had been through. The war, fighting HYDRA, losing Bucky, dying, being reborn, fighting aliens, HYDRA again, finding Bucky only to lose him again. Then Ultron. I was willing to go down fighting and I had no problem with that. Looking back, I don't know how I got to the place where the end didn't scare me, but I was there. I almost yearned for it. I was tired of fighting," he said with a sigh.

"So...you took Sam's advice?" you asked tentatively.

"I did," he nodded. "I talked to someone three times a week for a while and it helped. I started to realize that I was no good to anyone else if I wasn't taking care of myself. He suggested that I take time off once in a while, just a day or two to focus on something other than being Captain America. I even take a few minutes each day to meditate or just have quiet time. Clear my mind. It gets pretty loud up there," he tapped his forehead, giving you that handsome half-smile.

You nodded, knowing the feeling of a noisy brain.

"I still go in once every few weeks to talk. I have my bad days, but I do feel more myself, more capable of handling it all," he stated, sitting up once again to face you, his hands in his lap. "So...what do you think?"

Meeting his eyes, you could feel the tears gathering as you nodded vigorously. "Please," you let out with a sob, "I don't want to do this...be this person anymore."

Steve quickly moved closer, gathering you in his arms as you let it all out. The pain, the fear, even the rejection, you set it free as you cried into his shoulder until your tears dried. He held you as long as needed and as you released him, the first genuine smile in a long time spread across your face, not worried about your current disheveled appearance. You were ready for a new beginning.

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That day, Steve made a phone call.

The following day, you met with a therapist.

6 weeks later, the nightmares began to subside. You began to feel more comfortable being yourself. There was no state of perfection to achieve, only improvement. Progression. One step after another.

After 3 months of therapy and honest friendship, Steve asked you out, discovering that he always had a crush on you, too.

You said yes and your second first kiss was even better sober.