AN: I'd like to say, firstly, that I know very little about how people attempting suicide attempts feel or think, having never been personally linked to such an incident at all; therefore, please don't assume that this is the way to deal with a situation like this - I'm assuming each case is different depending on the individual, and there are people better qualified to advise on/deal with attempts at suicide than lil ole me. Secondly, this was a prompt, and it's not something I've ever written/considered writing before, so I was very nervous, but I've done as well as I can with it and I promise: nobody gets hurt. Not badly hurt, anyway... Um, yeah, basically I took this seriously, and I hope it's alright, I guess.

Truth in Blood

JARVIS tells him Clint is on the roof. He's right, of course – but he couldn't have prepared Bucky for what he saw when he got there. With missions taking up most of his time these days, Bucky only knew from other Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D agents that Clint hadn't been much like his usual self of late, and a stab of guilt went through his heart when it finally dawned on him just how out-of-character Clint had been feeling lately.

He's stood on the rim of the building, back to the door, the city twinkling before him in the dark, and doesn't turn when Bucky lets the door close. Heart lodged in his throat, Bucky forces his mind to be calm, and casually steps towards him. "Hey."

Clint looks over his shoulder, his blank expression becoming pained when he sees who it is. "Bucky…"

Maintaining the air of calm, Bucky moves to stand beside him – not on the edge, but close enough that he could touch Clint if he wanted to. And he does, badly, but this is… a delicate situation. The last thing he wants is to cause Clint's fall himself. "Beautiful night," he says.

"I guess."

"Is the view any better from those extra inches up?"

"Not the view I'm looking at," Clint mumbles.

Bucky takes it as a cue to stop dodging the obvious, and takes a slow breath. "What are you doing, Clint?"

The answer is a few too many seconds in coming. "Just… getting ready."

"Getting ready for what?"

"The fall."

Bucky's heart picks up its pace. He's never had to force being casual to this degree before. "Why would you wanna fall?"

Sill not looking at him, Clint lets out a weary, bone-deep sigh. "I'm so tired," he says. "I can't keep fighting on my own anymore. I don't want to."

"There are quicker ways of doing this than falling off a building you know," Bucky says, shocked by his own words.

In a monotone, Clint replies, "I like heights."

Wondering in a brief flare of panic how long he can keep Clint from – Bucky sits down next to his legs, back to the city, metal hand between his thigh and Clint's foot. "You remember the first day we met?" he asks, and out of the corner of his eye he sees him look down in confusion.

"What?"

"The first day we met. You remember it?"

"… I came and visited you in your holding cell."

Bucky nods, steeling himself for what he's about to reveal. "Know what I was doing before that?" Clint shakes his head, wary. Bucky stares at the concrete slabs that make up the roof, watching a spider or an ant scuttle across the shadow he's casting. "They used to give me dinner on a paper tray, you know. Figured I could use anything else as a weapon; yet they didn't think to use something other than plastic cutlery. That day, after I'd finished my lunch, I kept the spoon. Hadn't needed to use it so I guess the guy who brought it in didn't notice it was missing when he took the tray back. I'd… had a bad night. More memories, most bloody, and S.H.I.E.L.D were getting frustrated that I couldn't tell them more about the Red Room than they already knew. Steve was frustrated that I wasn't trying to reach out to him. I felt… Well, that's not important, but I felt bad enough to keep that spoon and break it in half. I was about to put the sharp end to good use when you walked in."

He pauses, and in that space of silence, Clint speaks. "Good use on what?"

"My neck." Bucky lets that sink in, running his hand through his hair before continuing. "You came in, said you thought I deserved a break from Steve and S.H.I.E.L.D interrogators – right? And then you told me that story?"

Angling his head to look up, he's pleased when Clint doesn't look away, curiosity the main set of his features. "What story?" he asks, and Bucky smiles.

"After introducing yourself and commenting on how you'd never met someone who'd been your age when you were born, you asked if I'd ever had a job at a circus. I said no, but you went ahead and told me all about the circus anyway, what your show had been like, all the people and places you'd travelled to. And it was the first time someone was talking to me about a life from the past that I wasn't expected to know. It was… so good," he breathes, "to just listen to someone else doing the storytelling for a change." Bucky chuckles. "Afterwards, I got to thinking that your story sounded kinda like a fairytale." The chuckle becomes a bitter laugh. "Then I wondered what the hell a fairytale sounded like."

Clint's gazing down at him, body now turned slightly away from the city, confusion still writ on his face. "I… stopped you from killing yourself?"

Fixing him with as much sincerity as he can muster, Bucky tells him, "You saved my life, Clint. And you've probably saved thousands more besides," he adds, gesturing to the lights of the city. "You don't want the chance to be able to save more?"

"I can't."

"You can." Bucky stands. "Even it's just one at a time, you can still save lives, Clint. I know at least eight people as well as myself who believe that – who believe in you."

Clint shakes his head. "Nobody cares about me."

"I do."

"Yeah?" He scoffs. "You sure don't sound like you do."

Bucky drops his façade, letting his emotions into the conversation. "I'm terrified," he admits, the tremor evident enough to have Clint turning back to him in surprise. Blinking, Bucky holds out his real hand. "If you don't believe me, feel it yourself."

Hesitantly, planting his feet a little more solidly on the ledge, Clint takes Bucky's wrist in his hand, pressing the pads of his fingers to Bucky's pulse point, eyes widening at what he feels. "But what are you afraid of?"

"Losing you," Bucky says, wrapping his own fingers lightly around Clint's wrist in return. "I know I haven't been around much lately, and I am so, so sorry about that – but I'm here now, and I want to help." He swallows. "I had no idea how you were feeling, and maybe I still don't, but… I have an inkling, I guess, and you don't have to do this. Please listen when I say there are people who will help in any way they can, Clint, and I'll be at the front of the goddamn line."

"How do you know they'll be able to help?"

"Does a caterpillar know it'll turn into a butterfly?"

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Come and grab a coffee with me and I'll explain." Clint doesn't respond, but he hasn't let go of Bucky's wrist, so Bucky clings to hope and squeezes gently. "Or we can just talk, you know? In private, somewhere quiet. You can talk to me about whatever you want, or I could talk to you about whatever you want me to – can we do that, Clint? Please?"

Seconds pass as minutes, but eventually, with one last look at the bottom of the city, Clint closes his eyes and nods. "Okay," he says quietly. "Coffee."

"Thank you," Bucky says, refraining from loudly sighing in relief. "But, uh, d'you think we could have it inside?"

"Why?"

"I hate heights."

Something in those words seems to resonate with Clint; his expression changes again, turns into something faintly awed, and in two heartbeats he's finally stepping down from the ledge, movements heavy and slow, and it's all Bucky can do not to cry. He wants to just hold him, tight and close, so that Bucky knows for definite that yes, Clint is still here, and so that Clint knows he's loved and that Bucky means every word of what he said: he wants to help Clint get better. He'll do whatever the fuck he has to, even if that means ignoring Fury and S.H.I.E.L.D – the Avengers, too – because he never, ever wants either of them to go through this again.

Clint's hand is still in his. Bucky lifts it to his lips, pressing them to the cold, bony knuckles. "I love you," he says, "so much." He smirks. "And I'll prove it by first buying your order."

The hint of a responding smile twitches in the corner of Clint's mouth, gone in the time it takes a butterfly's wings to beat. "Alright," Clint murmurs, and stays close as Bucky leads him back inside.

AN: Prompt: "Winterhawk Either talking the other down from a sucide attempt".

If anyone's interested, I was partially inspired by the #findmike campaign (Finding 'Mike'), and the story told in that.