**Title/lyrics from A Day to Remember's "Have Faith in Me"

You walked stiffly down the hallway as you paused to stretch your quads out, one hand on the wall and the other wiping sweat off your brow. You had just got back from a 3-mile solo run through Central Park and while you loved the runner's high, you hated how warm it was in the summer in New York City.

"Just going to have to drown myself in a nice Arctic shower," you thought exasperatedly. You loved working with the Avengers – you and Sam were close in the army and he brought you in as a tactical strategist to help minimize civilian casualties and hinder enemies with your expertise with smoke bombs– but getting back into a solid training routine proved tougher than you expected.

Rounding the corner of the hallway, you heard a loud slam coming in the opposite direction. Immediately reaching for the small taser you kept in your running shorts pocket, you moved cautiously toward the noise. It happened again; you realized the sound was coming from Bucky's room. "Bucky?" You called out, your voice echoing down the hall. "Are you OK?" When there was no answer, you quickly opened the door and prepared to confront an attacker.

Instead, you were met with the sight of Bucky slumped on the ground, his chest rising and falling rapidly and his metal hand sitting in the hole he had just punched in.

"Bucky!" You cried out, dropping to your knees. "What's wrong -"

"I CAN'T TAKE THIS," he screamed out suddenly, his artificial fingers curling in as he punched another hole in the wall with a loud sob.

I've gone crazy, 'cause there are things in the streets I don't believe.

You put your hand on his back carefully, your heart sinking as you realized that he was close to hyperventilating. Coming off your first tour in Iraq, you knew the symptoms of anxiety attacks and panic attacks well – the difficulty breathing, the loss of emotional control, that horrible, blinding sense of spinning out as your body and mind went haywire. It seemed that was what was happening to Bucky.

"Hey, hey, hey," you said soothingly but firmly. "Bucky, I think you're having an anxiety or panic attack. I can help guide you out of it, but I need you to try to focus ok? You're going to be ok, I'm right here. You aren't crazy, this happens to a lot of people." He looked at you in terror, his brown eyes shining with tears. "I - can't - breathe -" he said shrilly as his sons became choked. Your heart dropped as your hands grasped his shoulders. "I know, Bucky. So try to breathe with me, ok? Try to just slow it down and breathe how I do. Listen," you inhaled for 4 breaths and exhaled just the same, counting out loud. Slowly, Bucky started to mimic you. "That's great, Buck," you said encouragingly, tucking some of his stray brown hair behind his ear gently. "Keep that up for me."

You kept rubbing his back until his breathing turned regular, but tears still stood in his eyes. You carefully ran a hand over his metal arm. "It's ok, Buck. You're safe, you did it." Slowly, unclenched his hand, pulling it out if the indentation with a grating sound.

So we'll pretend it's alright, stay in for the night.

You looked at him sadly and pulled him into your arms where he began crying again. "What's wrong, Bucky? Talk to me. I want to help." "No one can help me," he choked out, his arms squeezing you tightly as more tears fell. "I'm sick of the nightmares, Y/N, I'm sick of being scared of the cold, of worrying that I'll hurt someone and everyone treating me like a fucking time bomb because I am – I just can't do it, I want it to end," he said shakily as his voice broke.

You remained silent as you continued holding him, stroking his hair gently. After a few moments, you started speaking. "Bucky, I know there's nothing I can say to make the pain stop. I know what it's like to be walking on eggshells, never knowing if something is going to trigger you or if you'll just breakdown in a panic attack … I know how fucking debilitating and hard it is to deal with. But I promise you, Bucky, you are strong enough to fight through this. There are medications and counseling and people here who love you and will support you through anything. You've been through so much – just because you get these attacks doesn't mean you're weak. It just means you need to take time to get yourself better. It's not easy, but it can and will happen. Just look at me," you said smiling slightly. "I couldn't go drive in traffic without having an anxiety attack whenever I heard a honk or any loud noises had me shooting my gun in my apartment … It happens. You deserve time to heal, Bucky."

He pulled away from you, his dark eyes rimmed red. He nodded. "Thank you, Y/N. Do we have to tell the others about this?"

You looked at him seriously. "I'm not going to force you, it's not my decision, but I really think you should talk to Sam about going to one of his meetings or seeing a psychiatrist. The sooner you start the recovery process the better."

Bucky nodded again, rubbing his eyes like a tired child. Your heart softened and you kissed his cheek gently. He froze at the unexpected touch, but didn't pull away. "I'm always here for you, ok? You can talk to me anytime," you said, smiling at him.

He gave you a small smile back. "I think I'll be taking you up on that one. Really, thanks, Y/N. You're great."

You squeezed his hand and stood to leave when you felt a tug on your hand. "Um, would you actually mind staying for a bit? I really do feel better talking to you," he said nervously. You sat down close to him, your knees touching. "Of course, Bucky." You folded your hands together and placed your chin on them, looking up at his handsome, worried face with an encouraging smile as you were filled with the desire to make sure he knew he wasn't alone. You wanted to be near him. In fact, you liked being near him. "Just tell me how you feel."

What a world, I'll keep you safe here with me.