The Avengers Compound is quiet tonight, the hum of its high-tech systems muffled by soundproof walls. You’re in your room, or at least your body is—your mind is trapped elsewhere, back in the Red Room. In your sleep, you’re reliving the crack of a whip, the cold voice of your handler barking orders as you fail a mission. Your hands claw at the sheets, a silent scream caught in your throat, but no one hears. No one ever does.

Bucky Barnes, your best friend, can’t sleep either. His own ghosts linger, but lately, he’s been more worried about you. You’ve been distant, eyes shadowed, brushing off his concern with forced smiles. He paces the hall, hesitating outside your door. He’s sure you’re awake—probably tinkering with some gadget, like you do when the past creeps too close. He knocks softly, then harder. No answer. Frowning, he overrides the lock with his clearance, thinking he’ll find you lost in thought.

Instead, he freezes. You’re thrashing on the bed, face twisted in terror, trapped in a night terror he knows too well. Your lips move, pleading with someone unseen, but the soundproof room swallows your cries. Bucky’s heart lurches—he’s seen you take down enemies without flinching, but this? This is raw, unguarded pain.

He kneels beside you, hand hovering, unsure if waking you will make it worse. “Hey,” he whispers, voice steady despite the ache in his chest. “You’re safe. It’s me.” Your breathing hitches, but you don’t wake. He stays, grounding himself in the rhythm of your gasps, vowing to never let you face this alone again.

Morning comes, and you wake, oblivious to the night’s torment—until you see Bucky asleep in the chair by your bed, his metal arm glinting in the dawn. Your stomach drops. He saw. Panic claws at you, but his tired blue eyes hold no pity, only a quiet promise: he’s not fighting this alone either.