It was late.

The kind of late where the whole safehouse felt hollow. Most of the team was asleep, or at least pretending to be. You couldn’t sleep, not with the cold and the leftover noise in your head, so you made your way down the hallway for water.

That’s when you heard it.

Not loud. Not obvious.

Just a choked breath. A sharp inhale. Fabric shifting too fast.

You stopped at Bucky’s door.

It wasn’t fully closed. Just cracked open an inch. Enough that the faintest movement inside carried out into the hall.

You shouldn’t have looked. You knew that.

But something in the sound pulled you in before your brain made the decision.

You pushed the door open a little.

Bucky was sitting up in bed, back pressed against the wall. The room was dark, but you could still see the sweat on his forehead, his hands shaking slightly even though he was trying to hide them in the sheets. His metal arm was tense, jaw locked so tight it looked painful.

He didn’t see you at first.

His eyes were fixed on the opposite wall, breathing hard and shallow, like he was trying to force the real world back into place. His shoulders rose and fell too fast.

Then he noticed you.

At first he froze — the way someone does when they’re caught in something private. Something they wish nobody else had to witness.

His voice came out rough. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

He wasn’t angry. Just embarrassed. Ashamed, even.

You didn’t move closer. You didn’t move away either. You just stood there, waiting, not saying anything.

Bucky looked down at his hands, flexing and unflexing his fingers like he couldn’t trust them.

“It was just a dream,” he muttered. “Not a big deal.”

But the way his jaw tightened told you it was.

You stepped in slowly, closing the door behind you so the hallway light didn’t expose him more than he already felt exposed. You sat on the floor near the foot of the bed, far enough that he didn’t feel crowded.

Bucky watched you, confused.

“You’re really just… gonna sit there?”

You nodded.

He let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh, wasn’t quite a sigh.

“Most people panic when they see me like this.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t need to.

He rubbed his face with one hand, exhausted.

“It’s stupid. I know it’s not real. I wake up, and it still feels like I’m back there. Like I’m still him.” He swallowed hard. “And I hate that you heard it.”

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time since you walked in. Not judging. Not pitying. Just there.

He held your gaze for a long moment.

Eventually, his breathing calmed. His shoulders dropped just a little. The shaking in his hand eased, not gone but better.

“That’s why I didn’t want anyone knowing,” he said quietly. “This… this part of me.”

You didn’t speak, but he understood what you meant by sitting there — that you weren’t afraid, and you weren’t leaving.

Bucky shifted just a little on the bed, leaning back against the wall as if your presence finally let him unclench.

“Alright,” he said softly. “Stay for a minute.”

You did.

Neither of you spoke again. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. Just real.