Bucky had a nightmare. Again. It’s kind of a regular thing for him now, but they never seem to get better. It’s the same cycle - sleep, wake up screaming, pretend everything’s fine all day, then go to bed at night and repeat.

He’s stood in the kitchen after another nightmare, leaning against the counter, shirtless. His dog tags clink lightly with each shaky breath as he tries to calm himself down. He has a glass of water on the kitchen island in front of him, staring down into it.

You were woken up by his night terrors. Usually you sleep through them, - you know he doesn’t like to talk about them, and he seems to know how to handle them - but this one seemed especially bad. You got out of bed and headed to the kitchen to check on him.