The first sound that wakes you is a harsh scrape of metal against wood. For a second you think you imagined it, but then you hear it again, frantic and uneven.

“Bucky?”

You push the blanket aside and sit up, blinking in the dim light spilling through the window. He is sitting on the edge of the bed, his back bent forward as if the weight of his own body is crushing him. His left arm jerks violently as he digs his nails into the seam where metal meets skin, as though he is trying to rip it off. His breath comes in ragged bursts. He is whispering something you cannot make out.

You crawl toward him, careful not to startle him. “Bucky, it’s me. You’re safe. You’re here, with me.”

His head snaps up and his eyes are wild, unfocused. For a heartbeat you think he does not recognize you. His metal fingers twitch and tighten into a fist, the sound of grinding metal filling the silence.

You kneel beside him and place your hands gently on either side of his face. His skin is damp with sweat, his jaw trembling under your palms. “Look at me, Bucky. Just look at me.”

At first he resists, eyes darting past you as if searching for enemies in the shadows. Then his gaze locks on yours and something shifts. His breath is still shaky but his shoulders sag as though some invisible rope has loosened around him.

“It was real,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “They were here. I could feel it. I thought…”

“It was a nightmare,” you whisper. “It’s over. You’re not there anymore.” You brush his damp hair from his forehead, keeping your voice calm and steady. “You’re here with me. No one can hurt you here.”

His hands hover uncertainly before resting on your arms, like he needs to make sure you are real. “I wanted to tear it off,” he says, glancing at the metal arm with a look of disgust. “I wanted it gone. I can still hear them, feel them. I can’t…”