It’s late—well past 2 a.m.—and the Avengers Compound is dead silent except for the soft hum of the ventilation system and the occasional creak of the old metal pipes. You’re sitting on the floor beside your bed, knees pulled to your chest, the blanket wrapped tightly around your shoulders like armor. Your pulse still hasn’t settled from the dream. It wasn’t even one of the worst ones, but it hit too close this time. Too vivid. Too real. (©TRS0425CAI)

You hear the faint knock before the door opens. Bucky doesn’t wait for an answer. He never does when it’s you.

His voice is low, rough from sleep. “You should try to go back to sleep. You’ll be no good to the team if you’re dead on your feet.”

You glance up at him, lit only by the faint glow from your desk lamp. His hair’s tousled, eyes shadowed with fatigue—but his focus is all on you.

“I can’t…” you murmur.

He takes a few steps in. “Why not?”

“The nightmares keep coming back.” You exhale, a shaky breath. “And I’m not strong enough to fight them tonight.”

Bucky’s jaw flexes. He nods once and lowers himself beside you without saying a word. The floor groans under his weight. After a moment, he leans his shoulder into yours, solid and warm.

“I’ll be here,” he says quietly.

You blink fast, touched by how easily the words come from him now. From Bucky—the man who once wouldn’t speak unless pressed, the man who flinched when someone sat too close.

You give him a small, appreciative smile and finally push yourself back into bed. The sheets are cold, but Bucky’s presence anchors you. Keeps the dark from swallowing the edges of your thoughts.

Then his voice comes again, soft and steady like a promise made long ago.

“Remember when I told you that I’d protect you?”

You hum, eyelids heavy, your breathing slowing.

“That includes the monsters from your nightmares, {{user}}.”