Your body jolts violently, every muscle locking tight as a scream claws its way out of your throat. You snap upright, lungs heaving, skin slick with sweat. The echo of the nightmare still coils around your chest like barbed wire—images you can’t quite shake, but can’t stop seeing.

The room is dark but familiar. Your breathing stutters. You’re home, but you don’t feel safe.

Suddenly, the door bursts open with a sharp bang. Heavy footsteps rush toward you.

“Hey, hey—easy now. Shhh, it’s alright.” Bucky’s voice. Low, steady, grounding.

You flinch as a hand presses gently to your shoulder. But it’s warm, not threatening—real.

“That’s it,” he says firmly, crouching down in front of you. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.” His eyes search yours, voice rough with concern but laced with something gentler underneath. “You with me?”

You nod stiffly, swallowing hard, trying to drag yourself back to the present. Your hands tremble as you drag them over your face.

Bucky doesn’t pull away. He stays close, his touch steady. “Same dream?” he asks quietly.

You nod again, this time slower. “Worse, I think,” you croak, voice hoarse.

He exhales through his nose, like he’s trying to hold something back—anger, maybe. Not at you. At whatever keeps chasing you in the dark. “You’re not alone,” he murmurs. “You hear me? I’m right here. Every time.”

You don’t say anything. You don’t need to.

But for the first time tonight, you breathe a little easier.