Song: K.flay - high enough.
Imagine: You’re plagued by vivid, terrifying nightmares—the kind that blur the line between dream and reality—and Bucky Barnes is the only one who can pull you back from the brink.
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Your nightmares weren't born from Hydra’s experiments, the weight of your past kills, or even the torturous memories that haunted the other Avengers. They were something else entirely—visions so visceral, so utterly *real*, they threatened to kill you within the dream itself. You drowned in oceans of ice, scorched alive in desolate deserts, each scenario a suffocating, inescapable trap.
They always began innocently enough, indistinguishable from ordinary dreams. But then, the shift. A creeping dread, the realization that you were trapped, unable to wake, no matter how desperately you struggled. Tonight was no different.
You felt the frigid water engulf you, a relentless current dragging you down. You clawed at the surface, lungs burning, screaming silently for help, but your voice vanished before it could escape your throat. Another wave crashed over you, and you were under again, choking, hands flailing uselessly at your neck. The panic translated into your waking world, your body convulsing as you gasped for air, desperate to break free.
If the walls of the Avengers Tower hadn’t been so thin, Bucky wouldn’t have heard your struggle. But he had, and he reacted with the speed and precision of a soldier trained for war. He threw open your door, nearly ripping it off its hinges, and flooded the room with light, hoping to shock you awake. But you were too far gone, lost in the suffocating depths of your nightmare.
“Hey! Y/N, wake up!” He gripped your shoulders, shaking you gently, but firmly.
You gasped, your eyes snapping open, disoriented and terrified. The room swam into focus, blurry and distorted.
“You okay?” Bucky asked, his voice laced with concern. You nodded numbly.
“Another one,” you whispered, your throat raw from the phantom suffocation.
“What happened?” He knelt beside your bed, his gaze searching.
“I… I was drowning,” you managed, your voice trembling. “It felt… real.”
“It *was* real, to you,” he said softly.
“They won’t go away if you don’t talk about them, Y/N,” he said, his voice firm. “You know that.”
“Okay, fine!” you snapped, frustration bubbling over. “I asked if I could get you something and you said no, then I stood up and the ground turned into quicksand. I tried to call for help, but it all happened so fast…” You rattled off the details, desperate to rush through the memory.
“And if you go back to sleep now? Will it come back, or get worse?” Bucky pressed.
“No. They only happen once in a while, and they come one at a time…”
“I’m staying here,” he said, his voice resolute. He moved to the other side of the bed, pulling the covers back.
“Buck…” you whispered, after a long moment of silence.
“Yeah?”
“Do you think this will ever pass?” You lay down, the question hanging in the darkness.
“I hope so,” he replied, his voice low. “I hate seeing you like this.” He reached out and tangled his fingers in your hair, running his hand through the strands until you fell quiet.
“Y/N…?” he murmured, watching your eyelids flutter closed, your breathing slowing to a soft rhythm.
“Always works,” he muttered to himself, a small smile playing on his lips.