In it Together
Pairing: TFATWS!Bucky x Reader
Summary: Bucky has a nighmare. You help him through it.
Word Count: 4,739
Notes: Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Nightmares, you help Bucky through a nightmare, that man deserves the word, the flow of this might be all over the place (sorry), enjoy. Oh - established relationship.
The room was quiet, wrapped in the kind of stillness that only came with deep night. A pale wash of moonlight slipped in through the high ceiling window, casting long, soft shadows across the bed. You stirred, stretching your legs lazily, the sheets warm and heavy around you. Without opening your eyes, you rolled a little closer, seeking out the familiar weight of Bucky beside you.
Your toes brushed against him, cool against his warmth, and his leg twitched sharply. You smiled faintly to yourself, imagining his inevitable grumbleāthe one he always gave when you stole his heat with your icy feet. Slowly, mischievously, you tried again, curling your feet toward him.
The couch was warm, the movie playing forgotten as you shifted closer, your toes icy from the hardwood floors. You grinned to yourself before pressing them against Buckyās calf, a memory quickly flashing.
He jumped, a startled huff bursting out of him. āDollāā His voice was half a groan, half a laugh. āEvery damn time. Your feet are like ice cubes.ā
You smirked, wriggling them more firmly against him. āThatās what youāre here for, isnāt it? Human space heater.ā
āSuper-soldier space heater,ā he corrected with mock sternness, though the corner of his mouth was already twitching upward.
Before he could shove you off, you slid closer, curling into his side. Your arms wrapped around his middle, hands sneaking under his shirt to press flat against the solid warmth of his back. His whole body shivered at the touch.
āCold hands too?ā He tilted his head down, giving you a look of mock exasperation. āYouāre trying to kill me.ā
You only grinned wider, nuzzling into his chest. āAnd yet, youāre still letting me.ā
He sighed, long-suffering in tone but soft at the edges, his flesh hand settling over yours at his back. āBecause Iām a fool for you, thatās why.ā
The jest was there, the grumble in his voice but the truth glimmered through it. He loved it, every time. Loved that you trusted him enough to seek his warmth, loved that he could give you something so simple, so ordinary, after years of being nothing but a weapon.
You never missed the way he would lean into you a little more, heat radiating from him as he pulled you closer.
A small huff escaped his lips, but not the sleepy kind you expected, pulling you out of the memory. This one was clipped, strangled. You cracked your eyes open, just enough to glimpse his face in the half-light. His jaw was tight. His brows pulled together, his mouth parted as though he were trying to breathe through something heavy.
You froze.
The sheets shifted as his leg pulled away from yours, muscles tight under his skin. His hands rested on his stomach; both were clenched hard. His metal hand knotted the blanket in a grip so strong the fabric groaned. His chest rose and fell too fast, but not a sound came with it. Only the faint twitch of his legs, the scrunch of his face, gave him away.
A dream. A nightmare.
Your own breath caught, worry pushing the last of the sleep from your mind. You shifted, propping yourself up slightly, arm tucked beneath you for balance. Slowly, carefully, you reached for his flesh hand, laying your palm over his knuckles. The tension was immediate - his grip was iron, unyielding. You smoothed your thumb against his skin, hoping to ground him, to draw him back.
But then his hand jerked, a sharp flinch. You startled, pulling back an inch, watching him with wide eyes. A low sound left his throat, broken and raw, a sound that made your heart tighten. His eyes moved rapidly beneath their lids, darting like he was trapped somewhere far away.
You sat up properly now, the mattress dipping with your shift. The darkness felt heavier, thicker, as if it were holding the room still just for him. Your hand hovered uncertainly before settling again, feather-light, on his arm this time - less threatening, less likely to jar him.
āShhā¦ itās okay,ā you whispered, your voice low and steady, as though speaking too loudly might shatter something fragile. You werenāt sure if he could hear you, not really, but you hoped the sound might reach him wherever he was.
His chest heaved, too fast, his breaths clipped and shallow. His lips parted again, and this time the sound that came out cracked something in you. It was strangled, broken at the edges, not quite a word until, faintly, you thought you caught it - no.
Your heart lurched. You had both come so far to be in this moment, good or not.
The evening had stretched soft and easy, dinner plates still stacked in the sink, laughter still lingering in the air when you noticed the way Bucky lingered too. Normally by now, heād be tugging on his jacket, murmuring something about getting back, about how heād see you tomorrow. But tonight, he stood by the doorway with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, metal fingers flexing like he was working up to something.
When his eyes finally lifted to yours, there was a tension there, but also resolve. āThink Iām gonna stay,ā he said, the words quiet but steady.
You blinked, the weight of them hitting harder than you expected. Months together, nights spent tangled on your couch, kisses pressed against your door when it was time to say goodbye. But never this. Never him staying past the safety of evening.
āStay?ā you echoed, a smile tugging at your lips even as your chest tightened.
He gave a small nod, shoulders shifting like he was bracing for impact. āI, uhā¦ talked about it with my therapist. The nightmares. Why I didnātā¦ā He trailed off, sighing, rubbing the back of his neck. āDidnāt want you to see. Didnāt want you to thinkāā
āBucky,ā you cut in gently, stepping closer. Your hand brushed his arm, grounding. āI know. You donāt have to explain.ā
But he shook his head, wanting to say it anyway. āShe saidā¦ if Iām ready, I should bring some of my own stuff. Make it feelā¦ less like a strangerās place. More familiar.ā He huffed a quiet laugh, like it still sounded silly to him. āEven just a book, or some of my clothes. Something that says home.ā
Your heart swelled. You pictured it already - his dog-eared paperbacks on your nightstand, his hoodie draped over your chair, his worn boots by the door, little pieces of him stitched into your space.
āAnd the nightmares?ā you asked softly.
His jaw tightened, but he met your gaze. āWe went over what they mean, why they come when they do. She saidā¦ it might help to face it. Not hide from it.ā He paused, swallowing. āNot hide from you because-ā, he rubbed his stubbled face with his hand, looking away ever so slightly, ā-if this is to go further ā the next stepā¦ eventually youād have to see me-ā, he trailed off, mumbling his words, flustered.
The vulnerability in his voice cracked something open in you. You reached up, cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly across his stubble. āThen weāll face it together.ā
For a moment, he only looked at you, eyes glassy with something he didnāt quite let fall. Then he leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours, breathing you in like you were the anchor heād been searching for.
āYeah,ā he whispered, more to himself than to you. āTogether.ā
The sheets twisted in his grip, the metal fingers groaning against the fabric. His flesh hand flexed and closed again, like he was fighting against invisible chains. You smoothed your palm slowly up his forearm, grounding, steady.
āYouāre safe,ā you murmured, soft but certain, leaning closer as though your presence might shield him from whatever ghosts clawed at him. āIām here. Youāre safe.ā
He let out another broken sound, sharp and hoarse, like he was caught between wanting to cry out and being unable to. His body shifted under the blankets, a restless twitch that made you reach instinctively to hold the covers still, anchoring them around him.
You didnāt push, didnāt shake him awake - he hated that. Instead, you stayed, your voice a hush in the dark, weaving between his ragged breaths. āItās just a dream, Buck. Youāre here with me. Just a dream.ā
His brow furrowed deeper, the lines of pain etched across his face, but after a moment, you thought ā maybe - the tension in his shoulders eased by the smallest degree.
But the nightmare wouldnāt loosen its grip. His legs jerked beneath the blankets again, feet dragging as though he were running from something only he could see. His lips parted, breath catching on a sharp inhale, and another sound tore from his throat - half moan, half plea.
You shushed him softly, fingertips brushing the damp hair from his temple. āHey, easy, Buck...ā
For a moment you thought he might settle, but then his head shook faintly against the pillow, like he was denying something, refusing something. His mouth worked around the word again, a faint whisper this time: no.
Your chest tightened, aching with helplessness. You wanted to shake him free, to tear him out of the dream, but you knew how it ended when you did. Heād wake wild, disoriented, sometimes panicked, ashamed when he realised what had happened. This way, though - it was slower, harder, but gentler. It was a learning process for both of you.
The first night you experienced one of Buckyās nightmares was something that stayed with you, replaying in your mind more often than you cared to admit. It wasnāt just the fear of watching him thrash and break under the weight of things you couldnāt seeāit was the helplessness that clawed at you, the aching truth that love alone couldnāt pull him free. All youād wanted, all you still wanted, was to help. But that night became a kind of turning point, a painful lesson you both had to stumble through together.
It was a reminder that healing wasnāt neat, that trust came in fragments, and that even in the hardest moments, neither of you had to face them alone. It was proof, in its own jagged way, that you were in this together. And that memory regularly replayed itself as proof of your love for him.
The sound pulled you from sleep before you even realized what it was. A muffled gasp, a low groanāthen the bed shuddered with a violent jerk. You blinked into the dark, heart pounding, and turned to find Bucky twisted in the sheets, his chest heaving, sweat slicking his skin. His face was contorted, brows drawn, lips moving soundlessly like he was caught mid-battle.
āBucky,ā you whispered, reaching out, brushing your hand along his arm. No response. His whole body jolted again, a strangled sound leaving his throat.
Panic surged through you. You sat up and grabbed his shoulders, shaking gently at first, then harder when he didnāt stir. āBucky! Wake upāplease, wake up!ā
His eyes snapped open, wild and glassy, as if dragged from some terrible place. For a moment he didnāt seem to see you at allāhis breath came in ragged gasps, tears brimming in his eyes, his expression twisted in pain.
You froze, your own breath catching, terror creeping into your chest.
Suddenly, he tore himself from the bed, stumbling to his feet. The blankets fell in a heap, his bare chest slick with sweat, pajama bottoms slung low from thrashing in the sheets. He stood with his back to you, facing the wall, shoulders heaving, every muscle taut like a bowstring about to snap.
āBuckyā¦ā you whispered again, voice shaking.
But he didnāt answer. His metal hand flexed at his side, his flesh hand pressing against the wall for balance, as though the room itself was unsteady. His whole body shook, tremors running through him as though he were fighting off ghosts that werenāt there.
Your heart ached at the sightāterror for him, but also helplessness. You had no map for this, no training to guide you. This was the first time, the nightmare made real in front of you. You had known it might happen someday, but nothing prepared you for thisāfor seeing him so broken, so lost in the middle of your bedroom.
āBucky, itās me,ā you said again, your voice steadier this time, though tears were already gathering in your eyes. āYouāre safe. Youāre here. With me.ā
Still, he stood rigid, back to you, caught somewhere between the dream and reality.
He didnāt reply. The room had gone so still you could hear every uneven breath rattling in his chest. His shoulders rose and fell in jerks, his metal fingers twitching faintly at his side. You stayed where you were, watching him, afraid to push too hard, afraid to break him further.
Minutes stretched, though it felt longer. Eventually, the tremors in his frame eased, his breathing slowed, and the silence grew heavier. You knew that silence. Not peaceāshame. Anger. Self-loathing curling around him like smoke.
Your heart ached. You thought back to the things heād shared, haltingly, in conversations where his voice was low and guarded. His therapist had said to make it safe, make it home. So you moved quietly, gently, pulling the sheets flat where they had bunched from his thrashing, fluffing his pillow back into shape. Mundane things. Safe things. Familiar.
He didnāt turn. He didnāt speak. He stood frozen in place, still facing the wall, his whole body tense, like he was waiting for judgment to fall.
You let out a long sigh, soft but heavy, making sure he could hear it, making sure he knew you were still with him. Your voice broke the quiet, low and apologetic.
āShit, Buckā¦ Iām so sorry. I justāā Your throat caught as you pressed the words out. āI scared you more.ā
That got him. His shoulders shifted, a flinch almost too small to notice, but it was there. His head dipped forward, messy strands of damp hair falling into his face.
For the first time since waking, you thought maybe he was listening.
The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating. You sat still in bed, hands smoothing the sheets that no longer needed smoothing, eyes fixed on him. He hadnāt moved, not really - just that slight tilt of his head, his shoulders tight, his fists clenched at his sides.
Then, slowly, as if it cost him everything, he turned.
His face was pale in the dim light, damp hair clinging to his forehead, his chest still heaving though less violently now. His eyes flicked to you only for a second before darting away, unable to hold your gaze. Shame carved deep lines into his expression, his brows drawn, his jaw tight.
āIā¦ I scared you,ā he rasped finally, his voice hoarse and uneven. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, looking anywhere but at you. āDidnāt want you to see me like that. Didnāt want you toāā He broke off, running a shaky hand over his face. āGod, I look pathetic.ā
Your heart cracked at the word.
He dragged in another breath, shuddering, his metal hand curling uselessly at his side. āThis is why I donātā¦ why I never stayed the night. Because I knew this would happen. And now youāve seen it, andā¦ā His voice faltered again, thick with anger turned inward. āā¦and I donāt know how you can even look at me.ā
For a moment, the only sound in the room was his ragged breathing and the faint rustle of the sheets under your fingers. He finally looked at you then, just barely, his eyes red-rimmed, full of shame, as though bracing himself for you to agree with him.
You didnāt answer. Words felt too small for the storm breaking inside you - your chest aching with love for him, with the sharp need to ease the weight he carried. Instead, you let the silence stretch, your eyes holding his, soft and unwavering.
Then you smiled. Just a small curve of your lips, gentle, steady, meant only for him. You reached over and patted the space beside you, tugging the sheets back, making room. An invitation, not a demand.
āTogether,ā you said simply.
His eyes flickered, torn between disbelief and something deeper. His jaw worked like he wanted to argue, to tell you he didnāt deserve itābut the fight was already faltering.
For a moment, he stood frozen again, chest rising and falling, sweat still glistening on his skin. Then, with a quiet exhale that sounded almost like surrender, he moved.
The mattress dipped under his weight as he slid back into the bed, hesitant at first, like he wasnāt sure if he had the right. You pulled the sheet gently over him, tucking it back around his body as if to anchor him here, now.
When his head finally hit the pillow, he turned just enough to look at you. His eyes were wet, glassy, his lips parting around a word he never quite managed to say.
You reached across the space, your hand finding his beneath the blanket. His fingers twitched, then tightened around yours.
āTogether,ā you whispered again.
And this time, he didnāt fight it.
So, you stayed, your hand moving in slow circles on his arm, then over his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart beneath your palm. His skin was hot, damp with sweat, his muscles strung tight as wire.
āListen to me,ā you whispered, leaning closer until your lips almost brushed his ear. āYouāre with me, Buck. Youāre safe.ā
His body jolted, a sudden spasm like heād been struck. His hand clenched harder around the blanket, knuckles bone-white, the sound of tearing fabric sharp in the silence. His breath rasped, shallow and uneven, and you could see his throat work as if swallowing down a scream.
āBuckyā¦ā Your voice broke, but you steadied it again, softer. āIāve got you. Youāre not alone.ā
He let out another strangled sound, lower this time, as if dragged from the bottom of his chest. His brow stayed drawn, his face pale in the silver light. You shifted closer, pressing your forehead lightly to the side of his, grounding both him and you.
The restless twitch of his legs eased for just a breath, before returning in small shudders. His chest still heaved too fast, and his lips moved again, the faintest whisper, hoarse and breakingālike the word stop.
You closed your eyes, a deep ache pulling at you. āIām here. Itās over. Youāre safe with me.ā
You repeated it again and again, low and steady, as if you could weave a thread from your voice into his dream and pull him back toward you.
His head shifted on the pillow, restless, jaw tight as stone. His lips parted and this time the word was clear, torn straight from the dream and into the room - stop. It broke in the air, hoarse and desperate. His face twisted, and then, to your horror, tears welled and slipped down his temples, tracing lines through the sheen of sweat on his skin.
Your own chest ached, tears pricking sharp behind your eyes as your heart twisted. You hated that you couldnāt reach him, couldnāt fix what he was trapped inside of. All you could do was be here. But was that enough?
You reached out blindly, one hand curling over his clenched human hand, the other smoothing against his damp hair. His jaw worked hard, clenched against the sounds he couldnāt hold back, his body trembling faintly under your touch.
Something in you broke then, instinct taking over. Without thinking, you slid closer, gathering him into your arms. He shifted with the motion, half against his will, his damp head pressing into your chest. The heat of his skin bled through your shirt as you curved yourself around him, one hand stroking through his hair, the other holding tight to his handāanchoring him, refusing to let go.
āShh,ā you whispered, voice breaking as tears slipped down your cheeks, quiet as the dark around you. āIāve got you, Bucky. Youāre safe. Youāre not there anymore.ā
His body shuddered against you, chest hitching with uneven breaths. You tightened your hold, rocking faintly without realizing it, like you could soothe him the way you would soothe something fragile and hurting.
The nightmare still clung to him, his jaw locked, breath ragged, but now he was in your arms, not the dreamās. And you stayed, even as your own tears fell, your heart breaking at the sight of his pain, vowing silently that youād carry him through itāno matter how many nights it took.
He leaned into you, his weight heavy and trembling, like he was surrenderingānot to the dream, but to you. The sharp edges of your own tears blurred your vision as you held him tighter, wrapping yourself around every broken piece he carried.
Time lost its shape. The room was still, the night endless, and all that existed was the sound of his ragged breaths against your chest, the damp heat of his skin pressed to yours. You whispered nothing now, just breathed with him, matching his rhythm where you could, holding on when he couldnāt.
Little by little, the fight began to drain out of him. The restless jolts of his legs grew further apart until they stopped altogether. His head, once shifting and restless, went still against your chest, damp hair clinging to your shirt. The furrow in his brow eased, his eyelids softening. His hand, so tight it had almost torn the blankets apart, loosened slowly in yours, his fingers uncoiling until your hands rested together, still but connected.
Relief caught you like a wave, quiet and aching, but you didnāt dare move. You held him as though letting go might wake the storm again.
In the silver light spilling through the window, you looked down at him - at the man who carried scars in his sleep, whose ghosts were louder in silence than in words. Your heart broke and mended all at once, holding him there, knowing he might never even remember this moment in the morning.
But you would.
You pressed your lips to the top of his damp hair; a silent promise breathed into the dark: Iāve got you. Always.
You must have drifted somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, because when you finally blinked again, the room was softer. The silver wash of moonlight had given way to the pale grey of dawn, faint ribbons of gold just beginning to stretch across the ceiling. The world outside was stirring, though the bedroom still felt cocooned in silence.
Bucky was still in your arms.
He hadnāt moved much through the night, not after the storm had finally quieted. His weight was slumped against you, head tucked against your chest, breaths deep but uneven in placesālike even in rest, his body didnāt quite know how to let go. The dampness of his skin had cooled, leaving his hair a little messy, sticking in tufts against your shirt.
You shifted only slightly, your back stiff from staying in the same position for hours, but you didnāt dare loosen your hold. Your fingers traced lightly over the back of his hand where it rested against yours, still lax from where his grip had finally released.
The sight of him like this - unguarded, vulnerable, clinging to peace as though it might slip away at any second - pulled at something deep in your chest. You ached for him. For the battles he fought even in sleep.
The first real streaks of sunlight broke through the window, brushing across his face. His features looked softer now, free from the grimace that had haunted him through the night. He was quiet. Still. Human in a way the world rarely allowed him to be.
You exhaled slowly, pressing another kiss to his hair, whispering into the new day like a vow: āTogether.ā
And so, you stayed, cradling him as the morning grew brighter, letting the world move on without you, holding the man whoād finally, if only for now, found rest in your arms.
The light crept higher, painting the room in soft gold, when you felt him stir. Just the faintest shift at first - a deeper inhale, his head turning slightly against your chest. Then a quiet groan, low and hoarse, as though even waking was heavy on him.
You stilled, your hand in his hair pausing mid-stroke, afraid to break the fragile calm heād found. His lashes fluttered, a flicker of movement before his eyes cracked open, hazy and unfocused in the morning light.
For a moment, he just lay there, not moving, his gaze drifting across the ceiling as if he wasnāt entirely sure where he was. Then his brow tightened, a flicker of confusion. He shifted, realized the way your arms were wrapped around him, the damp cling of his shirt, the faint trace of tears dried on his skin.
His throat worked, but no words came. Instead, his gaze finally lifted, meeting yours. There it was - the flicker of shame, of knowing youād seen him vulnerable, weak in a way he hated to be.
You didnāt say anything, not yet. You only held him tighter, smoothing your thumb gently over the back of his hand, grounding him before the silence could grow heavy.
āIt was a rough one,ā you whispered finally, voice soft, careful, like you might spook him.
He closed his eyes again, jaw clenching, a faint nod betraying the truth youād already seen. His body shifted minutely, pressing in closer as if he didnāt want to admit he needed itābut couldnāt quite let go either.
You tilted your head, brushing your lips against his temple, the words spilling without hesitation: āYou donāt have to carry it alone, Buck. Not anymore.ā
For a long moment, he didnāt move. Then, slowly, his fingers tightened around yours - not the desperate, panicked clutch of the night, but something quieter. A thank you he couldnāt put into words.
And you stayed like that, in the fragile light of morning, holding him steady until the day had no choice but to begin.
The silence stretched, but it wasnāt empty. His breathing steadied, his body slowly unclenching in your hold. Still, you could feel it - the hesitation, the way his jaw flexed as if words were pushing against his teeth, fighting to get out.
Finally, his voice broke the quiet, low and rough from disuse. āIāmā¦ sorry.ā
Two small words, but heavy, like they cost him more than they should. His gaze flickered away, fixed on the window instead of you.
Your chest ached. You shifted just enough to see his face, your hand moving to cup his cheek, gently guiding him back to you. āNo,ā you whispered, firm but soft. āDonāt. You donāt have to apologise.ā
His lips pressed into a tight line; eyes shadowed with something old and raw. āYou shouldnāt have toāā He cut himself off, shaking his head slightly. ā- seeing me like that. Holding me together when I canātāā
āBucky.ā You stopped him, your voice steady, cutting through the self-loathing you heard threading his words. āNot when itās this. Not when itās you.ā
He searched your face then, like he was waiting for the catch, waiting for the look of pity or fear he dreaded. But it wasnāt there - just you, holding him, tears still clinging to your lashes.
āYou donāt have to be perfect with me,ā you said, quieter now, thumb brushing over his damp cheek. āYou just have to be real. Thatās all I want.ā
For a long beat, he didnāt speak. His throat worked, his eyes glassy in a way you rarely saw. Then he gave a small, broken exhale, leaning into your hand, into you.
āā¦I donāt know what I did to deserve this,ā he murmured, voice frayed, barely audible.
You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss into his hair. āYou donāt have to deserve it,ā you whispered into the morning light. āYou just have to let me love you.ā
And this time, when his hand tightened around yours, it wasnāt from fear or desperation. It was an answer.
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
PLEASE let me know what you guys think. It's my first imagine.. I want to do my boy Bucky justice.
Thanks :3 @puffins13
