Marvel Oneshots (X Reader)

Bucky Barnes - Nightmares

Tw-sort of panic attack but not really, night terrors.

I woke to a singular scream.

It was an agonised, heart-ripping shriek that only lasted a second or two before it was abruptly cut off.

Anyone else would have groggily sat, listening for any more while blinking sleep from their eyes. After the continued silence of the night, they would have convinced themself that the split-second scream was all in their head. That it had been part of their dream—and for some even their memories. Then they would drift off to sleep again, none the wiser.

But I never did that. I couldn't do that. Because I knew the scream was not in my head. I knew that it was real, and I knew where it came from. Even worse, I knew what it meant.

I shook my head, trying to rid myself of the haze of sleep that still lingered. I threw the covers off the bed, forcing myself to sit up in the dark room. I paused momentarily, waiting for my eyes to stay open long enough to make out the room's shape around me.

I could feel the heaviness of exhaustion trying to drag me down as I glanced at the time. 3:23 exactly. It was the same every time.

I hauled myself out of the bed, stumbling slightly as I traced my hand along the wall to keep my balance. It was becoming a routine by now—the abrupt waking and then the quiet walk to my door. I avoided the stray stacks of belongings that rested in corners and against walls as I spoke to myself in my head. Large step over that drawer. Walk slightly to the left and then reach out for the door handle—there it was.

As quietly as I could, I gently pulled down on the handle, hearing the soft click of the mechanism as it disengaged. Carefully pushing the door, it slid open without a sound. Thank god Stark always made sure to keep the hinges in pristine condition. I swear if he so much as heard a tiny squeak he would run straight for his oil to immediately fix it.

I warily stepped out into the hallway, the tiles warm from the heaters. It was lighter out here, a soft glow coming from the ceiling lights in case anyone stepped out for a late night snack, which happened more often than I had expected.

I made my way to the left. Only ten steps away was another door. His door. Raising a hand, I softly knocked three times.

This was how it always happened on nights like these. I would hear his muffled scream through the wall between us, then I would step out of my own room and make my way to his door. I never made it inside though. Instead, I would knock three times and sink to the floor with my back against the door. Then I would start to talk.

It was always something different—maybe random facts about whales and other sea creatures, or horrible jokes that I'd found online. Sometimes I would talk about my life and all the things, good and bad, that had happened throughout the years. That amazing moment of triumph, the time I got so mad I almost flipped out, and even those annoying customers I'd had to deal with while working at my first job.

I didn't really know why I did it. I'd heard everything that he had been through and all those years of torture in Hydra's hands. He had killed people brutally, had even tried to kill the avengers at one point. We had never even acknowledged each other formally, despite living in the same tower. He kept to himself, and I didn't push it.

Yet when I heard his scream for the first time, I had been worried for him. I wanted to ensure he was okay, that I really had heard that cry. When he didn't answer the door, I had been too stubborn to leave. Then I just started talking. Comforting someone who I wasn't even sure could hear me. After a while I had stopped, embarrassed. When I had gotten up to leave, I had heard the slightest shuffle from the other side. It wasn't much, but I knew that it was him, that he had been listening the entire time from the other side.