Setting: a year after TWS
{ Note: trust me, I know everyone does Bucky + nightmare one shots, but honestly, I don't mind reading/writing them, even if it is an overused plot. }
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You'd been introduced to The Winter Soldier when he was still, well, The Winter Soldier. It was only after a few weeks that he became Bucky to you. He was a strong man and not just physically; he'd managed to overcome Hydra's compulsion—with your help, of course. That was what had brought the two of you together.
You'd been his girl for seven months now, the only thing he truly took pride in.
"Look at my girl," he'd spin you around, the biggest smile you ever did see on his face. "She's perfect."
Of course, he did this with the watchful eyes of the Avengers on you. He just loved showing you off.
Despite how happy you and Bucky were together, things didn't always run smoothly. Bucky had nightmares—bad ones. They were a normal thing; even normal people got nightmares. However, normal people tended to have scary dreams where monsters would attack them, but Bucky was not normal. He was trying to be, but the truth was, he would never be normal. Buck had nightmares in which he was the monster.
You often stayed the night at Bucky's and Steve's shared apartment just so you could shake the sleeping man from his night terrors. Before you started staying overnight, you'd enter the apartment any given morning and find everything neat and in place—that is until you pushed the door open to Bucky's room. He somehow managed to kick his comforter off of the bed along with every single one of his pillows. Sometimes, books from his bookshelf would be strewn about the room, the covers bent and ripped and pages removed.
Since you'd started spending the night, (not in his bed, are you kidding me? You aren't married; Steve would die of a heart attack if he knew) Bucky had been able to calm down after waking from his night terrors. You would always do the same thing: sit by him on the bed, stroke his hair until he started to calm down, then let him rest his head on your chest until he fell asleep again to the soothing sound of your heart beat.
This routine worked well...for a while. However, one night, after you'd borrowed a blanket and pillow from Steve's room, (obviously Bucky's a blanket/pillow hoarder, be realistic, the guy probably didn't sleep in a real bed while at Hydra, can you blame him??) you curled yourself up on the love seat in the corner of Bucky's room. You'd fallen asleep rather quickly due to the silence and also just the comfort of being in the same room with Bucky.
It was well past three in the morning when you woke up to the sound of Bucky mumbling things in Russian. You couldn't understand anything he was muttering but when you got up from the love seat and rushed over to his bed, you could see sweat beading on his forehead and it looked like he was struggling to breath.
"Bucky, wake up." You tried, not touching him. If there was anything you'd learned when pulling him out of his night terrors, it was not a good idea to touch him. It only worsened things and then he'd end up sulking around for days feeling terrible for accidentally bruising your hand or arm in his sleep.
"Yбить Rogers, что моя миссия (Kill Rogers, that is my mission)," he mumbled, fidgeting violently in his sleep.
"Buck," you leaned a little closer to him, but not too close.
"Rogers," he repeated before his eyes flickered open, cold and hostile.
He sat up so quickly that it startled you, and you fell backwards on your butt with a thud.
Steve was a light sleeper, and even the slightest noise woke him up. He was up and at his dresser within a few seconds, pulling a gray tee over his head.
"Everything okay in there, Buck?" Steve knocked on the bedroom door, genuinely concerned for his friend. He had come home late from a mission, so he wasn't quite sure if you were there or not. He assumed so, due to his missing pillow and blanket that you'd taken.
You watched as Bucky's head snapped in the direction of the door, his jaw clenching, eyes still dark.
"No," you said under your breath, pulling yourself up from the floor.
In a flash, Bucky was ripping the door right off of it's hinges, the muscles in his back flexing as he threw it over his shoulder like a used rag. You had to dodge it by rolling to the right, then standing up as the door hit the wall behind you.
Steve was already trying to get Bucky off of him, but not too aggressively. He didn't want to hurt his friend, though in that moment, it wasn't Bucky he was fighting off; it was the Winter Soldier.
"Buck, stop! It's me! I'm your friend!" Steve choked out as Bucky slammed the blonde into the wooden floor.
Your eyes widened in a panic; this was the farthest one of Bucky's night terrors had ever gone.
"Oh, I know exactly who you are, Rogers. You're my mission," Bucky spat through gritted teeth as his fist made contact with Steve's cheek.
"Bucky, stop!" You tried, but it was as if the brunette didn't even hear you.
"This isn't you, Bucky." Steve warned, his lip busted and bloody. He pushed Bucky back forcefully, getting back to his feet again.
"James!" You tried, hoping—knowing that it would get his attention. No one other than you, rarely, called him that. Only in certain circumstances did you use his real name. He secretly liked when you called him that, though he always insisted that he preferred 'Bucky.'
Just as he was about to throw another jaw-cracking punch at Steve, Bucky stopped dead in his tracks. He stood there silently, his eyes fixated on his metal fist, fighting the urge to pound in Steve's face. Something inside of him had clicked.
"James!" Your sweet voice lured out Bucky, the sweet, good Bucky that was still in there somewhere.
He dropped his fist to his side, his head lifting up to look at Steve. Blood poured from his lip, but other than that, the super soldier appeared okay. But it wasn't okay. Bucky had hurt his friend—his best friend. That was something he'd vowed to never do again after he regained control of Winter.
"Steve," Bucky's eyes softened drastically as he stood frozen in place, afraid that moving would only hurt his friend more.
"It's okay, Buck. You were having a nightmare. I know that wasn't...you." Steve wiped the blood from his lip, the scarlet liquid already staining his shirt.
Bucky nodded slowly, still feeling an immense amount of guilt weighing down his chest. His blue eyes followed the trail of blood from Steve's lip down to his tee shirt.
"I'm sorry," the brunette sighed, his apology doing nothing to take away from the guilt he felt.
"I know. It's okay, I promise." Steve nodded and placed a hand on Bucky's shoulder.
Bucky stiffened and his head lowered. He stood like that for a few minutes, his best friend silently comforting him. It broke your heart to see Bucky looking so defeated, so broken.
As realization set in, he looked up at Steve again.
"Where is (y/n)? Was she here? Is she okay? I didn't...please, tell me I didn't hurt her." You could only see his back from where you stood, but his voice gave away how concerned he was when asking Steve each question.
"I'm right here, Bucky," you spoke softly, taking a step towards him.
He turned to you hurriedly, his baby blues scanning your body for any kind of injury he feared he could have given you.
"You didn't even touch me, babe. I'm fine," you explained, a dull aching still in your chest as you looked at him. He just looked so tired—tired of not being in control, tired of the nightmares, and just plain tired.
"(Y/n)," Bucky was over to you in a heartbeat, his metal arm holding you flush against him and his flesh hand tangled in your hair. "You can't keep staying here with me. I'm afraid I'll hurt you." He mumbled, his lips brushing against your forehead.
"But you didn't hurt me—" You furrowed your brows, looking at him hard.
"Not this time. But I have before." He pointed out, pulling his hands off of you and taking your hands in his. "Why do you stay with me, (y/n)? I'm dangerous." He asked, his voice nearly cracking.
By this point, Steve had retreated to his room, his muscles slightly aching and his lip beginning to swell. He'd be alright; he'd shake it off by morning. Besides, he wasn't going to intrude on your and Bucky's moment.
"Because you have nightmares and I don't want you to go through them alone," you looked up at him, studying the distant, broken look in his eyes.
"That's not what I mean." Bucky pulled completely away from you, all physical contact ceasing to exist. "I mean why do you stay with me? As in, why are you with me? I'm seriously screwed up." He ran a hand through his brown locks.
"Because...I love you. That's what I'm supposed to do, Bucky. Be here for you. Always."
"No," Bucky shook his head, in denial that you'd just confessed your love for him. It was the first 'I love you' he'd received since God knows how long ago. "You can't love me. I'm a monster."
"James Barnes, you are not a monster," you wrapped your arms around him, warmth instantly comforting the two of you. "None of this is your fault; its Hydra's. It'll take time, but you'll eventually be free from all of this—the nightmares." You explained, hoping that he wouldn't make another attempt to push you away.
"Eventually." He repeated, his hands unwrapping your arms from his body. "But right now, I can't do this."
"Bucky, don't—"
"No, (y/n), don't try to change my mind, because all I feel when I'm with you is fear that I'll hurt you." He breathed out, unable to look you in the eyes.
It wasn't true, what he said. Fear could not have been the only thing he felt when he was around you, right?
"How could you say that to me?" You stood still, your hands falling to your sides, eyebrows furrowed at him. "I told you that I love you, and you're telling me you don't feel that way, too? You only feel fear?"
Bucky only looked at you, a mixture of pain and regret in his eyes. He regretted ever getting you involved with him; he should have pushed you away after the first time you stayed over and he bruised your wrists in your sleep. Instead, he'd been selfish and let you stay. Why? You made him feel not so alone; he had Steve, but with you came a different kind of comfort.
"I'm doing this because I love you." He clenched his jaw, trying not to pull you into his arms again. "Please, (y/n), you have to go."
You shook your head, not feeling the slightest bit better after his confession. He was still pushing you away and telling you those three words only made it even harder. You looked at him for one long minute and then nodded.
"Okay," you said firmly, walking over to the door where your shoes sat neatly beside it. After you pulled them on, you turned to him, your hand on the door knob. "If this is what you want, I'll leave, Bucky. But you better call me if you need anything."
"I will." Bucky nodded, his stomach churning. He hated seeing you go and it was worse that he was the one that asked you to leave.
You gave the man one last look, his long, brown hair a mess, his eyes tired and weary, and his lips pulled into a frown.
He was a sad man.
He was a broken man.
He was a lost man...
but Bucky Barnes was not a monster.