Always Fight | Bucky Barnes |

3

When I stir awake, I find myself in my bed of the room I occupy during my visits to Wakanda.

A low groan escapes my lips, my body and mind sluggish with the tendrils of sleep still clutching on to me. The lightweight sheets keep my body the perfect temperature between cool and warm and lull me to lay my head back down and sleep more. Bucky must have moved me into here sometime after I'd fallen asleep. Our rooms are right next to each other's so it wouldn't have been a far walk anyways.

I look over at the clock on the nightstand by the side of the bed and let out a long, tired sigh when I read the numbers '02:30'. I flip over in the massive bed, my already half-shut eyes catching a glimpse outside the window of my room into the star-filled night before sleep slowly creeps back over my body. I had just let my eyelids flutter back closed and was in that beautiful place between sleep and wake when the muffled sound of talking drags me back awake.

When I sit up slightly, my brows furrowed in confusion egged on by the sleep threatening to drag me back under, I sit in absolute silence and strain my ears for the source of the sound, my senses informing me that no heat signatures roam the hallways around my room. I hum to myself, wondering if I just imagined the talking before laying back down in my bed.

"Please, don't do this"

That's Bucky.

At the muffled voice, I shoot straight up in my bed. I'd know that voice anywhere, but to hear it so cloaked in pain, so drenched in hopelessness...it breaks my heart more than words can express. When I can hear Bucky mutter something else under his breath, I know immediately what's happening and don't waste another moment laying in bed.

I jump out of bed, ignoring the cool sting of the hardwood floors underneath my bare feet as I jog to my door. I throw it open and jog over to Bucky's, glad at least that he decided to sleep inside today. T'Challa has a small hut on the outskirts of the palace for Bucky whenever he needs to get out in nature to clear his head, but I don't want to think about how alone he'd be if he'd had a nightmare out there where I couldn't hear him.

Even though our trauma stopped, the nightmares never did for either of us.

That's what people don't understand about trauma. They think that just because someone got a happy ending and was able to fix the root of their problem that they will automatically be perfectly fine for the rest of their days. Healing mental scars isn't magic, it doesn't happen instantaneously like some people can do for the body. Learning to live and endure the pain and the hardships that you've gone through, that takes time.

I'd had nearly seven years to work through what Clayton and HYDRA did to me when Clayton got a hold of me again and being in that place brought me instantly back to exactly the frightened, shriveled, broken girl I used to be. For the months following the events Siberia, Zemo, and Clayton, I'd wake up disoriented and terrified in a panicked frenzy, my mind still sure that I was stuck back with that cruel doctor. When I finally got Bucky out of cryo-sleep, he slept by my side every night because of my dreams, but I'm convinced that some nights he didn't even sleep. He'd be there when I'd jolt awake, sometimes with a gasp and other times with a scream. He'd hold me close to him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat always managing to lull me back to reality.

People who haven't been to Hell and back don't understand the scars you get left with, even if you win.

I don't even bother knocking when I get to his door, because from inside I can hear his mumblings growing increasingly louder and more panic-stricken. I push open the door, making sure it shuts behind me before turning to survey the room. When I see the sheets of his bed almost completely undisturbed, I know immediately to look towards the floor. Sure enough, right where I assumed he'd be, Bucky's shirtless form lies sleeping on the hard floor, a single blanket and pillow with him.