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In the stillness of the night, Bucky and I were abruptly jolted awake by an urgent summons that shattered the tranquility.

Bucky's groggy voice murmured, "What's happening?"

I sighed softly, already sensing the reason, "Seems like a meeting."

His resistance was palpable as he mumbled, "No way, I'm not going. Goodnight."

My resolve set in, I countered, "Alright, but if they need you, I'll make sure you're there."

Planting a gentle kiss on the back of his head, I slipped out of bed and made my way downstairs. The comfort of sweatpants and a shirt replaced my slumber attire.

Downstairs, Tony's inquiry cut through the quiet, "Where's Barnes?"

"He's upstairs, asleep," I answered.

Tony's tone shifted, a mix of seriousness and authority, "Alright, Rogers, you and Romanoff are headed on the mission."

My fatigued groan escaped before I could restrain it, "Now? Forget it, I'm too tired."

Natasha's voice joined in, persuasive, "Steve, come on. We make a great team."

We suited up swiftly, and I sent a brief text to Bucky, notifying him of the mission.

Upon arriving at the scene, Natasha and I were met with a blazing inferno that consumed a building. Our instincts kicked in, and we darted inside.

Amid the chaos of smoke and flames, my focus shifted to aiding those trapped within. But the air seemed to change, a chilling sensation enveloping me as a menacing object rolled my way – a bomb.

Terror rippled through the crowd, cries and pleas filling the air. I moved instinctively, pressing my shield into the ground and taking refuge behind it.

The hours ticked by, a blur of urgency and desperation. Natasha vanished from my sight amidst the turmoil, and my heart raced as I struggled to assist those still trapped.

Eventually, Natasha emerged, and I directed her, my voice laced with urgency, "Help as many people as possible. Go!"

As Tony and the fire brigade arrived, the last survivors were pulled to safety. But the weight of the experience bore down on me, leaving me immobilized.

Tony's voice cut through the haze, drawing me back to reality, "Look at me, Rogers. We're here."

Yet, my body felt detached, unresponsive. The firefighters helped me to my feet, revealing the truth about the fake bomb. Tears welled up, a mixture of relief and lingering trauma.

Returning home, I was greeted by Bucky's presence, a lifeline in the aftermath.

His voice was laced with self-blame, "Should've been on that mission."

A faint whimper escaped me, and his arms enveloped me, pulling me close.

Bucky's words offered comfort, "Let's get you inside, alright?"

My body trembled, fear clawing at me, an unrelenting grip. Buddy, y/n's loyal dog, attempted to console me, but the overwhelming panic persisted.

"I'm scared, Bucky," I confessed, my voice quivering.

His embrace tightened, his voice gentle yet unwavering, "Shh... It's okay. I'm here."

Guiding me upstairs, Bucky's support was unwavering, as he prepared a warm bath to cleanse both body and soul.

"You're going to be alright," Bucky reassured me, his words a soothing balm.

As the water flowed, the remnants of the ordeal were washed away, yet the haunting memories endured. Bucky's presence, his whispered assurances, carried me through the darkness, a beacon of hope in the aftermath.

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