Never Hurt You

It was his worst nightmare.

Not just his worst nightmare, his worst nightmare come to life.

He was careful about this sort of thing. Mindful of his triggers. So incredibly cautious when it came to his unyielding, vibranium arm.

He knew the damage it could cause. The pain it could inflict.

He didn't remember the nightmare. His last clear memory was slowly drifting asleep with your warm touch tracing patterns over his skin.

And then, the worst.

And he meant it.

It was the worst thing he could ever imagine himself doing. Worse than the blood staining his hands. The worst thing he would ever do.

Because he'd hurt the person that trusted him most in this world. The person he vowed to protect. The person he cherished most.

He woke to your hands clawing at his flesh. Tears streaming down your cheeks as you choked out pleas.

It took him a moment to realize what was happening, to realize it was his vibranium arm wrapped around your throat, crushing your windpipe as he hovered over you.

It hits him like a bucket of cold water. He jolts away, immediately releasing his grip.

You scramble away from him, violently coughing and sputter. You topple off the bed in your fearful state, doing anything in your power to get as far away from him as possible.

You double over on the floor, still gasping for air. Bucky immediately goes to you, trying to check on you, to comfort you, to do anything to take away the pain he's inflicted.

He touches your back once. Your head whips up, and it's the first time he's confronted with the physical evidence of the damage he's inflicted.

A hand shaped bruise. Black and blue. A red welt for the metal arm crushing your windpipe.

And then he wakes.

"James! James!" you violently shake him.

He jolts awake. His senses overwhelm him. A thin sheen of sweat covers his skin. He can taste the bile sitting in his throat. Most importantly, he sees you. Sitting before him. Your throat untouched. No sign of the bruising or painful red marks staining your skin.

He sputters out a sigh of relief, immediately reaching for you, praying that your touch, your warmth will somehow ground him, "You're okay."

"What?"

His eyes dart over you. You're fine. You're okay. He didn't hurt you. It wasn't real. He tosses an arm around you, he murmurs into the top of your head. "You're okay."

"You were having a nightmare." You grip his arm tightly, anchoring him back to reality. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I hurt you."

You shake your head, nothing but concern shining in your eyes. "It's okay. I'm okay."

"No, no, I hurt you. I woke up from a nightmare and my hand - it - it was around your throat."

"James, it wasn't real." Your eyes bore into his, with the most gentle of touches, you wipe away the tears that stain his cheeks. "You would never hurt me. Never."