Steve sat on the edge of his bead, panting and sobbing into his hands. It was 3 am and he'd just relived Bucky's death…again. It was either that or himself plummeting toward a frozen wasteland, that never let him get more than a couple hours of sleep a night. And when he was tired again, he never wanted to close his eyes for fear of reliving the past. Just once he would like to have a dreamless night. As he was sobbing into his hands, trying his best to calm down, he was screaming at God in his head, furious that God would let this happen to anyone. Why couldn't he just die? Everyone he'd ever loved was dead. Everything he'd ever known was dead. But instead, he just had to wake up. He had to wake up in a horrible version of the world he once knew, and all he wanted was to go back. When his breathing had finally calmed some, he got up and decided to go to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee and draw, since it was clear he wasn't going to go back to sleep.

In the kitchen, he found a pad of paper and a pencil and began drawing a picture of Stark Tower, where he and all the other avengers were living at the current moment. He tried to distract his mind from thinking about Bucky, ice, or WWII in general. He sat there drawing, alone in the dark kitchen, with the light over the stove on, until he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder.

"Hey." He turned around to see that the voice had come from a sleepy Natasha standing behind him. "What are you doing up?" He asked her. "Couldn't sleep I guess." She replied, pouring herself a cup of coffee. "Me either."

He looked back at his drawing. It had turned into more of a picture of his old apartment building he used to live in before the war and he instantly thought of Bucky. Bucky. Oh no. Not again. Here it goes again. Steve's breathing quickly became heavy, his heart racing, palms sweaty, and all he could see was Bucky falling, over and over, all he heard was his scream as he watched his best friend plummet to his death, and he couldn't get the look of Bucky's terrified face out of his mind. If Steve had just reached his hand out a little more, Bucky wouldn't be dead right now. He would've lived his life, had a family, gotten a good job, but instead he fell into that cold, barren, wasteland, and it was all Steve's fault.

"Steve." He thought he heard his name somewhere in the distance. Maybe it was Bucky calling for his help. "Steve!" He felt his shoulders being shaken but he didn't know if it was somebody shaking him or if he was just shaking from fear. Maybe both. "Steven Rogers if you don't snap out of it this instant I am going to slap you!" The voice sounded so far away and how could he snap out of- SLAP. Steve was suddenly looking around, wild eyed, breathing like he had just run a marathon, no idea where he was, tears in his eyes, gripping the table so hard Natasha thought it was going to break.

"Steve…" Natasha said quietly, voice full of sympathy, pulling his head to her chest, stroking his hair as he sobbed into her shirt. "Steve. My god, are you alright? What the hell just happened?" "It's…It's nothing Tasha. I'm fine."

He looked up at her, cheeks tear stained, eyes red and puffy, hair tousled, and Natasha couldn't help but feel sorry for him. He looked like he had just been through hell and back, which he probably had, and Natasha felt helpless. She didn't know what to do. She desperately wanted to help Steve, but didn't even know where to begin.

"You're not fine Steve. I know you better than that. Hell, anyone can see you're not fine just by looking at you. C'mon, we're going to bed." "To-together?" He stammered, face turning more red than it already was.

"For the love of god Steve, you've got to get over you fear of women. We really aren't that bad. And it's not like we're going to do anything, I'm just helping you get back to sleep. Now let's go. Get out of that chair and follow me." "Yes ma'am."

Steve obediently followed her to his room and she opened the door, walked across the room to his bed, and turned on the TV, choosing a movie to watch.

"Stop standing there like an idiot and get in bed you big scaredy-cat."

Steve tentatively walked over to his bed and got in on the opposite side of Natasha. He laid there stiffly, not knowing what to do, when suddenly Natasha curled up next to him and put her head on his chest. He put his arm around her, and relaxed a little bit.

"You know, Steve, I have nightmares too." She said quietly, not looking up at him. Steve couldn't believe it. Natasha? Strong, fearless, Natasha? It couldn't be true.

"I didn't exactly have a good childhood Steve." She said, this time looking up at him, smirking at his look of disbelief.

"You're not the only one here with nightmares. I can tell you right now that EVERYONE in this tower has them almost every night."

"Even Tony?" He asked in disbelief. "Even Tony. Ever wonder why he stays up for days on end, tinkering with things? He's too afraid to go to sleep. Too afraid of the things he might see in his sleep. Too afraid of the memories, so he gets himself so tired that his body has no choice but to have a long, dreamless sleep. He'd never admit it, but he suffers from PTSD just like the rest of us."

Steve had heard about PTSD but still didn't quite understand it. He just knew he was constantly reliving horrible nightmares that seemed to have no end. He was about to say something else when he noticed Natasha had fallen asleep on his chest, and he decided to try to get a little more sleep too. Turning off the TV, he fell asleep quickly, but only to be woken up again soon with nightmares.

Breathing heavily and crying again, Natasha was holding him close in a tight embrace this time, making the memory of plummeting toward ice a little better. It helped knowing someone was there with him, understanding the feelings he was having, that he wasn't alone in this whole nightmare-every-night thing. She stroked his hair and let him cry.

"When will it get better?" Steve sobbed onto Natasha's shoulder.

"I don't think it'll ever get better Steve, but having people around you who care for you and hate that you're going through this helps a lot. Trust me. That's why I'm here for you. I might not be able to take the pain away, but I can be here to hold you while you cry, remind you they're just memories, that you're safe now, and I can be here to listen to whatever you need to talk about, whenever you need to talk about it. So yeah, the pain will still be there, the memories will still be horrible, but maybe, just maybe, having someone by your side to fight through it with you every step of the way will help you just a little bit."

"Tasha I—I don't know what to say. Thank you. I'm here for you too, whenever you need me."

And with that, the two laid back down, in hopes of getting a better night's sleep, knowing they each had someone to fight their battles with them, making each difficult memory a little bit better.