Steve knows at once that he's in a dream, but what takes him a moment longer to realize is that it's not one of his. They'd been warned that the accidental bonding which had occurred as a result of coming in contact with an ancient Asgardian artifact might produce side effects such as this, but it's still a bit strange. Here he is, bound to Phil Coulson, sharing emotions and memories alike. True, they'd grown closer over the months but there's no ignoring the fact that Phil is still a very private individual. So it's been peculiar to feel the slight brush of the other man's consciousness against his own, always peripherally aware of how the agent is feeling at any given moment. But this is the first instance of either of them sharing a full memory.

He's riding in a car. Based on the way he kicks his legs against the seat, he's guessing Phil had been very young at the time. There's a man driving the car—a police officer—who smiles and reaches out to ruffle his hair. The man has Phil's eyes and the name on his badge reads "COULSON." This must be Phil's father. Steve stops to consider that he doesn't know anything about the agent's childhood beyond a few details mentioned in passing and although he doesn't wish to intrude, the chance at catching a glimpse is something he considers himself fortunate to have.

The car comes to a stop and they get out at what appears to be a small diner. A waitress greets them with a degree of familiarity that leads Steve to believe this is a spot they frequent. They take a booth near the door and order their lunch. There is a glass of chocolate milk in front of him and a steaming cup of coffee before his father. He happily scrawls in crayon across his placement while chattering on endlessly with his father.

It happens very quickly.

There is a quick pop and then there is blood. Phil's father is still seated upright. There is blood running down his face, there is blood on Phil's drawing, there is screaming and crying and shouting and all he can do is watch his father slump forward into his plate. Blood is mingling with his egg yokes, both of which ooze off the plate and form a puddle on the table. Blue-gray eyes stare wide and sightless at the table.

Phil is silent. He sits and he stares, unable to process what he's seeing. There is panic bubbling up inside him, but he's so stunned by the sight before him that all he can do is ask for his father. Again and again, he calls to him, waiting for him to stir, to sit up, to do anything. Even when he's grabbed by the front of his shirt and hauled out of his seat, all he manages to produce is a faint whimpering. The man is shouting something into his face and shakily pressing the muzzle of his gun to Phil's temple.

All of a sudden, he screams.

Steve wakes mid-scream.

The cloying feelings of terror, despair and horror aren't his… but they certainly feel like they are. A part of him knows this had just been a dream, and not even one of his, but he's having difficulty shaking it. Drawing his legs up to his chest, he struggles to regulate his breathing and calm himself down, but the images won't leave his mind any faster that the emotions that linger. Hyperventilating with tears pouring down his face, he finds himself still trying to call out to his father—to Phil's father, that is. Minutes pass and he finds himself only slightly better off than when he'd first woken, until he hears JARVIS speaking to him in what sounds to be a concerned fashion.

"Captain, Agent Coulson is requesting entry to your quarters. Would you care for me to admit him?"

Steve can't do much more than nod his head. Thankfully, JARVIS seems to understand and a moment later, there's a knock at his bedroom door and Phil appears, looking a mix of sleep-rumpled and a cat whose tail has just been stepped on. Part of him hates that Phil has to see him like this, practically sobbing as he struggles to regain control, but he's glad the agent is here all the same.

"I'm sorry, I woke up and I felt…"

Phil places a hand to his own chest, his sentence petering out. Steve knows what he's trying to describe—that tight knot in his chest that feels like it's strangling him from the inside. It must have bounced back to Phil and woken him. The agent makes a hesitant move toward him and Steve wishes he would come closer.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

When Steve can't answer, Phil draws nearer. Steve can feel the worry radiating off of him and, surprisingly, it seems to help mitigate the negative emotions weighing him down. He doesn't mean to startle the other man, but the moment he's within reach, Steve can't help but haul him in. Phil is surprised but doesn't resist Steve's crushing embrace.

"Bad dreams?" Phil guesses.

"I didn't know," Steve says, his voice rough with sleep and tears, his face pressed to the agent's shoulder. "Your father… You mentioned once that he died when you were young and I didn't… I'm so sorry."

He feels Phil stiffen against him, feels the brief spike of emotion that comes with recalling an old hurt, but the agent relaxes almost as quickly. In its place, worry and regret come washing over him instead.

"I'm sorry," Phil says, finally returning his embrace. "You shouldn't have had to see that; this hasn't been very fair to you."

"God, Phil, no," Steve says. "You shouldn't have had to see that. I can't even imagine…"

Phil shushes him, rubbing slow, soothing circles into his back. His voice is gentle when he says, "It was a long time ago."

Steve knows that what Phil's trying to say is primarily true—it had happened a long time ago and he'd had time to come to terms and heal. But he knows just as well that it's the sort of wound that never completely heals over. As terrible as this feels, he at least has the benefit of being able to wake up from it; he can't imagine what it must have been like to have to live with that kind of experience.

"What happened to you?" Steve can't help but ask.

"I'm sorry?"

"Just before I woke up, the man had a gun to your head."

"Oh," Phil says mildly. "Well, he froze. He'd gone to the diner that day with the intention of killing both my father and myself out of some sense of revenge, but when he got to me he wasn't able to do it. I think I reminded him of his son. I was the same age then that his son had been when he'd died."

"And after?" Steve asks. "How did you cope?"

Phil meets his question with silence and Steve considers that he may be overstepping his boundaries by asking. It's a very real possibility that he's made the agent uncomfortable, which can't be helped by the fact that Steve continues to cling to him like a lost child. But surprisingly, it's not feelings of discomfort or anxiety that he's reading off of the other man, but rather, a feeling of warmth. In fact, he'd go so far as to call it love.

"I didn't. For a long time," Phil says slowly. He hesitates, tripping over his words, and Steve feels a sort of nervousness from him; like the agent has butterflies in his stomach. "You'll think this is ridiculous… I mean, you already know, in a way, that as a kid I… well, I mean you were… to me, that is…"

Phil stops, takes a slow, measured breath to calm himself and continues.

"You were what helped me cope," Phil admits, his embarrassment unable to drown out the warmth in his voice. "I wanted to be like my father, like you. Trying to emulate you and your values gave me the strength to pick up and move forward. You… actually helped me through some very difficult times in my life, as strange as it may seem."

Somehow, the thought comforts him. Steve can't go back in time and help that little boy the way he'd like to, so this is as close as he's going to get. And it embarrasses Phil. He can feel it—the way the agent feels ashamed of his admission. Yet underneath that, there is still that warmth, that love, attached to it all. It warms Steve, too.

The fear and despair slowly melt away, leaving an exhausted, fuzzy warmth in their wake. It occurs to Steve that he's still hugging Phil close like a teddy bear and that perhaps it might be best if he were to let go. He does so, drawing back slightly, more than a little ashamed himself.

"I'm sorry," he says, scrubbing a hand across his face. "I didn't mean to wake you. Or to jump you like that."

Phil just shakes his head, sitting beside him on the side of the bed. "No, you don't have to apologize. I may have been the cause of this whole thing. Ever since we, well, bonded I've been worrying about what might leak over to you from me. I spent a lot of time worrying about this in particular and dragging it to the surface like that may have been what caused it to transfer to you. So I'm sorry for that."

Steve hesitates before asking the question on the tip of his tongue. It might seem just a tad inappropriate, but given the situation he thinks Phil might just understand.

"This is going to sound bizarre, but if you're comfortable with the idea," Steve says, "do you think you could spend the night?"

"Here?" Phil asks, eyebrows raised.

"I think I'd just feel better if you were close, is all," Steve adds.

Phil seems to give the idea some consideration. "I suppose we could do that."

Steve has had stranger bedfellows in the past, so this shouldn't feel all that odd, but he'd never had to share a bed as well as a psychic link with anyone before. Since they'd met, the relationship between himself and Phil has evolved to carry many titles: coworkers, teammates, allies, friends. But he wonders if asking this of the agent is asking too much. Phil is polite enough and values their friendship enough that he likely wouldn't refuse the request even if he truly wished to.

"If you don't want to stay, you don't have to," Steve says, turning his head towards the other man. "I'll be fine."

"I'd rather stay and be sure," Phil responds. "Besides, I think it's less of a strain when we're closer to each other."

Now that he mentions it, Steve can see what he means. That tugging sensation in his gut that he'd been walking around with since this had happened to them seems to have mostly dissipated since they came into direct contact with each other.

"I think you might be right," Steve murmurs thoughtfully. He shifts as something occurs to him and he has to ask. "Are you getting things from me? The same way I am from you?"

"Emotions, certainly. No memories as yet," Phil says.

Steve hums in recognition of the agent's response, but he can't help but wonder exactly what the other man is picking up from him. Or how he's interpreting it. Regardless of the answers to those questions, he founds the horrific dream has left him exhausted and eager to get back to sleep. Deciding any further contemplation can wait until morning, he does just that.

Waking presents Steve with a distinctly different arrangement than when they'd fallen asleep. He tries not to make any sudden movements when he realizes that he and Phil are tucked together, their legs tangled and Steve's arm curled around Phil's waist. Not wishing to wake the agent, Steve remains where he is and ponders how to disentangle himself without doing so. While he continues to try to think of a way out of this predicament, he can't help but notice that, apart from not wanting to embarrass or insult Phil, he doesn't feel any pressing need to readjust their sleeping arrangement. In fact, he feels more comfortable as he is.

He remembers how Phil had mentioned this—that contact seems to put less of a strain on them while they're bonded. But surely it shouldn't feel quite like this? And yet here he is, lulled into a sense of contentment by the sound of soft, even breaths and the agent's warm weight against him. That is, until Phil wakes up. Phil's breathing shifts as he wakes, only to roll back enough so that he can see Steve. There is moment when Steve is staring down at the agent blinking sleepily up at him before he does what feels to him to be the only sensible thing left to do.

"Morning," Steve says dumbly.

"Morning," Phil echoes groggily.

Steve moves to disentangle himself, allowing the agent to sit up.

"No more bad dreams?" Phil asks, rubbing at his eyes.

"None, thankfully," Steve says. "You?"

Phil shakes his head before slowly moving to slip out of the bed. Steve's used to seeing the other man humming with a sort of constant energy, always doing something, so it's strange to see him first thing in the morning when he's drowsy and just slightly uncoordinated.

"I have to go get ready," Phil says, stretching. "Meeting with Fury."

"Right," Steve says with a quick nod. "Listen, thank you. For last night. It actually helped a lot and I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate it."

"We're in this together—quite literally—so I'm not about to leave you saddled with any of my baggage without at least attempting to do something about it," Phil answers. He clears his throat and Steve watches as some color rises to his cheeks. "And if I'm being truthful, it's probably one of the better night's sleep I've had in weeks."

"I wasn't going to mention it," Steve says with a soft huff of laughter, "but yeah. Me, too."

"Well, I'm glad it was mutually beneficial then," Phil declares.

"Definitely," Steve agrees.

They fall silent and Phil seems to hesitate, like there's something he wants to say before he goes but isn't sure if he should. Steve looks to him expectantly and that seems to be all it takes.

"It occurred to me, maybe we should continue this? Until this is resolved, I mean," Phil ventures. "For the sake of preventing what happened last night from occurring in the future."

"I don't have a problem with that," Steve says. "It's probably not a bad idea."

They exchange a few ideas, including alternating rooms each night, before Phil departs to prepare for the day. It should seem strange that neither of them seem all that bothered by casually discussing sleeping together, but it's not really all that odd an arrangement, is it? It's only after Steve's shut the door after him that he stops to wonder just what had happened. Recalling the events of the previous night, he wonders if they should talk when they have a chance. A very private, very dark memory had been shared with him and not by Phil's choice. The agent hadn't behaved as though it bothered him, but on some level, Steve is sure that it must.

Then what about his own memories? What might he end up transferring to Phil? Not knowing how long this bond will last or what further trouble it might cause, he has to wonder he's gotten himself into.

"Only one way to find out," he says to himself.