Right after my dad died, I got bad dreams every night. The therapist told my mom they would go away, but they never did, not all the way. I hardly ever get them any more, and I figure I'm old enough that I shouldn't. Nightmares are for little kids, right? But, once in a while, I still wake up crying, and I hate it more than anything.

I never know when I'm going to get a nightmare. This time, we've had a totally normal day, and I finish up with my math homework before my mom comes in to turn off our light. I fall asleep like always, but I wake up a couple of hours later in the same dream I always have, the dream about losing my dad.

As quietly as I can, I go out into the hallway and sit down on the floor in the dark so I can cry without waking up my brother or my mom. I bury my head in my knees and try to squeeze up as small as I can so I can just cry until I'm too tired to cry any more.

In a couple of minutes, I hear somebody moving around. Drat, I totally forgot Uncle Bucky is sleeping over on the sofa. Our house isn't that big, and he has really strong senses because he's a super soldier and everything, so of course he hears me.

Yeah, our uncle is a super soldier. It would be more weird, except our other uncle used to be the Falcon, and now he's Captain America. It's not that weird when it's your real life. We watch Uncle Sam on TV like everybody else does, and sometimes he comes to see us, and that's way different and way better. Uncle Bucky started visiting a few months back. I figured he would like my brother more than me, like a lot of people do, because Cass can talk to anybody, and he's really funny. But Uncle Bucky is quiet, kind of like I am. He likes both of us.

Cass says it's boring, but my favorite thing is when Uncle Bucky reads books out loud. It started because I had to read The Hobbit for school, but after that, he read other stuff, too, the whole Lord of the Rings and then the Narnia books. He's not like my English teacher. She just reads, kind of monotone. He makes all of the characters have different voices, and he's really expressive. I can see what's going on in the story in my head that way.

My mom likes Uncle Bucky, too. That's okay. She's been alone a long time now, except for me and Cass, and we're just kids. I like when she smiles, and she smiles a lot when he's around. For a while, he only came to see us with Uncle Sam. Now, he comes on his own sometimes. I don't mind. He even lets us mess around with his metal arm, and he doesn't get mad all the time like other adults do.

"Hey, AJ?" Uncle Bucky comes over to where I'm sobbing in the hallway and squats down in front of me. "What's wrong?" He's whispering, and he doesn't touch me at first.

I lift up my head a little. "I had a bad dream—about my dad. I'm sorry I woke you up."

"It's okay. I get nightmares, too." He stands up and holds out his hand. "Come here."

I'm still crying a lot, but I take his hand, and he helps me up and takes me over to the couch. He sits down, and I sit down next to him and bury my face again. "It's okay to cry," he says, "but it's better if you don't do it alone." He puts his hand on my shoulder. "You want a hug?"

I nod. I really, really want a hug.

Uncle Bucky puts his arms around me and pulls me in. He doesn't say a word. He knows when not to say anything. He just holds me, and I feel a lot smaller because he's really big, and his arms are really strong, and I finish crying against his chest. He keeps on hugging me even after I stop crying, because I guess he knows that sometimes that's when you need comfort the most, so you can get it back together.

After a really long time, I sit back up, and he lets me. "Better?" he asks.

"Better," I answer, and I get up to go back to bed. He just smiles and puts his non-metal hand on my back.

"You need me, you know where to find me."

"Yes, sir."

I go back to bed, and I fall asleep right away. In the morning, I feel shy and kind of embarrassed, like I always do after I've had a bad dream and caused a commotion. I wonder if Uncle Bucky will say something, but he doesn't. He just nods when I sit down at the breakfast table and hands over the cereal box like nothing happened.

"Thanks," I say, really softly, when we pass each other in the kitchen to put our bowls in the sink.

"You got it," he says back, just as quietly.