A/N: Hi, this is my first fanfiction, so sorry if it's OOC. The story takes place at around Season 4.
Disclaimer: I do not own How I Met Your Mother.
"See you tomorrow." Robin says. She's smiling, and it's the most beautiful, genuine smile Barney's seen in his life and it lights up his entire world. It's confusing because he's Barney Stinson, and the most awesome, independent (not to mention sexy) player in New York City.
And Barney Stinson does not fall in love.
Just as he opens his mouth, there's a gunshot and Robin falls to the floor and suddenly he's screaming for help and clutching her in his arms and her blood soaks through his suit and-
And then Barney wakes up with a jolt. His heart is thudding against his chest, and he realizes that he's shaking and sweating.
It was just a dream, Robin's not dead, Robin's not dead, Robin's not dead, he thinks to himself desperately but it doesn't help calm him down, and suddenly Barney has the urge to call Robin even though it's 4am and she's probably asleep. Still, he dials her number before he changes his mind.
She doesn't pick up.
Barney knows it's because she's sleeping, and she's perfectly safe and alive, but he can't help calling her again, and again, and again, and again.
She finally answers the phone after the sixth time, and Barney breathes a sigh of relief.
"Barney? Why the hell are you calling me at 4am?" She mumbles in the phone, still half-asleep.
"I, er, had a, you know..."
"What?"
"A..a nightmare."
He can almost hear her rolling her eyes at this.
"You had a nightmare? How old are you, four? What was it about? Did one of your suits burn or something?"
Barney doesn't know what to say. He wants to tell her about the dream he had, about her getting shot, and he wants her to know that he loves her so much and he has to tell her now because she could die at any minute, but for some reason he can't talk anymore.
"Barney? You there?" She asks, yawning.
He swallows. "Actually, it wasn't about the suits. It was way worse than that. It was so disturbing, I woke up in a puddle of my own sweat."
"That's gross. So what was it?"
Barney pauses. He just can't bring himself to tell the truth.
"Scherbatsky, I'll have you know that I had a dream that every single hot chick in the world turned over thirty. Can you imagine that? It was horrifying and so much worse than any stupid horror movie that I've ever seen! I'm still shaking..."
"You've got to be joking," Robin mutters.
"I'm not! Seriously, Robin, you have to listen to the details, okay?"
"Talk to me about it tomorrow, Barney. I need to sleep."
"No, wait!" He yells down the phone. He can't let her hang up. He needs to hear her voice again.
"What?"
And once again, he's frozen and the words can't come out of his mouth.
"Do you like pancakes?" He feels like kicking himself because he just blew it, but he can't stop now. "Did you know that Marshall and Lily make pancakes all the time? And it looks like they enjoy the pancakes, too. I want to experience pancakes like they do, you know? Hey, why don't we make pancakes together? They'd taste legendary, I guarantee it! I'd have to buy a real cooker and stuff, I suppose, but for you and our pancakes, I'd do anything. What do you say?"
She doesn't answer, and Barney realizes that she already hung up.
He puts his phone down on the bed, and sighs. While staring up at the ceiling and kicking himself for being such an idiot, Barney makes a vow to never tell her about the actual dream.
After all, there are some things he just wants to keep to himself.