I was back in the bathroom, facing the mirror and once again giving myself an internal peptalk. Slightly different wording this time, however, since I had homework from Dr. Stephen Strange - neurosurgeon turned Sorcerer Supreme.

"Clear your mind," staring into my own eyes, I thought about emptiness. Dark, deep, empty nothing. "Just think about nothing, Brooke Ashley and go to sleep." Taking a deep breath, I pushed away from the sink and went to join Bucky in our bed.

Two movies after a good meal seemed like it might be enough for Bucky to be ready for sleep. He held open his arms, knowing that I liked nothing better than to lay on his chest - my ear seeking out his heartbeat and my fingers finding the chain of his dog tags - his hand slid down my back and curled around my hip. A soft kiss on my forehead and shared wishes for sweet dreams and reminders that we loved one another and he was drifting off.

The steady pounding of his heart, the warmth of his body, and the familiarity of the chain looped through my fingers eased me into my own sleep not long after - as I kept forcing away any errant thought, trying my damndest to clear my mind, to free it of any and all thought.

Drifting off, hoping against hope that having Bucky's warmth and security beneath me and my mind as blank as I could get it would keep the nightmares at bay.

The flashes were almost anticlimactic by this point.

A sigh of irritation or resignation builds deep inside of me at the blue, red, white flashing before the next stages - the press of pain and terror coming on like a freight train. Screaming and fear surrounded me on all sides, overwhelming in a way that I hadn't felt before.

Who were these people? Were they people? Shadows or shades of flickering beings, writhing against unknown assailants - their screeching and pleas falling on deaf ears or a lack of empathy, yet I felt as if all of it was directed at me. Piled on, over and over, more and more, heavier and heavier.

Heat unlike the warmth of Bucky's body - far hotter than anything I'd ever felt, and more than I felt I should be able to actually survive - bore down on me. Sweat dripped from my face, pouring off of my body and making the crush of what seemed to surround me worsen exponentially. Breathing was growing harder, as if I were trying to inhale both fire AND humidity at once.

I fought to break free, from the pain and the sensory overload, from the heat and the lack of air, but the harder I fought the greater the hold seemed to be. My pleas added to the cacophony of the wraiths that were being tortured in the shadows, my begging and my cries just more noise, until with I felt a coolness on my face and heard a voice that brought me away from it -

"Come on, Brooke, wake up," Bucky was calling to me. His metal hand brushing my sweat damp hair away from my drenched face. "That's right, sweetheart, open your eyes." I blinked awake, happier than I could ever say to see the dawn creating a halo around his head. With a sob, I pulled him to me, sobbing into his shoulder. "I know, doll, I know." And he did, sort of. He knew what it was like to be trapped in nightmares that you couldn't break free from - he just had no fucking clue how bad mine were.