Doll. // Bucky Barnes X OC

TWENTY-TWO

Darkness pressed in from all sides. Melany's lungs burned as she ran, bare feet scraping across cold, hard concrete. Screams echoed around her — her own voice, twisted, distant, muffled by walls she couldn't see.

"Mel!"

She twisted her head, searching for the sound, but the corridors stretched endlessly. Doors slammed shut before she could reach them. Shadows moved in the corners of her vision, figures she couldn't name but knew were coming for her.

Pain shot through her leg. She stumbled, falling hard, her side slamming into the floor. A flash of white-hot pain ran through her shoulder. She gasped, hands clutching her bruised, bandaged body.

"Stay still!"

The voice — familiar. It was Bucky, calling her, but she couldn't see him. Every step she tried to take only pulled her farther into the darkness. Her chest heaved, tears stinging her eyes.

And then the laughter. Low, cruel, impossibly close.

"Run, run, run, Melany..."

It wasn't HYDRA. It wasn't Sharon. It was him — Steve. Every memory of that night when he'd taken her, every time she had felt powerless, every bullet, every scratch, every scar — it poured together. He reached for her, impossibly fast, and she couldn't move.

She tried to scream, but no sound came. Her body wouldn't obey.

"Mel... wake up!"

Bucky's voice broke through the nightmare, urgent, real. Warm hands gripped her shoulders, shaking her lightly. She gasped, chest heaving, eyes snapping open to the dim light of her bedroom.

Bucky stayed on his knees beside her, one metal hand brushing her hair back, the other holding hers tightly. "It's okay... you're okay. It's just a nightmare. I've got you."

Her knees shook, her body weak and sore, still tasting the phantom pain of her wounds. "I... I can't... I can't breathe," she whispered, pressing her face to his chest.

"Shh," he soothed, voice low and steady. "Breathe with me. In... out... in... out..."

She shivered against him, still caught between the memory of fear and the relief of safety. Bucky's thumb rubbed gentle circles over her knuckles, grounding her, while his other hand rested on the curve of her hip, steady and strong.

"You're here," he said softly, lips brushing her hair. "You're safe. I'm not going anywhere."

Her breathing slowly evened out, eyelids drooping as the adrenaline faded. Even with the aches in her leg and shoulder, and the memory of every scar she bore, she felt anchored—held in a way that reminded her she had survived, and that she wasn't alone.

-

Melany's eyelids fluttered open, the shadows of her nightmare still clinging to her mind. The room was dim, early morning light bleeding through the blinds in streaks. Her body ached from weeks of recovery—the bruises, the gunshot wounds, the relentless therapy—and from the panic still lingering in her chest.

Bucky's arm stayed wrapped around her waist, steadying her as she shifted slightly. "Hey... easy there," he murmured, brushing a strand of damp hair from her forehead. "You're awake. It's just us."

She let out a shaky breath, trying to push away the phantom panic. "The dream... it felt real."

"I know, doll," Bucky said softly, his metal hand resting against hers, the warmth of his flesh hand over her hip grounding her. "You're safe. You're here."

Melany tried to sit up, testing her strength, and her thigh protested where the bullet had grazed muscle. Bucky leaned closer immediately, supporting her carefully. "Don't push too hard yet," he said, lifting her gently so she could sit on the edge of the bed. His chest pressed lightly against her back, an anchor of calm and protection.