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“Just because I don’t like your tea, doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy…other activities.” You promised. “I’m sorry I lied about liking your dirt water.” You teased him. You put down your mug and stepped away from the desk you’d been working at. “I did it because I love you.”

“I’m sorry I made you feel like you had to lie about liking my dirt water.” He laughed, slipping his arms around your waist.

“I forgive you.” You smiled. “I wouldn’t have suffered through drinking that stuff the past six months for just anyone and I would have suffered forever if it made you happy.”

“I never want anyone to suffer because of me.” Bruce said, very seriously.

“Ditto, Sweetheart.” You assured him. “So from now on we’ll confess to each other even the little things that bother us. I won’t lie about liking your tea and you don’t have to lie anymore about liking that poodle painting my mother sent us.”

“I really hate that poodle painting.” Bruce confessed. “I mean whose poodle is it? Why is it in Renascence garb? And why did your mother insist on sending it to us? All her note said was ‘It’s an aesthetic.’ What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know!” You laughed. “But I really appreciated you pretending all this time that you like it. Especially when she asked you about it last month.”

“Does this mean we can take it down?” He asked.

“Of course. I just wanted to see how long you were going to continue giving it shifty side eyes in the hallway before you asked. I was thinking we could replace it with that Monet print we bought on vacation?” You suggested.

“Monet it is.” He agreed. “Any other grievances you’d like to air in this moment?”

“Yes actually.” You confessed with a mischievous grin. “I’d like to address a grievance about the bedroom. Specifically, that we’re not in it right now.”

A jolting movement came from next to you, making the couch beneath you bounce, pulling you from your sleep once more, but it felt like ages since you had last been tempted to wake. With a grumble you pushed yourself further into whatever was serving as your pillow, drawing a laugh similar to before from next to you. Thor, your mind provided amongst the haze, irritated at the Norse God for interrupting the blissful and rare moments of peace. Thor, your mind repeated, irritation slipping into a slow panic. Why could you hear Thor? Was he in your room? But no. That wasn’t right. Your sleep induced mind slowly stilled, listening for more sounds in the hopes of putting together whatever was happening without fully waking up because damn it this felt good.

“Pay up,” you barely caught the end of the sentence, your hearing not quite ready to focus yet. But that was undoubtedly Tony’s voice, far too cheerful and smug as he spoke to what must have been Clint judging by the way he drew out his groan in response.

“Guys, shut up, I think she’s waking up,” a soft voice spoke, this time from above, the sound so close you could practically feel the vibrations of the words. No, that wasn’t right, you could feel them, rumbling against the back of your head, hoarse as if the speaker hadn’t spoken in some time. Your pillow couldn’t speak.

With a groan that rivalled Clint’s, you forced your eyes open, taking in the brightness of the room for the slightest of moments before shutting tightly once more. Too much light. Your voice husky from sleep, you muttered in a desperate hope the A.I. could hear you, “J.A.R.V.I.S. for the love of God please turn the lights down… like… a lot.”

A roar of laughter from next to you had you stretching out your legs, delighting when you heard the indigent “Hey!” as they came into contact with the God.

“Lights are now at thirty percent, Ms Y/L/N,” the British voice called over the speakers, drawing the corners of your lips up into a sleepy smile as you tried once more to open your eyes, this time to a much more acceptable brightness.

Clint sat on the ground ahead of you, fiddling with the drumsticks that he had bought on a whim a week earlier claiming he could totally play the drums if he had them; he couldn’t. Above him, reclined along the couch lay Nat, her eyes focused on the phone in her hands, but with the slightest of smiles on her lips, telling you she was aware of your gaze.

Movement drew your gaze upwards to Steve as he put down yet another six pack of beer on the coffee table, when did there get to be so many empty bottles there? Finally, Tony was sat on the couch opposite you, a knowing smile on his lips as he looked at you, his gaze repeatedly going from meeting your own to something above you, his smirk only growing with each movement.

With a moan at the very thought of having to turn around to look at whatever had him so amused, you simply let your gaze fall beneath you to a pair of legs. Legs, not a pillow. Sitting up with a jolt of surprise, you found yourself face to face with a blushing Bruce, not quite able to meet your gaze as he pulled his arm from around you, offering you a sheepish smile.

“Bruce,” you spoke slowly, realisation still kicking in slowly at the fact you must have fallen asleep against the man. Embarrassment soon had your own cheeks tinted to match his as your eyes widened in shock. You never fell asleep on people. Your training had you always so aware of your surroundings, so insecure at the very thought of relaxing that much, and yet you had fallen asleep quite by accident against the scientist. “Sorry,” the word slipped from your lips as your gaze fell to the couch.

Silence filled your ears, the rest of the team quite intently watching the spectacle before them, all of you waiting to hear what he might say. But with a shaky smile and a gentle squeeze of his hand against your knee he simply offered a quiet “it’s fine Y/N.”

Flashes of blue, rivers of red, swirls of green and gold, and suddenly you were awake, panting as a cold shiver runs down your back, your eyes wide as you desperately take in your surroundings. There were no enemies, no Gods of mischief, no tesseract, no people dead by your hands. You were alone in your room at what Tony now dubbed the Avengers’ Tower.

The situation wasn’t a stranger to you, in fact, it was all too familiar, occurring every time you closed your eyes and tried to sleep. It had been months now, months of sleepless nights and memories plaguing your dreams, filling you with fear and guilt as you sat in the darkness of your room night after night.

You wouldn’t be getting back to sleep, you knew that much, but still you liked to pretend, repeating thoughts that maybe a cup of hot chocolate would help, or a little walk around the tower to ease your thoughts. It never did any good, but still you tried night after night, silently hoping that this would be the night that something would change and you’d get more than four hours of sleep.

With your hands roughly rubbing your face as if they could purge the memories from the forefront of your mind, you grabbed at your phone blindly, not entirely certain you wanted to know what the time was. Peeking through your fingers you took in the time with a groan. Eleven o’clock. You hadn’t even managed to get to midnight before the dreams had taken over. Maybe you could force yourself back to sleep by physical exhaustion, that could be a thing, right? Pulling off your blankets with a loud huff, you moved silently throughout your room, not wanting to cause anyone else to wake up as you moved about. Your workout attire was already at the gym, residing permanently in the lockers Tony had installed in an effort to make it more of a team environment, so all you needed was your phone.

Creeping out of your bedroom door with well trained stealth and silence, you got all of ten feet before your gaze focused on the door to your side. Bruce’s name was neatly engraved into the front of the door, clinical in the way it matched every other bedroom door, a stark contrast to the warmth of the person within.

A hazy smile crept onto your lips at the thought, he was so kind, so gentle, he had let you use him as a human pillow for what had turned out to be over two hours without a word of complaint. Two hours. Your brow furrowed as you thought back to the unexpected nap. You had slept for two hours against the man and no nightmares had dared to reach you. Your fears hadn’t held you, all you had felt was comfort and peace. Would it be possible that he could keep your nightmares at bay for longer given the chance? No, that was ridiculous. You couldn’t possibly impose on him like that.

But then again, was it possible? Surely it would be less ridiculous than going to the gym while your body still ached from the mission you had completed not six hours earlier, your body still shaking from the thoughts that were plaguing you, and it wasn’t like he had complained earlier. Perhaps it was worth the risk, at the very least you could ask.

Your knuckles rapped against the door all too quietly, barely making a sound as your hesitance took over at the last moment. This was a bad idea. You shouldn’t be doing this. He was probably asleep, and if not he most certainly wouldn’t want to be bothered, especially by something this trivial. Your hand fell to your side as you took a step back. You should leave.

But just as you moved to take another step away from the door it began to shift. Your eyes widened in surprise, having desperately hoped he was asleep and hadn’t heard you. But there he stood, pulling a dressing robe around him tightly as he looked at you with bleary sleep filled eyes, silently questioning you as he slowly took you in. “Y/N?” he questioned quietly, squinting as he attempted to focus on you. Slowly his gaze relaxed, but his jaw tightened as he ran his gaze over you once more. You were still shaking, completely unaware to it as you stood in stunned silence. “What’s wrong?”

Shaking your head, the guilt from your dreams was now joined by that of having woken the man, and you desperately wished you could take back the last few moments and simply let him sleep. But it was too late, he was awake now, looking at you with that gentle caring gaze that made you want to cave and admit every negative thought that filled you.

He didn’t look upset or annoyed, simply worried, his eyes wide as his mouth tilted into a frown. One hand held his robe together as the other ushered the door further open. “Come on,” he spoke softly, his tone filled with a tenderness that nearly had you in tears. With a hand ever so softly against your shoulder blade he guided you into the room, not stopping until he had you sat on his bed, him kneeling down in front of you as he looked you over once more, making certain you weren’t hurt.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he offered gently.

With a shaky sigh that nearly sends you off the edge, you close your eyes tightly, trying to regain the control you usually held so carefully in tact. You weren’t even sure of the answer. Talking about it made it real, it would no longer be something you simply dealt with, albeit unsuccessfully, by yourself. It would be something he knew, something he could judge you for, something he would keep in his mind as he watched you go off on missions, no longer as strong in his mind as you had been previously. But then, talking about it could help, after all, you were certain he had dealt with his own nightmares, it was to be expected if you quite literally turned into a green giant at times. Perhaps he would have a solution for you, one that didn’t involve knocking on his door in the middle of the night.

Still, your fears and insecurities took over you. With a deep inhale, you forced your gaze to meet his, simply offering him “Nightmares,” as your explanation.

A sympathetic smile took over his features as he took your hand in his, his mind clearly whirling with thoughts at the single word. You could see the worry still in his gaze, the way his lower lip slips between his teeth as his mind goes into overdrive, and yet his hand remains in yours, his thumb running soothing patterns against the back of your hand almost without thought.

“Did you- did you want to talk about them? Or just…” he trailed off, his brow furrowing as he struggled to come up with another possibility. If you hadn’t come to talk, he had no clue what you had in mind, not that he was entirely certain you actually had a plan, after all, you were in his room, not Steve’s or Tony’s, and it was no secret that Tony had dealt with his own share of nightmares in the past few years.

“Can I-” you started, instantly feeling an overwhelming amount of embarrassment at the very thought. But he was staring at you with those wide eyes, desperate to know how he could help you. “Could I maybe stay with you tonight?” you asked timidly, chewing on your lip as your gaze fell to the sheet beneath you, mentally preparing yourself for what was inevitably going to be his rejection.

“With me?” he questioned quickly, mouth hanging open in shock.

A small nod was the only response you could give.

“But I- You’re not scared that I might-”

“I’m not scared of the Hulk,” you huff an almost laugh at the very thought, mind filling with images of how you had joked with the green so called monster whilst fighting the God that had once taken over your mind. Perhaps it was the benefit of the battle field, but with Hulk on the same side as you you had found yourself confident, not a sliver of fear for the being as you worked together to take down the aliens that threatened your home.

It took you a moment to realise he hadn’t responded, you mind still focused on the few positive memories you had from the whole Loki debacle. But when you did your gaze slowly trailed upwards to his dumbstruck expression. You could see the cogs working away in his mind as he tried to remember every encounter you had experienced together, not once with any amount of fear on your features. A slow smile pulled at the edges of his lips, just enough to make you feel you could breathe freely once more. Perhaps you weren’t going to be kicked out after all.

Standing up, but not letting go of your hands, he glanced desperately around the room for something. “I don’t have any blankets,” he spoke as if it were the most irritating thing he had ever had to experience. “I don’t really use them, he, well, you know, I run warm,” he explained awkwardly, his free hand rubbing at the back of his neck as he tried to think.

“I’ll be fine,” you reassured him quickly, a small smile playing on your own lips as realisation kicked in. “Wait, does that mean I can stay?”

You bounced your foot up and down in anxiety as you sat in Bruce’s lab. The red and green and gold of Christmas was only highlighting your nerves as you waited. You were worried because Bruce is never late for anything, especially one of your Christmases with each other.  

You were a mutant with telepathy. After your parents died, every foster home you were put into kicked you out. Eventually you decided to run away when you were a young teen. Living on the streets was hard, especially when they were the streets of New York, but with your mutation, it wasn’t as difficult as it could be. At first, the others saw you as easy prey, thinking they could steal your stuff no problem. After using your powers to show them what was up, they learned not to mess with you. Then came the New York attack. Figuring what the hell, you ran out and did as much damage as you could, taking out aliens left and right, saving as many people as you could. This didn’t go unnoticed. You were immediately offered a job with the Avengers. A place to stay, free food, and basically unlimited spending power? It was the exact opposite of the way you’d been living for so many years. 

Being an Avenger was hard at first. Your social skills were more than rusty, you didn’t know how to dress, or how to make friends. With a little help from the girls (and Tony’s wallet let’s be real), your style improved. Every meal, every game night, every mission brought you closer to the Avengers. You felt they were family, but that you were still an outcast. You often felt alone. One person you grew particularly attached to was Dr. Bruce Banner. You often meandered down the halls meaninglessly when you’d first arrived, partly out of boredom and partly because you wanted to get acquainted with the space you’d now be living in. On one of those occasions, you bumped into Bruce on his way to his lab. You’d only met once, when you were being introduced to the team. Bruce didn’t often go on missions. The big guy was used for emergencies only. You’d only seen the Hulk once during the attack on New York. 

After finding out that you were wandering around aimlessly, Bruce offered you tea in his lab. You immediately hit it off, spending countless nights in his lab. Bruce was your closest friend. You held the same level of social awkwardness, felt comfortable in silence, and just enjoyed the company of each other. You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t feel anything for the doctor. He was the most selfless and caring person you’d ever met. His soft voice and his kind personality were what drew you to him in the first place. 

You’d spent the last few Christmases with Bruce in his lab. Decorating was one of the most fun parts. There was a Christmas tree, garlands, and Christmas lights everywhere. It made you feel so warm inside. After being alone practically every Christmas in your life, it was amazing to finally spend it with someone. You’d made a pact that there were no gifts exchanged, it was too stressful to find something perfect for the other person with both of you being perfectionists and anxiety prone.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the door clanging shut. Bruce walked in, covered with snow. He was obviously freezing.

“Bruce!” you jumped up, immediately running over to him and helping him take his coat off. “Why were you outside?” 

He sighed and sat down with his head in his hands. “I was just running a few errands,” he said.

“Are you sure? It’s Christmas Eve! What store is even open?” you asked curiously while walking over to the Keurig and starting some hot chocolate to warm him up. You weren’t angry or upset with him for being late, you were just confused. 

“I just had to pick something up, I’m sorry I’m late,” he sounded incredibly stressed. You turned around and smiled at him.

“I’m not mad, Bruce,” you told him. “But I will be if you don’t turn some Christmas music on right now!”

He nodded and walked over to the stereo system as the Keurig signaled it was done with the hot chocolate. Picking it up and walking over to the table, you noticed Bruce still looked cold. You set the hot chocolate down and walked over to him, hugging him from behind and putting your head on his shoulder. To your surprise, he wasn’t cold at all, he was just tense. 

“Bruce, what’s wrong?” you stepped back, brows furrowed. Your mind started racing, coming up with hundreds of awful scenarios. He sighed and stood to meet you. 

“Nothing’s wrong, dear,” he wrapped his arms around you, pressing your head into his chest. You immediately relaxed, taking in his scent and closing your eyes. “Not really, anyway. But there’s something I have to do.” He released you and turned to the table, rummaging through his messenger bag to find a small box.

“I thought we weren’t doing gifts!” you protested, suddenly feeling both unprepared for the night and unappreciative of the man in front of you.

“I have to tell you something, (Y/N),” he dragged a hand through his hair, obviously agitated. He opened the box, revealing a beautiful opal ring set in gold and diamonds. Your hands immediately flew to your mouth in a gasp. “Let me start of by saying this isn’t a proposal. I just need to tell you that I’m in love with you and I have been for years. You’re my best friend and my other half, and I do believe that you’re my soulmate. I’ve never met anyone like you in my life, you’re so kind and sweet and gentle, but also strong. I want to be with you.” He choked out the last part, eyes welling up in tears. Your hands were still covering your mouth, tears running down them. “This is a promise ring, a promise that I’ll be here for you as I always have, that I’ll take care of you and give you everything you need and want. I love you.” He moved towards you, taking the ring out of the box. You held up your hand to him and he took your it in his shaking one gently, slipping it on and lacing his fingers through yours. He looked into your eyes before taking you once more into his arms. You held each other as you cried. You’d never felt this loved in your life, you’d never been this happy and content.

“No—” Your chest tightened, vice-like, with fear, the ice-cold weight of that familiar terror dropping in your stomach as you found yourself trapped in that same horrible moment once again. The uncomfortable heat of their body, the stench of their breath as it covered your face, the terrible weight of them on top of you as they forced their hips between your legs. “No, please stop—!”

“Y/N—”

The voice barely broke through the fog, and you felt a tentative hand touch your arm. It was a vague sensation, buried within the ocean of fear and oppression that had settled over you and was pressing down, down onto your ribs and making your breath seize within your lungs. You tried to throw it off, tried to roll away, but still a thin thread of recognition wrapped around your mind as the voice sounded again and consciousness found you suddenly.

“Y/N, wake up, it’s—”

You started awake, a cold sweat clinging to your skin and your heart pounding almost painfully in your ears. Even as your senses struggled to latch onto the sudden change in your reality, you felt a hand on your shoulder, and you pushed it away in a panic, raising your hands defensively at the outline of the man hovering over you. “Wh—”

“Woah, hey!” a familiar voice sounded in a hushed, reassuring tone, and you saw the shadow hold up its hands in surrender. They reached out slowly to their left, and you winced as the bedside light switched on and banished the darkness with a low, orange glow. “It’s me; I’m sorry.”

You felt your pulse slow as you finally recognized the voice, Bruce’s soft, worn features slowly coming into view as your eyes adjusted. He was still dressed in what he’d been wearing when you’d left for bed hours ago, his glasses slipping down his nose and his curls askew. Taking a shaking breath, you touched a hand to your chest for a moment before blindly clutching at the blankets, as though to make sure you were still in your bed.

“What… what are you doing here?”

He looked almost sheepish, nodding towards the door. “I was passing; I heard you shout through the door.”

“I… I shouted?” you almost felt embarrassed, the emotion only undercut by the sickening taste of bile still lingering in your mouth.

He nodded, swallowing. He took a seat on the edge of your mattress by your knee. “Nightmares?”

“Yeah, I…” you frowned, wiping your hand over your forehead. It came away damp, strands of your hair clinging to your skin in its wake. “I must have been…”

“You don’t remember?” he probed softly, but it didn’t feel like curiosity… he was concerned. From anyone else it might have felt intrusive or pitying, but Bruce…

You shook your head, too quickly to seem genuine. “No, I… It was nothing, I—”

“Y/N.”

His voice was soft but cut through your rambling all the same, free of judgement or impatience. His eyes left your face finally as he turned to pick up the carafe that sat by your bed and poured you a glass of water, pressing it carefully into your hand. Your fingers closed automatically around it, your gaze falling to your lap.

“…I’m okay.”

“You haven’t been sleeping,” he pointed out gently. Off your surprised look, he shrugged a shoulder sheepishly. “I notice you.”

You swallowed, almost taken aback by the simple sentiment. Still, it was enough to get you to nod slowly in admittance. “Not since Johannesburg.”

Bruce’s gaze dropped, and he exhaled. The warm light of your lamp almost made him glow, the shadows cast over his face stark by contrast. “Wanda.”

“Yeah…” you said slowly, pressing your lips together as you felt a lump begin to form in your throat. “She really has a way of…”

“…Finding the worst in you?”

“Something like that.” you took a tentative sip of the water, but it did nothing to remove the sick taste in your mouth. “But she’s apologized, and I need to just…”

You made move to set the glass aside as you felt your hands shake, starting again as you misjudged the height of the table beside you. The bottom of the glass met the edge of it as you released it, and you suddenly felt Bruce’s soft fingers against yours as he barely managed to catch the glass against the side of the table before it fell. You withdrew your hand as he righted it, letting it fall to your lap and twist in the sheets.

“You can tell me what she made you see,” he said softly. “If you need to.”

You swallowed heavily, a sickening weight settling in your stomach. Still, some part of you needed to release this shame, as if maybe having just one other person know it would make it just a little more tolerable, more survivable. You heaved a shaking sigh, closing your eyes.

“A few years ago, my… my ex, he—” you cleared you throat; the lump lodged inside it painful. Images of that night swam behind your eyelids, but you couldn’t bring yourself to open them again. “…I was assaulted.”

There was a pause, and every moment of it was agony as Bruce absorbed your words.

“Y/N, I’m-I’m so sorry.”

“I just… I can’t turn it off anymore.” you muttered; your voice broken. It was as though that confession had split the dam inside you, and with every word your voice became more rushed, more desperate for some kind of relief from the trauma still clinging to your mind.  “She-she broke down all the walls I’d built around it and now I can’t—I can’t shut it off and every time I close my eyes I’m right there, back in the worst moment of my life and I can’t stop—”

“Hey,” you felt Bruce’s hand cover yours, his fingers curling around your palm. His skin was warm and soft, and you took a shuddering breath as he stopped you short. “Hey, look at me. Focus on me.”

You inhaled, reluctantly opening your eyes and meeting his gaze. His expression was soft, achingly gentle. You could feel your hand shaking, and his hand squeezed your fingers gently.

“You’re safe here, Y/N.” he all but whispered, the tenor of his voice undercutting the desperation still tightening in your chest. Still, you could hear an edge to his voice, just barely discernable. One that was almost self-deprecating; he knew as well as you did… there was no escaping your own mind. “He’s never going to touch you again. I— We won’t let that happen. And neither will you.”

“You don’t… You don’t understand…” you shook your head, squeezing his hand back, too hard. Still he didn’t flinch or pull away. You sighed, blinking away the tears beginning to burn in your eyes. “Every time I see it, he wins. Every time I’m stuck playing every fucking second of it over and over in a goddamn loop, he wins and I’m just repeating the same thing Ultron wanted me to know in the first place.”

Bruce swallowed, his thumb brushing over your fingers. “Which is?”

Your voice was small, your gaze dropping to your hands. “…That I’m kidding myself with this Avenger thing.”

“Y/N…” Bruce shifted in his seat, leaning forward to catch your eye again. His other hand came up slowly, enclosing your hand in the warmth of his touch as his fingers curled gently around your wrist. You felt a tear fall from your lashes, staining your cheek. You wanted to wipe it away, but the idea of pulling away from his touch left you cold. “That’s not true.”

You gave a small, self-deprecating smile that almost ached. “Isn’t it? No one needs me here, Bruce.”

“I do.”

The simple statement caught you by surprise, and you felt your chest tighten as your breath caught in your throat. You met his eye slowly, biting the inside of your lip.

Bruce’s expression was almost torn, the sincerity marred with an almost familiar streak of insecurity. His lips twitched in a small, bashful smile that almost echoed the disparaging note in yours. You found your voice after a moment, barely more than a whisper. “…Bruce?”

He cleared his throat, giving your hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze before making move to stand. “You… you should try to get some sleep… I can check in later, if you want.”

You caught his hand as he made to stand; it was like instinct, magnetic. You spoke quietly, your words unsteady. “Or you could stay?” you suggested softly, shaking your head. “I mean… if you’re not… It would help. It would help me sleep; if I wasn’t alone.”

Bruce paused, almost impassive for a long moment. Maybe he was trying to weigh the risks of staying… maybe he was trying to find the words to say ‘no’…

“Okay.”

He stood, giving your hand a squeeze before moving to the corner of the room, lifting the armchair by your bookshelf and bringing it to the side of the bed. He set it down carefully on the carpet with an almost shy smile, taking a seat. His knees brushed against the edge of your bed, and he reached up to tilt the bedside lamp towards him, easing the brightness away from you.

It would have been too much to ask him to lay down beside you; and even if he’d said yes, you were wary of how you’d react to the warmth of his body while asleep. Still, you gave him an almost awkward smile as you settled back down into the bed, pressing your cheek to the pillow. Your smile twitched wider as he picked up the worn copy of Frankenstein on your bedside table, brushing his thumb over the embossed title before opening it to the first page. He set it against his knee, his other hand resting on the other.

“Bruce?”

He looked up, as if he suddenly remembered himself. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have just assumed I could read—”

“Bruce.” you repeated, almost amused. His presence, the assurance that he’d stay and keep you safe from yourself…it made you lighter. Warmer. You reached out, touching your hand to the one on his knee. “Thank you.”

Bruce’s lips twitched, a bashful smile appearing. He turned his hand over, linking his fingers with yours. He brought your hands down to rest on the edge of the bed, the back of your hand against the sheets.

“Anytime.”

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