"Bucky…"
The figure in the dying firelight rolls over to look at him a little too quickly. There is no illusion that he has been resting. He's too exhausted to pretend anymore. Not with Steve.
It's a sharp change from the bravado of the night before. Bucky looks raw and worn. His eyes are heavy and red around the edges.
Steve opens his mouth, but his voice fails him.
Words just won't come... and Bucky's eyes are silently begging him not to ask. Not to make him relive it.
Please, Steve. Don't.
He's always been able to read Bucky like a book, and he doesn't like what he sees. He can't bring himself to hurt his friend anymore than he already is. He's never wanted to see Bucky in pain and now that he has, he can't think of anything more horrible.
His courage abruptly deserts him. He takes the coward's way out.
"You… you need anything?"
"I'm ok." Bucky croaks out.
It's an obvious lie, but Steve says nothing, just nods.
Bucky blinks up at him wearily for a moment, then slowly rolls onto his back. He breathes out, long and strained and tired. He hugs his arms across his chest like he's trying to ward off a persistent chill. Maybe he is. Steve shrugs out of his battered leather jacket and spreads it over Bucky's shoulders but there's no reaction.
Bucky just lies there, breathing slowly and deliberately, staring up at nothing. Steve can't tell if he still remembers there's anyone else present or not.
All he can tell is that Bucky's avoiding closing his eyes now. He has been since the nightmares started two days ago. It's like he's afraid he'll forget to open them. Afraid he'll dream.
Much as he hates to admit it, Steve's afraid too.
Bucky's a mess. They both know it. But he doesn't know what to say, what to do. He's never seen his friend like this.
Even when he was staggering drunk, Bucky had never looked so unsteady… so lost.
He's not sure anymore how much of Bucky he really retrieved in that lab and the notion sits heavy in his chest.
His hero is broken, and he has no idea how to put him back together again.