Recitative

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"Buck."

Bucky opened his eyes and discovered to his mild surprise that his nose was about an inch away from landing in his plate of beans. Blinking scratchy eyes, he sat up and looked across the table at his friend. "Whazzup?" he slurred - and wow, he had not meant to sound quite that bleary.

Steve was looking at him closely. "When'd you last sleep?"

Exhaustion dragged at the muscles of Bucky's face, tugging at his eyelids, trying to pull them closed again, but he sat a little straighter and did his best impression of the happy-go-lucky guy he'd been before joining this world of war and blood and nighttime terrors that left him sweating and panting. "Last night, same as you."

From the look on Steve's face, Bucky knew he'd overshot 'happy-go-lucky' and ended up somewhere in the realm of 'weirdly smiling while grumpy,' but the captain didn't press the issue. Instead, he reached across the table and poked Bucky's plate with his spoon.

"Eat up then, before Dugan steals it all."

Slapping the spoon away, Bucky curled an arm protectively around his dinner and hunched over it. Through a haze of weariness he managed to get food on his fork, into his mouth, and down his throat. The process took more thought than it should have, and twice he jabbed himself in the nose by accident as his head fell forward involuntarily before jerking upright.

Boy, he hoped he could sleep tonight. This was really getting old.

The tines of his fork scraped across the plate with a screech that jolted him out of his daze enough to realize that the plate was empty. When he looked up, nobody else at the long table appeared to notice that he'd been industriously trying to eat long after his food was gone. Even Steve was focused intently on his own meal.

Bucky eyed him thoughtfully for a minute, trying to decide if his friend was really that interested in a plateful of lukewarm slop or was just trying to spare his feelings. The problem was too hard to think about, and with a shake of his head, Bucky abandoned the idea.

"'M gonna turn in," he managed - or at least he was pretty sure that was what he said - and stood.

He handled the crowded room well, all things considered, only running into people twice and bouncing off the corner of a table. That last would leave a nasty bruise, but at the moment the most important thing was sleep.

The slap of fresh, cool air in the face as he left the mess hall was almost as good as a bucket of water over his head, and Bucky took deep breaths, shaking himself like a dog.

This was silly. Lack of sleep shouldn't affect him like this. Then again, neither should the memory of his time in the camp after Azzano. The memories kept creeping back though, raking through his mind until sleep was a worse horror than being awake.

Bucky scrubbed at his eyes and reached for the door handle. One thing was for certain; he would sleep tonight.

Probably.

The long barracks was mostly empty when he entered. Only one or two guys had gone to bed early, and there were a couple down at the far end playing a game of cards. Ordinarily Bucky would have gone down to join them - he was a pretty good poker player and some extra cash always came in handy - but not tonight.

Steve's cot was closer than his own, and Bucky crashed onto it at full length, eyes already shut. His own cot was barely three feet away, but at the moment it seemed like a mile. Stevie wouldn't mind…

The pillow smelled like Brooklyn. Bucky buried his face a little deeper into it and let his tired body relax at last, mind slipping peacefully away.

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He didn't remember waking up.

What Bucky did remember was a hot whirl of steam, needles, leather biting into his wrists as he struggled, crying out in helpless agony and hating himself for it even as he screamed. Despair flooded his senses, thick panic closing his throat, crawling up his insides, curdling heavy in his gut.

With a choking gasp, Bucky bolted upright, swaying drunkenly as his tired mind struggled to comprehend the fact that he was not, in fact, back in that chamber of horrors beneath the little smiling doctor's hands. Breathing thickly, jaggedly, he stared wild-eyed at the quiet barracks, the rows of mostly empty beds.

Somebody laughed over the low murmur of conversation at the far end of the room. The card game was still going.

He'd been asleep for all of two or three minutes, ten at the most.

Overwhelmed, Bucky dropped his head into his hands. Something bitter rose in his throat - bile or a sob, he wasn't sure which - but he forced it back with a shaky gulp. In his chest, his heart knocked away at his ribs, and weary, scalding tears stung his eyes.

How was he supposed to work past all this when he couldn't even go to sleep at night?

In that moment, Bucky would have given anything in heaven or earth to be home again, to be able to lay his aching head in his mother's lap and let her smooth his hair. She had soothed away all his childhood nightmares - surely she would know how to help him now.

The cot suddenly dipped, and a shoulder brushed his.

"Hey," said Steve mildly.

Of course he'd followed him. Bucky tried to steady himself, failed, and scrubbed his palms into his eyes, hoping to hide any evidence of tears. Men didn't cry, no matter how hopelessly tired and lonely they were.

"M'okay. Just tired," he said at last, even though Steve hadn't asked him. He kept his head in his hands, hoping that his plea of exhaustion would give him an excuse to go on hiding his face and explain away the hoarse shake in his voice. Grey weariness tugged at the corners of his vision, but it was filled with flickering terror that he refused to face again if he didn't need to.

Steve made an understanding sound. "Hope I'm not bothering you," he said after a minute, even though this was his cot. "I just figured I'd read a little before bed."

Bucky swallowed, swiped his hands down his face, and started to stand up. "Yeah, sure. Sorry - I'll clear out…"

"No," said Steve. "I mean - maybe I could read to you? You know, like old times."

Old times. Bucky knew exactly which 'old times' Steve meant. Back when when they were kids and Steve was too feverish to read or draw or talk coherently, Bucky would hunker down on the foot of Steve's bed and read him the latest ragged comic book out loud. He wasn't the best reader, stumbling over the long words and rushing the easy ones together in exuberant haste, but Steve always listened, flushed and hollow-eyed and drifting, simply glad to have his friend with him.

He aimed a suspicious, bloodshot eye at Steve. "You trying to read me to sleep or something?"

Steve looked startled and a little guilty, with a deeper, genuine concern written across his face. "Maybe?"

The fact that Steve - Steve - was trying to be sneaky around Bucky of all people was actually a little hilarious. Bucky huffed a mirthless half-laugh and shook his head. "Okay," he said. His eyes felt like a pint of sand had been dumped into them, but he blinked them open resolutely. If nothing else, maybe this could keep him awake. "You can read, but I'm not gonna fall asleep."

The cot shifted as Steve got up to rummage through his footlocker. Bucky seized the opportunity to wipe his face on his sleeve and catch his breath, looking up at the ceiling. Then he bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood, hoping the pain would wake him up.

"Here we go," said Steve, sitting down again with a book in his hands. He said something else - probably asking if Bucky cared whether they started in the middle where the bookmark was or went back to the beginning - but the question didn't register and rather than ask for it to be repeated, Bucky merely shrugged.

He didn't care, just as long as it kept him awake.

Steve's voice was low when he began to read, the vibrations rumbling through his shoulder where it touched Bucky's. Bucky could have sworn that he was paying attention, but if anybody had asked him, he honestly couldn't have told what book Steve was reading. It could have been the Bible or a book of doggerel poetry for all he knew. Whatever it was, though, it was certainly peaceful.

Slowly, Bucky felt the sick knot in his stomach begin to unravel; his heart rate and breathing started to calm. Paper whispered as Steve turned the page, continuing to read. Bucky's head bobbed and then jerked up, startled. No. He was not about to fall asleep.

Steve paused at the movement, turning a little to look over at him. Bucky realized his eyes had somehow closed, so he hauled them as wide open as they would go, though he couldn't force them to focus. "What're you stopping for?" he tried to ask, although it came out sounding more like, "Whashtopp'nfr?"

"Nothing," said Steve, with something suspiciously like a smile in his voice, and went back to reading.

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The long drawn-out sound of a barracks full of soldiers snoring grated straight through Bucky's head and he groaned, pawing futilely at his ears as he blearily pulled himself upright. Blinking, he looked around the dark room - and then stopped short with surprise as he realized whose bunk he was in. Man, he must've been out of it last night, to sleep in Steve's…

Wait.

Frowning, Bucky dragged his irresistibly closing eyes a little wider to get a better look. What he'd thought was a pillow was instead Steve's leg.

Steve's feet were on the ground, but he was laying on his back across his own narrow cot as well as Dugan's, which had been dragged up against his at some point so the captain could lie back without disturbing Bucky. Dugan himself was sleeping in Bucky's deserted bed, vociferously adding his voice to the chorus of snores.

It all came back to him then, in bits and pieces, rendered vague by his lingering sleepiness. He hadn't been able to sleep, so Steve had come in and read - something or other - and apparently at some point, Bucky had fallen fast asleep with his face mashed into his friend's knee, where he'd evidently been drooling for at least half the night.

Fool kid, to sit up all night just because Bucky couldn't sleep.

Something strangely warm grew around Bucky's heart, and he swallowed hard, scrubbing at his face with one tired hand. Then - because he was still so sleepy, and it was still dark outside, and he was surrounded by good friends who cared - Bucky closed his eyes and lay back down beside his best friend, balling up a corner of the blanket to make a slightly less bony pillow.

Somehow he didn't believe the nightmares would come back tonight. And if they did - well, then Steve would be there to read him to sleep again.

Nestling a little deeper into the blanket, Bucky slept, smiling.

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This is not at all affected by my own bad sleep habits. Or by my ability to recite my sibling to sleep with every inch of poetry I know. :) Of course not…

I know it's been a while, and I appreciate that you're still reading more than I can say. Have a great week, y'all!

quaintandcuriouspuppet: Thanks again!

LaughyTaffy: Um - well, I like chocolate and caramel and butterscotch and peppermint. And those watermelon candies with the chewy centers. Thanks for all your fun reviews! You're as sweet as your candy. :)

ChildofGod: Wrote this chapter and then looked at your last review and laughed at myself for a while. :) As for the pencil fiddling - ooh, I'll have to try that out. Oh - and that old prompt of yours? Still working on it. But it's coming, truly. It's just getting a little longer than I expected.