After the lights went out in the barracks, two unspoken rules took effect. The first: if a man overheard a conversation that did not involve him, he would ignore it. He wouldn't join in, and he certainly wouldn't speak about it to someone else. And second: what's said in the dark stays in the dark, never to be brought up again.

Of course, like any rules, there were exceptions. If someone were to attempt to escape or consider harming himself or others—and be foolish enough to express such thoughts out loud—whoever first had the opportunity would alert Colonel Hogan. Then the situation would be in his hands, and knowing the colonel, he'd first speak with the man in question. And if that didn't work, he'd most likely take it up with Klink. Come to think of it, he'd probably do the same in the other case, too. But this was all assuming that someone in Barracks 2 would even want to do such things in the first place. And, gee, no one would do a thing like that—

Carter rolled onto his other side, letting the action help cut off his thoughts. This was the first night all week he'd been able to get to bed at a reasonable time, and analyzing his barracks mates' nighttime behavior was not the way to catch up on the sleep he'd missed. Not that the late nights were a waste; the time spent putting explosives together paid off well with the explosion last night. Boy, was that a great one! The fireball spewing up from the bridge, with chunks of bridge and road blasting off in all directions! Sure, it was no oil refinery, or munitions dump, or anything else that would trigger other explosions, but it was still an explosion, and that made it exciting enough in its own right. Why, out of all explosions—

He rolled back over to face the other way, this time with more force. Being tired should've made it easier to fall asleep, or so he had thought, but it had been at least an hour, and he just couldn't. There wasn't enough light for him to see his watch, but knowing the time until he'd have to get up for roll call was ticking by, no matter how much sleep he got, certainly didn't help.

It was quiet in the barracks, but at the same time, it wasn't. There was the wind outside, whistling as it slipped through the cracks in the creaking walls. More creaking from the bunks and the rustling of fabric, both from every little shift a man would make. Some light snoring from several of the men. And the most deafening of all: Carter's own thoughts.

As distracting as the sound of people talking could be while trying to sleep, he realized he would welcome the distraction on a night like this. Something to focus on well enough to drown out his thoughts, but not engaging enough to keep him focused and awake. Unfortunately, no conversations were going on that night, so there was no hope for such distractions. But maybe having a conversation of his own would be enough to settle his thoughts. It was worth a try, in any case.

With that thought, Carter called quietly to the bunk above him. "Hey, Newkirk, you awake?"

Upon hearing Carter's voice, Newkirk squeezed his eyes shut tighter and let out a long-suffering sigh. "What do you want, Carter?"

Carter blinked, pleasantly surprised that his friend was awake and willing to talk with him at such a late hour. Willing enough to respond, anyway. "You can't sleep either?"

Newkirk's voice took on a frustrated edge. "Not with you tossing and turning all night. Shaking the bunk as you please."

"Oh." Carter paused for a moment, Newkirk's tone making him second-guess this whole idea. But, he figured, Newkirk could always stop responding if he wanted to. "I can't sleep."

Newkirk rolled his eyes and responded flatly. "I never would've guessed."

"Well, I just thought I should mention it."

"Sorry, mate, can't help you," Newkirk said, more annoyed than sorry. He wasn't having any trouble sleeping, aside from Carter's movements repeatedly jolting him awake, and he thought woefully of all the sleep he could've gotten by now if his bunkmate had kept still. The thought of Carter being solely responsible for his sleepless night made him grit his teeth, and more than a little fed up, he retorted, "And what d'you expect me to do about it, anyway, tell you a bedtime story?!"

Carter knew Newkirk's offer was sarcastic; he knew it wouldn't be a good idea to agree, but he couldn't help the tug at his heart at such a familiar distraction. Now that the idea was planted in his head, it seemed like exactly what he needed, the perfect solution to his problem. "Would you?" he asked, more hopefully than he intended.

Newkirk scoffed in disbelief. "You're crackers. How old are you again?"

Carter crossed his arms defensively. "That's what my mother always did when I couldn't sleep," he said instead of answering the question.

"Do I look like your mother?"

"Well—"

Newkirk shook his head and muttered, "I don't want to hear it."

They both fell silent for a good few minutes, but Carter's mind was now fixed on bedtime stories. Memories of his mother's stories when he was growing up, ones he'd help repeat to his kid brother when he was even more of a kid. And stories in general. The oral traditions of his tribe, passed down from the generations before. He hadn't consciously realized the importance stories held in his life until now, and as his thoughts drifted, he wondered if it was because of his heritage or if others felt that same importance, too.

"Hey, Newkirk—"

As Carter's voice once again pulled Newkirk back from the edge of sleep, a surge of frustration swelled inside him. Consumed by his annoyance, Newkirk cut Carter off, snapping, "Once upon a time, a fellow could get a ruddy wink of sleep around here."

Carter instantly fell silent, caught off guard by Newkirk's harsh words. He furrowed his brow as his surprise faded, stung. "Gee, thanks, pal." As he forcefully turned to face the wall, he remembered Newkirk's words about the bunk shaking and went still, not wanting to disrupt Newkirk any more than he already had.

As Newkirk realized that Carter had settled down and would not speak or move again, a wave of relief washed over him. He shifted to get more comfortable and closed his eyes, ready to finally let sleep take him.

The minutes ticked by, and much to Newkirk's chagrin, he found he could not sleep. Now that he'd had a chance to calm down, he couldn't help but feel guilty about his last words to Carter. He hadn't exactly spoken kindly, and Carter had sounded so put out about it. Newkirk didn't quite get why he cared so much; it was just a story, and Carter was a grown man. But maybe there was something else bothering him, and if that was the case, Newkirk knew his words would've only made it worse. He exhaled deeply, and coming to a decision, he began to whisper, barely loud enough for Carter to hear.

"Once upon a time, there was…" He trailed off, not having a story in mind and unsure of what to say. Making a story up entirely on the spot was proving to be more difficult than he expected, especially since he had no idea what kind of story Carter even wanted. "…a little deer." Newkirk immediately winced. That felt much too personal for his tastes, even in the safety of the dark, but there was no going back now. He paused to take a breath and gather his thoughts.

Though Carter continued to lie facing the wall, Newkirk's words instantly caught his attention. He listened, silent and attentive.

"The deer had a home in the woods, see?" Newkirk went on. "With all his friends, and his family, and he liked it there very much. But one day…" Newkirk hesitated again, feeling that his first instinct was too saccharine, but he couldn't think of anything else quickly enough, so he continued. "One day, he found himself far away. From his home, and his friends and family. And he couldn't go back, not for a long time." Here, Newkirk paused for another breath and to brace himself for the inevitably mawkish ending. "But he made new friends while he was away. And in the end, he found his way home again."

Carter remained still after the story was over, letting the peace of the moment linger. It had been short, sure, but Newkirk's soft, slow voice had been exactly what he needed to settle his thoughts. Now that they had quieted down, his eyes had begun to feel heavy, and he had sunk deeper into the uncomfortable mattress, which didn't seem to be as much of a problem anymore. "Thanks," he finally said.

Newkirk scoffed, but there was a hint of gentleness in his voice. "Go to sleep, Andrew."