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Hawkeye jerks awake, eyes snapping open so fast his head swims, and he sits up with a harsh, punched-out noise.
“Hunh?”
He looks around the Swamp, trying to get his bearings, heart thumping in his chest, and he realizes, with a slow, creeping sort of dread, that it wasn’t his own nightmare that woke him.
There’s a pitiful, broken sound from BJ’s bunk, along with labored, agitated breathing.
Hawkeye looks at Frank's bunk and finds it empty. Their resident fink must be out carousing with Hot Lips, which is good. He’s a significantly better tentmate when he isn't in the damn tent.
That sad, sad sound comes from BJ’s cot again, and Hawkeye’s body starts moving before his brain can catch up.
He’d, admittedly, had a few too many drinks before he passed out, desperate to take the edge off after a day that was, without putting too fine a point on it, shit bad, and he’s stuck in that nasty no man's land between drunk and hungover. His gut lurches as he gets to his feet. There’s a brief handful of seconds where he’s gotta swallow against the bile slithering up his throat, and he manages to stifle a sour belch with the back of his hand as he makes his way across the small expanse of cluttered floor between his bunk and BJ’s.
The poor guy is all twisted up in his blanket and there’s a visible sheen of sweat on his forehead, and Hawkeye’s heart gives a painful little squeeze in his chest as he kneels down with a groan and settles his hands, gentle but firm, on BJ’s shoulders to give him a shake.
This, unfortunately, isn’t his first rodeo. It’s probably not even his hundredth.
“Beej, hey,” Hawkeye mumbles, his tongue too big in his dry mouth, and when BJ just whines, he shakes a little harder. “BJ, come on, wake up, hey. C’mon, Beej.”
Teary eyes flash open, fists balled in the blanket, and BJ’s panting like he just ran a sprint as his gaze flickers around, frightened and miserable.
“Shit,” BJ breathes, and when his gaze finally snaps onto Hawkeye’s and locks there, he draws in a big, ragged breath that sounds like it hurts. “H-Hawk?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Hawkeye murmurs, quiet and a little spooked himself, and he squeezes BJ’s trembling shoulder with one hand and slides the other up to cup the side of BJ’s head. He means for it to be a grounding and friendly kind of touch, so the punch of intimacy he feels is a little jarring, and he quickly slides that hand down to BJ’s other shoulder. “You okay?”
BJ doesn’t say anything for a long moment, which is fine, it was a dumb question anyhow, and takes in another couple breaths, all shaky and watery around the edges. His eyes are scrunched shut, and he looks small and fragile in a way Hawkeye hasn’t seen before.
He makes the deliberate choice to keep his hands where they are, gently holding onto BJ’s shoulders, thumbs gently dragging over BJ’s collarbone. The month or so they’ve had to get to know one another has, by some miracle, been enough for them to be able to communicate pretty well without saying much. It’s almost easier than it had been with Trapper, actually, to look at BJ’s eyes and talk without opening their mouths, and that hurts somewhere deep in Hawkeye’s chest, but, well, lots of things make that spot hurt these days, so what’s one more twinge to squash down? Small potatoes, as far as he’s concerned.
After another couple minutes, BJ’s shakes settle down into barely-there tremors as the panic starts to ebb away. His eyes open slowly, still glossy with tears and glassy with the same exhaustion he's got etched into the dark smudges under them. He takes another deep, shaky breath in, and he swallows thickly before he exhales.
“Sorry,” BJ says, voice low and raw and tired, “I didn't mean… Didn't mean to wake you, Hawk.”
“Hey, don’t apologize,” Hawkeye insists, tone gentle and soft as he shakes his head. “If I had a nickel for every nightmare I’ve had since I got here, I’d have enough to pay off both our tabs at Rosie’s.”
BJ smiles a little at that, nodding, “And that’s saying something.”
Hawkeye smiles back, squeezing BJ’s shoulders, and then he tips his head roughly in the direction of the door.
“Let’s get some fresh air, huh?”
The camp is dark and quiet and a little chilly as they step into the compound, robes over their nightclothes and shower shoes on their socked feet. Hawkeye didn’t bother to look at the time, but his internal clock, unreliable as it may be, tells him it’s not terribly long before dawn.
Klinger, dressed in his usual nightwatch attire of lacey nightgown, fuzzy robe, hair curlers, and cozy slippers, doesn’t bother asking them for the password as they walk by his post, unfortunately very used to this little post-nightmare ritual Hawkeye has of strolling around in the hopes of regulating a little. He offers the both of them a small, sad smile, then turns on his heel to continue his patrol.
They wander around for a few minutes and eventually settle on a couple crates outside of the Mess Tent. Hawkeye just perches on the edge of his, but BJ fully folds all six-foot-four of himself atop the other one, hugging his knees to his chest and resting his chin on the dip between them. He still looks small and fragile and so damn tired, and Hawkeye’s heart feels like it’s trapped in a fist.
“Do you ever get used to it?”
His voice is so flooded with quiet, fearful desperation that Hawkeye is tempted to lie to him, but he knows BJ isn’t looking to be placated. He wants the truth.
“I don’t… I don’t think so,” Hawkeye answers with a heavy sigh, scooting backwards and curling up to mirror BJ, ignoring the ache in his limbs and lower back. “It… you learn how to ignore it. Or... or, maybe not ignore it, but… compartmentalize? But I don’t think you ever really get used to it. I haven’t, anyway, and I’ve been in this hellhole for a million years.”
BJ nods, takes a deep breath, and exhales it slowly. He does it again and again, then shakes his head and offers Hawkeye a pained smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“I really thought he’d make it, you know,” BJ says, and he blinks hard against a fresh wave of tears, “I-I… he was so damn grateful, and I… I thought I’d saved him, Hawk, and he just… he just slipped through my fingers.”
“I know, Beej…”
“He talked to me. He thanked me! He-he told me about his parents, and… he thanked me, Hawkeye, and then he was dead an hour later, and he was barely nineteen, and I know, I know this is just… it’s a shitty part of the shitty job, but, damn it, it’s tearing me up.”
BJ is openly crying now, sobs shaky and cracking off as he buries his face in his knees, snuffling against the soft fabric of his robe.
Sympathetic, pained tears are clouding Hawkeye’s vision now, too. He gets up from his crate and moves close enough to wrap his arms around BJ, and he closes his eyes with an uneven inhale when BJ moves to hide his face against him, nuzzling into the shirt that covers Hawkeye’s chest.
“I know… I know, BJ, believe me, I understand…” Hawkeye murmurs, fingers carding through BJ’s messy hair a couple times before his palm presses against the nape of BJ’s neck, his other hand holding BJ’s shoulder. “I… there’s nothing I can say to make it better, Beej, but I… I’m here. I’m right here. You don’t have to do it by yourself. Not while I’m around.”
BJ lets out this jagged sob that sounds like it hurts, his arms coming up to pull Hawkeye impossibly closer, and if one of the guys on sentry duty sees them crying and holding each other in the middle of camp, in the middle of the night, no one interrupts.
BJ cries himself out, and when he’s done, he pulls back and wipes his face on the lapel of his robe. He grimaces at Hawkeye, who still has his arms around him, and shakes his head.
“I’m so–”
“Don’t apologize,” Hawkeye says firmly, gripping BJ’s shoulders and looking into his eyes. “Don’t apologize for being a human being, not around me. Not to me.”
BJ nods, and he manages a small smile, sincere and fond, and he looks up at the sky and takes another deep breath.
“Thanks, Hawk.”
“Anytime, Beej,” Hawkeye responds with a little smile of his own, and he roughly swipes the sleeve of his robe over his wet face. “C’mon, you wanna go back to bed? We could probably get another hour.”
BJ twists his nose up and sighs, groaning as he stretches his legs back out and lets his feet touch the ground. He stands up, which nudges Hawkeye enough that he pulls away, but BJ purposefully sways into him a moment later.
“I think I’ll hit the showers,” BJ says, and he fixes Hawkeye with a look like it’s an invitation, “I hear they’re almost warm at this hour.”
Hawkeye barks out a laugh and nods, “I think I’ll join you,” as they go ambling back to the Swamp to grab dopp kits and towels.