It's become quickly apparent that just talking him through it isn't gonna cut it. Bucky's fingers wrap around the edge of his frame, and he uses forearm strength to shift his body over the edge, to lower himself silently and gracefully to the ground. He takes a knee by Steve's bunk and chews the inside of his cheek for a second, debating. On the one hand, it's sort of an intimate invasion of privacy. On the other, he'd want to be woken from a nightmare - especially the one about Syria.

Plus, if he gets any louder he'll wake up the craggy asshole next door and Bucky's not trying to deal with that for the next week, thanks.

Decision made, he eases a hand forward and settles it on Steve's shoulder just shy of the neck. Doesn't shake so much as grip, because being shaken awake is a hell of an experience. He opts for soothing, with pressing fingertips and a sliding thumb along fevered skin.

"Steve," It's a little more firm this time, but at a closer range maybe a little more impactful.