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“I’m starving.” Bucky says not five minutes after they handed the bad guy over to the police. He was just some revenge seeking idiot who was mad at the world. Nothing unusual.
“You always are.” Steve comments. It’s true. Something about the adrenaline of a fight leaves Bucky starving after every mission no matter how big or small.
“I need food right now.” He knows he sounds dramatic, but his stomach is literally caving in from being so empty.
“Then let’s find something to eat.” Steve says matter-of-factly. He looks surprisingly ready to eat himself, considering his opposite reaction to the after-battle-adrenaline-crash.
“I think I saw a diner somewhere down that street.” Bucky says, pointing in the general direction.
“It looked pretty dodgy, Buck.” Steve looks skeptical.
“Does it matter?” They’ve both got stomachs of vibranium. And neither of them has been sick since the forties.
“Guess not.” Steve shrugs as he follows Bucky who is already walking in the direction of the diner.
“I want fries, and at least two bacon cheeseburgers with extra onions.” Bucky dreams before they even enter the diner.
“I’m the one who’s gonna have to sleep beside your extra onions.” Steve grumbles.
“Love you too.” Bucky teases as they enter the diner. They order and sit at a table by the window as they wait.
“I don’t know whether to be worried that you actually ordered anything or glad I won’t be eating alone.” Bucky looks at Steve with concern. He’s obsessive about patterns, maybe a little too much somethings, and Steve eating right after a mission does not fit his after-battle-pattern.
“Am I not allowed to be hungry?”
“Yes, but why?” Bucky presses.
“That mission wasn’t really bringing my adrenaline up in the first place. So, no adrenaline crash. And it is dinner time, you know?” Steve shrugs. He looks like he’s telling the truth. After all, it’s not Steve’s fault Bucky is obsessed with everyone’s routines and behaviors. He should be allowed to be hungry if he wants.
“Fries, double, bacon cheeseburgers, extra onions?” The waitress asks.
“That’s me.” Bucky raises his hand, “That was quick.” He could have sword they’ve only been here for five minutes.
“Anything for the Avengers.” There it is. Bucky cringes back into his chair as she hands them their food. He still hasn’t gotten used to being recognized in public. Doesn’t know if he ever will. At least she doesn’t ask for a picture.
As soon as the waitress leaves, he straightens back up and attacks his food.
“What?” He says when he notices Steve staring at him eat.
“Nothing.” Steve blushes.
“Am I not allowed to eat now?” Bucky retorts playfully, copying Steve from earlier.
“You look happy.” Steve blushes even deeper, so does Bucky. He shakes out his hair to hide his cheeks.
“Sap.” He mumbles into his food. God, they’re like teenagers.
They finish eating in silence. Too concentrated on shoving down their food. Steve finishes his salad at the same time as Bucky finishes of his gallon of greasy fast-food.
Bucky doesn’t see the point in choosing healthy food over good food when he has super-human health anyway. It’s not like too many burgers are gonna kill him.
When Steve flags down the waiter for their bill, she asks for a picture. Bucky spoke too soon. He offers to take the picture of her and Steve as he hates being in the pictures himself. The idea of strangers having pictures of him, that he has no control over, is terrifying.
She accepts the offer immediately; everyone just wants a photo of Captain America anyway. It’s usually easy for him to get out of it.
They decide to walk home. It’s not too far and the sunset is painting the sky in beautiful colors. Steve reaches for Bucky’s hand and Bucky pulls back instinctively. He feels weird, like his whole body is shaking, but internally.
He plays his weird reaction off as not wanting to use his metal hand, crosses to the other side of Steve and reaches for his hand with his own warm hand.
“You’re shaky.” Steve comments. Of course, he would notice.
“Just the adrenaline I guess.” Bucky smiles at him, leaning in for a kiss to comfort him.
“You don’t get shaky this long after the adrenaline though?” Steve presses. Maybe Bucky’s not the only one noticing patterns.
“Well, it’s not like we can get sick, so what else would it be?” At that Steve let’s it go. Neither one of them has been sick for so long they can’t remember how it feels. At least Bucky doesn’t think he has. If he was while he was with Hydra, he probably wouldn’t remember. He’s just a little shaky, nothing to worry about.
They walk the rest of the way while making small talk and enjoying the fresh air and peace. Bucky’s legs are aching by the time they make it to their apartment. He’s been on his feet pretty much non-stop for the last sixteen hours or so, and he is ready to lie down and go to sleep for a week.
He leans against Steve’s back, resting his forehead in his neck while Steve unlocks their apartment. Bucky always showers when they get home from a mission. It’s a part of his routine, his pattern. However, he’s so tired he seriously considers skipping it today. As soon as the through crosses his mind he decides the shower can wait; the bed is screaming for him.
He’s halfway to their bedroom before Steve stops him.
“I know you’re tired, but shouldn’t you shower first? I’m pretty sure you have blood in your hair.” Bucky groans. He stops walking, knowing Steve is right. “Come on, I’ll wash your hair.”
Bucky gives the bedroom door one last longing look before following Steve to the bathroom, dragging his feet.
“You’re so dramatic.” Steve says with a smile.
“You love it.”
“I do.” Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s shoulders, kissing his temple and leads him the rest of the way.
Bucky plays up the laziness when undressing. Sighing and groaning, moving slowly. He’s putting up a show so Steve won’t know how tired he really is. This adrenaline crash is hitting him harder than it did after the fight in Siberia. At least then he had a missing arm as an excuse.
Steve’s fingers on his scalp feels amazing as he massages the shampoo into Bucky’s hair. He feels like he could fall asleep standing up. The tired ache in his bones is starting to manifest a deep ache in his stomach as well. It feels like he’s been awake for days, so overtired he can barely function.
Steve notices how tired Bucky is and quickly finishes cleaning them both before leading Bucky out of the shower and wrapping him in a warm, fluffy bath robe.
He has Bucky sit down on the bathroom counter while he brushes his teeth. It reminds Bucky of when their roles were reversed a long time ago. When Steve would get sick, and Bucky had to do everything for him.
He is almost sad he’ll never be in that position again. He’s glad Steve doesn’t get sick anymore but taking care of him was intimate in a way he misses sometimes.
Sitting down with a big fluffy bath robe makes it easy for Bucky to hide his discomfort as he curls around his aching stomach. He just needs sleep.
Bucky doesn’t even notice Steve picking him up and carrying him to bed before he hits the sheets. He’s half asleep already, barely mustering up the energy to say good night before he falls into a deep sleep. Ready to wake up refreshed in a few hours.
---
The next time Bucky opens his eyes he feels worse. His stomach is rolling, sweat collecting on his forehead. He has curled around his stomach again in his sleep.
A quick look at the clock on his nightstand says he’s only been out for a couple hours. He suppressed a groan as a wave of nausea hits, making it clear this is what woke him up.
Steve snores peacefully behind him, oblivious to Bucky’s discomfort. Bucky longs for his comfort as he realizes this may be more than an adrenaline crash. Those symptoms would be gone by now, but instead they’re much worse. Besides, Bucky doesn’t get sick from adrenaline crashes.
He realizes his symptoms fits more with the pattern of an anxiety attack than the pattern of an adrenaline crash. He racks his brain for what helps when he wakes up with an anxiety attack. Sit up, breathe, relax, don’t push yourself.
He carefully sits up, leaning on the headboard. He scans his body from head to toe, letting all the tension in his body go, one at a time. He tells himself not to worry about sleep, it will come when it comes, no pressure. Taking deep breaths, he eventually falls back asleep.
---
The first thing he notices when he wakes up again is the tightness in his neck and shoulders from sleeping sitting up. His scalp feels like it’s pulled tight over his skull. Then he notices the nausea. It’s reached peaks he can’t even describe. Must be a bad anxiety attack then.
He’s conflicted between staying completely still and hoping for the best or getting up to run to the bathroom. Ultimately, he decides on the latter. He doesn’t want to wake Steve up; he deserves his sleep. Besides, Bucky will be fine. It’s just anxiety, which will settle once he’s out of the dark and in the safety of a locked bathroom.
He slowly gets up, trying not to jostle his stomach, and sneaks as fast as he can to the bathroom.
Once he’s there he turns on the light and sits down on the floor, lowering his head to his knees and focusing on his breathing. If he’s having an anxiety attack this should help.
His mouth is rapidly watering, but he stays where he is. He’s fine, fine, fine.
Not fine.
He moves over to the toilet as quickly as possible, scrambling to get his hair out of the way before he starts throwing up.
“Steve!” He calls out between heaves. Desperate and not caring anymore. He just needs Steve. The stomach acid burns his throat, bringing tears to his eyes.
“Steve!” He gasps out again. A moment later Steve is there.
“You’re okay.” He comforts Bucky, with a hand rubbing his back. Bucky reaches his right arm out, Steve takes the hint, grasping his hand and squeezing comfortingly. Bucky needs to feel Steve there in every way he can. This does not fit any pattern in his life.
When his heaves stop bringing anything up, Steve reminds him to breathe. Soon he’s just leaning over the toilet, out of breath. His face is wet with sweat and tears, mouth tasting foul.
Steve gets up to wet a washcloth, Bucky whining at the loss of contact. The feel of the cool cloth touching his skin as Steve wipes his face makes it worth it, but as soon as Steve drapes the cloth over Bucky’s neck he reaches out for Steve again. This time turning to Steve for a hug.
“Want to go back to bed?” Steve asks as he cradles Bucky in his arms. Bucky feels tiny in his arms, not used to being he vulnerable one.
“‘M not done.” He mumbles into Steve’s shoulder. He notices his whole body shaking just like before. Sitting up becomes too much of an effort. Steve notices and helps him lie down with his head resting in Steve’s lap, their hands still interlaced.
“Did you just wake up feeling sick?” Steve sounds confused. Bucky can practically hear his eyebrows pulling in to meet in the middle.
“Felt off after the diner.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bucky’s first instinct is to say he didn’t think he could get sick, but that doesn’t feel like the truth. Why would that stop him from telling Steve? He didn’t want to bother Steve. He’s already done so much for Bucky; he didn’t want to ask for more.
“Didn’t wanna be a burden.” He feels himself choke up at the words. Saying them out loud feels so much deeper than thinking them. And maybe the illness is making him emotional.
“Bucky,” Steve sighs. But before he can continue Bucky gets up from the floor, leaning over the toilet again. This time Steve pulls his hair into a hair tie and reaches for Bucky’s hand, knowing what Bucky needs.
“It’s okay, let it out.” Steve keeps rubbing his lower back in circles as Bucky starts bringing up food and stomach acid again. Distant memories tell Bucky they have been in this position before. Only then, more alcohol and less hair were involved.
He clutches the toilet seat with his left hand, holding himself up with minimal effort as the machine does most of the work. It feels like he’s there for hours before the end of this round is on the horizon.
When he finally leans back into Steve’s chest this time, he feels a little better. Like he’s done for a while at least.
“You’re never a burden.” Steve continues their conversation like nothing happened when Bucky has caught his breath. “You took care of me no matter what back when I was sick all the time. You never thought of me as a burden, right?”
“No.” Bucky says without doubt. Damn Steve for always saying the right thing. It puts limits on his self-destructive patterns.
“Then do you believe me when I say you will never burden me?” Bucky nods and closes his eyes, sinking further into Steve’s chest.
“You have to admit I can be a hand-full though.” Bucky retorts. Not entirely sure he believes Steve, but he wants to.
“That’s why I have two hands.” Bucky snorts at Steve’s response, followed by deep breaths to calm his stomach again.
“Bed?” Steve asks after a few minutes of silence, but it’s not really a question. Bucky is half asleep again, feeling comfortable for the moment. He has no clue what made him throw up like that, he’s just glad it’s over and ready to go back to sleep.
Instead of replying, he gets up and rinses out his mouth before following Steve back to the bedroom.
Bucky tosses and turns, unable to go back to sleep long after Steve has fallen back asleep. He’s still shaky and uncomfortable, but he can’t put his finger on why. He knows he’s fine because he can’t get sick, so why is something still off?
He doesn’t even realize he’s fallen asleep until he startles awake again. His stomach is doing summersaults, jumping into his throat. He rushes back to the bathroom, still half asleep. Steve is right behind him, having been woken up by Bucky’s hurry to get out of bed.
They both go back to the positions they were in earlier; Bucky heaving over the toilet; Steve rubbing his back and holding his hand.
“You’re okay.” Steve reassures him over and over again as Bucky expels whatever’s left in his stomach.
To Bucky’s relief it doesn’t take as long fort he puking to stop this time. He leans back against Steve’s chest, catching his breath.
“What did you catch?” Steve asks after a moment.
“Nothing.” Has Steve forgotten they can’t get sick? Cause it feels like his body has forgotten.
“Then what the hell?”
“Beats me.” Bucky gets up with the help of Steve, rinsing out his mouth again. He clings to Steve as they go back to the bedroom. There’s a faint light coming through the windows, telling them it’s early morning. His body is done with sleep, too awake by this point to get tired again.
“I’m calling Nat.” Steve has already pulled up her number and puts his phone on speaker as they wait for her to pick up.
“What’s up?” She picks up on the third ring, sounding way too awake for six in the morning.
“Buck’s sick.” Bucky lets Steve do the talking, scared of opening his mouth. His stomach is still settling down.
“Didn’t think that was possible.” Nat sounds as confused as them.
“It’s not.” Steve deadpans.
“What’s his symptoms?” Steve looks to Bucky who sighs and lists his symptoms.
“Shaky, tired, nauseous, throwing up.”
“No fever?” She asks, already knowing the answer.
“No fever.”
“Did you guys learn nothing in school?” She sounds amused. In Bucky’s defense he doesn’t remember anything from school. Either way he doubts they learned much about mystery illnesses.
“That was, like, eighty years ago.” Steve reminds her. She chuckles, never missing an opportunity to make fun of their age.
“You dumbass fossils, obviously it’s food poisoning.”
“Poisoning?” Steve asks, alarmed.
“Seriously Steve? Food poisoning isn’t just putting poison in food to kill the king.” Bucky can hear the suppressed laughter in her voice and has to hold back laughter himself at her comment.
“It’s when you eat something bad, and your body rejects it.” He informs Steve. He really needs to catch up to this century. Sometimes it seems like he just woke up from the ice. “How long will I be puking?”
“Honestly? Anywhere from a few hours to days.” Bucky groans. “Hopefully, your body will get over it quicker than normal.” She quickly adds.
“Careful, your soft pot is showing.” He teases her. Truth is Nat has the biggest soft spot of them all, no matter how much she insists on the opposite.
“Whatever.” She hangs up, deeming the conversation over.
Bucky does feel a little better so maybe she was right about his body beating this fast. At least it doesn’t feel like his stomach is in his throat anymore.
“Who knew?” Steve asks, dumbfounded.
“No more dingy diners, Steve.”