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Bucky feels weird after dinner. Since Steve found out about his lactose intolerance, he’s been super careful with everything Bucky eats. He reads every label no matter how many times he’s read them before; just to be sure. But labels are tricky. Some say might contain milk in such a small font it’s easy to miss it.
As they are just planning on watching TV before turning in early anyway, he doesn’t bother telling Steve. If there were just traces of milk in their food, it hopefully won’t be too bad. He doesn’t want to bother Steve. The guy does too much for Bucky already.
Bucky feels too full. Not in the I-just-ate way, but like he won’t ever be hungry again.
Fucking lactose intolerance, he thinks as they settle in front of the TV.
They watch a couple episodes of Botched, Bucky growing increasingly queasy from seeing the small snippets of surgery. They usually really enjoy the show, it’s their favorite guilty pleasure, but today it isn’t sitting right with him.
“I just don’t understand why people do this.” Steve comments for the umpteenth time. He feels like commenting this every time someone talks about getting a tummy tuck from their gynecologist or a nose job from their dentist. He will never understand why anyone would willingly go under the knife to change their appearance.
Bucky, however, would go under the knife in a heartbeat if someone could give him a new arm, making him look normal. It’s not the same as making your nose smaller, but on some level, he thinks they all just want to look normal and fit in. He wouldn’t let his psychologist do it though, no matter how cheap it would be.
Thinking isn’t distracting him from how gross he feels. Even when he keeps his eyes on the floor, just the knowledge that people are undergoing surgery on the screen is enough. He can’t take anymore. It’s only nine pm, but he doesn’t care. He abruptly stands up, looking over at Steve. “I’m going to bed.” He states, moving before Steve can reply.
“I’ll come after this episode.” Steve calls after him, eyes glued to the screen. Bucky shakes his head at how Steve is able to look at it. Even when Bucky isn’t having trouble with lactose, he looks away when they show the surgeries, too grossed out.
Brushing his teeth is a struggle. Every time the toothbrush moves toward the back of his throat, he almost gags. He gives up after a moment, thinking it’s good enough. At least he tried.
As he gets into bed, his stomach cramps again, bringing nausea with it. Fucking lactose intolerance, he thinks again. Amazed at how such a small amount of milk can take him down.
“Are you okay?” Steve asks as he enters their bedroom.
“Thought you were gonna finish the episode?” Bucky murmurs.
“I did.” Steve gets in bed and curls around Bucky’s back, spooning him perfectly. “You didn’t answer my question.” Steve states, keeping a playful tone in his voice.
Bucky lifts his head to allow Steve to slip an arm under his head. He turns to hide his face in Steve’s arm.
“Fine.” He tries to sound nonchalant.
“Bucky.” Steve pushes, gentle.
“’M good.” Bucky turns around in Steve’s arms, facing him, plastering on a smile. His stomach cramping from the movements, leaving him dizzy.
“Are you sure?” Steve asks softly.
“Yes.” Bucky says and closes his eyes, signaling he’s ready to go to sleep. Steve drops it. Bucky didn’t want Steve to drop it. He wanted Steve to force it out of him. To make Bucky tell him what’s wrong. But it’s not Steve’s fault Bucky can’t just say he feels bad.
---
As soon as Bucky opens his eyes, he knows something is wrong. His body is heavy, and his head is clouded. He knows it wasn’t a nightmare, he would still feel that. It’s still dark out which means it is way too early for morning. Something else woke him up. His instincts are telling him to figure it out, but sleep is pulling him under again.
---
The second time he wakes up the feeling is more intense. His stomach is in knots, making him aware of how tense he is. How is it possible that he feels worse than when he went to sleep?
He can’t lie still, feeling restless and exhausted at the same time. He throws off the comforter, feeling too hot. He makes little movements to try to get comfortable, but every time he stills, he feels the nausea. He pulls the comforter back on, suddenly cold.
“Buck?” Comes Steve’s sleepy voice. Bucky tells him to go back to sleep and a moment later he hears Steve’s soft snores. He doesn’t want to worry him. Even though Steve knows about his lactose intolerance now, he’s fine dealing with it on his own.
He’s dealt with this so many times on his own, he can do it again. Although he feels more alone than ever when Steve is sleeping right beside him. He wants to reach out for Steve, ask him for help, tell him what’s wrong, but he would have to be vulnerable, show weakness.
He pushes the duvet of his legs, it’s too hot again, but then he’s cold so he pulls it back on, but then he’s too hot again. He lets out a quiet groan and settles for covering half his shivering body with the duvet, feeling the cool air on his legs and chest.
It takes a long time before his stomach settles enough for him to go back to sleep.
---
The next time he wakes he realizes that something else is going on. Nausea is rolling in his stomach. He swallows against the feeling, but the urge to gag gets stronger.
With his arm wrapped around his middle, he sits up. He reaches out to Steve but stops himself. Steve needs his sleep. Bucky is old enough to take care of himself.
Bucky is quickly running out of time. He carefully gets out of bed and half runs to the bathroom while holding his stomach with both arms, trying not to jostle it.
He carefully sits down leaning against the wall beside the toilet. He lets his head fall back against the wall, closing his eyes against the bright light. Being alone in this moment makes him want to cry, but the thought of straining his stomach muscles to shout for Steve make him even more nauseated, so he tries to take deep breaths instead.
He moves over to the toilet when he feels salvia pool in his mouth, the urge to gag is quickly building. Still, the first gag takes him by surprise, his stomach had felt like it was in his throat for so long he was starting to think it would just stay that way.
When he finally starts throwing up it’s almost a relief. He closes his eyes tightly, so he won’t have to look at the contents in the toilet. He coughs and winces at the burning in his throat. Tears burn his eyes as more heaves brings up burning acid through his already sore throat.
When it’s over he’s out of breath and there’s white spots in his vision, but his stomach feels calmer. He wipes his mouth and flushes the toilet. Still a little dizzy, he holds onto whatever he can as he gets up and moves over to the sink.
The only light in the room is coming through a small window, making the shadows on his face look more pronounced. He looks terrible. Deep dark circles under his eyes, skin white as paper. He washes his hands and splashes some cold water on his face. The cold water helps with his dizziness and he’s able to brush his teeth quickly before stumbling back to bed.
He falls asleep again almost as soon as his head hits the pillow, exhausted and more comfortable now that his stomach is empty.
---
When he wakes up it feels like he’s only slept for a moment. He stays in the same position with his eyes closed hoping to fall back asleep for a few more minutes before Steve wakes him up. His eyes open when he feels someone stroke a hand through his hair and say “I know you’re awake” in the softest voice.
“What time’s it?” Bucky slurs as he moves to sit up.
“Just after eleven.” Steve replies. “You’re usually up by now. Are you okay?”
“Just tired I guess.” He knows he should tell Steve he’s feeling ill, but he just doesn’t feel strong enough to fight the voice in his head that tells him not to show any sign of weakness.
“You gonna stay there all day?” Steve teases. Bucky rolls his eyes, ignoring the dizziness it causes and drags himself out of bed. He really should not feel this bad anymore. It’s been well over twelve hours since he accidentally ingested the milk, he should at the very least feel no worse than he did last night.
But he feels like a wreck. He’s sweaty and cold, nauseous, his head hurts and his muscles ache with every movement. He feels like he’s moving in slow motion towards the bathroom.
“I’ll get breakfast ready for you.” Steve calls from the kitchen. The thought of food makes him feel even worse.
He leaves the bathroom door open as he steps into the shower, because that’s what he would do on a normal day. He doesn’t want Steve to read into it if he closes the door. Even if it would be true that Bucky’s day is less than good. He hears Steve’s voice in his head, telling him it’s okay to show weakness, but he just can’t.
The warm water soothes his achy muscles. He can feel his whole body relax, like all his sore spots are collectively sighing, letting tension out. He only gets to enjoy it for a few minutes before the heat makes him dizzy again. Steadying himself with a hand on the shower wall, he feels like the room is spinning around him.
Within a moment his stomach is in his throat again. He turns off the water and sits down on the shower floor, taking deep breaths.
“I put clean clothes on the counter.” Steve shouts from the kitchen. Bucky glances at the counter by the sink, seeing a neatly folded pile of clothes. He didn’t notice Steve coming in while he was showering. That man does too much for him.
His stomach shows no sign of calming down, so Bucky decides to get dry and clothed. Sitting in the shower, wet and shivering isn’t helping.
Bucky puts on his t-shirt and hoodie first, knowing bending down will be a challenge. When he starts to bend over to put on his boxers and sweatpants, it does exactly what he expected. His nausea and dizziness reach new heights. He tries to brush it off, sick of feeling sick, and bends down to pull on his underwear.
“Need help with that?” Steve says from the doorway.
“No.” Bucky says through his teeth.
“Are you okay?” Steve asks once again, picking up on Bucky’s mood.
“Stop asking me that.” Bucky tries dodging the question. His palms are sweaty, the nausea making him dizzy. He knows he’ll throw up again soon.
“I’m just worried about you.” Steve comes closer, reaching out to Bucky, but Bucky takes a step back. He can’t let Steve touch him; his skin is tingling.
“Just get out.” Bucky snaps, not wanting Steve to see him puke.
“But-”
“Get out!” Bucky pushes him toward the door. Steve’s face falls, but Bucky is too busy fighting with his stomach. He leans his back on the bathroom sink, closing his eyes for a moment.
“No.” Steve stands his ground.
“Please, Steve. Just leave me alone.” He begs. Steve doesn’t move.
“Why? I can see something’s bothering you.” Steve moves closer again.
Bucky can’t talk anymore. Whether Steve leaves him alone or not, he is going to throw up. He moves over to the toilet, holding his breath to hold the first heave in until he lands heavily on his knees. As soon as he is over the toilet, he starts bringing up food and stomach acid.
“Shit.” He hears Steve behind him. “Okay, you’re okay.”
Bucky feels Steve kneeling beside him before placing a hand on his back. Bucky can’t stand being touched. He tries to shrug Steve’s hand of between the heaves. He just wants Steve to leave him alone.
“You’re okay.” Steve reminds him as he moves away from Bucky, taking the hint. He doesn’t leave the room but stays a few feet behind him. Bucky wants him to leave the room. He should have fucking locked the door earlier.
He continues heaving for a while before his stomach is too empty, body too tired to bring anything else up. When it stops, he is left with the crushing feeling of shame at what Steve just saw. Even back before the war, he would always close and lock the door. He never showed any sign of weakness around Steve.
“Did you wake up feeling ill?” Steve asks, moving closer to Bucky again, pressing the back of his hand to Bucky’s forehead.
“Started last night.” Bucky swats Steve’s hand away, his skin still too sensitive to stand being touched.
“I thought you looked pale.” Steve comments, looking at Bucky with sympathy. “Were you sick last night too?”
“There must have been milk in the dinner.” Bucky avoids the question.
Steve lets it go, Bucky’s avoidance being answer enough. “No, Buck. I checked three times.” There’s a comfortable silence between hem for a moment.
“You have a fever.” Steve says softly.
“Why would you think that?” Bucky asks tiredly. From what he can remember of fevers it felt a lot like how he feels now, but it’s not possible.
“You’re very hot.”
“Not in the mood, Steve.” Bucky chuckles, continuing to deflect Steve’s concern.
“Come on Buck, it’s okay to be sick sometimes.” Steve tries to convince him. They’re both so stubborn.
“But I can’t get sick.” Despite what Bucky is saying, he lowers himself to the floor, pressing the cool tiles against his sweaty skin.
“But you are.”
“Steve. It’s not possible.” He accentuates each word, practically spelling it out for Steve.
“Possible or not, you have a fever, and you’re throwing up. You are sick.” Steve states.
“But I can’t.” Bucky attempts again.
“But you are.” Steve says again. He pushes Bucky’s sweaty hair off his forehead, placing a cool cloth he got from god knows where there instead. Bucky sighs at the feeling.
“But it’s not normal.” Bucky is so tired at this point. Exhaustion weighing down his bones, eyelids heavy.
“It is completely normal. What isn’t normal is never being sick.”
“So, you’re not normal then.” Bucky closes his eyes, the light too bright.
“And you are.”
“Whatever.” Bucky is too tired to keep arguing.
“Let’s get you back to bed.” Bucky doesn’t have to be told twice. He lets Steve help him up off the floor. Steve supports him as Bucky is too dizzy and tired to walk on his own and leads him back to their bedroom.
The t-shirt and hoodie he’s wearing is already sweaty and gross, so Steve helps him pull them off, leaving him in hos boxers. He completely forgot putting his sweatpants on.
When his head hits the pillow, he is half asleep already. He hears Steve pick up his duvet and turning it around so the cold side touches Bucky’s skin when he drapes it over him.
“I’ll be in the living room if you need anything.” Steve says, kissing his temple before straightening up to leave. Bucky reaches out, catching Steve’s wrist, holding him back.
“Stay.” He mumbles into the pillow.
Steve lets out a loving chuckle and gets into bed, letting Bucky cuddle up to his side.
“Sleep well.” He hears as he is pulled under by sleep.