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“I can see the wheels turning in your head.”
Bucky’s head snaps up at Steve’s voice and he winces at how it pulls his neck.
“What?” Bucky keeps spacing out, picking at his dinner.
“I can physically see how intensely you’re thinking.” It’s Steve’s way of gently prying Bucky to talk about what’s bothering him.
“Nothing.” Steve frowns at him just as Bucky realizes what he said doesn’t make sense. He drops his fork onto the full plate in front of him. “Just not hungry.”
“You’re never not hungry.” Steve points out and stuffs his mouth with another piece of chicken.
Bucky’s stomach hurts often. It’s usually anxiety and he knows that. But on the off chance that it’s something more he decides it’s best not to eat anything. He wants his stomach to be empty as a safety precaution.
“Well, today I am.” Bucky leans back in his chair, averting his eyes from Steve.
“I can tell you’re lying.” Steve states before quickly adding, “You won’t look me in the eye.”
“Whatever.” Bucky resists the urge to roll his eyes. The anxiety sitting in his stomach makes him cranky.
Silence settles over them. Bucky picks up his fork and picks at his food. The thought of eating is kind of gross. His stomach muscles contract at the thought, making it swirl and turn, his heartbeat speeding up.
“You have to eat something.” Steve says when he’s done with his own plate.
“No.” Bucky snaps, dropping the fork and crossing his arms over his chest. He feels like he’s about to have an anxiety attack. His palms are sweaty, he’s trembling, and the nausea steadily grows.
“Three bites and I’ll let you go.” Steve says. It reminds Bucky of when he was a child, and his mom would have to pry him to eat more of his dinner.
Bucky lets his arms drop to his sides, slouching down in the chair.
“Fine.” He drags out the word and picks up his fork again. He looks down at the plate, scanning it for the smallest bite before spearing a small piece of chicken and reluctantly stuffing it into his mouth.
“And rice.”
“Are you about to tell me to be a good boy and eat my vegetables?” Bucky says sharply with food in his mouth. He keeps chewing, but his jaw refuses to move the food back and swallow it.
“Well...” Steve trails off, clearly trying to lighten the mood.
Bucky stuffs the over chewed food into his cheek before taking the second bite. And then the third.
“You know you have to swallow right?” Steve narrows his eyes at Bucky.
Bucky rolls his eyes but moves the food to the back of his throat trying to force his body to swallow. It’s like his tongue is locked in place.
“I can’t.” He says through the food before picking up his napkin and spitting it all out. The whole ordeal leaves him feeling even more sick and jittery.
“What’s going on?” Steve asks, deep wrinkle settling between his brows.
Bucky shrugs. If he says out loud that he feels ill there’s no going back.
“You see this?” Steve asks, pointing to the worry wrinkle between his brows. “This won’t go away if I have to draw my own conclusions.”
Bucky huffs a laugh at how Steve is treating him like a child. Maybe Bucky is acting more childish than he realizes.
“Stomach hurts.” Bucky admits. As if on cue his stomach cramps and Bucky rub a hand over it to soothe it. The pain adds to his anxiety. What if this really is something more?
“Are you sick?” Steve asks, already standing up and moving toward Bucky.
“No.” Bucky says too fast. Steve touches Bucky’s forehead with a cold hand.
“Maybe a little warm.”
Something twists in Bucky’s stomach. His fear of puking is so intense he can’t even say the word inside his head.
“It’s just hot in here.” Bucky says, trying to reassure himself more than anything.
“Thermostats at seventy, Buck.”
Bucky looks around the room nervously. He’s probably just warm because his heart’s beating so fast. Sometimes he decides he’s sick when he isn’t, and he makes himself panic which makes him feel sick. That has to be what’s happening now.
“I’m fine.” Bucky says, his voice shaky.
“I don’t think you are.”
“You don’t get it. I have to be fine.” Bucky says frantically, voice strained. His stomach is growing more unsettled by the second. Bucky can’t even tell if it’s panic or illness anymore. He needs it to be panic, but some part of him knows this feels different.
“Is this about your fear of throwing up?” Asks Steve, voice soft like he’s trying to be sympathetic. But he said the forbidden words.
“It’s not a fear.” Bucky says, but his voice is weak, convincing no one. If it was just a fear his life would be so much easier. He wouldn’t have to work himself into a panic attack every time someone had a stomachache, or coughed in the bathroom, or held a hand over their stomach, or he heard footsteps in the direction of the bathroom in the middle of the night.
“No one likes thr-”
“Stop!” Bucky snaps. He can’t hear it. His panic sits heavy in his stomach, making him nauseous. If Steve can just top talking about it, Bucky can stop thinking about it, and he’ll be fine.
“Bucky-” Steve tries.
“No!” Bucky points a finger at Steve. He just needs to calm down, to breathe. He’s fine, everything’s fine.
“You look a little gree-”
“Because you won’t stop talking about it!”
“It’s okay if you’re-”
“I’m not!” Bucky’s panic keeps growing. He feels like the air is too thick to breathe in, like he’s breathing in slime, clogging up his throat, making him fight the urge to gag.
“Will you let me finish?” Steve sighs. Bucky stays silent, not trusting his stomach to stay in place anymore.
“We can get your anxiety meds if you think you need them.” Steve suggests softly.
Bucky just nods. If he gets his medications, he’ll calm down and the panic will be over. He’ll be fine. He’ll be able to breathe again.
“C’mon. They’re in the bathroom.” Steve gestures for Bucky to follow him. Bucky walks slowly, feeling like every step jostles his stomach. But he knows it’s all just in his head, he’s fine.
Bucky leans on the sink while Steve rummages through the cabinets. He closes his eyes at the bright light and lets his head drop so it’s hanging over the sink, arms barely holding him up.
“Steve.” Bucky says urgently. He breaks out in cold sweats, swallowing repeatedly, unable to stand still anymore. He tells himself he just needs his medication, but as his body feels more and more ill, he isn’t able to convince himself anymore.
“You’re fine.” Steve says, closing the cabinet. He didn’t get Bucky’s medication. Bucky doesn’t have the energy to think about it, Steve probably just pretended in order to get Bucky into the bathroom.
“I can’t-” Bucky says through tight lips, swallowing against the feeling in his throat. His stomach clenches, but he stays tight lipped, breathing through it.
“You’re safe Bucky. I’ll be here the whole time, it’s okay.” Steve’s hands rub his back comfortingly, the warmth seeps into Bucky’s cold skin, relaxing him a little.
Bucky shakes his head, ignoring the dizziness that follows. He will white knuckle his way through it and hold it back even though he knows this will pass much faster if he gives in.
“Let’s move.” Steve says as he tries to pry Bucky’s hands from the sink. Bucky’s left hand is locked in place, Steve doesn’t have a chance at moving it. “It’s okay, Buck, you’re safe.”
Bucky’s stomach clenches again, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He knows he can’t hold it back much longer. One by one, he lets his fingers release their grip on the sink.
“There you go. You’re safe, okay?”
Steve keeps repeating that Bucky is safe, that it’s going to be okay as they move over to the toilet. Bucky starts throwing up as soon as he’s over the toilet. His body is spent from holding it back for so long.
He can feel himself fade as he loses all control over his body. It’s almost like he’s not in his body, like he’s on the outside, watching himself lose control. And it’s terrifying. Bucky’s worst fear is happening, and he can’t stop it.
“You’re safe, I’m here. It’s okay, Bucky. Just relax, it’ll be over soon.” Steve’s voice sounds far away, like he’s on the other side of the walls closing in on Bucky.
It feels like a rubber band snaps and Bucky is suddenly back in his body, feeling every sensation. The way the stomach acid burns his throat, the sound as it splashes into the toilet, the way his stomach muscles ache between heaves, Steve’s hand on his chest holding him up, his voice right by Bucky’s ear, the cold floor pressing into his knees.
It’s all too much.
Bucky starts crying as soon as it stops. The tears run silently down his cheeks as he holds back the sobs, scared they will bring on another round. He hears the toilet being flushed before he’s pulled into Steve’s chest.
“Breathe Buck. It’s over. You’re safe.” Steve holds him close, letting Bucky cry until there are no more tears.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Steve says once Bucky has calmed down.
“It was.” Bucky says tiredly, wiping his face. “It really was.” He still feels weirdly proud. He didn’t have a choice in the matter, but he still did the thing he fears the most. And he didn’t die. That’s something, right?