Work Text:
Feeling Blue
There’s a heavy weight settled firmly on Bucky’s chest, metaphorical but no less painful for it, curling down through muscle and bone, squeezing his lungs and tearing at his heart.
It’s not an uncommon sensation for Bucky to wake up to, not even after months being free and home with his mates, but it still never fails to bring tears to his eyes and make his throat go dry, bringing with it memories of unending, cold darkness.
Of desolate hopelessness.
Gasping for air he knows, rationally, is available aplenty but can’t help sucking in greedily, almost desperately, Bucky reaches out until his fingers make contact with something warm and familiar.
The skin of Tony’s back is smooth under his touch, soft and soothing as he traces Tony’s spine, up and down, over and over again while he waits for the last of the discomfort to fade, chased away by the contact with his bonded.
Only it doesn’t. Because it isn’t his, not all of it.
Frowning, Bucky props himself up on one elbow, steadying himself with his other hand on Tony’s hip to lean over Tony, confusion and fear making him suck in a sharp, involuntary breath as he gets his first good look at Tony’s face.
Tony is awake, for one, which is unexpected. It usually proves near impossible to keep Tony in bed for long after he wakes, his mind already running a mile a minute and demanding attention before his feet even hit the floor. Today, however, Tony has not only stayed, he’s also completely still, staring unseeingly across the room with puffy, red-rimmed eyes.
The sight of him makes Bucky’s stomach twist and coil with quickly growing worry. “Tony?” he mumbles questioningly, lowering his head enough to kiss behind Tony’s ear. There’s no change, no reaction at all. “Darling, talk to me. Please? You’re scarin’ me.”
The waves of numbing sadness rolling off Tony, felt through their bond and transported right into the core of Bucky’s very soul, have Bucky choking back tears of his own, his hands trembling as he carefully, oh so carefully rolls Tony onto his back.
“Baby?” he tries again, nosing along Tony’s damp cheek. “What happened? What can I do?”
“Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS speaks up softly when it becomes obvious that there will be nothing forthcoming from Tony himself. “May I speak to you in the kitchen, sir?”
Bucky is reluctant to leave Tony all by himself in the state he’s currently in, but then again, if there is someone who can shed some light on the situation, it probably is the AI.
Pressing a lingering kiss to Tony’s forehead, Bucky promises, “I’ll be right back, darling,” before he gets up, padding across the room and quietly closing the door behind himself, leaning against it for a long moment, eyes shut and breathing rapidly.
“JARVIS?” he manages eventually, pushing himself away from the door and making his way to the kitchen, starting to pull out glasses and the raspberry juice, Tony’s favourite. “Do you know what’s happenin’ with Tony?”
“I do indeed, sir,” JARVIS says, sounding simultaneously apologetic and sympathetic, insofar as he’s capable of doing so. Bucky’s shoulders sag somewhat in relief, although he’s still tense and uncertain. “I have been told that you were informed about Sir’s history of mental health issues and his current, standing diagnosis?”
“Yeah,” Bucky says, talking around the thumbnail he’s chewing on as he continues, “the bi- bipolar thing, right? Yeah, they told me ‘bout that.”
Not that Bucky’d been able to follow more than a third of Tony’s rapid fire medical babble, glad for Steve’s interjected, simplified explanations. They’d sounded a lot like Bruce’s words, so Bucky’d assumed Steve had been about as stumped by the entire thing at first as Bucky was right then.
Bucky’s still not one-hundred percent sure about everything, but he gets the gist of it, has talked it over with his mates and, later, his own therapist during several of his own sessions. Basically speaking, Tony has a mental disorder that affects his mood, sometimes elevating it and making him a little manic, or plunging him into periods of depression.
There’d also been talk of PTSD and Bucky knows a little something about that himself, so he’s fairly sure it’s anything but fun to have that and Tony’s bipolar thing on top of it.
He is doing moderately well, helped in no small amount by therapy and medication, and he knows it’s the same for Tony and that even Steve has a professional to talk to whenever he feels the need for it. It had been strange at the beginning, the general view of psychiatry having changed drastically since the thirties, but Bucky’s thankful now that both Steve and Tony had pushed him on this and persuaded him to give seeing a therapist a try.
“So, what you’re sayin’ is that he’s depressed?” Bucky ventures, forcing himself to lower his hand only to start biting the inside of his cheek instead, a nervous habit he hasn’t been able to shake so far. He doesn’t particularly care at the moment, though. “But he’s takin’ pills for that, right?”
Two yellow bottles with Tony’s name on them, lined up in the medicine cabinet between Bucky’s own and the supplements Steve takes every morning, since he’s burning through everything at a much faster rate than the average human.
“Sadly, even modern medicine can only do so much,” JARVIS goes on, helpfully turning on the toaster when Bucky pulls the bread out of the box, more to have something to do with his hands than because he’s actually hungry. “Sometimes, a certain medication may lose some of its effectiveness over time, or the dosage has to be adjusted. I have taken the liberty of alerting Sir’s doctor and arranging an appointment at his earliest convenience.”
Bucky glances at the digital calendar on the fridge, nodding his approval when he sees it added for noon the next day. “Thanks,” he says, smearing the hot pieces of bread with butter, watching it melt and spread. “What do I do, ‘til then?”
“Unfortunately, there is not much to be done, except making sure that Sir continues to take his medication and stays hydrated.”
Bucky nods again. “I can do that.”
“I have no doubt of that, sir,” JARVIS says immediately, the trust of one of Tony’s closest friends making Bucky preen, just a little bit. “Would you like me to place a call to Captain Rogers?”
The question could be belying the AI’s previous statement and if it had come from anyone but his mates or closest friends, Bucky’s lingering insecurities and fears, the remnants of HYDRA’s mistreatment, would have led to him to make assumptions and lash out.
JARVIS has never been anything but truthful with him, however, even about the more unpleasant things and, sometimes, against Tony’s orders, so Bucky swallows back his initial reaction to snap at him and really considers the offer instead.
Steve and Sam have been gone just under two weeks now, some undercover mission that requires radio silence unless in absolute emergencies. Steve has managed to call once, for a few minutes, and text a couple of times, mostly just to tell his mates how much he misses and loves them, and while it’s not much, Bucky understands the responsibilities Steve has and has come to terms with them and Steve’s dedication to his job a long, long time ago.
“Will Steve be able to help in a way that I can’t?” Bucky wants to know and, when JARVIS answers in the negative, decides, “Then no. He’s due back soon, anyway. And I don’t wanna worry him unnecessarily when there’s nothin’ he can do. It’ll only drive him crazy.”
“Very well, sir,” JARVIS allows, and Bucky doesn’t think he imagines the faint hint of approval in his voice.
Grabbing the toast and the juice, Bucky makes his way back to the bedroom, finding Tony exactly where and how he’d left him. He places their breakfast on the bedside table and walks through to the bathroom to get Tony’s meds, then climbs up on the bed next to him.
Tony’s still locked inside his own head, not really acknowledging Bucky’s presence, so Bucky sits against the headboard and manoeuvres Tony so he’s got his back pressed against Bucky’s chest, his head lolling against Bucky’s shoulder.
He swallows the pills instinctively and drinks most of the juice, but rejects the toast. Bucky figures that’s better than nothing and will have to do for now.
Winding his arms around Tony’s waist, cheek resting against the top of Tony’s head, Bucky asks JARVIS to turn on some music and sits back, the warm weight of Tony against him and the exhaustion from a night interrupted by nightmares soon lulling him into a doze.
***
Bucky makes soup for lunch since Tony seems willing enough to drink whatever Bucky puts in front of him, throwing in some of the protein powder and powdered vitamins they always have in stock for when Bucky’s stomach decides to fall back on its HYDRA training and refuse solid foods.
It happens less and less as the months go on, but right now, Bucky’s grateful to still have everything needed to take care of Tony at hand.
When he gets back to the bedroom, two steaming mugs in hand, Tony’s crying.
Crying silently, chest heaving with the effort of it, tears trickling down his cheeks and making no move to wipe them away as he normally would to hide what he believes to be a weakness whenever Steve or Bucky catch him in a vulnerable moment.
“Oh, baby,” Bucky breathes, quickly depositing the soup on the nightstand and grabbing a wet cloth from the bathroom before joining Tony, not sure if he should be happy or crushed when Tony, in a sudden show of activity, immediately curls into his side when he’s within reach.
He allows Tony to cry into his belly, murmuring quiet words and running his fingers through Tony’s hair until Tony’s shaking subsides and the sobs turn into calmer if still somewhat laboured breathing.
“Come on, let me,” Bucky says, heaving Tony up against his side with an arm around Tony’s waist, using his free hand to gently rub the cool cloth over his blotchy face. “It’s all right, darling, I got ya, it’s okay.”
Tony turns his head away from the soup, but Bucky is insistent this time. “You gotta drink something, babe, c’mon,” he coaxes, peppering kisses over Tony’s hair. “I got all day and more patience than you’ll know what to do with. You think getting big Steve to do anything he doesn’t wanna do is hard? Well, buddy, you shoulda seen small Steve, he was a total nightmare.”
Bucky keeps talking, telling stories from his and Steve’s childhood as they come to mind, slurping at his soup and, eventually, convincing Tony to swallow down a few sips of his own before he lays him back down, gathering the pillows and blankets around them, nestling them together cosily.
Tony sleeps on and off over the course of the afternoon and Bucky sees no reason not to do the same, spending their mutual awake periods either reading aloud from his current book or having the television on, the sound low and just letting the images wash over them.
He makes more soup for dinner, the one with the little noodle letters in it, then gets a bowl and a towel, pulling off Tony’s shirt and washing him more thoroughly this time, rubbing at the muscles tense from a day of lying around and brushing soft kisses over the freshly cleaned skin.
Once he’s done, bowl and towel deposited back in the bathroom and one of Steve’s worn shirts stolen out of the laundry hamper to be added to their nest, and crawling back on the bed, Tony goes so far as to hold his arms out for him, whimpering and hiccupping wetly into Bucky’s neck when Bucky moves in close.
“Hey, no,” Bucky hushes him, the action speaking louder and clearer than any words ever could. “It’s all right, baby, I don’t mind. You’re allowed to not be okay, I’ll take care of you, I don’t mind, I’ll always take care of you. Jus’ like you and Stevie took care of me when I first got back, yeah?”
Hooking a finger under Tony’s chin, he urges him back enough to properly look at him. “I love you, Tony, you’re not a burden, you’re allowed to be unwell. I love you. Steve loves you. You know that, don’t you?”
Tony presses his eyes shut, a few more tears escaping nonetheless, but nods, once, weakly.
“That’s right,” Bucky hums, drawing him back in and kissing his closed lids, his nose, his cheeks and then his lips before curling around him, tucking him against his chest. “We love you. You’re ours, always, no matter what.”
***
“Hey,” Bucky slurs sleepily, blinking rapidly to clear his vision enough to see the bright red 03:17 on the alarm clock. “You’re back already.”
“Yeah,” Steve smiles, quickly shucking his clothes and knee-walking across the mattress in nothing but his briefs, tilting Bucky’s head up for a slow, deep kiss. “Missed you,” he breathes against Bucky’s mouth, one hand in Bucky’s hair and the other caressing the back of the still sleeping Tony’s head. “You all right? I felt it as soon as we got back to New York, and JARVIS caught me up on what happened.”
They rearrange themselves so Tony’s placed securely between them, something they both need, Steve grinning and waggling his eyebrows at Bucky when he discovers his shirt stuffed under Tony’s face instead of a pillow.
Bucky swats a playful hand at him. “Shut up, we missed you, too, all right? Jerk,” he grouses half-heartedly, linking their fingers together over the small of Tony’s back. “And we’re fine. As much as the situation allows.”
“You did well,” Steve agrees, craning his neck to kiss him again, even though it turns into an exhausted yawn halfway through and then a quiet laugh when Bucky shoots him a mock-offended glare. “You really did, Buck. I’m proud of you, sweetheart.”
“Shut up,” Bucky grumbles, again, glad it’s dark enough that not even Steve will be able to see the blush on his cheeks. “Go to sleep.”
“Proud,” Steve insists stubbornly before burying his face in Tony’s shoulder, “so proud. Love you.”
"You too," Bucky huffs, more fond than anything, tightening his arm around Tony.
He’s a little proud of himself as well, but Steve doesn’t need to know that. He’d only make a fuss.
The sap.