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When he wakes up, Bucky knows it's not going to be an easy day from the moment he opens his eyes. The way the morning light stabs through his corneas and erupts in a violent burst of pain just above his right eye is a feeling he hates that he's familiar with. It pounds with his heartbeat and every movement of his body.
It takes him ten full minutes to get out of bed without vomiting.
He drags himself to the bathroom, his feet barely leaving the floor with each step. It's more a shuffle, if he had to classify it, but thinking about semantics of anything right now has him feeling like he's going to shake apart. Thinking, in general, makes everything hurt more. Of course, thinking is one of those things he kind of needs to do.
Splashing some cold water on his face and neck stems the pain for a minute and he manages to pull down his morning medications. It's usually just the one, but today he pulls the rescue med for migraines as well. It's always a toss-up if it will work, but it's better than free-balling what he's certain is going to be a solid 8 out of 10 headache that won't go away on its own.
He can tell, usually within a few minutes of a headache starting, what sort of day they're going to give him. It's where they are in his head that clues him in. He sat and talked with Tony about it once, thinking he had to be absolutely mad. Tony had fully agreed with him.
Because Tony gets migraines, too. Tony gets migraines that knock him so flat on his ass, he's stuck in bed for multiple days in a row. Bucky will come home from a mission with Sam to find Tony curled up in their bed, buried under the blankets, with blackout curtains on every window in the house.
Tony understands.
It's been a blessing, in a strange way. Bucky and Tony have been able to help each other through a lot of their mental and physical ailments since they've moved in together. Bucky's felt more comfortable just being able to talk to Tony about what's going on in his head, and apparently he's opened a safe line of communication for Tony the other way. Just a few days ago, Rhodey told Bucky that he'd wished they'd met sooner.
“I'm not saying you're some miracle worker or anything,” he had said, pulling Bucky aside during a dinner at Sarah Wilson's place, “but I've never seen Tony more put together than he's been since you two got together.”
Bucky has to agree for his own sake. He hasn't felt this whole in a long while. Not since before the War.
He had thought, with the serum on board, he wouldn't be susceptible to illness. Steve hadn't been. And granted, Bucky doesn't get infections and it takes a hell of a flu to knock him down, but Steve's biggest issue after the serum was PTSD. Not that PTSD is anything to scoff at, as both Bucky and Tony know.
But Bucky had hoped, since the serum had taken away all of Steve's physical illnesses, maybe Bucky's version would have taken care of his own ailments. Bucky's ailments, however, had not been as physical as Steve's.
He doesn't quite think the hallucinations were strictly from PTSD, but he's been afraid to bring up the fact that Becca saw things that weren't there when they were kids to his doctor. And that his mother did, too. He knows the medication he's on for the hallucinations works for schizophrenia, and that schizophrenia can be genetic, so he's got his theories, but he had held to the hope that maybe it was largely because of Hydra.
The fact that he's started to distinctly remember seeing things in the shadows and around corners when he was a kid as well is something he tries every day to ignore. It's one of his only memories he wishes he hadn't regained.
He knows the migraines are because of Hydra, though. The experiments they did on him as the Soldier were brutal and cruel, and often left him feeling broken and heavy in the head. The headaches were so painful and they never gave him anything for them. He frequently had to push through missions with his head feeling like it was being clamped in a vise.
Pulling a hand through his hair, Bucky leaves the bathroom after taking the meds, fighting the nausea that coils in the pit of his stomach as a fresh wave of pain rattles around in his skull. He has to make it through the mental checklist before he can let this headache officially take him down.
He's taken his medications. Now, he needs to make sure he's got food, water, and caffeine. He remembers Tony going over the list with him once, emphasizing how important it was to make sure he was taking care of himself in every area.
“Usually, I wouldn't list caffeine as a factor,” Tony had admitted with a wry smile. “However, I know myself. I am an addict and caffeine is still an addictive chemical. The brain will latch onto it like you wouldn't fucking believe. I've seen your coffee intake, sweetheart. If you're hurting, it might be time to brew a cup.”
The amount of times Tony has been right is extremely irritating, considering his personality. Bucky still loves him, despite it all. Or because of it. The lines get blurred sometimes.
He sets a mug under the spigot for the coffee machine right as FRIDAY turns the burner on, starting a fresh cup of his favorite, as the AI knows him just as well as it knows Tony these days, then pulls down a glass for water. As he sips at that, he looks into the fridge, hoping for something quick. He doesn't think he has the energy to cook.
“Shall I order something for you, Sergeant?” FRIDAY asks, its voice quieter than normal. Bucky lifts his head, brow furrowed. “You took both of your medications just now,” FRIDAY elaborates. “It's not difficult to determine that you're suffering from a migraine. The easiest route would be to order something from a nearby stand. I can have it delivered in no time.”
“Sure,” Bucky mumbles, pulling his coffee to add some sugar right before it beeps. He doesn't think he can handle the sound right now. After a few moments, he takes the drink over to the sofa in the living room, cradling it between his hands as he sits, sighing softly.
The ache in his temple isn't getting any better yet. Granted, he's had water and meds so far, and he's not being very quick about the other two on the checklist. Moving at any pace outside of Cautiously Slow hurts, though, so he keeps his movements minimal and stays put, staring at the floor for a while.
He's not sure how long he sits there, but a ring of the doorbell pulls him from his quiet suffering, a new jolt of pain piercing his skull as he turns a little too sharply toward the sound. He squints and whimpers, hand coming up to cradle the side of his head.
“Sorry, Sergeant,” FRIDAY murmurs. “That's the food delivery. If it helps, the driver left the food on the step. You don't have to interact with anyone.”
It does help. Bucky is pretty sure if he had to have a conversation with anyone that wasn't AI right now, he'd cry. The pounding in his head feels like it's actually got a sound to it and he hates that he can actually pinpoint the exact spot from where it all radiates.
He stands slowly, putting his as yet untouched coffee down on the table, and makes his way to the door. He stops with his hand on the knob, taking a slow breath in and swallowing heavily.
“It's bright outside, isn't it?” he asks quietly.
“Unfortunately,” FRIDAY tells him. “I think the boss has a pair of sunglasses nearby. Check the coat hanging by the door.”
Bucky pulls his hand from the door and slips it into one of the pockets of the coat. There's nothing in the first pocket but a receipt, which he pulls out and scans out of habit. It's faded and crumpled and he can't read the thing properly, but whatever Tony bought cost somewhere in the thousands. He shrugs and puts the receipt back, then checks the next pocket.
Thankfully, FRIDAY's right. He pulls out the sunglasses and puts them on before opening the door and leaning out to grab the food bag quickly. It takes all of 15 seconds to retrieve the food and get back inside, but even that is too much, glasses or no.
His head throbs with his heartbeat and his heart is pounding harder because of the pain, which only makes the pain worse, and spikes his heartbeat. He has to lean his forehead against the door and fight to catch his breath, because he can't panic on top of the pain. That's only going to make everything so much worse.
“Get it together, Barnes,” Bucky grumbles, bringing his right hand up to press the palm flat against the door next to his head. He swallows again, his head pounding with the action. It takes everything in him to push away from the door and stagger to the couch again.
Sinking back down onto the cushions, it's a few moments before he realizes everything is darker. He's still wearing Tony's sunglasses, and honestly they kind of help. So, he keeps them on, squinting even still as he carefully, shakily, opens the bag.
It's a club sandwich from the place down on the corner he likes. FRIDAY has his favorites locked in a file on its databases, and while Bucky once thought maybe that was so Tony didn't have to remember on his own, he's since realized it's actually for moments like this. When Bucky just can't bring himself to make food on his own and Tony isn't around to pick something up, FRIDAY can send out an order at random, and whatever it gets will be something Bucky likes.
“Thanks, FRI,” he mumbles, taking a smaller than normal bite.
It hurts even to chew right now and he has to take it slow. The headache has crossed the threshold from barely manageable to fiercely overpowering, and he can feel himself actually getting dizzy from the pain. His vision is getting affected too. Even if he were to take the sunglasses off, the room would be dark around the edges and blurring.
He can feel the hot sting of tears in the corners of his eyes. Pain doesn't often make him cry, but when the headaches get this bad, he almost can't help it. The tears just flow. It's not that he would try to hold them back even if he could, but the fact that he can't is proof enough that this headache has gone beyond the simple solutions.
“Hey FRI?” Bucky mutters, setting the sandwich aside after the second bite starts to make him feel queasy. “Where's Tony right now?”
“He's in the middle of a board meeting,” FRIDAY says after a few moments. “Shall I message him for you?”
Bucky shakes his head. “Not until the meeting is over,” he sighs, leaning forward over his knees and burying his head in his hands.
“You do know that he would stop a meeting for something like this without hesitating, don't you, Sergeant?”
Bucky nods, not lifting his head. He curls his fingers into his hair and tugs slightly. It hurts, but it's a pain he can control. He's creating it. It's- It's different.
“I know,” he groans. “That's exactly what I don't want.”
He doesn't want Tony to sacrifice the company for him. He's never wanted that. Tony has his life outside of his relationship with Bucky and that's always been more than fine with the soldier. He encourages it. The last thing he wants to do is take away the things that make Tony intrinsically… Tony.
The man he fell in love with.
There's no sound from FRIDAY, and for some reason, Bucky feels unnerved by the sudden quiet. It's been gentle in its volume, but the soft sound of it speaking had been something to cling to outside of the pain, and now it's gone quiet. It's almost suspicious.
“You already told him, didn't you?” he asks after a few moments.
“I did,” FRIDAY hums. “He has asked me to ask you what your pain level is, but asking you that would have revealed that I had gone against your wishes. I was working through how to solve the dilemma I had created without upsetting you.”
“Why?” Bucky murmurs, lifting his head slowly and looking up. He knows there's no one to actually look at, but it helps to just raise his head for a moment. “You're an AI. A program. That sort of thinking sounds almost too human for you.”
There's an extended silence, in which Bucky can feel his skin prickling uncomfortably. There's no one here, he has to remind himself, and yet he feels as though he's being watched, examined. Scrutinized.
“What is your pain level, Sergeant Barnes?” FRIDAY asks after a few moments.
“Eight,” he sighs in response, hanging his head again. “Been steady at an eight for a while now. I can't eat without feeling sick. Everything makes it pound.”
More silence fills the room and Bucky fights to control his breathing.
Then, in a voice quieter than before, as though the announcement of an eight has triggered a gentler mode in the AI's system, FRIDAY speaks again.
“You asked why such a thought process, as human as it seemed, would have come across my mainframe,” it says. “You are correct. I am a program. I was, however, programmed by a human. That is something I think many people forget about systems like myself. Even the most advanced systems were programmed by people. We learn through people. We are as human as those who create us.”
Bucky leans back, resting his head on the back of the couch and staring at the ceiling. “Yeah?”
“You often thought of yourself as a program when you were the Winter Soldier, yes?” FRIDAY asks. Bucky nods. “And yet even your program shattered under your humanity. My program is encased in the boss’ humanity, just as my predecessor was. For example, my ability to catalog that sunglasses hidden in a coat pocket could be helpful for a headache would not exist, were it not for his humanity within my coding.”
Bucky blinks, then squints a little as his head pounds a bit more. “Yeah?” he repeats, voice a little quieter.
“I would also not have the foresight to be monitoring your vitals throughout your migraine,” FRIDAY adds. “Your blood pressure has risen a bit during this conversation, though that is a natural reaction to pain. Perhaps it would be wise to try more of your food?”
Bucky closes his eyes. “Can't eat,” he whispers roughly. “Felt like I was gonna throw up.”
“That's unfortunate.”
“Tell me about it,” Bucky grumbles.
It's quiet for a moment again. Then, “That is a turn of phrase, correct? You do not wish me to actually tell you about your own pain?”
Bucky snorts, despite the situation, and immediately regrets it as his head erupts in another wave of pain. He brings his right hand up, pushing against the spot in his temple that hurts the worst.
“Fuck, don't make me laugh,” he begs, eyes closing tight as he fights another wave of nausea along with the pain.
“My apologies,” FRIDAY says. “I wasn't aiming for humor. Only clarification.”
“I know,” Bucky grumbles. “Maybe we stop talking for a little bit?”
“Of course, Sergeant Barnes. Simply alert me if you need anything. I'll leave you be for now.”
This time, the silence is welcome. There's a warmth to it, now that he's asked for it, and Bucky closes his eyes behind the sunglasses he's still wearing, fighting back another wave of nausea. He just needs to make it through this bit and he should be okay.
He doesn't know how long he sits there, feeling like he's going to be sick, sandwich and coffee forgotten on the table. It could be minutes. It could be hours. At some point, FRIDAY must have blacked out the windows for him, or the sun went down. He does manage, though, to doze off just a little bit.
He wakes to a firm grip on his shoulder and neck, the hand warm and calloused. A pair of lips trails along his cheek and draw the last of him out of his slumber as he feels the weight of the sunglasses on the bridge of his nose being removed, a pressure he didn't realize he'd been adding to everything slipping away with their removal.
Opening his eyes cautiously, he gazes up into worried brown eyes, an image he's all too familiar with these days. He's familiar with those same eyes being bright and filled with laughter, or dark with desire and need, or alight with the marvels of the universe. But lately, with the way the headaches seem to have been getting worse, worry has become a staple.
He doesn't like that he keeps putting those lines between them.
Bucky reaches up and caresses Tony's cheek, the movement slow with the last dregs of sleep, a faint smile pulling at his lips. “Hey, handsome,” he murmurs, voice rough and scratched.
“Hey yourself,” Tony hums back at him, sitting back to give him a little space. Bucky's still sitting fully upright with his head leaning back over the couch, which is a little painful on his neck. “You do know that you can't consume the food through osmosis, right?” Tony adds after a second, gesturing to the sandwich and coffee, the latter of which has long gone cold.
Bucky nods softly, groaning a little in pain. “It hurt too much to chew,” he admits.
“So FRI said,” Tony says, looking back at him. “Still hurting?”
Bucky's quiet for a moment, his eyes falling closed. He runs over a short checklist of his body. Aches and pains that are normal. Typical after decades of fighting and cryo. He singles out the pain of the headache and focuses on it.
“Not as bad,” he tells Tony after a second. “It's not pounding with my heartbeat anymore, at least. Now it's- Just sorta a dull ache.” He shifts, bracing himself to adjust how he's sitting on the couch, then groans as the pain spikes. “And it stabs when I move.”
“I would say don't move, but you're not exactly in the best position for your back or neck,” Tony mumbles, standing up. He holds his hands out to Bucky. “One quick, slightly painful shuffle to the bed and we'll get you all tucked in for the rest of the day. Sleep it off.”
Bucky groans again, looking up at him. “I don't wanna lose more time.”
Tony raises an eyebrow at him. “You went through the steps?” he asks softly. When Bucky nods, Tony sighs. “Food made you sick. You took your meds. Sleeping a little seemed to help some, so let's get you to bed.”
Bucky doesn't protest again, instead taking Tony's hands and letting himself be led to the bedroom, his head pounding with each step. It's still not as bad as it was before, but he's grateful to not be alone anymore.
As Tony settles him back under the covers and gently pulls his shirt over his head, Bucky shivers at the warm slide of Tony's hands on his shoulder and chest. Tony chuckles and pulls the blanket over Bucky.
“There is one other way to get rid of a headache,” he murmurs.
Bucky turns his head, opening one eye and squinting back up at Tony, frowning. “How's that?”
Tony smirks at him and shakes his head. “You look so miserable right now,” he hums, running his hand through Bucky's hair. “Don't worry about it. I'll tell you later. It was mostly a joke. Although, scientifically, it is supposed to work. I've never tried.”
Tony rubs his thumb along the space under Bucky's right eye and Bucky closes his eyes, letting the touch soothe him back to sleep. He'd never fully slipped out of it from the couch to begin with.
When he wakes up again, he checks his watch, the light from the face a little bright in the dark room. It's past midnight and Tony is curled up next to him in bed. Bucky yawns and stretches a little, feeling equal parts exhausted and wide awake. He taps the face of his watch to turn the light off, then blinks slowly as he realizes… the light hadn't hurt.
His head doesn't hurt. There's a dull, residual ache maybe, but he's not really in pain anymore. Not the way it was.
Bucky hums happily and rolls from his back onto his side, wrapping himself around Tony's sleep-stilled frame. Tony murmurs softly and curls closer to him, his hand coming up to grip Bucky's hip.
“Time'sit James?” Tony mumbles into his shoulder.
“Don't worry,” Bucky chuckles, pressing his lips to Tony's temple. “It's late, babe. Just sleep.”
Tony shifts and looks up at him with bleary eyes. “Someone sounds like he's in less pain.”
Bucky hums an affirmative, lips still pressed to Tony's head. He curls closer to the other man. “Thank you.”
Tony chuckles against him, tilting his head so his face is against Bucky's neck. In moments, he's asleep again, fingers curled tightly against Bucky's hip and breath soft at his clavicle. Bucky takes a deep breath in and closes his eyes, smiling as he lets himself drift again.
After a few moments, he blinks his eyes open and shifts, startling Tony awake again.
“Did you seriously almost suggest sex to fix a headache earlier?” Bucky asks suddenly.
Tony snorts and presses his face into Bucky's chest, his shoulders shaking with laughter. And Bucky can't help but to laugh right along with him.