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There were tension headaches. There were hypertension headaches. There were migraines. There were migraines with aura. There were cluster headaches. There were ice pick headaches. There were thunderclap headaches. There were allergy headaches. There were sinus headaches. There were caffeine headaches. There were exertion headaches. There were headaches and migraines for every letter of the alphabet!
Bucky didn’t know what to call his headaches. All he knew was that they hurt, and that they would only ever go away when he finally managed to get several hours of uninterrupted sleep.
It’s not like Bucky could get his headaches thoroughly checked out by a professional. Steve had once dragged him to the Medbay to no avail. He could handle routine blood work, but that hadn’t revealed anything worthwhile or offered an explanation. He couldn’t handle any further testing, like lumbar punctures, MRIs, or CT scans.
At his first and only impromptu appointment, Cho had pulled up a visual for him. A chart highlighting the different parts of the head and neck that would supposedly be hurting depending on the type of headache a person was suffering from. For Bucky, the chart hadn’t yielded any conclusive results.
A tight, thin band around the head at about forehead level? Nope. The front of the head and face? Nope. The back of the head? Nope. One side of the face? Nope. Behind an eye? Nope. The sinus cavities? Nope. The top of the head? Nope. And so on and so forth.
The problem was, Bucky could never distinguish where his pain came from. To him, it felt like his entire head, neck, and jaw were under attack. Unfortunately, there was no convenient, diagnostic picture or label for that on the chart. His pain varied in its manifestation too. At times it felt dull and achy, and at other times it was sharp and stabbing. All in the same headache, all in the same day.
Their working theory was that Bucky’s headaches were due to the traumatic experiences he had undergone during his time at Hydra. Being frozen, thawed, frozen, and thawed over and over again was bound to have consequences. Having his memories forcefully wiped from his brain by electricity shot directly into his head certainly hadn’t helped either.
In Bucky’s opinion, it shouldn’t take a doctor or any other kind of genius to put that together. They messed with my head, so now my head messes with me. It’s as simple as that. He always kept his mouth shut though, not wanting to come off as ungrateful or rude.
Regardless of the cause, since they couldn’t come up with a definitive diagnosis, they stuck to symptom management. Unfortunately, they weren’t having much luck on that front either.
For starters, OTC meds had zero effect. Tylenol, Advil, Excedrin, Aleve, name brand, off brand, it didn’t matter. They even tried these medications with doses and concentrations suited to Bucky’s metabolism. Whatever they tried though, none of it ever offered him any relief.
It got Bucky thinking that if he really wanted to get rid of the pain, he’d have to get his hands on some legit, heavy-duty pain meds. Whenever he was in the midst of the agonizing throes of a headache, it sounded like a pretty good idea. In fact, nothing sounded sweeter.
However, when he eventually came to his senses, he realized he didn’t want to chance getting addicted. He’d had a hard enough time kicking the slew of drugs Hydra had originally had him on, and he didn’t want to go through anything like that ever again.
With pain management out, that left Bucky to trying every other trick in the book. He’d looked into everything the internet had to offer regarding cures, instant cures, preventative measures, all of it, for both headaches and migraines.
Nothing had worked.
The only thing that worked was hanging in there until he blessedly fell asleep. Waiting it out was all he could do.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Sometimes, sometimes , if Bucky was actually lucky for once, he could get away with stopping a headache by chewing gum. The constant chewing action seemed to help relieve the pressure in his head, and he’d be able to get through the day.
That little trick hadn’t worked today.
…
Whenever Bucky woke up with a headache, he knew he was well and truly screwed. It was over. He was done for. Call it. Time of death: whatever hour he’d happened to set his morning alarm for.
Once in a blue moon, the headache would somehow miraculously dissipate throughout the morning. Every other time though, the headache would have the entire day to worsen and intensify, until it became unbearable by the afternoon, leaving Bucky with an even more horrible night to look forward to.
Bucky cursed as his flesh fingers fumbled to turn off his phone’s stupid alarm. God, why had he picked that sound?! Oh wait, that’s right, he hadn’t. The sound for his alarm used to be semi-peaceful and relaxing. It was listed as “Silk” or something like that. Bucky couldn’t really remember.
Sam must’ve gotten his grubby hands on Bucky’s phone and switched it to “Old Car Horn” to poke fun at his age. No matter. Bucky would bide his time and find a way to get back at him. Not today though. Today felt like it was over before it even really had the chance to start.
With the alarm finally silenced, Bucky rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. He never liked waking up alone, and waking up alone with a headache was even worse. He was never one to pout, but he really wished Steve was here right now.
Steve had pulled himself out of bed at the crack of dawn to go on some early-bird-special of a mission. Normally, Bucky would tag along with him, but Steve had insisted this mission wouldn’t be dangerous, and that Bucky needn’t bother. Thank goodness it had worked out that way. Bucky would be nothing but a hindrance if he were out in the field today.
Bucky always feared one of his headache episodes would occur when he truly couldn’t afford it. What if one set in while he was on a mission with Steve? How would he be able to protect him if he couldn’t even function?! Nothing like that had happened thus far, but it was always in the back of his mind.
With a groan, Bucky hauled himself out of bed. He’d already allowed himself far too much time to mope. Knowing today was going to turn into a hardcore headache day, he needed to focus and work on getting as much done as possible this morning. He’d be completely useless by the afternoon.
Typically, Bucky would start his day off by working out. He and Steve would go on a run, then lift some weights or perform calisthenics, and finally, spar together or beat on some punching bags if Steve was out on a mission…
Yeah, none of that was gonna happen today. Instead, Bucky took it easy and went through a few stretches, focusing mainly on his neck, shoulders, and upper back. Hopefully, it would make some small amount of difference later in the day.
Afterwards, he took a hot shower. He hadn’t gotten sweaty, and he was still perfectly clean from the shower he’d taken last night, but the steam and heat helped ease some of his tension. He’d be feeling like shit a few hours from now. At least he could feel like a clean piece of shit.
Bucky ran a towel through his wet hair as he stepped into the kitchen. Steve had left a note on the table, saying he’d hopefully be home at around 6:00pm, and that there was a plate of breakfast in the fridge for Bucky.
Bucky opened the refrigerator door to see a hearty plate full of scrambled eggs, bacon strips, and hash browns waiting for him. He appreciated the sentiment more than Steve could ever know, but he knew his stomach wouldn’t be able to handle all that protein and grease on a day like today.
Instead, Bucky made some simple oatmeal spiced with cinnamon. It would be easier on his stomach, and he’d read somewhere that cinnamon supposedly helped with headache or migraine pain. He wasn’t sure if he believed it, but he was willing to try anything.
While he ate, he sipped on a mug of decaf. Some people swore by caffeine as an instant cure, but Bucky knew that getting sleep is what would help him best, and caffeine would only inhibit that.
With breakfast out of the way, Bucky set to completing as many tasks as he could. He started off cleaning the guns and sharpening the knives he kept in their apartment. Steve insisted such protective measures really weren’t necessary, but Bucky couldn’t sleep if he didn’t have at least a few weapons at his disposal.
He spent a fair amount of time polishing his metal arm. Keeping his prosthesis in optimal condition required a bit more care than a simple rag lathered with body wash could provide. He didn’t want it getting rusty and locking up out in the field.
While he filled the washing machine up with a load of laundry he needed to start, he brainstormed ways he could get revenge on Sam. He had a few ideas, but he was thinking of keeping it along the same lines. Maybe he’d steal Sam’s phone and change a ringtone of his to some ridiculous pop song. That seemed harmless and fair enough.
Finally, he worked on the task he was anticipating the least. His lawyer was constantly sending various files, documents, and statements for Bucky to read through, sign, and approve. He constantly had to remind himself that all of these legal proceedings would be worth it in the end when his pardon got finalized.
Still, reading through tiny print on a screen was sending his headache from aching to stabbing territory, and by lunch time, Bucky wasn’t particularly in an eating mood. However, he knew that by the time dinner came around, he’d be too nauseous to eat, so he forced himself to have lunch.
What should’ve been on the menu were saltines, but Bucky bailed on them in favor of ice cream. What should’ve been on the menu was plain vanilla, but Bucky bailed on that too. Instead, he grabbed a pint of cookies and cream, and added a few frozen cookie dough bites that he kept hidden in the freezer for this very occasion.
If he was going to force himself to eat, it might as well be something he loved. He deserved to indulge a little. Plus, the cold from the ice cream helped numb his head for a while. It’s not like he could just sit around eating ice cream all day, but doing so now offered him some momentary relief.
Unfortunately, it seemed whenever Bucky tried to relieve his pain, his body liked to punish him for it. As soon as his self-inflicted brain freeze wore off, his headache came back with a fiery, pulsing vengeance.
Bucky sighed, resigned to his fate. He’d gotten done all he could today, and honestly, he was pretty proud of what he’d accomplished. Now, he needed to focus on taking care of himself before he was unable to.
Bucky made one last stop at the freezer, grabbing one of the Bed Buddy ice packs he kept in the freezer. He had several of them so he could swap one out whenever it warmed up too much.
Bucky retreated to their bedroom. “JARVIS, initiate Blackout Protocol please,” he muttered.
Rather than creating any noise by answering, JARVIS followed through. Every light or lamp in their room and outside hallway was turned off. The windows were blacked out by metal panels that slid into place, effectively keeping out every ray of sunshine. All sounds occurring throughout the tower, like the hum of the HVAC system, were canceled out.
“Thanks,” Bucky mumbled his appreciation before shuffling over to the bed. He got himself situated on his back before burrowing himself under the covers. He grabbed the ice pack and draped it over his eyes.
The icy cool it provided was heavenly, but he wasn’t done yet. Bucky couldn’t handle most noises when he got this way, but sometimes, he found ASMR soothing to listen to. He felt around on the bedside table for his corded earbuds. Damn it, I should’ve done this before I covered my eyes. At long last, he was able to find them and plug the audio jack into his phone.
He peeked from underneath his ice pack and hit shuffle on one of his favorite playlists. He used to be hindered by ads before, during, and after each video, but Steve had bought a YouTube Premium subscription for him a few months ago, and Bucky was never going back. There was nothing worse than being soothed into sleep by ASMR, only to be jerked back into consciousness by an obnoxiously loud ad.
So now, here he was, all set for the long haul. Except…
Shit, I forgot to grab the heating pad. Bucky would’ve groaned out loud at his own stupidity, but he restrained himself, knowing it would just set off an earthquake in his head. He didn’t think he was capable of moving now. Not after expending so much effort just to lay down in bed.
Oh well, maybe Steve would be able to get it for him when he got home tonight. The heating pad really didn’t do anything to tame the pain of his headache. It just felt nice to be extra warm under the covers while he used ice to numb his head.
Bucky took a few minutes to just breathe. The only problem with being shrouded in complete darkness, silence, and stillness, was that now, all he had to focus on was the severe pain he was in.
It was so painful he was nauseous. So painful he could hardly keep still. So painful he couldn’t fall asleep. It was all so frustrating!
He couldn’t do his work! He couldn’t read! He couldn’t watch tv! He couldn’t do anything! He couldn’t even daydream! Thinking required too much effort on his aching head. He could do nothing to pass the time. All he could do was lay there and suffer.
…
Steve entered the apartment, announcing to Bucky, “I’m back!”
JARVIS gave an immediate response to Steve’s interjection. “Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes initiated the Blackout Protocol at 1:12pm today. Given the parameters of said protocol, Sergeant Barnes is currently in the master bedroom, and unable to hear you.”
The Blackout Protocol was only ever initiated for one thing. Steve cursed under his breath, but wasn’t surprised. He’d had his suspicions ever since Bucky had stopped answering his texts earlier in the day.
Not for the first time, Steve wished that Bucky would just be more open and honest with him. Steve knew why Bucky never spoke up though. Bucky knew that if he told Steve he wasn’t feeling well, then Steve would either abandon his mission or get distracted. Neither of those options led to good outcomes. While Steve could understand Bucky’s logic, that didn’t make it okay.
Steve kicked off his shoes and padded down the hallway to their door. He knew better than to knock. The door opened without a creak, and Steve saw Bucky’s buried frame.
“Bucky.” Steve whispered.
Nothing.
“Bucky!” Steve whisper-shouted.
Still nothing.
Steve had quite the dilemma on his hands. He really needed to get Bucky’s attention so he could check up on him. However, calling from afar wasn’t getting him anywhere, and moving in closer could be dangerous. Sneaking up on Bucky, as unintentional as it was, never led to a fun time for anybody.
Steve tried to go about it as gently as possible, continuously calling Bucky’s name as he got closer and closer. He used the dimmed glow of his phone’s screen to light the way as he made his way to the bed. He gingerly placed a hand on the top of Bucky’s head, the only part of his body that was visible.
Bucky bolted upright with a pained gasp, his ice pack falling off his forehead and his earbuds getting ripped out. Immediately, his eyes were screwed shut, trying to block out the light from Steve’s phone.
“Sorry, sorry!” Steve whisper-shouted as he hurried to pocket his phone. “It’s just me. It’s Steve.”
Bucky moaned in response before collapsing back down onto the bed. He was well past the point of talking. The thrumming echo that speaking would shoot through his head would be far too much to bear. This late in the game, he’d only be good for whispering out a few clipped words or short sentences on exhales.
“You should’ve called me, or texted,” Steve kept his voice low.
“Mission.”
“I know, but like I told you, this mission really wasn’t that dangerous. The rest of the team could’ve handled it without me no problem.”
“Leader.”
Steve didn’t recall ever signing up to be the leader. It’s not like the team had ever really had a vote. “Even so, I could’ve left Nat or Bruce to deal with the report to Fury. I would’ve gotten home a lot sooner.”
When Bucky didn’t answer, Steve reached to grab the ice pack that had fallen. He intended to put it back where it belonged, but when he felt how warm it was, he changed his mind. “I’ll be right back.”
Steve closed the door behind him when he left, minimizing any light that tried to break through. In the kitchen, he switched out the warm ice pack for a cold one and made his way back.
On his way, he checked the linen closet for the heating pad, knowing it’d be there. Steve chuckled when he saw it, tucked into its usual spot. Bucky raved about the thing, but he was always forgetting to grab it.
Armed with heating and cooling methods alike, Steve reentered their bedroom. Bucky was lying silent and still, but Steve knew better, knew Bucky wouldn’t have been able to fall asleep yet.
Steve fumbled in the dark until the heating pad was plugged into an outlet. He helped Bucky sit up, laid the pad on the bed behind and beneath him, and then eased him back down flat so that the heating pad would target his upper back. Steve adjusted the levels until the heating pad was on its highest setting, just how Bucky liked it.
They’d argued before about how it wasn’t safe to lay on a hot heating pad, but Bucky always said the pain from his headaches was far worse than any superficial burns he might sustain from the heating pad.
Steve then replaced the ice pack, and Bucky sighed in relief. Bucky would always swear he was running a fever when he got one of his headaches, but whenever they checked it, his temperature always came back average. It didn’t make any sense to Bucky, as he felt like his mind was melting during his headaches, but they had no reason not to believe the Stark branded thermometer.
With his back hot and his forehead cold, it was the most comfortable Bucky’d felt in hours. He must’ve zoned out for a bit, because the next thing he knew, a straw was being placed at his lips.
“Here, I know you haven’t been drinking enough.”
It was uncoordinated, but Bucky managed a few sips through the straw. It helped that he didn’t have to sit up, didn’t even have to move his head. God, Steve was a genius. He always thought of everything, always did everything in his power to make things as easy for Bucky as possible.
Steve reached out to start rubbing gentle circles into Bucky’s temples. The very last of Bucky’s tension melted away with the massage.
“That feel good?”
Bucky hummed his approval.
“I’m glad. Hopefully, you’ll feel better in the morning.”
Hopefully Bucky would feel better in the morning, but then again, only time would tell when he’d be laid up again. No matter what though, whether Bucky’s headache carried over into the next day, or struck in a few days or weeks or months, Steve would always be there to ease his pain.