“I know, Steve. I know.”
In technical terms, Tony lived. His heart stopped a total of four times in less than a week, but they always revived him. Each time, the doctors became a little less sure that Tony would ever wake up. They placed him in a medically-induced coma for just over a month to give his body a break and Steve and Bucky sat by his side every day. Despite his lack of responses, Steve always spoke to him or read to him, never giving up hope.
But it took its toll on them. If it wasn’t for the fact that Tony was the one lying in the hospital bed, someone might’ve mistaken Steve and Bucky for the sick ones. They’d each lost weight, Steve a scary amount. Steve hardly ate, only when he was forced to. His appetite was completely gone and most of the food he did eat he threw right back up as anxiety swirled in his stomach. They hardly slept and their eyes were sunken and bruised, with no vibrancy in them. Both of them were constantly boiling with stress and fear, unable to keep their feelings at bay. Bruce even had to sedate Steve after a particularly bad panic attack.
When the doctors decided to try and pull Tony out of his coma, he was a shell of who he originally was. His brain, for the most part, had physically healed from the surgery, which was a good sign, but that was where they drew the line with good news. Tony had lost over 50% of his body weight, even tube nutrients being too harsh on his system. His skin was thin and dry, his veins almost invisible at the surface. He was pale and hollow, looking more dead than alive. Even when they tried to pull him back to consciousness, he hardly responded. Other than a few twitches or small groans, he remained unmoving. At this point, Steve and Bucky had heard the “he might not make it” speech so many times they could recite it.
“Tony,” Steve whispered, his forehead resting against Tony’s hip. “Tony, please come back to us.” He said that every damn day and if Bucky was being honest, he was sick of hearing it. Ever since he’d had the first heart attack Bucky had more or less lost hope. It was easier that way. Still, somewhere in him, his subconscious held on as he held Steve to his chest each night until he cried himself to sleep.
The team got worried when Bucky shut down, but he refused to let them do anything about it. He ignored their offers to talk or the calls from his therapist. If talking about it wouldn’t bring Tony back, then he didn’t care. He couldn’t help Tony so he spent most of his days taking care of Steve and sometimes Peter. It gave him a purpose.
“Stevie, come on,” he urged tiredly. “Let’s get some food. You haven’t eaten in two days.”
Steve just kept his head down on Tony’s bed. “Gonna get sick.” He sighed, “I don’t wanna throw up anymore.”
“I know doll, but if you don’t you’re gonna wind up here too.” He gestured around the medbay. “You gotta keep up with your metabolism.” Steve still didn’t get up. Bucky crossed the room and pulled Steve upright by the shoulders. He offered Steve his hand and he took it, letting Bucky guide him out of the room.
They made it only a few feet down the hall before Steve’s legs gave out. Bucky quickly lunged forward to catch him. “Aw, Stevie.” He scooped him into his arms and continued toward the elevator. Steve was so malnourished that collapsing was an almost daily occurrence.
“Got dizzy,” Steve muttered against Bucky’s chest.
“I know. I’ve got you.”
Steve let his eyes fall shut. “I’m sorry, Buck.” Bucky didn’t answer. “I’ll really try to keep it down.”
“I know, Steve. I know,” he said dully.
When they got up to the kitchen, Natasha was making soup. She turned when she heard them enter. “He okay?” she asked, nodding her head towards Steve.
Steve said “I’m fine,” at the same time Bucky said, “Needs food.”
“This’ll be done in 10,” she said as she continued to stir the soup.
Bucky sat Steve on one of the kitchen chairs. He let his head rest on his elbows on the table, still dizzy from low blood sugar.
“Here.” She reached up into the cabinet and tossed Bucky a packet of crackers. “Start with this.”
“Thanks.” Bucky opened the packet and handed Steve a cracker. He popped it in his mouth and chewed slowly. When he swallowed, Bucky offered him another. They continued this pattern until Natasha finished her soup and brought them each a bowl.
She rested a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Take a break. I’ll make sure he eats it all.” Bucky took his out with a curt nod and grabbed his bowl, heading up to their bedroom. Natasha watched him go as Steve stared off into space.
“Here,” she sat next to Steve and passed him a spoon. “At least try it.” Steve pushed the soup around the bowl with his spoon. It was lentil soup, just like his Ma used to make when he was sick. On a normal day, he’d be happy to eat it, but right now even the smell made him nauseous.
He pushed the bowl away. “I can’t.”
“You’ve gotta eat something. It doesn’t have to be this but you have to eat more than just a few crackers.”
Steve just shook his head and shuddered. He was about to speak again, but before he could get the words out he broke into breathy sobs. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I know it’s hard, but we can take it one bite at a time.”
“Not the soup dammit!” It was rare he shouted, it surprised Natasha.
“Then tell me what you mean,” she replied cooly.
“I just- Well…” he sighed. “I’m sorry for yelling.”
She shrugged, “Sound like you needed to get that out. Want to tell me what’s on your mind?”
“I’m making this harder for him,” he chewed his lip. “For Buck.” Natasha waited patiently for him to continue. “Tony could die and he’s spending his time taking care of me. But what about him?” Steve huffed. “He’s done so much for me these last two months and all I do is cry and make his life harder.”
“People process their emotions differently, Steve. You know that.”
“But he’s not processing them. He’s avoiding them.” He finally looked her in the eyes. “Natasha, he won’t talk to me. H-he’s not okay and not dealing with it is making it worse.”
“I know, Steve.”
“I just want my boys back.” He leaned forward and dissolved into sobs. Natasha pulled his head onto her shoulder and gently pet his head.
“We’re keeping an eye on him. On both of you,” she assured him. She guided Steve through a few deep breaths before pushing the soup back towards him. “Try again?” Steve nodded.