"I don't feel so good." Bucky spoke up 20 minutes into the car ride. They were on a very hilly area and the bends were jostling his stomach uncomfortably, making his intestines seemingly twist in nausea. He's never been good in cars. Or planes. Or boats.
But Hydra can mostly be thanked for that; being in such a small space takes his mind right back to when he was trapped in a small glass box, only big enough to fit his muscley body in, with three inch fortified glass and electrical circuits around the outside.
Not a pleasant image for when you're just trying to enjoy a day out with your boyfriend. Steve's head turned towards him inquisitively, just a small movement of his eyes so he could still watch the road.
His hand slipped into place around Bucky's left thigh, squeezing it reassuringly.
"Feel sick?" He mutters sympathetically.
Bucky can only grunt back, too preoccupied with keeping his stomach contents down. He fears if he opens his mouth it'll spill out like a storm and he'll be stuck there, mocked and chastised and trapped, so trapped, unable to breathe, covered in his own puke, miserable and sick.
But that doesn't happen anymore, he tries telling himself; nobody would do that to him. But considering throwing up in a vehicle or in a moveable glass cell aren't particularly great experiences, it's become hard to get rid of the programming in his mind that makes him believe it's just going to be the same.
And anyway, he won't actually throw up. He just has a stomach ache, or maybe he ate too much, or he needs to use the bathroom or something stupid. He's fine.
"Hm."
"Oh, babe. Lemme roll the windows down for you, yeah?" Steve's fingers pressed down on the button to open the front left hand window and it rolled down, cold air hitting Bucky square on the face like a slap. Bucky closed his eyes, breathed in the air, smelled freshly cut grass out the window.
He's fine. Just fine.
He takes steady breaths through his mouth when the nausea builds and he has to open his eyes, too sick to keep them closed. Not being able to see out the window and see which way he's about to get knocked is not helpful right now. Steve seems to notice Bucky's change in breathing pattern because his nervous eyes dart towards him again.
"Buck?"
"Ughh." He groans, tongue feeling heavy in his over-salivating mouth. His stomach feels so uncomfortable; he can feel everything he's probably ever eaten in his long, overextended life twirling about in uncomfortable waves that build and stop, build and stop, build and stop.
He was barely moving his head so he couldn't get a rush of vertigo, trying to keep his breath steady so he wouldn't panic but his palms were getting increasingly wet and his breath faltered every few inhales. He's fine. He's okay.
"Is that any better?" Steve's voice.
Is it any better?
It feels nice to have the breeze on his face, nice to feel like he isn't sweltering, nice to feel like he isn't dying from fever. But cold isn't good for a multitude of other reasons. Mostly only when it's water or something.
Air is fine. It's fine.
And it is pretty soothing to have coldness on his flushed skin, blowing his hair around. So he musters as much effort as he can to push out a small, hopefully positive sounding grunt to Steve.
"Mh." He felt his eyes roll back for a second as the nausea built even further.
"Woah. Steady." Steve's hand squeezed further on Bucky's thigh and normally he'd appreciate the comfort but right now it felt too tight, like it was cutting off his circulation and his mouth was watering too fast for him to swallow and he still can't see anywhere to stop, just fields and grass and bends in the road and he snaps.
"Get off." He mumbles through gritted teeth. Steve looks momentarily stumped but takes his hand off instantly, apologising.
"Sorry. Do you need me to pull over?"
Bucky squeezed his eyes shut again, groaning in discomfort as the nausea started to feel a lot like the feeling he got while sitting in the Memory Surpressing Machine and the soft car seat felt very cold and hard suddenly.
His hands found their way to his legs and he wiped his sweaty palm on them, willing himself to answer. He was holding his lips together firmly now and he actually felt the colour drain from his face. Steve noticed the urgency in his tense body, the way he was holding himself like he was about to spill out.
"Yeah. That's okay. Pulling over in five, Buck." Bucky whimpered a little in panic when he realised he had to sit here for five more minutes.
"My stomach hurts, Stevie," he whined softly, drawing out the 'u' sound in a way that made Steve realise how miserable he felt. His metal arm snaked around his stomach protectively, holding onto his shirt at the back. He felt sweat begin to run down his back with a shiver.
"I know, baby. I know." Steve soothed, trying hard to fight the urges to just hold his hand or ruffle his hair or give him some form of physical comfort. He won't smother him. He will just be a calming presence for now.
"Ugh." Bucky moans, feeling hot and cold at the same time, feeling tired but energetic and his stomach is knotting so tightly that he feels like it's going to contract any time soon.
"I know. Just breathe." Steve instructs but even Bucky can pick out the tinge of worry in his voice. He thinks he's not going to last much longer either.
"Tryin'." Bucky ground out, trying not to move his mouth too much. Sweat beaded on his brow.
"God, babe. Three minutes." Steve said reassuringly, feeling awful and helpless as he watched his boyfriend squirm and fidget in his seat, hand occasionally reaching to his mouth instinctually, small burps starting to slip out of his mouth. He's too far past apologising; he can't open his mouth any more.
"You're okay. You're alright. Hang in there, Buck." Steve lulls softly, trying to settle down his increasingly erratic movements.
"Just breathe." Steve said as a wetter burp fell out of Bucky's mouth as he whimpered helplessly. Bucky kept his eyes on the road and soon the layby came closer into view.
However he couldn't even find it reassuring anymore. He knows he's going to be sick and he doesn't want that. He doesn't want it at all.
Just before Steve could pull the car in Bucky's metal hand shoots up to his mouth, a large, echoing retch sending his body lurching forwards as he nearly hit his head on the dashboard, stomach liquid coming up through a heavy breath.
Vomit slipped between his fingers and onto his lap with a gross splatter that made him wince.
"God- ugh, fuck-" He fumbles with the door handle frantically but another wave of vomit pushes against his oesophagus and comes sprinkling down through his fingers again, the smell burning his nostrils as he tried to breathe. Though, the retch is so forceful he can't.
His metal arm can't open the door now, it's too busy being pressed against his mouth as drool and bile dripped out in long strands. Steve quickly opens his own door and races to Bucky's side.
He pulls the door open quickly, murmuring, "Oh, baby, you're alright -" as he puts his hands onto Bucky's shaking forearms, turning him so he's facing outside the car. Bucky still has his hand to his mouth as he threw up more into it, the waves feeling endless.
"Look. The door's open now." Steve says helpfully and Bucky opens his eyes to realise he's facing the tarmac. He pulls his metal arm away from his mouth causing yellow stringy bile to stretch to the tarmac floor, swinging disgustingly while he spit to disconnect it.
His metal arm was hanging in the air awkwardly, dripping in vomit. As was his chin. And lips. And hair. He was a bit of a mess, God.
"Steve, I -" Bucky looked into Steve's eyes who was still holding him outside the door and pushing his head down gently, his already soiled hair bunched in his fist.
"Yeah. I know. You're doing great." He reassured as he rubbed helpful circles into Bucky's sweating back, shirt clinging to him like he'd been dunked in a pool of water.
"I can't-" His body lurched forwards again as a heave escaped him from deep down in his stomach, painful and forceful with a raaaarpp kind of noise, breathy and loud as his stomach contracted. Even though he couldn't finish his sentence Steve is pretty sure he was going to say he can't breathe, and Steve's heart aches in sympathy.
"You're alright. Slow breaths through your nose." Steve didn't originally notice any vomit coming out of his nose so he hopes it won't. At least then he has one way of breathing.
Bucky inhales through his nose, gagging, forcing his shoulders forwards as more puke splashed onto the tarmac with a splatter that barely missed Steve's feet. Bucky moaned loudly.
"Shhh. It's okay. It's gonna be okay." Steve whispered, rubbing his back still. When Bucky was only grunting in exhaustion and not throwing up anymore, Steve figured it was safe to bring out a cloth he found in the glove box.
He gently wiped Bucky's stubbly chin, wiping all the sweat and leftover puke from his face as he mumbled almost incoherently.
"Shhh. Stevie's here." He soothed, rubbing his thumb against Bucky's lower lip.
"Mruh," Bucky grunted.
"You think you're done, hm?"
"Ugh. I dun'n'." Bucky slurred, eyes rolling violently, so he only had the whites visible suddenly. Steve worried he was about to have a seizure but Bucky just grunted and fell backwards slowly.
"Woah. I got ya." Steve quickly caught him by the shoulders as he felt Bucky's body fall limp into his arms. Steve twisted Bucky's body back around so he was leaning back into the car seat again, eyelids fluttering as his breath came through all shaky.
His head subconsciously fell towards Steve who'd now crawled round to the drivers seat like he was desperate for Steve's comfort.
"You're alright, baby. I've got you. I'm right here."
Steve held Bucky's head up gently, resting it on his own shoulder, leaning over the centre console. Steve bustled around in the glove box and pulled out an old plastic bag, folding it out and placing it in Bucky's lap for if he needs it when he comes back around.
"Just close your eyes. You're gonna be fine. Breathe slowly."
Steve kept whispering to his unconscious boyfriend, unsure if he can even hear him. But it made him feel better himself, knowing he was helping Bucky.
Steve looked at Bucky's gently closed eyes and the way his chest was rising and falling steadily. He knows car journeys can make Bucky feel pretty sick but he's never seen him that sick, especially not passing out. He knows he can't drive him home, but what else could he do?
Three minutes later and Bucky was stirring, small confused groans tumbling out of his mouth.
"Morning, sleepyhead." Steve teases softly, cupping Bucky's cheek in his hand and rubbing his thumb over his face gently.
"Hmmmm?" Bucky looked around for a second, looking confused, before he remembered and slumped back down again.
"God. I don't feel too great."
"Yeah. I'm not surprised, pal." Steve mused, calling Natasha.
"I'm gonna get her to bring us some stuff."
"Mmmrph." Bucky groaned like a petulant child.
"It'll make you feel better."
The phone went through to Natasha.
"Yeah, yeah. I need some help? Bucky got a bit sick on the road."
"No, no, like, he threw up loads. And he passed out."
"Yes."
"Thank you."
Steve hung up.
"Bucky, Nat is gonna come and bring us some supplies. Just some meds and some anti nausea stuff, so we can get home okay."
"Ok." Bucky spoke gruffly, obviously embarrassed.
A little while later another car pulled up behind them in the layby and a woman with bright ginger hair stepped out with a confident air, arms full of supplies.
She opened Bucky's door.
"Hey, James. Ты не слишком хорошо себя чувствуешьl, hm, мишутка?"
Natasha and Bucky tended to talk in Russian even when Bucky was in a mental state where he could understand English. It was sort of comforting to have another fluent Russian speaker around.
"Я чувствую себя дерьмом."
Bucky's voice got way deeper when he spoke in Russian. Steve found it attractive even if he didn't know what he was saying.
"Ты тоже выглядишь как дерьмо." Natasha teased, passing her handfuls of supplies to him.
"Примите некоторые из этих таблеток."
Bucky nodded in agreement.
"Спасибо, Natasha." He spoke genuinely.
"No problem, мишутка."
Bucky took the pills and Steve drove off while Bucky dozed off, feeling a lot better.