His Soulmate | Bucky Barnes ✔

Chapter Twenty Seven

I woke up to see Bucky's back running into the bathroom, followed by the sounds of him being sick. I clenched my mouth shut, knowing the smell would make me gag. But if it was me being sick then Bucky would be there for me.

And he had been. At mums funeral, I'd gotten so drunk I'd spent the next morning being sick until I was just dry heaving.

There was a slight pause, followed by the toilet flushing, but before I could stand up he began vomiting again.

I crawled out from under the warm covers of Bucky's bed, and crept to the bathroom door. He was crouched at an uncomfortable angle, his hands gripping the seat tightly as his head ducked out of view. I tried to not to notice the lack of clothes, as he only had his boxers on from the night before, but my attention was dragged back by the whimpers he made in between retches.

I knelt next to him, and scooped his hair back, tying it into a bun with a bobble I found lying on the side. He shuddered, then crumpled down. He sank onto his knees, his body giving up on supporting him anymore.

He held his forehead against the edge of the seat, and I balanced around him to flush the toilet. "Buck, look at me."

"No." He mumbled, not lifting his head.

"James," I warned as I cupped his face. He leant into my touch, and I gently ran my thumb across the top of his cheek, a light stubble scratching at my palm.

Reluctantly, he looked up. His eyes were dark with shadows, squeezing shut as the bathroom light glared onto them. I tugged the toilet roll from the side and wiped around his mouth, disposing of the paper as soon as they came away dirty. I gently wiped the roll over his forehead, the sweat making him shiver as he cooled down.

"How's the head?" I tilted mine, stroking his hair back.

"I feel like I'm in a vice." His face screwed up into a look of total pain, his nose scrunching as his head hung low. "It hurts."

"It's a hangover."

"They never used to be this bad."

He buried his head into my shoulder, and we curled up on the floor of the bathroom. When it became evident that the vomiting had passed, I managed to encourage him to get back into bed.

"Where are you going?"

"To get you some painkillers..." his eyes looked pained, as if he were battling something.

"Be quick." He whispered, rolling over and pulling the duvet over his head. I paused near the door, looking at his form buried under the blankets.

He was worrying me. Over the time I'd known him he'd become more confident, and therefore more open with me. But with the newfound openness, I was beginning to learn about him a little more.

The vulnerability in his voice last night as he asked me to hold him, and the way his voice cracked with nervousness when he asked me to stay the night was making me realise just how scared he was. Scared of what, I wasn't sure, although the terrifying time with HYDRA, followed by the loneliness and loss of security he'd had whilst on the run were probably the main issues.

I hurried down to the kitchen, vaguely remembering Bruce saying he supplied the two super soldiers (and sometimes Thor) with their increased dosage of painkillers, keeping them stored with the first aid kit in the main rooms. I dug through the cupboards, groaning as I saw them on the top shelf. I sent a silent thank you that the others weren't in the room to laugh at me, before tugging myself onto the counter, and balancing to find the box Bruce had helpfully marked Bucky Barnes. It took longer than I thought to actually find the tablets, and I surprised myself when o caught sight of the clock informing me I'd been searching for around 20 minutes.