i got inspiration for this while having a panic attack i am having one as i am writing this and though maybe some gay will help
Bucky was hyperventilating, his chest felt like it was going to collapse in on itself, he felt like he would throw up any second, and god the headache he was having was off the damn charts. The room compared to the heat of hell in the moment even though the AC was on 60 because yes, they do prefer the cold now because of the ice, and everything seemed to be suddenly going up. His heart rate, the temperature, his anxiety levels, and wow it would be really helpful if he wasn't shaking.
He couldn't stand to get Steve, he knew his legs weren't stable enough. He couldn't call for him either, he could hardly breathe how could you expect him to speak. He'd just have to hope Steve would magically know to come in. He knew it wasn't going to happen though. He just needed to let it pass. He sat and tried to calm himself down, immediately going for the paint and a brush in the corner of his room.
Steve always painted on his skin arm when he was like this, so why not try it out.
He shakily opened the paint tube, fumbling with it for a bit. When he got it out he used his metal hand as a pallet and and put the red paint on the palm of his hand. He took the brush and dipped it in the paint, making a shaky line down his arm. The coolness of the paint was soothing, but obviously wasn't going to cure him immediately. He did this for a good half hour before calming down, continuing for another fifteen minutes.
He had started alternating between paints at some point and now he had what looked like a sunset with no sun or boundaries on his arm. He looked at it and smiled a bit.
A sudden wave of fatigue came over him as the results of the panic attack started coming. Tired, headache, sleep, wake up five minutes later, and don't sleep for the night. He knew the routine by now. He sat for a good fifteen more minutes before actually moving, the acrylics already mostly or entirely dry.
He immediately walked to the living room where he knew Steve was.
He sat down next to him wordlessly and cuddled up to his side. He tucked his face into Steve's neck and rested there for a little while. Steve knew what had happened by the sudden need for affection and the paint up his arm.
Steve hugged Bucky even farther into him, making Bucky smile. He knew that Bucky wasn't going to speak much, if at all, for the rest of the night. He respected that. Instead, he did all the talking, whispering sweet nothing into Bucky's ear about how strong he was and how proud he was of his baby.
Eventually, the two had fallen asleep like that, cuddled into one another, with Bucky's face tucked away from the world and Steve shielding him from it.
yo yo yo yo guess who's still having a panic attack, it me!! sorry if this sucks, i'm literally not even looking over it i just finished writing this and i'm publishing it immediately nobody can stop me.
