AN: Warnings for mental health issues like PTSD, anxiety, and OCD. Also brief mentions of self harm.
Going on a road trip with Bucky Barnes is not like going on a road trip with anyone else.
Before they can even leave the apartment, Bucky insists on going through their bags dozens of times, making sure they have everything they could possibly need. She can't help but notice that he purposely doesn't pack his phone.
Before they can even leave the tower, Bucky has to check the car for bugs and bombs, combing over every inch (inside and out, on top and underneath) at least a hundred times before he's satisfied.
Before they can even make it out of the city, Bucky spots a black SUV in the rear-view mirror and uses up most of their gas trying to lose it, although neither of them sees it again after the first turn.
Before they can even make it out of the state, Bucky has a full blown anxiety attack. They've stopped at a motel for the night, and the paranoia and the tension finally, inevitably, reach their peak. The door to their room is flimsy, and the top latch won't bolt properly, and the owner looked at them a second too long as he handed over the key, and it all sends Bucky over the edge. He's panicking and he's pacing around the room, knitting his eyebrows and biting his lip. He's started rubbing his shoulder, too, where the metal and the scars meet. He's going in circles, muttering to himself all the while. Every time he gets near the door he turns the bottom lock and twists it back into place to make sure it's done properly, and then he starts another circuit around the room. It goes on and on and on.
Wanda thinks he's forgotten that she's even there, so she steps in front of the window to get out of his way until he wears down. She's been standing there for a few minutes when he suddenly lunges forward, grabbing her upper arms and dragging her to the other side of the room. She's startled, to say the least, and he meets her eyes for just a second as he mumbles something about a sniper. He's still gripping onto her arms tightly, but she doesn't care because she's so worried about him.
He'd been doing better.
They broke the conditioning ages ago. He didn't have to worry about waking up to find that he had been used to hurt people again; he could focus on trying to recover from the decades of torture and trauma.
And it was going well. As well as could be expected. Recovery was a painfully slow process, of course. But he had genuinely been getting better, with fewer nightmares and anxiety attacks. He'd been relaxing, opening up a little more: palling around with Steve and Sam, sparring with Natasha, having good-natured competitions at the range with Clint, even wrapping his arm around Wanda in public, much to Pietro's chagrin. Bucky had been talking and laughing and just...better.
Then a couple of weeks ago he started withdrawing again, not much, but enough to be noticeable. And once the downward spiral started he quickly got worse, becoming quiet and moody, avoiding conversation and people in general. He wasn't sleeping, he wasn't eating, and she could feel his nerves coiling tighter and tighter. She was hardly surprised when she found him packing a bag; she was shocked, however, that he let her come with him.
As hard as it is to see him in this state, she's glad that she's here, because she can stop him from accidentally (or intentionally) hurting himself. When he has these attacks he can get so wrapped up in his fractured thoughts that he'll rub at his shoulder until it's raw, or he'll grab one of his knives and not pay attention to how he's holding it and slice his hand. Once she came home to find blood running down his chin; he'd bitten clean through his tongue in an effort to keep himself from screaming. She thinks about all the time he spent alone before they found him in Romania, and she can't help but shudder.
She needs to focus on what's happening right now, not worry about past harm that she can't do anything about.
His eyes are darting around the room and he's murmuring something in Russian about vantage points and targets and security measures. At least he's not pacing anymore; he's just standing there, holding on to her desperately, like if he loosens his grip for even a second she'll be torn away from him.
Slowly, making sure he sees the movement out of the corner of his eye, she brings her hands up and starts running them along his arms. He closes his eyes and finally stops mumbling, but he tenses up, too, and his grip on her tightens even more. She doesn't know if she's making things better or worse. Sometimes when he has an attack he wants to be held, wants her to wrap herself around him and whisper in his ear until he can breathe again, but other times the slightest touch will make everything come rushing in and he'll go into a frenzy. The only way to know what he wants ahead of time is to look into his mind, which he usually asks her to do when he feels an attack coming on. But he hasn't asked this time, and she won't ever use her powers on him unless he gives her explicit permission.
So she just keeps rubbing her hands up and down his arms, from his forearms to his biceps, as far as she can reach with the hold he still has on her, ready to spring into action if he snaps. His eyes are closed tightly and he doesn't move; he's barely even breathing.
They stay like that for a long, long time.
Finally, once her arms are numb and her legs are starting to shake from the nerves and standing still for so long, he just...unravels. His hands drop to his sides, his head tips forward against hers, and his breath comes in violent gasps.
She's holding onto him, now, trying to keep him from falling.
When he's started breathing normally again, she uses her powers to shut the curtains and pulls him over to the bed. He sits down, scrubbing his metal hand over his face and through his hair. She's not sure if she should sit down with him or give him some space, so she waits for him to show her what he wants. He glances up when he senses her hesitation, and she can tell he's exhausted, but he also looks better than he's looked in weeks. He looks present, and aware, and a little like Bucky again.
He lies back, tugging her down with him, and once they're both situated she wraps her arms around him and snuggles into his chest. When he clears his throat and tries to apologize she just shakes her head and holds him a little tighter.
They don't talk about it for a long time. They focus on getting out, getting away, and they don't stop unless they absolutely have to. He's better than he was, he's not radiating terror and misery anymore, but he's very quiet and there's definitely still something wrong.
He's the one who finally brings it up, and he's as much at a loss as she is.
"I don't know what set it off. Set me off." He's frustrated. "I mean everything was ok for once, everything was going fine. Why...?" He can't finish the question, just clenches his fists around the steering wheel so hard she thinks he might break it.
"Maybe that is why," she says slowly. "Maybe everything was ok, so you became convinced that something bad would happen soon and ruin it. And you got tenser and tenser waiting for this inevitable bad thing."
She can feel him looking at her, and she knows it's clear that she's speaking from experience.
"Maybe," he agrees after a while.
And they leave it at that. Because sometimes the reasons for the attacks are obvious, like he has a terrible nightmare or he sees a man who reminds him of Zola. But most of the time the reasons aren't obvious, and there isn't any logical explanation.
For Bucky or for Wanda.