#caretaker steve

Thanks!!!

-🤍🐺

Combining with this request: I would love to see Steve sitting casually on the couch going through mission reports while a feverish and queasy Bucky is curled up in his lap like a sad house cat. The other avengers see this and are confused because it's the winter soldier, but Steve just shushes them and continues petting Bucky's hair and rubbing his belly like it's the most normal thing ever.

TW: depictions of vomit

Steve had come to learn that everyone handles the post-mission adrenaline differently. Peter for example, had been talking his ear off since they got on the jet, practically bouncing with excitement. Clint usually passed out immediately and slept the whole way back to the compound. Tony and Nat usually had a drink or two to unwind, sometimes chatting amongst themselves or quietly in their own worlds. His own response was usually to check in with everyone, play the role of the leader, the protector.

Bucky didn't always handle it so well. Steve had seen him breakdown multiple times after getting home, unfamiliar with the way his mind and body felt as the adrenaline faded. Ever since getting on the jet, Steve had been watching Bucky, unsure of how he'd react. This was his first mission as a whole group since joining the avengers. He'd only done solo missions or missions with just Steve and Nat until now.

Even as Peter rambled on excitedly beside him, Steve was analyzing Bucky's facial expression. Bucky was sitting across from him, staring blankly ahead with one hand gripping the armrest of his seat hard enough for his knuckles to turn white. Steve would've preferred for Bucky to sit next to him, but the kid had taken the seat before he could, and Steve didn't want to hurt his feelings.

Steve tried to catch Bucky's eyes, but he seemed lost in his head, not really looking at anything. He was starting to get worried though, Bucky's face had gone a shade of ashen gray in the last few minutes. He was looking more and more unwell as the minutes passed.

A moment later though, Bucky did look at Steve, his eyes pleading. Something was wrong, he needed help. And Steve needed a distraction, for the kid. He turned in his seat, craning his neck to look for Tony. Tony was sitting with Nat, as he'd predicted, toward the back of the plane.

"Hey Parker, I think Stark's trying to get your attention. Why don't you go back there with him and Nat?" Steve said, cutting off Peter's rambling.

"Oh. Right, of course! Thank you Mr. Rogers!" Peter said, jumping up and heading toward Tony. Steve turned around, clearing his throat to get Tony's attention. He quickly took in Peter walking toward him and Steve's pointed look. Steve nodded his head in Bucky's direction, causing Tony to flick his eyes over to the other man, then back to Steve with a nod. Understood.

Steve turned his attention back to Bucky, who was now practically paper white.

"I don't feel good," Bucky blurted out, metal hand also gripping the armrest now.

"Hey, it's alright," Steve quickly moved to sit in the seat to Bucky's right, "What's going on Buck?" he asked.

"S'my stomach," Bucky mumbled, "feeling nauseous." That certainly explained his complexion.

"Okay, hey it's okay" Steve said calmly, "You're coming down off the adrenaline, which can definitely turn your stomach. Just try to take some deep breaths," he continued. Bucky's breathing was started to get erratic, coming in short gasps. He was panicking.

"Stevie-" Bucky gasped, releasing the arm rest with the hand closest to Steve to reach for him, fumbling for something to hold onto.

"I'm right here Buck, I've got you," Steve said, grabbing Bucky's hand in his own. "Just breathe," he instructed, taking some slow measured breaths himself to demonstrate.

"H-how long?" Bucky asked shakily.

"I don't know," Steve admitted, he hadn't been paying attention to how long they'd been in the air as he'd been so worried about Bucky.

"Don't think I can make it," Bucky shook his head, "M'gonna puke soon," he said, voice trembling. His other arm had moved to wrap around his middle, clutching at his stomach.

"That's okay. If you need to be sick then you need to be sick," Steve shrugged, rubbing his other hand up and down Bucky's arm. "You might feel better after," he added.

Bucky didn't say anything, his lips pressed together in a thin line. He closed his eyes, leaning back against the seat's head rest. He was definitely going to be sick soon.

Steve realized that everyone else must have noticed the situation by now. He looked out to find everyone watching them, worry written on their faces, silently asking 'is he okay?'. Steve shook his head.

Tony nodded in response, ushering everyone toward the back of the plane with hushed whispers. Steve mouthed a silent 'thank you' then turned his attention back to Bucky, who was now looking a shade greener than a minute ago.

"Come on Buck, let's move," Steve said, standing up. Bucky's eyes opened to look at him, full of fear. Steve grabbed him by both elbows, pulling him to his feet and walking backwards to lead him into the planes bathroom.

He helped Bucky kneel down in front of the toilet, moving to sit behind him. Steve unbuckled the straps of Bucky's uniform, helping him pull it over his head to leave him in just a t-shirt and his uniform pants. He tossed the uniform onto the floor beside them, then pulled the black rubber band from Bucky's wrist and used it to tie up his hair so it would stay out of his face.

"Easy darling," Steve said softly. He brought a hand up to rest between Bucky's shoulder blades, then started to rub gently up and down his back. Bucky leaned over the toilet, bracing himself with his good arm, breathing hard.

"Fuck, my stomach," Bucky groaned, curling in on himself.

Steve scooted closer, moving to wrap an arm around Bucky's waist so he could rest a hand on his stomach. He waited for a moment to be sure Bucky wouldn't protest, before he slid his hand up under Bucky's shirt, rubbing gently.

Bucky groaned again, before lurching forward with a dry heave. He positioned himself over the toilet, belching wetly, before heaving again. This time bringing up a wave of vomit. Steve held him as he continued to cough and gag, but it was clear that he was empty, nothing left to bring up.

Steve gently pulled Bucky away from the toilet to lean back against him, feeling his stomach still contracting against his hand with empty gags.

"Breath Buck, you're all done," Steve said quietly, starting to rub careful circles over Bucky's stomach to help calm it.

After a few minutes, Bucky managed to get his stomach under control and calm his breathing. Now that he was pressed against Steve's chest, he could feel the warmth radiating off of Bucky's body, which was practically limp against him from exhaustion.

"Think you're sick Buck, you've got a fever," Steve said, reaching around to press a hand to Bucky's forehead, confirming what he already suspected. This was more than just an adrenaline crash.

Bucky just groaned in response. No wonder he'd felt so sluggish during the fight today. He'd been coming down with a stomach bug.

"Think you're up for moving?" Steve asked after a few moments.

Bucky was exhausted, but he also wanted to get up off the bathroom floor. As much as he didn't want to face the rest of the team that would no doubt be watching them when they came out, he also desperately wanted to lay down.

"Okay, let's get you up off the floor and laying down," Steve said, as if reading his mind. He looped his arms under Bucky's, hauling him to his feet. Bucky slumped against Steve, leaning into his shoulder at Steve led them back out to their seats. He kept his eyes closed, face flushing with embarrassment as he felt the eyes of the team on him.

"It's okay, they're just worried," Steve whispered, reading his thoughts again. Steve pushed the armrests up on the seats, then helped Bucky to lay down across them.

"You need anything?" Steve asked, crouching in front of Bucky to be at his eye level. Bucky shook his head slightly, eyes still closed.

"Alright. Try to get rest then okay? I'll wake you up when we land," Steve said.

Steve glances up from his newspaper when Bucky walks into the kitchen. Well, maybe walks isn’t the right word. Stomps, more like it. He’s obviously in a bad mood, huffing around and slamming cabinet doors shut as he makes a cup of tea. 

“You okay there?” Steve asks kindly.

“Fine,” Bucky practically growls.

“Buck,” Steve sighs, setting the paper down and standing up. He walks over to his friend, but doesn’t touch him. In this state a seemingly harmless hand on the shoulder could land him with a black eye.

“What?” Bucky asks, angrily stirring the tea.

“People who are ‘fine’ don’t glare at their tea as if it killed their grandmother or something,” Steve says as gently as he can, leaning against the counter.

“Shut up Steve,” Bucky says darkly, the death glare turning to land on him. 

Steve sighs again, fighting the anger rising inside of him. He knows that Bucky isn’t really angry with him, he just gets like this sometimes. Steve wishes he knew what the reason was, but it was clear that Bucky wasn’t going to tell him, not right now anyway.

“You’d tell me you something was really bugging you right?” Steve asks, instead of the million other things he’d like to say.

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky says, some of the anger gone from his voice, more sad now.

“I’m always here for you Buck,” Steve says, reaching out to pat his shoulder, but deciding against it at the last minute, bringing the hand up to fiddle with his hair awkwardly instead.

Bucky gives him a long, hard glance, then heads silently back down the hallway to his room. Steve sinks back down into his chair, watching Bucky go. Well that certainly could’ve gone better. 

A while later, Steve realizes how quiet it’s been. He’s read the whole paper, done the crossword puzzle, and the soduko, without hardly a noise. Normally when his housemate was in one of these moods he’d be back there stomping around and throwing things all day. But nothing. 

Steve decides to go check on him. He folds the newspaper up and sets it in the recycling, before heading down the hallway. Bucky’s door is shut, as it normally is, so he knocks. 

“Go away.”

“Are you okay” Steve asks, ignoring his response. The door opens a crack, half of Bucky’s face appearing.

“God Steve, I’m fine, would you shut up about it?” he snaps.

“You don’t seem fine. And frankly you don’t look fine either,” Steve says. His friend is pale and sweaty, and he looks exhausted. 

“I’m. Fine.” Bucky says slowly, then slams the door in Steve’s face. 

“I’ll be in the living room if you need me,” Steve sighs, shaking his head. Bucky’s middle name might as well be stubborn because the word basically summed up his entire personality. 

So Steve walks to the living room, turning on the tv as he sits on the couch. He watches the weather for a minute, then switches it to the evening news. Once he gets bored he channels surfs for a while, until he hears what sounds like someone crying. 

Steve gets up and walks quickly down the hallway, knocking on Bucky’s door again. He can definitely hear him crying softly inside the room. 

“Steve?” Bucky asks from inside.

“Yeah,” Steve answers, biting back the ‘who else would it be?’ that threatens to escape his filter. 

“W-will you come in?” 

Um. Not the reaction he was expecting...

He opens the door slowly, pushing it open to reveal a dark room. Bucky’s sitting on his bed, slumped over against his pillows. He’s curled up, face in his hands, crying quietly.

“Jeez, Bucky, what’s wrong?” he asks, sitting down next to him and placing a careful hand on his shoulder, since he’s not angry anymore.

“I don’t f-feel good,” Bucky cries, moving to rest his head against Steve’s shoulder, curling up to him instead.

“I know,” Steve says, wrapping his arm around him and rubbing up and down his arm.

“I threw up,” Bucky says, his voice so child-like all of a sudden.

“Aw Buck, you should’ve just told me,” Steve sighs, wrapping his other arm around his friend as well.

Bucky doesn’t say anything, just presses himself further into Steve’s arms. Steve knows that it’s been hard for him ever since he came back. He’s not used to having anyone that cared about him at all, much less someone who’s willing to take care of him when he’s sick. 

“Okay, let’s just lay down for a while alright?” Steve says, realizing he’s not going to get anymore answers out of him right now. Bucky doesn’t move, but he lets Steve maneuver him so he’s laying down. 

“There you go, now just relax, I bet if you can fall asleep you’ll feel better when you wake up,” Steve says quietly.

Thank you so much!! Decided to write this as a stucky fic, so they’re more than friends but they don’t really do labels I guess?

“Okay, where are your keys?” Steve asked, mostly to himself. It’s not like Bucky was going to answer, lost in his fevered delirium. He patted down the pockets of Bucky’s jacket until he found the key ring, pulling them out and flipping through keys until he got to the one for his house. 

Steve unlocked the door while Bucky leaned heavily against his shoulder, sagging against his side. He pushed the door open with his free hand, then wrestled the winter soldier over the threshold, shutting the door behind him. 

“Steve...” Bucky moaned, his hands curling into tighter fists around handfuls of Steve’s uniform. 

“We’re at your house Buck, but we gotta get you a shower before you go to sleep,” Steve said, again talking mostly to himself. 

“M’tired,” Bucky mumbled, face pressed into the spandex of Steve’s uniform. 

“I know, but you gotta move your feet love, we’re almost there I promise,” Steve said, wrapping his arm tighter around Bucky’s waist to support him down the hallway to the bathroom. 

Steve lowered Bucky down to sit on the edge of the bathtub. He slumped against the wall as soon as Steve let go, eyes slipping shut. Steve reached behind Bucky to start the water, adjusting it until it was warm and then beginning to fill the bath. 

He crouched down to untie Bucky’s shoes, pulling them off first, then his socks, before putting them both aside. Then he started on Bucky’s uniform, unbuckling the straps. Bucky reached up with his real hand to help, but Steve gently pushed his hand away. 

“I’ve got you,” Steve said softly as he finished undoing the uniform. “Lift your arms babe,” he instructed quietly.

Bucky did as he was told, lifting his arms slowly so Steve could pull the top off. He quickly peeled off Bucky’s sweat soaked undershirt as well, tossing both onto the floor with his shoes. He gently detached the metal arm, setting it on the counter behind him. Bucky didn’t like to get it wet, even though it was supposed to be waterproof. 

“Alright, up you go,” Steve said, looping an arm under Bucky’s to wrap around his back, hauling him back up to his feet to lean against Steve’s chest while he worked the buttons of Bucky’s uniform pants, pushing them down his hips. With Steve supporting him he managed to step out of the pants and his boxers. 

“Cold,” Bucky wimpered, pressing himself against Steve. 

“I know, come here,” Steve shushed him, supporting Bucky as he stepped into the bathrub. Steve lowered him down until he was sitting, resting against the back of the tub. 

“Stevie?” he asked, reaching out for him.

“I’m right here,” Steve said, letting Bucky grab one of his hands. He reached behind him with his other hand to open the cabinet under the sink to grab a washcloth. 

“Is the water okay?” he asked, getting the rag wet and pouring some soap onto it.

“Mmm,” Bucky grunted in affirmation, head leaned back, eyes closed. The poor thing was absolutely exhausted. 

Steve began to gently wipe the dirt and grime of his face, his chest, his shoulders. They’d been on a combat mission for the last week and Bucky had fallen ill on day three, although he’d powered through his duties for another day and a half before he got too sick to leave base camp.

It had been out in the middle of nowhere, camped out with no access to medevac, so there’d been no option of getting him out of there, even as his fever continued to climb. So Steve had left Bucky alone the last day to go finish the mission. When he got back he’d found him like this; delirious, weak, and half out of his mind. Completely wiped out by whatever bug he’d caught. 

Steve and Stark had dragged him nearly three miles to the rendevous point while Nat and Barton ran ahead to inform med bay that we were coming. The medical eval said that it was just a bad virus though, and they’d sent him home with Steve.

“Just relax Buck, we’ll get you all clean and then go to bed,” Steve said, turning his attention to Bucky’s long hair, which was caked with dirt. He cupped his hands in the water, bringing it up to wet Bucky’s hair, careful to keep it out of his eyes. Then he poured out some shampoo into his hands, gently working it in, his other hand shielding Bucky’s eyes from the soap.

Once he was all clean, he grabbed a towel off the rack and draped it over his shoulder, then grabbed Bucky under the arm, pulling him to his feet. Steve made quick work of drying him off since he was still so shaky on his feet, then wrapped the towel around him and helped him out of the bathtub to sit on the counter.

He grabbed the bottle of ibuprofen out of the medicine cabinet, shaking out four pills then filling a paper cup from the counter with water. He held them out to bucky, who just stared back at him with fever glazed eyes. 

“Open your mouth hon,” he said, tipping the pills into Bucky’s mouth then holding the cup to his lips. Bucky swallowed the pills obediently, watching Steve with unfocused eyes.

“I’m gonna go get you some clothes and I’ll be right back,” he said, even though he knew Bucky probably didn’t even understand what he was saying. He hurried to his bedroom, grabbing a pair of boxers and a white t-shirt, then headed back to the bathroom. 

“Stevie...? I dnt feel good,” Bucky said when Steve entered the bathroom.

“I know Buck, come here,” he said, wrapping his arm around Bucky’s waist to pull him off the counter. Steve took the towel, tossing it over his shoulder, then helped Bucky step into the boxers and pulled the shirt down over his head, guiding his arm through the hole. Then he used the towel to dry Bucky’s hair as best he could, it was dripping down the sides of his face and onto the shirt. 

“Sleep?” Bucky moaned, slumping against Steve’s chest as soon as Steve moved his hand from where it had been braced against Bucky’s shoulder.

“Yeah, let’s get you to bed now,” Steve said, half carrying half dragging Bucky down the hall to his bedroom, where he helped him into bed, burying under the covers instantly.

“Stay?” he asked, reaching out to grab Steve’s wrist. 

I wrote it as stucky because they’re my favorite lol, this could be hero verse or non hero verse au, it doesn’t really matter. They live together, but not at Stark Tower like I usually write, just a place of their own. 

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“Morning,” Steve says cheerfully as James enters the kitchen. He’s already got coffee brewing and pancakes in progress. 

James tries to respond, but what comes out is more of a grunt, and he realizes that the headache he’d felt when he woke up is actually a whole lot more than just that. He really feels kind of awful. 

“You okay?” Steve asks, turning around to eye him carefully. 

“M’fine,” James mumbles, sinking down into the closest chair around their table, “Jus’woke up,” he shrugs. He can’t seem to separate his words out, almost like when he’s drunk. But he’s not though. 

“Right,” Steve says hesitantly, but still turns back to his cooking, “You want eggs with your pancakes?” 

“Sure,” Bucky says. He’s not really hungry, but he knows it’ll be suspicious if he doesn’t eat anything. Plus, maybe he feels like this cause he’s hungry. He doesn’t actually remember eating dinner last night. 

“Alright, one pancake with eggs, coming right up! Coffee?” 

“Please,” James responds. Caffeine should help with the headache if nothing else. 

“Here you go,” Steve sets a mug down on the table in front of him, warm and steaming. 

“Thanks,” he forces out. Even though he just woke up he feels so tired. The effort of talking makes him feel like laying his head down on the table. When he goes to take a sip, he realizes that his hands are shaking, but manages to get it to his lips. 

The warm coffee slides down his throat, easing a soreness he hadn’t even realized was there. He refrains from sighing audibly, knowing that Steve’s watching him already, and takes another sip.

“All done,” Steve says, setting down a plate of warm food in front of him. 

“Thank you Stevie,” Bucky smiles up at him as best he can, hoping to placate the worried look in Steve’s eyes. 

Steve just nods, walking back over to the stove to get himself a plate of food. Meanwhile, Bucky just stares down at his. It looks good, it really does, but the thought of putting food into his body makes him cringe. 

His stomach doesn’t hurt exactly, but it does feel kind of weird. Too warm almost, probably from the coffee. He presses a hand to his belly, feeling how warm it is even through his shirt. Maybe he should stop drinking the coffee. 

“Buck,” Steve mutters, then there’s a hand on his forehead. James hadn’t even realized, but he’d let his eyes slip shut, his head leaned against the palm of his hand, braced on the table by his elbow. His other hand was still resting on his uneasy stomach.

“Hmm?” he asks, forcing his eyes to open. They feel so heavy.

“You’ve got a fever babe,” Steve says, crouching down beside James’s chair. 

“S’just the coffee,” James mumbles, waving Steve’s hand away. 

“It’s not the coffee,” Steve shakes his head, this time pressing the back of his hand to James’s forehead, then his cheek. 

Bucky sighs, leaning into Steve’s hand subconsciously. He can tell that it’s cooler than his skin, feels nice against his. Steve’s probably right. He does feel like he has a fever. 

“Do you want to eat some of your food or just go lay down?” Steve asks, snapping him out of his thoughts. 

Bucky just shakes his head, pushing the plate away from him a few inches. 

“Your stomach bothering you?” Steve asks, cupping James’s face in his hand.

“Not really,” James shakes his head. He still doesn’t know how to describe it exactly. He doesn’t feel nauseous, but he doesn’t feel right either. Putting food into his stomach right now might make him feel sick, so he doesn’t think it’s a good idea, even if his body probably does need some energy.

“Okay, well we can try some crackers or soup later. Something easy on your tummy,” Steve says, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “For now let’s just get you back to bed,” he continues. Steve holds his hands out to Bucky, pulling him up onto his feet as gently as he could. 

James is guided back to their bedroom, an arm around his waist and a hand at his hip, pushing him forward. He crawls into bed, burrowing under the covers. How had he not realized how cold he was? 

Steve sits at the edge of the bed, tousling Bucky’s hair. Every once in a while he trails a finger or his hand down the side of his face, cool and comforting touches on his forehead, his cheeks. 

“Steve?” he asks when he feels the hands leave him.

Hey, thanks! 

“Rogers,” 

“Hmm?” Steve looked up from his crossword puzzle to see Tony standing in the doorway of his room in the tower. 

“You’re needed in the bathroom,” Tony said with a straight face.

Steve looked at him suspiciously, this sounded like the setup for a prank of something. “The bathroom?” he asked.

“Yeah. Barnes,” Tony said.

Oh. Well that would’ve been helpful information to give him at the beginning. Steve set down the crossword and stood up. “What’s wrong?” he asked, already fearing the worst. He’d had an episode, or a breakdown, or he was back in hydra mode, or...

“Stomach bug probably,” Tony shrugged, cutting Steve’s thoughts short. 

“Oh.” That would explain why he was in the bathroom. Steve felt silly for worrying so much, it was just the flu. Normal people stuff, not weird hero stuff. 

“Well, uh, I’ll just let you deal with, you know, the situation,” Tony made a gesture with his hands, motioning towards the bathroom door, cracked open an inch or so. 

“Right, yeah, I’ve got it,” Steve nodded, pushing the door open. Tony gave him a pat on the back then headed down the hallway. 

“Steve?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah it’s me,” Steve said, moving to sit beside his friend, who was slumped over the toilet seat, head resting on his arm. He was pale and sweaty, his mop of hair all over the place. Honestly he looked a mess. 

Bucky coughed, gagging weakly over the bowl as if sitting up was too much effort. He spat a wad of something gross into the toilet then rolled back over to press his eyes against his arm again. 

“Jesus Buck, how long have you been in here?” Steve asked, leaning over to pull off a couple squares of toilet paper, which pressed into James’s hand. He shakily wiped his mouth off then dropped it into the toilet.

“Dunno... long time,” he shrugged, “What time izzit?”

“It’s like 9 I think,” Steve answered.

“In the morning? Fuck,” Bucky sighed.

“Aw jeez, come on man we gotta get you to bed,” Steve said, moving to peel him away from the toilet.

“Nooo,” he groaned, shrugging Steve’s hand off, “Still nauseous.”

“You don’t have anything left,” Steve said.

He reached for Bucky again, a hand on his shoulder and the other arm wrapped around his waist. This time Bucky didn’t protest, letting Steve pull him back away from the toilet to rest against the wall behind him. Steve got up and grabbed a cloth from the linen closet, wetting it with some cool water. 

“Here, this should help,” he said, draping it over Bucky’s eyes. 

Bucky sighed, relaxing a little. He still felt like complete shit, but Steve was right, that did help. It was too bright in there.

“Alright, you think you can walk?” Steve asked, crouching down next to him.

“Yeah maybe,” Bucky answered, bring his knees towards his chest so his feet rested on the ground, “Gonna need some help,” he added.

“I know, I’ve gotcha,” Steve said, looping his arm under Bucky’s good arm. “One, two, three,” he counted down, then hoisted Bucky to his feet, wrapping an arm around his waist to steady him as he swayed. 

“Woah,” Bucky mumbled, squinting his eyes shut as the rag fell off.

Steve caught it and placed it over the back of Bucky’s neck so it would stay put while he helped him to bed. Then they slowly began to walk down the hall towards his room. After a few minutes, Steve managed to get him settled in bed, the rag back over his eyes, and a trash can set up beside his bed. 

“You need anything else Buck?” he asked, sitting at the edge of his bed. 

Sorry this one didn’t turn out very good!!

Steve is surprised when the elevator doors open to his and Bucky’s floor to reveal a dark and quiet hallway. He peeks into Bucky’s room as he walks past to find it empty. Where could he be? Steve would’ve been informed if another mission had been called. 

“He’s a big boy Steve, you don’t gotta babysit him,” he muttered to himself, walking back to his room to change into something more comfortable.  Ever since James had come back, Steve had felt very protective. It was like the roles had been reversed. Even though James was strong, he was fragile right now, still on the road to recovery. 

So, even though he knew that Bucky was probably fine, he decided to head down to the lounge to look for him, just to make sure. He walked back down the hallway and rode the elevator down to the 3rd floor. The kitchen, which he came to first was empty, so he continued on to the living room. 

“What’s going on?” he asked, surprised to find Bucky laying on one of the couches, Clint couched in front of him with a glass of water.

“Oh Steve, good!” Clint stood up.

“what happened?” Steve asked. 

“He’s come down with something, probably the flu, he’s got a pretty high fever,” Clint explained, handing Steve the glass of water.

“Somebody should’ve called me,” Steve took Clint’s place, crouching down in front of Bucky, who he could see now was terribly pale, his long hair matted to his forehead with sweat. 

“You were busy, and we had it under control,” Clint shrugged.

“Well, I mean, yeah, but he’s just dealing with a lot right now so he can be kind of difficult to...” Steve trailed off.

“He’s asleep, don’t worry,” Clint said, “and I’ve taken care of many a moody sick teenager, so it was nothing.”

“Right,” Steve laughed, “Well thank you,” 

“Don’t mention it,” Clint shrugged, “He took some medicine about an hour ago so you’ll have to wait until like 7 or so,” he added.

“Okay, thanks,”

“Well I’m sure you’ve got it from here but I’ll be upstairs if you need anything,” Clint said, Steve giving him a nod and a small smile, before he turned and headed upstairs to his room. 

“Hey, Buck?” Steve said softly, brushing James’s hair out of his face

“Mmm, Stevie?” 

“Yeah, it’s me. I heard you weren’t feeling well,” Steve cupped his Bucky’s cheek in his hand as his eyes fluttered open.

“You weren’t here,” Bucky said, blinking tiredly at him. Steve knew he probably shouldn’t have woke him up, but he needed to know he was okay, to hear his voice. 

“I know, I’m sorry. I’m here now though,” Steve leaned forwards to press a kiss to James’s forehead. Even through his lips he could feel that Clint was right, the fever was pretty high. “You need some water babe, this fever’s pretty bad,” he continued. James hummed in agreement, letting his eyes slip shut again. 

Steve picked up the glass that Clint had handed him a minute ago, bringing the straw up to James’s lips. He lifted his head slightly and took a few careful sips, then collapsed back onto the couch. He was obviously exhausted. 

“Okay, good. Now you can sleep again, okay?” Steve set the water down, then turned back to Bucky and began to trail his fingers up and down Bucky’s good arm. 

“Shit,” Bucky cursed, placing a hand over his stomach as it lurched suddenly.

“You okay?” Steve asked, looking up from the newspaper he was reading. 

“Uh,” Bucky said, pressing a fist to his mouth. Was he okay? He wasn’t sure. Sometimes he randomly got nauseous from flashbacks or PTSD episodes but nothing had happened he was just sitting here doing a crossword puzzle. His stomach squeezed, sending his dinner up his throat and Bucky decided that he was not in fact okay. He bolted down the hallway towards the bathroom.

“Alright, I’ll take that as a no,” Steve said to himself, following Bucky down the hall. 

Bucky was on on his knees, hunched over the toilet, bringing up his dinner. Steve crouched down behind him, placing a tentative hand on his back. Sometimes touch was too much for Bucky when he was sick. When Steve didn’t get punched, he flattened his hand out, a comforting presence. 

“Easy Buck, breathe through it,” he said calmly, hoping to avoid a panic episode. 

Bucky gagged again, body convulsing forwards. He almost smacked his head on the lid of the toilet, but thankfully Steve was fast enough to reach his other hand around and cushion his forehead.

“I’ve got you,” Steve reassured him.

After another dry heave and a slightly wet belch, Bucky relaxed slightly. He panted heavily other the toilet for another moment, then sat back to rest against the wall behind him. 

“Fuck,” Bucky sighed, eyes closed as he tipped his head back against the wall. 

Steve got up and grabbed Bucky’s rinse cup off of the counter, filling it with a little water from the tap. 

“Rinse and spit,” he instructed. 

Bucky took the cup with shaky hands, taking a small sip and swishing it around in his mouth before spitting it back into the cup. Steve took it from him, pouring the liquid down the drain. 

“I’m gonna go grab you something to drink, you gonna be okay by yourself for a minute?” Steve asked, hovering in the doorway.

Bucky nodded, giving Steve as much of a smile as he could manage. Steve was worried, he hated it when Steve worried. That was his job, worry about weak little stevie. Except Steve was neither weak nor little anymore. Bucky was the weak one. 

“Here, take it slow,” Steve reappeared, holding out a bottle of water with the cap already off. Steve had seen the way Bucky’s hands were shaking earlier and wasn’t sure he could do it himself. 

After Bucky had a few sips of water in him, Steve sat back down, leaning against the cabinets under the sink to face Bucky. 

“So, that was pretty sudden huh?” he asked. 

Bucky cracked an eye open, looking at Steve, his face expressionless. His eyes slid shut again and he shrugged noncommittally.

“Buck what’s going on?” Steve sighed.

“Think it was the chicken,” Bucky answered. The food overseas wasn’t great. They’d all gotten food poisoning more times than anyone cared to admit. He knew what it felt like. 

“What? The chicken was bad? I feel fine though,” Steve stammered.

“You’re not exactly a normal person Stevie,” Bucky chuckled lightly in spite of how bad he felt. 

“Well, I mean, yeah I guess,” Steve said, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. He’d long gotten used to his abilities and his situation, but somehow when he was with Bucky he reverted back to the frail, sickly little kid he’d been all those years ago. “I’m so sorry, I thought it was done,” he continued, dropping his face into his hands.

Bucky sighed, opening his eyes to see the guilt ridden look on Steve’s face. “Steve, it’s fine. Relax.”

“You’re clearly miserable, and it’s because I apparently don’t know how to cook chicken. I feel terrible Buck,” Steve said, reaching over to give Bucky’s knee a squeeze.

“Just drag me to my bed and get me set up with a trash can and some ginger ale for the night and we’ll call it even okay?” Bucky said.

Steve sighed, obviously not satisfied with this bargain, but “yeah, okay,” he agreed.