I would to see more Stucky. Maybe Bucky with a stomach ache being all cuddly with Steve? It would be especially cute if someone walks in and stares at Bucky because he's normally so closed off and reserved, but before they can say anything Steve shoots them a warning look and they back off. Belly rubs are always the bomb.
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.
Nat and Clint both froze when they walked into the compound's living room space, surprised by what they saw. Steve was sitting on one of the couches, scrolling through something - probably mission reports - on his laptop. But the surprising part was that the winter soldier was laying down, curled up, with his head in Steve's lap.
Now, they all new that Steve and Bucky were... something. Something more than friends anyway. But no one had ever asked questions and they'd never said anything so everyone just let it be whatever it was.
"Hey, how was the mission?" Steve asked, having seen them standing in the doorway, lurking.
"Uh good, yeah. Went well," Clint said, cheeks flushing red at having been caught staring.
"Good. I'm just catching up on some mission reports," Steve explained, gesturing to his laptop. As if that was the reason they'd been staring.
"Is he okay?" Clint asked, nodding his head toward Bucky.
Steve shook his head, "He's not feeling well. Running a pretty good fever and been throwing up all day, poor thing," he answered.
There was a moment of silence. Nat and Clint were still a little stunned by the sight in front of them. The winter soldier - Bucky, they were supposed to call him now - was also so serious and gruff. So to see him curled up in Steve's lap in the middle of the common room was a shock to say the least.
Bucky groaned then, breaking the silence. Steve moved his hand away from the computer and brought it down to tousle Bucky's hair lovingly. In response, Bucky shifted, moving even further into Steve's lap and pressing himself closer to the other man.
"You're alright Buck," Steve said softly, carding his fingers through Bucky's long hair. His other arm was draped over Bucky's waist, hand resting on the man's stomach, which he began to rub gently back and forth.
Nat and Clint couldn't help but keep staring, even though they knew they should look away, leave, give them some privacy.
"He's not normally like this," Steve sighed, finally acknowledging the elephant in the room. "He's pretty out of it honestly, he probably doesn't even realize," he shrugged. "And I'd like to keep it that way," he added, giving the pair a pointed look.
"Understood," Nat said, giving a fake salute.
"We'll leave you to it," Clint nodded.
They turned and headed back down the hallway they'd come from, closing the door behind them to hopefully ward off anyone else from disturbing them.
"Well that was..." Clint trailed off, unsure of what he'd just witnessed.
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Kay Romano, a plus sized/curvy ofc; Platonic Thunderbolts x Kay
Word Count: 2.5k
Summary: The New Avengers come down with... not quite the flu. Kay takes care of them all until she nearly drops. They show their appreciation as only this ragtag team of misfits can.
Trigger warnings: It's a bit of fluff. I mean... flu like symptoms? sweating? coughing? Oh, Yelena throws up.
Author's Note: Had a funny thought. Made it into a fic. Enjoy!
Story Masterlist
Epilogue
*****
The living room looked like a war zone. Except the enemies were blankets, used tissues, and a collective sense of doom. Every couch, armchair, and patch of floor was occupied by some miserable supersoldier or assassin, all in various stages of biological failure.
Kay stood in the middle of it all, hair scraped into a messy bun, holding a digital thermometer in one hand and a chipped mug of mint tea in the other. She didn’t flinch when someone groaned behind her. Didn’t even turn when someone (probably Yelena) crashed into a shelf.
A wet gagging noise came from the corner.
“Do not—” Kay started, spinning too late.
Yelena, pale and defiant, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, stepping away from the now-doomed potted fern.
“I’m fine,” she rasped, eyes glassy.
“That plant isn’t,” Kay muttered.
John was slumped face-down on the kitchen table, still in tactical pants and socks, head buried in a balled-up hoodie. He let out a muffled groan.
“I used to be strong,” he mumbled into the cotton. “Used to be able to bench press a truck. Now I can’t stand up without blacking out. This is betrayal. My own body is mutinying.”
In the far corner, Bob, usually a bottomless pit of energy and calories, stared mournfully into a bowl of chicken soup.
“I don’t want it,” he mumbled.
Kay blinked. “Are you… rejecting soup?”
Bob sniffled. “Not hungry.”
A beat of silence fell over the room.
“Oh my God,” Ava whispered from the couch, her voice barely audible beneath a pile of weighted blankets. “He’s dying.” She didn’t move or open her eyes, just hissed like a cat when the kettle whistled too loudly in the kitchen.
Kay sighed, placing a gentle hand on Bob’s shoulder as she passed. She swapped out the cold tea in his hand with a fresh mug, adjusted Yelena’s blanket, nudged a trash can toward Alexei, who was sprawled in a recliner like a tragic Czar in a stained sleeveless tank, and let her voice rise above the groaning chorus.
“I’m no doctor,” she called out dryly, “but as the New Avengers’ designated adult, you are all officially ordered to bed.”
A groan of protest rippled through the room.
“You can’t give us orders,” John muttered, one eye barely open.
“I absolutely can,” Kay replied, sipping her own tea. “I have six thermometers, a bottle of Tylenol, and a color-coded spreadsheet. Don’t test me.”
Another cough. A sneeze. The faint, pathetic sound of someone failing to open a cough drop wrapper.
Kay exhaled and rubbed at her temple.
“And if one of you throws up in my laundry basket again, I swear to God I’m calling Val.”
The silence that followed that threat was tense, guilty, and vaguely impressed.
Then Alexei groaned from his chair.
“Do you have warm milk? With vodka? Russian cure.”
“You’re getting Pedialyte and you’ll be grateful.”
*****
She found Bucky in the den, half-slumped on the couch with a damp towel draped uselessly across his forehead. The television played a grainy World War II documentary at low volume, but his eyes were glassy and unfocused, barely tracking the screen.
He was shirtless, probably because he’d overheated and torn it off in protest, and glistening with fever-sweat. His hair clung to his temples in damp strings, and even from the doorway, she could hear his breathing rasp, heavy and uneven.
“Buck, honey,” she said gently.
He didn’t look up. “Hey, doll.”
She moved closer. His coloring was all wrong, skin too flushed, cheeks bright and blotchy, like the heat couldn’t decide where to settle. His vibranium arm hung limp at his side, too heavy for him to bother lifting.
“You don’t look so good,” she murmured, crouching beside the couch.
“Me? I’m fiiine,” he rasped, barely above a whisper. “Super immune system. Don’t get sick.”
Kay folded her arms. “You have a 102-degree fever and tried to put Vicks VapoRub on toast earlier.”
“I thought it was mint jelly,” Bucky muttered. “Very… minty.”
She sighed and sat down beside him. The air was thick with menthol and sweat. She reached out, brushed his damp hair back from his forehead, and rested the back of her hand there.
Her frown deepened.
“Alright, my not-sick fiancé,” she said dryly. “Everybody else is down. Enhanced or not. So it’s not just immunity, it’s exposure. Something you all ran into on that last mission.”
Bucky exhaled through his nose. “Didn’t feel anything right away. Just a headache. Bit tired. Walker said his throat hurt—thought it was from yelling.”
“He does yell a lot.”
“Yeah.” He gave a faint, slurred smile.
She shook her head, lips twitching. “Delayed response. Something synthetic mimicking a flu strain. Not contagious, since I’m fine… but effective, nonetheless.”
He blinked slowly. “You think it was engineered?”
“Possibly. And if it hit Bob too…? That worries me. The ‘golden god’ inside him has a metabolism like a nuclear reactor. He shouldn’t be vulnerable.”
He frowned. “Great. Mystery super-flu. Got any pharma friends who can whip up a vaccine?”
She chuckled at his total seriousness. “Sure. Let me find a bio lab with a nap room.”
His smile was small but real. “At least I can still make you laugh.”
She leaned down and kissed his clammy cheek, then immediately grimaced and wiped her lips on her sleeve, nose wrinkling.
He sank further into the cushions, eyes fluttering. “You shouldn’t have to take care of all of us. Especially me.”
She blinked, surprised by the softness in his voice. “Why not you?”
“I’m supposed to take care of you. That’s what husbands do. ’S my job.”
She smiled sweetly, adjusting the towel on his forehead. “You do. Every day. Even if we’re not married yet. But taking care of each other goes both ways, love. That’s what it means to let people in.”
His eyes barely opened, but they found her. “Still don’t like it… but I feel like my bones are trying to vibrate out of my body.”
“That’s the fever. Or your natural flair for dramatics.”
He gave a breathless laugh that turned into a cough. She immediately reached for the tea on the table and helped him sip. He drank, grateful, then slumped back.
“Will you stay?” he murmured, eyelids heavy.
“Of course,” she said without hesitation.
“Even if I butter toast with muscle rub again?”
“Especially if you butter toast with muscle rub.”
He smiled faintly, eyes drifting closed, content for now.
Kay stayed beside him, wiping the sweat from his brow with a cool towel and watching over the man who’d once believed he couldn’t be cared for.
*****
Yelena was gone.
Kay realized it mid-triage, looking up from where she was trying to coax Pedialyte into Alexei with a firm, “Drink this or I’m telling Val you cried during Shrek 2,” only to find an empty blanket cocoon and a trail of tissues like breadcrumbs.
A low groan echoed from down the hallway.
She followed it like a bloodhound, only to find Yelena halfway to the bathroom, face-planted on the cold tile in a full-body sprawl, one arm still reaching forward.
“You’re not stealth crawling,” Kay muttered, dragging her back by the ankle. “You’re unconscious.”
“I am fine,” Yelena whispered. “Just… regrouping.”
“You’re passed out.”
“Regrouping!”
Kay deposited her back into her blanket fort with a sigh and an ice pack.
Next it was, “Give it!” Bob shouted.
“No,” Ava snapped.
Kay turned just in time to see the last lemon cough drop fly through the air… and vanish into Ava’s hoodie like contraband. Bob collapsed onto the couch, visibly devastated.
“I liked the lemon ones…”
Kay reached into her tote like a magician and handed him a strawberry drop with the delicacy of someone diffusing a bomb.
He sniffled. “Thanks. Strawberry’s good too.”
Across the room, Alexei had a hand towel draped over his head and was sprawled in the recliner like a dying Dracula.
“Have some tea,” Kay said gently. “There’s honey in it. It’ll soothe your throat.”
“Vodka.”
“I put a shot of vodka in the tea, too.”
He drank it all. Then blinked slowly. “You lied.”
Kay didn’t even flinch. “Yes, I did.”
*****
Her bun was collapsing. There was a lemon cough drop stuck to her sock. In the past day she hadn’t had more than half a cup of cold coffee and a few spoonfuls of soup someone else had refused. The dark circles under her eyes had graduated from “tired” to “cryptid.”
And then, of course, came the thud from the hallway.
She followed it and found Bucky on the floor. Trying to do pushups.
Shirtless, as usual, sweating like he was mid-marathon, and barely making it through push-up number three.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded.
He didn’t lift his head. “Proving I’m still viable for the field,” he rasped.
Then he collapsed, face-down on the mat.
She crossed the room, dropped to her knees beside him, and cupped his cheek.
“You don’t have to prove anything, Bucky,” she murmured. “You’re allowed to rest.”
His lashes fluttered. For a second, he looked dazed by the tenderness in her voice.
“Don’t deserve you,” he whispered.
Kay exhaled. Wiped a thumb gently under his eye, where sweat clung.
“I love you too,” she said, voice low and steady. “Now let’s get your stubborn ass back in bed.”
He didn’t argue, just let her haul him up, arm slung over her shoulders, mumbling something incoherent about still being strong enough to punch Walker out.
Kay felt exhaustion down to her very bones.
She hadn’t cried yet, but if one more person asked her for vodka milk she just might.
*****
The morning after the worst of it, the Watchtower was quiet for the first time in days.
No one was coughing or groaning. No one had passed out in the hallway. The vents weren’t echoing with ominous, wheezing noises. It felt like the eye of the storm, or maybe, hopefully, the end of it.
Kay shuffled into the kitchen with her fourth mug of cold coffee, looking every bit like she’d survived a small war. Her bun was barely holding together. Her socks didn’t match. Her zip-up definitely wasn’t hers. (It smelled like cedar and stubbornness: definitely Bucky’s.)
She blinked suspiciously at the silence.
Yelena was the first to appear, blanket wrapped around her shoulders like a cape. Her face still looked pale, but her walk had purpose again. Kay barely had time to straighten before Yelena marched over and held something out.
Kay took it automatically. It was a small potted ficus.
“I puked in the fern.” Yelena said. “It is… not salvageable. Ficus is more hardy. Won’t die if puked on.”
Kay stared at her, touched. “You bought me a new plant?”
Yelena nodded, proud. “This is what people do when they care.”
Before Kay could reply, Bob entered silently and pulled her into a bone-cracking hug.
“I cried over a cough drop,” he said into her shoulder.
“I know, sweetie.”
“You didn’t even make fun of me.”
“Of course not.”
“That’s how I know you’re family.”
She patted his back, heart full.
Ava wandered in next, hair wild, hoodie three sizes too big. She didn’t say anything, just sat beside Kay and handed over a folded piece of paper.
Kay opened it to reveal a full inventory of medical supplies, reorganized and color-coded.
“I fixed your med station,” Ava said. “Restocked the bandages. Moved the burn cream back to the top shelf where it belongs.”
“You reorganized my med station?” She looked over at Ava, eyes a little misty.
Ava didn’t respond. She just leaned her head on Kay’s shoulder and stayed there.
Then Alexei strode in with solemn purpose. He carried a sealed Tupperware container and a glass bottle of something unlabeled and probably flammable.
“This is my grandmother’s recipe,” he said gravely. “I added protein powder.”
Kay accepted it like he’d handed her an Olympic torch.
“You nursed a Red Guardian,” he said. “You are now certified Russian hero.”
“It’s an honor,” she said with a straight face.
Alexei nodded solemnly.
John leaned into the doorway next, wiping his hands on a kitchen towel.
“Kitchen’s clean,” he said. “And I ran the laundry.”
Kay blinked. “You what?”
He shrugged. “You kept my dumb ass alive. Least I could do.”
She opened her mouth…
“Don’t make it weird,” he added, already walking away.
Kay finally sat down, alone for once, the warm paper cup still in her hands.
The silence had shape now: not empty, but soft and whole.
She took a long sip of her coffee.
It was still hot.
*****
That night, Kay curled into the corner of the couch, finally taking a moment of peace, not working, not standing, and not directing.
Blankets were heaped around her. The lights were low. The compound had gone quiet. She’d survived the worst of it, albeit barely, and she’d only now let herself believe they were truly okay.
Bucky found her first.
He walked in quietly, wrapped another blanket around her shoulders, then lay down beside her and rested his head in her lap.
She shifted just enough to cradle him, her fingers finding their way into his hair.
“You held this whole team together,” he murmured.
“I just kept you hydrated and yelled at you to sleep.”
“No, sweetheart.” His voice was soft, honest. “You loved us through it. That’s not nothing.”
Her fingers moved gently through his hair. He exhaled, long and slow.
“Love you,” he murmured, barely audible. “You’re my world, you know.”
Kay stilled, heart aching in the best way. She leaned down slightly, brushing her lips to his temple, and whispered,
“You’re mine too, soldier. Even when you’re a stubborn idiot.” She smiled faintly, “At least you’re MY stubborn idiot.”
A sleepy grin tugged at his mouth. He didn’t open his eyes. Just shifted slightly toward her and sank deeper into her lap, completely at peace.
That was when Bob reappeared, carrying more clean blankets.
He silently draped one over Bucky, before settling into the opposite couch with a satisfied sigh.
John wandered in next, dragging a beanbag across the floor with all the drama of someone recovering from mortal peril. He collapsed into it, sighed loudly, and kicked his feet up like he was claiming land.
Ava padded in after him and slouched onto the armrest of Kay’s couch without a word. She curled into the corner, hoodie pulled up around her head, but her hand found Kay’s and squeezed it once.
Alexei grunted his way from down the hall, dropped into the oversized recliner, and promptly began snoring with the volume of a man who hadn’t earned it.
Yelena was last. She curled up on the floor, back to the couch, shoulder brushing lightly against Kay’s knee.
No one spoke. They just stayed there.
One by one, they’d found their way back to her.
Kay leaned back, completely surrounded.
“I still haven’t showered,” she mumbled into the silence.
Yelena murmured, “You smell like safety.”
Bob said, “She smells like soup.”
Alexei, mid-snore, from the recliner, “Both things true.”
Kay smiled.
And for the first time in days, she let her eyes drift closed.
There we go. All rumpled and fever-pink. And the coldness of the metal arm is sometimes agony and sometimes relief for the chills. Send in Steve to fix.
Tags: Canon compliant, post azzano, sick Bucky, Bucky whump, mentions of forced drug use, withdrawl, captain america steve rogers, I made it winter, so pretend that’s canon, good friend steve, a little delirious bucky, confused bucky, scared bucky, soft steve, no established relationship, but the feels are there, on both sides, hidden feelings, love int he middle of a war, ptsd
Summary:
After Steve “Captain America” Rogers rescues the 107 from Hydra’s clutches, Bucky falls ill on the way home.
Can I get some fluffy Steve/Bucky? Either one sick is fine (or both?). Maybe a post mission adrenaline drop masking an on coming stomach bug. Cuddles and belly rubs are definitely a plus, especially with the caretaker being overprotective. Have a happy and safe new year!
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.
Bucky didn't answer, focused on willing his body into sleep before he needed to throw up again. He hoped he could make it until they were back in the safety of his and Steve's suite at the tower.
Would you do a story where Bucky doesn’t feel well, Steve isn’t around and Clint can tell so Clint helps Bucky through the rough parts of the illness till Steve comes back (platonic relationship not romantic)
Warning: depictions of vomit
Bucky isn't sure how long he's been slumped over the toilet when someone knocks on the bathroom door. He feels too weak to say anything, much less get up and open the door. Hopefully it's Steve, home from his mission, and he'll just come in when he gets no response.
"You alright in there?"
Bucky's heart sinks. It's not Steve. His head is still swimming from the last round of vomiting, and everything sounds far away, but he thinks it might be Barton.
There's another knock, then after a moment the door creaks open and knows that whoever it is has peaked their head in, but Bucky keeps his eyes closed.
"Woah, you are definitely not alright,"
Definitely Barton. Bucky cracks an eye open to see Clint crouching down next to him hesitantly. He has one hand held out toward Bucky, as if he wants to help but isn't sure if it's okay for him to do so.
"Sorry," Clint says, pulling his hand back, "I heard you getting sick from out in the hall and I know Steve isn't here so I just wanted to check on you and..." he trails off, unsure of what's allowed here. He doesn't know Bucky well, none of them do. Well, except for Steve of course.
Bucky tries to say 'it's okay', but what comes out is more of a grunt and a groan of discomfort. His stomach is still churning even though he hasn't brought up anything but stomach acid for the last couple of rounds.
"You want me to get you some water?" Clint asks.
Bucky manages to nod from his slumped position, head pillowed on his arm that's resting on the toilet seat. As much as he doesn't want to put anything in his stomach right now, he also knows that he's dehydrated and he needs something to throw up anyway.
Clint nods and disappears from the bathroom. As soon as he's gone though, he's back, which tells Bucky that he's losing time and maybe he's been in here even longer than he thought.
"Here, try a couple small sips," Clint says, holding the glass out as he crouches down beside Bucky again.
"Can't, ngh," Bucky mumbles, his tongue feeling like lead. He's so dizzy and hot. He doesn't think he can sit up.
"Oh jeez, alright. Bucky- Can I call you Bucky?" Clint asks, he knows that's what Steve calls him but he isn't sure if they're good enough friends for that. Bucky makes another small noise that Clint decides to take as a yes.
"Okay Bucky, is it alright if I touch you?" he asks.
"Hmm," Bucky hums, which Clint also hopes is a yes. He moves forward to wrap an arm around Bucky's shoulders, gently pulling him back away from the toilet to lean against the wall.
"Here, small sips," Clint says, holding the glass up to Bucky's lips, which he now realizes are so incredibly dry. He takes a small sip of water, which feels nice in his mouth and throat, which are dry and raw from vomiting. It doesn't feel particularly nice when it hits his stomach though. He groans, slumping forward.
"Woah, alright big buy," Clint quickly sets the glass down and catches Bucky around the chest to keep him from face planting on the floor. He pushes him back against the wall.
They sit there silently for a few minutes, Bucky managing to keep the water down, before Clint gets him to try another sip. Then another.
It does help. Bucky doesn't feel quite so dizzy anymore, and he can hold his head up.
"How we doing?" Clint asks. He's moved to sit on the floor with Bucky, about a foot away to give him space but close enough to catch him if he pitches forward again.
"Lil bit better," Bucky mumbles, "Thanks," he adds, trying to give Barton a smile but it probably looks more like a grimace.
"Good, good. You, uh, want me to help you back to your room? So you can lay down?" he offers.
Bucky shakes his head. His head isn't spinning anymore but his stomach still is. He knows he isn't done.
"Not even with a bucket?" Clint tries again.
But Bucky shakes his head again. He doesn't trust himself enough to not puke all over his bed at this point and that would be even more humiliating than this already is.
"Alright," Clint sighs, "I'll be right back then," he adds, standing up and walking out of the bathroom. This time, Bucky is at least aware that time passes before he returns, carrying a pillow and an armful of blankets.
"Here, this way you can at least lay down in between rounds," Clint explains, laying a couple blankets down on the floor to form a makeshift bed and placing the pillow at one end.
Bucky blinks in surprise, not used to having anyone but Steve take care of him. It had been just them taking care of eachother for as long as he could remember.
"Go ahead, I'll cover you up with this one," Clint nods, gesturing to the blanket that still remains in his hand.
Silently, Bucky carefully maneuvers himself to lay down on the blanket, his arms shaking from the effort of lowering himself down. The feeling of his head hitting the cool pillow does feel amazing though, and then there's a blanket draped over him and a hand on his back, rubbing gentle circles.
Bucky stiffens for a second, more surprised than anything.
"This okay?" Clint asks, his hand stilling.
"Mhm," Bucky hums in response. He honestly feels too sick to care at this moment. "Jus don' tell anyone but Steve about this," he adds with as much intensity as he can muster, which isn't much.
"My lips are sealed," Clint agrees, chuckling softly. Then he adds, "I'll stay till Steve gets here."
And as much as he'd never admit it out loud, Bucky is glad for that.
