#sick steve

[1heartfanfics]

Not sure if this is something you'd want to write, but I've had this head cannon for a while.

Steve accidentally overeating post mission because he's exhausted and starving. He just sort of zones out and then realizes he over did it. Bucky wants to give him crap about it, but Steve just looks like such a sad kicked puppy (maybe he's banged up from the mission) so he looks after Steve. Lots of fluffy Stucky for the soul.

"Oh hey, I didn't realize you were back already," Bucky says as he enters the apartment, surprised to see Steve laying on the couch.

"Finished the mission early," Steve shrugged.

Bucky set his stuff down, having just returned from a training session at Stark tower, then walked over to sit on the edge of the couch in front of Steve.

"Woah, what happened?" Bucky asked, reaching out to cup Steve's cheek, which was bruised, reddish/purple blooms already forming. Not to mention the stitched cut on the side of his forehead, the black eye, and the split lip. And it's not as if Steve bruised easily. In fact, he rarely bruised at all, ever.

"Things went a little sideways for a while," Steve shrugged again, turning away from Bucky.

"You need some ice or something?" James asked, already heading toward the kitchen without waiting for a response. He came back a moment later, holding out a back of frozen peas wrapped in a towel. Steve accepted, holding the bag to the side of his face.

"Thanks," he mumbled.

Bucky frowned, "Something else bugging you? You seem off."

Steve shrugged. His favorite response to Bucky's questions tonight apparently.

"Hey, talk to me," Bucky said, voice going softer. A voice reserved for Steve and Steve only.

"It's stupid," Steve sighed, rolling his eyes, "I'm fine," he added.

"Yeah," Bucky scoffed, "You look like you're fine," he said sarcastically.

"Okay, okay... Mission went bad, I was sore and exhausted and starving when I got home so I just grabbed some snacks and watched TV but I zoned out or something and ate more than I meant to and well-" Steve explained quickly, then gestured down at his stomach.

"Oh." Bucky said, realizing that Steve's shirt was pushed slightly up, revealing an abnormally bloated stomach compared to his usual 6 pack abs, one hand resting protectively over his abdomen. "You got a tummyache, huh?" he smirked, elbowing Steve playfully.

Steve winced, "Please don't, I'm really full," Steve said, face flushing red. He wasn't used to being vulnerable like this. It used to happen all the time when they were young, before the war, but now? Now he was usually the one taking care of Buck.

"Right, sorry, um - do you need anything?" Bucky asked, immediately feeling bad for teasing.

"I'll be okay," Steve shook his head, "I just feel like an idiot."

"Hey, it's alright. It happens to the best of us," Bucky said, reaching out to ruffle Steve's hair. "You want me to get you some pepto?" he asked.

Steve just shrugged again, avoiding Bucky's eyes, embarrassed. Bucky sighed, feeling even worse now for giving Steve a hard time.

"I'll be right back babe," he said, squeezing Steve's leg as he stood up. He grabbed the pepto and ibuprofen, for Steve's beat up face, from the bathroom and a can of sprite from the fridge.

"Here, take these and drink up, it'll help," Bucky said as he returned.

Steve obediently took the pepto and dry-swallowed the ibuprofen, but he didn't take the sprite.

"It'll help settle your stomach," Bucky said, holding it out to Steve again.

"I don't want to put anything else into my stomach," Steve shook his head.

"I know darling, but you've probably got some gas in there and this'll help get it out," Bucky said, placing a hand on Steve's stomach, rubbing back and forth gently.

Steve's face flushed red again, but he didn't argue, accepting the sprite from Bucky and taking a sip. Almost immediately he let out a small burp. He covered his mouth quickly, blushing even harder.

"It's alright doll, your belly ain't feeling good. Better out than in right?" Bucky said.

Steve shrugged, but quietly mumbled, "Thanks."

"Course, now how about you sit up for a sec so I can scoot in behind you?" Bucky said, standing up from his perch at the edge of the couch.

Steve silently did as he was told, sitting up enough for Bucky to slide in behind him, stretching his legs on either side of Steve's body and wrapping his arms around his waist to rest on Steve's bloated stomach. When Steve didn't say anything, he slipped his hands under Steve's shirt and started to rub back and forth on his bare skin.

Steve moaned softly, leaning his head back onto Steve's shoulder. After a moment he let out another belch, turning away from Bucky and covering his mouth.

"S'cuse me," he mumbled, stiff in Bucky's arms.

"It's alright, keep going," Bucky encouraged, continuing his belly rub.

Steve responded with another burp, his stomach acting all on its own now, forcing all of the air out.

"There we go," Bucky said softly, still rubbing gentle circles over Steve's stomach.

"Thanks Buck," Steve mumbled, relaxing back against Bucky, finally just deciding to let it happen.

"Anytime Stevie," Bucky said, leaning down to press a kiss into Steve's hair. He had to admit that it was kind of nice to be the one taking care of Steve again, just like the old days.

[capsicle13]

Snippet of new chapter for Challenges

—————

Tony snaps his head in Steve’s direction when the sound of Steve wheezing captures his attention. Just like Bruce had said, Steve was reverting back to his pre-serum state, which meant his asthma had returned. Steve assured Tony he could survive through it, but something seemed off, and Tony hated waking up almost every night to Steve not being able to breathe.

Tony watches as Steve shifts in the bed, his hands clutching at the sheets as he tries to steady his breathing. The wheezing is sharp, but a sound Tony has grown familiar with. It’s not until Steve starts to gasp for air does Tony jump into action.

“Honey, hey, breathe. I need you to breathe with me, okay?”

Steve blinks up at him, sweat clinging to his forehead, his lips slightly parted as he struggles to get air into his lungs.

“Tony.” Steve rasps, the hitch in his chest more noticeable now. He claws at Tony’s arm, his eyes widening.

“Breathe, Steve. You’re gonna be okay,” Tony assures.

He gestures subtly and JARVIS broadcasts Steve’s vitals in the air. Steve’s heart rate is increasing and his oxygen levels drop. Trying to remain calm, Tony grabs the inhaler and brings it to Steve’s lips. He gently cradles the back of his head as he supports him upright.

“Here. Deep breath, baby. Just one slow, steady inhale.”

Steve tries, his shoulders shaking as he pulls in the medicine, the sound of the wheeze peaking, then slowly beginning to fade. His eyes flutter shut, and Tony keeps his arms around him, quietly counting down.

“That’s it. You’re going so good.” Tony presses a kiss to Steve’s temple.

“Peter?” Steve asks, his voice still raspy.

“Baby’s okay.” Tony’s eyes flicker to the other set of vitals. A pang of guilt hits him for hating the fact that their son is fine and Steve is not.

Steve nods, then slumps back, his eyes falling shut. His breathing starts to ease, but Tony refuses to move. He stays by Steve’s side, watching him closely until Steve looks at him with tear-filled eyes.

“I got you,” Tony whispers. “Always.”

[cherriontop]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers Additional Tags: Canon Compliant, Prewar Stucky, preserum steve, PreSerum Bucky, Living Together, Poor, Sick Steve, Caretaker Bucky, Artist Steve, Artist Bucky, Dock Worker Bucky, unestablished stucky Series: Part 2 of Never Alone Summary:

While Steve is ill in bed, Bucky indulges himself in an activity he's never shared with anyone.

Can be read as a standalone

Written for @buckybarnesbingo Y3: Artist Bucky

@badthingshappenbingo B4: Financial Problems

@stuckybingo O1: Selfless

[builder051]

Hi! Happy SS! For a prompt today, could you write something where Steve is really sick and throws up in bed. Maybe he feels really bad about it because he's embarrassed and he had to wake Bucky up. If not that's okay. I love your writing! Thank you so much and happy holidays!

Sure! This is Powers/No Powers.

_________________________

Steve's on Christmas Break, which means he's finagled a Christmas (observed) out of HR to cover Friday, and he's thanking the bright minds behind the fiscal year for the new load of leave that showed up in October. He's accrued a whole 10 hours of sick time in the past not-quite three months, so he's only good to stay home through Monday, but at least it's something.

Bucky's moved back in. He wouldn't go up the stairs for a while, sleeping on the sofa and living out of his luggage, but he let Steve launder his clothes and fold them back into the suitcases stashed under the coffee table.

They went up to the bedroom together eventually, though. Had some gentle make up sex. Though that was the night the electricity went out for half the block, so it might've just been a fluke.

They're on good terms now, though. Tenuous, maybe. But nothing's come down to cause stress.

Steve's a little on edge, though. He makes Bucky coffee three times a day. Fluffs the pillows in the dryer before they go to bed.

"You're neurotic," Bucky calls him, as Steve tries baking a gingerbread cake during their early dinner Friday evening.

"I am not." He unclips the kitchen timer from his jeans pocket, fumbling to turn off the loud beeping whilst dashing toward the oven. Bucky drops his napkin onto the table and rights the Coca Cola can that'd been knocked over when they'd both been startled by the sudden noise.

"Are you going to wash the bed again?" Bucky tips his head to the side.

Steve turns around, struggling to balance the glass loaf pan with one oven mitt. His face is flushed, and sweat beads on his forehead. He suddenly feels like he's run a marathon, and he isn't sure if what's wafting up from the surface of the cake is steam or smoke.

Bucky's smiling, his question clearly not meant to be serious. His brows begin to knit, though, and his expression turns to something like concern.

The pan seems to be burning straight through Steve's oven mitt, and he quickly slides it onto the stovetop. It tips sideways between the electric burners, and the hollow charcoal top splits and spills out a pile of cinders. "Fuck." A drip appears at the end of Steve's nose, and he wipes it on his sleeve. Now he can smell the damage.

"I'm sorry--" Steve starts.

"No, it's fine," Bucky steps closer, coming up just behind Steve and leaning forward slightly so his long hair brushes against Steve's ear. "Dessert isn't, you know. So much my thing."

"Yeah," Steve sighs. He's made a complete waste of time. A mess. A fool of himself. "Here, I'll go take it out." He pokes at the glass to set it right way up, but it still holds an intense amount of heat.

"I'll get it." Bucky pulls the oven mitt off Steve's hand.

"No, no." He can't think of how Bucky will possibly gouge the volcanic brick from the baking dish without broken glass becoming involved. Steve's pretty sure the pan itself is some kind of Barnes family heirloom. Straight out of the 1940s, and probably worth a few pennies.

"I'll take care of it." Steve reclaims the oven mitt. "Are you tired? D'you want to go up to bed?" He looks around shiftily. "I can clean up real quick, and... D'you want to shower? I can heat up the pillows--"

"Will you stop?" Bucky inserts himself between Steve and the burnt cake. "We can put the dishes in the sink, then wrap that thing in foil."

"Huh?"

"Wrapping will stop the smell, then it'll go and condensate on itself while it's still hot, turn to mush, and we can scrape it out later." Bucky shrugs.

"But-- that's--" Steve can't get his tongue around his words. "Tomorrow's Christmas. You want dirty dishes for Christmas?"

"Sure." Bucky even manages to sound upbeat. "Do you know how nuts you've been being?"

"I haven't--"

"Hey, takes one to know one." Bucky gives him a sad smile. "You look damn beat." He pauses. "Actually, you kind of look like little kid you. Like when you'd come back to school after you had a cold, then run too fast and almost stop breathing?"

"That's great..." It's Steve's first real day off in... he doesn't know how long. How long has Bucky been sick? Is he better? If he is, is it bad if Steve's annoyed at him?

A sneeze breaks their awkward silence. Steve goes into the downstairs bathroom for a Kleenex while Bucky loudly loads the sink. Aluminum foil crumples, and Steve decides dry brushing with the spare toothbrush behind the faucet is a better choice than inserting himself in the kitchen. He ventures out, though, when Bucky places the oven mitt on the mantle beside the tapestry woven stockings, and follows him wearily upstairs.

Neither of them bother to tumble the pillows. Bucky puts on pajamas and swallows his meds like a good boy. Steve, on the other hand, ditches his jeans on the floor and falls into bed as if it's midnight. The clock shows an hour of 7:30. If it weren't for a lifetime of awful sleeping habits, Steve might wonder what was going wrong. But the throb behind his eyes had to be work stress, and the ache in his lower back was certainly from the Christmas lights he'd quickly hastily tacked to the outside of the window. He just lies on his back, on top of his pillow, his chin on the corner of Bucky's, savoring the warmth and the opportunity to rest.

It doesn't last, though. Steve's eyes snap open. He's bewildered for maybe half a second, then panicked. He can't breathe. The air he just tried to suck in is liquid, and his body needs to get it out. He rolls instinctively onto his side, his head falling into the crevice between the two pillows, and a retch rocks his shoulders and neck.

Vomit pools up under Steve's cheek and spills in a a rivulet down his chin and toward his chest. More comes up before he can do anything to stop it. Finally Steve gets a breath in, but it's rough and desperately itchy. He wants to hack and pant and really clear his airway, but his stomach still has other ideas.

Intense nausea pushes Steve into an army crawl toward the edge of the bed. It's maybe two feet, but lifting his head exerts enough effort he feels like he could pass out. His gut goes watery and his jaw drops, leaving his back teeth chattering against air as spit and bile pour out onto the floor.

Strings of mucous hang from Steve's lips, giving him the false assertion that he's not done, even though he's empty now. His breath comes in rattles, and when he finally forcibly coughs and clears his throat, it brings on a series of loud, aching dry heaves.

"Y'ok...?" Bucky's sleepy voice asks from the other side of the bed.

Steve curses, but the only sound that comes out is gutterral and wet. He looks at the clock, which is blurry through watery eyes, and sees that it's barely 10. Barely adult bedtime. He is, truly, the worst.

"Buck...?" Steve manages.

"Mm-hm?" Bucky twitches, tosses his hand in the direction of Steve's back while he hugs the edge of the mattress with his stump arm. Unfortunately, with their current setup, he dips his palm in the sick soaking into the middle of the bed. "Wha...?"

"Can you-- I just--?" Steve clears his throat again and tries not to tip over as he sits back on his knees. The nausea has turned to vertigo, and he has trouble finding his center on the soft bed.

"Hm?" Bucky sit up like he's swimming the sidestroke. "You not feeling so good, Stevie?"

"I, um, yeah..." Another wave of lightheadedness passes over him, this time from pure mortification, Steve's sure. "There's a huge mess..."

"Yeah, 's'ok..." Bucky's eyes are a little glazed, his words a little slow. He's still under the influence of his night meds. "C'mere." He scrubs his hand on the sheets, then offers it to Steve.

Steve grasps it like a lifeline and slowly scoots into Bucky's warm space as Bucky maneuvers his own feet to the floor.

"I got you," Bucky murmurs, tucking Steve's head onto his shoulder and wrapping him up in the corner of the quilt. "It's ok."

"It's not--I'm sorry--" Steve fusses.

"Just happens," Bucky says. "You want the bathroom?"

"Don't want to move..."

"Don't have to." Bucky shifts to lean his hip against the bed. "We have time."

[veronicasummersfelton]

Limit>>Steve straightened and took a few steps forward, working his way toward a pile of twisted metal that looked slightly more lethal than its surrounding compatriots. Someone could really hurt themselves on that. Sweat poured off him in buckets, and he blinked it out of his eyes, shaking his head, as if to shoo a fly away.

Big mistake. Steve’s head swam in a way it hadn’t in years, and his vision blurred before he blinked it away, dazed, light-headed, more than a little stunned. He stumbled over a jagged piece of rock; limbs heavy, movements sluggish.

Oh. Oh, wow, he was dizzy.

Steve overworks himself. Tony is not pleased.

[will-die-without-chai]

Story idea based on ur tags on that steve post: desi reader and steve both catch colds due to monsoon shenanigans and yn's dadi is absolutely a doting figure, not allowing him to get up and giving out kadas and gently chiding, and yn is like "oop i guess hes the damad now"

Hshshshdhhds. Dadi is gonna tie him down on the bed if that's what it takes to make him rest. Like she's gonna use that sweet but with a threatening undertone voice and it reminds him of his mom, Bucky's mom (we all know Winnie Barnes was as much of a mother hen as her son) and Bucky all at once and instills the fear of God within him and he stays put.

She gives him kadha and chai and tulsi and honey (my dadaji used to give me tulsi and honey everyday, without fail as I was the sickest, illest kid in the damn family) atleast 20 times in the day and we all know he has fast healing so he would be all good after a day or so but he'll still drink that damn kadha coz he can't say no to dadi. Reader is just amused coz he has never let her or anyone else pamper him but here he is, swaddled in a blanket over the couple of sweaters he is already wearing (how dadi has something exactly his size is still a mystery) and is sitting on a mat placed besides dadi's chair as dadi massages his head and sinuses with warm oil.

[v-the-adventurer]

coming from the cold (buried under heat)

Just a random sick Steve fic I’ve had lying around in my WIPs for way too long, thought I might as well finish it with all the sadness I had left over from Endgame. No spoilers, doesn’t really fit into the canon timeline. Basically everyone is alive, and mostly happy. Fic below the cut.

“Hey there, squinty,” Nat teases as Steve walks into the bright kitchen, extending a mug of coffee to him. At his confused expression, she clarifies, “Coffee. You look like you need some.”

“Oh,” Steve responds after a beat, accepting the mug and taking a sip. It tastes more bitter than usual today, but he doesn’t comment on it, choosing rather to just enjoy the warmth of the ceramic in his hands. He feels foggy in a way he can’t really quantify, and as tired as if he hadn’t slept at all, but maybe caffeine can help him get jump-started.

“Someone’s quiet today,” Bruce ventures from across the island where he’s reading the paper, and Steve sluggishly shrugs in reply.

“I’m just, not awake yet, I guess.” Steve sets his mug down on the counter top behind him, crossing his arms over his chest. The scientist’s head perks up at that, looking a little confused.

“You mean your run didn’t wake you up?” Bruce asks slowly, noting the sweat on his teammate’s brow.

“I… didn’t go?” Steve breathes, pressing the heel of his hand into his eye in the vain hope that it’ll somehow clear the cobwebs in his brain. “Must have just slept through my alarms or something.”

“Well if you’re that tired maybe you should go back to bed,” Nat prods, concern pooling in the pit of her stomach as she watches the world’s most enthusiastic morning person suppress a yawn. “We can switch that coffee for water or something.”

“Might have to take you up on that.” Their leader closes his eyes and scrubs a hand over his face, looking out of sorts in a way that his teammates have never seen him. “Kind of got a headache brewing.”

Bruce’s heart sinks. “Do you want an Advil or something? Or a heating pack to put over your eyes?” Steve declines his offer of medicine, but is surprisingly receptive to the hot compress idea. As soon as it’s popped out of the microwave, Steve heads out to the couch and wraps the bag around his forehead, draping a blanket over himself. It’s not long before he’s back to sleep.

-

It’s three hours later that Steve comes to for the second time that day. It isn’t any more pleasant than the first time, and in fact, it might be worse. Now instead of just the exhaustion and headache, Steve feels completely drained. His head throbs with any movement, his muscles ache, and he shivers despite the blanket he’s wrapped under. A small part of him wants to go back to sleep again, but Tony sits down on the couch near his feet and that hope is squashed.

“Hey Spangles, how’s the headache?”

“Ugh,” was his only reply as Steve turned his face into the back of the couch. He still couldn’t understand the fatigue that had settled over him, how it was so much effort to open his eyes and focus them on the engineer.

“That great, huh?” Tony mumbled, resting a hand on the super soldier’s leg in quiet comfort.

“I just,” Steve trails off, squeezing his eyes closed as he sits up, “sorry, my brain is mush right now.” He winces as his movement ripples through his skull, resting his head in his hands.

“Do you think it’s a migraine?” Tony asks quietly from the other end of the couch, examining the kid.

“No,” Steve answers quickly. “I’ve had migraines, and they didn’t feel like this. I mostly just feel, weird? Like half awake kind of, but my whole body is buzzing.”

That trips Tony up a bit, and before he knows what he’s doing he’s extending a hand to rest on Steve’s forehead. The heat that rests there doesn’t surprise him, but he still sighs in sympathy for the man. “Yeah, Cap, you’re running a bit hot.”

“Figures,” the soldier mumbles, standing. “Well, I’m gonna go get dressed. Nat’s surveillance shift is almost up at the warehouse.”

“Wait what? No, you shouldn’t be going anywhere but to bed.” Tony’s protests are met with a resigned shrug.

“Can’t just leave her there, Tony. Besides, I think I can handle sitting in a car for a few hours.” Steve walks off before Tony can object again, swapping his sweats for a pair of jeans and grabbing his sunglasses and car keys on his way out the door. Belatedly he realizes he probably should have popped a few ibuprofen, but he’s already in the car by the time he comes to this conclusion, and is in no mood to take the elevator back up to grab any.

Steve gets to the surveillance spot with little trouble, but he is finding it hard to stay focused. The glinting sun is doing nothing for his headache and his nose has started to run ever so slightly. It’s all very distracting and all he really wants is to go to bed. He’s beginning to think that maybe Tony was right, but he pulls up to Nat’s car anyways.

“Jesus, you look like shit,” is the first thing out of Nat’s mouth when he rolls down the window. Steve just laughs humorlessly and leans his head back against the headrest with a sigh.

“Any movement?” He asks, dodging her statement with as much grace as a baby elephant learning to walk for the first time.

“None,” She susses out, but it’s still clear she’s focused on Steve. “What’s going on with you?”

“It’s nothing, okay?” Steve tries to evade, but a sharp glance from his teammate has him backtracking. “I’m just not feeling great.” Nat pauses for a long moment, considering him, before taking the keys out of her car’s ignition and settling back into the driver’s seat. “What’re you doing?”

“I’m surveilling.”

“No, Nat, I’m surveilling.”

“No, Steve. You’re going home. I’m not gonna make you sit in the heat when you’re so obviously not doing okay.” Nat looks equal parts annoyed and concerned, which is an odd mix on her, but Steve doesn’t have much to say in response. “Send Tony or Clint out here, they can take the next watch.”

Steve frowns at the way she won’t meet his eyes and sighs, bringing his head down to rest on the steering wheel. He wants to tell her she’s being ridiculous, that she’s overreacting and he’s fine, but he can’t. He wants nothing more than to lie down in his bed and sleep until the worst of it is over, but he can’t help but feel guilty that he’s extending Nat’s already long shift. He doesn’t realize how long he’s been sitting like that until magically Nat is opening his door.

“Hey, Steve. Move over.” She pokes his side, ignoring his confusion as he’s shoved from the driver’s seat to the passenger side of the bench.

“Wait, what?” He finally manages, proud of himself for stringing together two intelligible words.

“I’m taking you home. You shouldn’t be driving.”

“But, your car?” Steve trails off as he notices Barton sitting in the front seat of Nat’s car, giving him a little wave. “Oh.” The details are a little fuzzy but he just buckles himself in as Nat starts his truck and they drive off.

“Why’d you even bother driving out there, Steve?” Nat asks, glancing at him as she steers the car onto the highway. Steve looks like he’s almost asleep, but she can tell he isn’t by the crinkles in his forehead and eyes.

“It was my shift, had to let you get home.” He sounds as bleary as he looks.

“Steve, I’m going to give you a pass on this one because you’re running one hell of a fever and aren’t thinking clearly, but I’m a big girl. You didn’t need to come out there and rescue me from an extra hour in the car.” She glances at him, frowning at how uncomfortable he looks curled up in the passenger seat. She can tell by the crinkles at the corner of his eyes that the brightness of the day is bothering him, even with sunglasses on. Seeing him like this makes it hard to believe that he’s a superhero, their leader; he looks small, and maybe just a little bit pathetic.

As soon as they get back to the tower, Natasha ushers Steve into the elevator and to his floor with strict instructions to change into sweats and go to bed. So naturally, like the good little soldier he is, Steve curls up under his duvet and unceremoniously falls asleep.

When he wakes up hours later, there’s a sticky note on his forehead written in Tony’s handwriting:

“Come downstairs when you wake up, Cap! We’ve got soup and movies :)”

So Steve goes down to the common floor, where Bruce dishes him a cup of spicy chicken soup and Tony queues up the next movie on Steve’s list of “What I missed”. And if Steve happens to fall asleep halfway through the movie, head tucked into Tony’s lap and quietly snoring, everyone pretends not to notice. He’s their leader, their friend, their family, and there’s not a damn thing the Avengers wouldn’t do to protect their family.

[trippymini]

I love to take care of you

A/N: This is my first fic so no promises it good

Pairing: Bucky x Pre-serum!Steve

Summary: When Steve gets sick, Bucky takes care of him

Word Count: 

Warnings: Mentions of Puking

----------------------------------------

Steve groaned as he woke up. He barely rolled over to the bucket by his bedside, when his stomachs contents reemerged.

He sat up gingerly. He’d had the stomach bug for a few days now, and he knew  if he didn’t somehow contact Bucky, he would end up playing nurse to him. It also didn’t help that he had missed work, money he would need to pay rent.

A knock sounded at the door followed by a soft “Steve?”

Steve bounded up cursing under his breath. He pushed the bucket out of sight, and smoothed his hair down trying to look as healthy as possible, before opening the door to be greeted by his best friend.

“Hey Buck” He mustered a smile trying to will himself better

Bucky eyed him suspiciously “You’re sick aren’t you?”

Steve laughed nervously “What? No I’m not” Before rushing back inside to heave into the bucket once again

Bucky followed him in “Yeah you are. Get back in the bed”

Steve obeyed to weak to argue. Bucky pulled the blankets over him before he fell asleep.

When he came to Bucky was sitting there having just go back “Morning Stevie”He laid down a bag “I got you some soup”

Steve eyed it suspiciously “Did you make it?”

“Nah got it at that place down the street, so eat up” He Smirked “Or am I gonna have to feed you like last time you were sick?”

Steve scowled and pick up the bowl “That was one time Buck, let it go”

Over the rest of the day they alternated between Bucky fussing over him, and Steve complaining, until he fell asleep that night. When he woke up in the early hours, he looked over to see Bucky on the couch using his coat as a blanket. 

Steve rolled his eyes before grabbing a blanket off his bed and draping it over his friend. Settling back down, he immediately felt the loss of heat provided by he extra blanket, but he wasn’t about to get Bucky sick too.

When he came to, he felt much better, and sat up, seeing Bucky had put the blanket back over him. He looked over to see him sitting on the couch.

“Morning” He said getting up out of bed.

“Morning.” He replied. “Feeling better today? We can go see this cartoon.”

“Yeah” Steve replied. “And you can stop playing nurse. Didn’t you have to go to work any ways?”

Bucky shrugged “Took a few days off. Besides Punk” He flung his arm across Steve’s shoulders “I like taking care off you”

Steve rolled his eyes “Jerk” Not that he would ever admit it, but Steve liked it too.

@panicky-parker @tomsfireheart @revengingbarnes @lokielaufeysons