Whumps And Sick Fics

Side account, for whumps and fics that don’t fit my other blog 🤘🏻

[wellthatwentbetterthanexpected]

I like your OC work on your other blog. Could we get some OC whump/sick fic stuff on this one? No pressure

Oh I absolutely love this! I absolutely will get onto this when I can, I have so many OC's in my head and I haven't known what to do with them! So I'll try and get something cracked out in the next few days!

[melodicwriter]

[wellthatwentbetterthanexpected]

We’re brothers now

“I don’t care Sam” Bucky said, placing a wet cloth over his shivering partner, “we’re brothers now, this is what we do”

Or - Sam and Bucky are on a mission when Sam comes down with a fever and Bucky takes care of him, and Sam whinges about being a grown ass man.

Set after the events of Falcon and the Winter Soldier

Nothing could ever be simple nowadays. This was meant to be a simple recon mission. In and out they said. No more than 48 hours they said.

Well it was now hour 49 and Bucky was still sat in a dodgy motel. Sam was sprawled out on the bed, blanket cocooning him whilst he shivered violently. They were meant to have left a few hours ago, but when Bucky woke up to his partner delirious from fever and coughing like a 90 year old asthmatic life long smoker he knew they weren’t going anywhere that day, except may the hospital if the said fever doesn’t break soon.

Bucky sighed for the hundredth time that morning as he got up to soak the towel in cold water again, returning to the bedside to carefully run the cooling towel over Sam’s sweat soaked brow and neck. Reaching for the thermometer again he checked his partners temperature, the same way he’s been doing every 30 minute for the last 4 hours.

103.8 - shit.

He knew he had to go and get something to bring Sam’s fever down, but he didn’t want to risk Sam waking up alone. Last time he woke up he had no idea where he was, who Bucky was, or what they were doing in a dingy motel together. It took Bucky nearly 45 minutes of batting of Sam’s feeble attempts to fight him and calm explanation for Sam to get with it enough to know who he was and that he was safe. And when that realisation occurred he’d simply collapsed into Bucky’s arms, his body finally feeling secure enough to pass out. That was 2 hours ago, when his fever was only 102.5, so God knows what he’d be like when he came round this time.

Glancing at the clock, it was now 9am. The motel staff would be around now, and Bucky decided the risk was worth the benefit. He slowly and quietly stood up and slid out of the door, glancing back to his still sleeping partners, before heading down to the main desk. A young woman sat there, no more than 24. She eyed him up and down, the usual mix of intrigue and wariness.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes ma’m. Where’s the nearest shop that should stock something for a fever?” Bucky asked, smiling politely and making himself look as non threatening as possible.

“Well that would be at Gordy’s corner shop, but I have some on me here if you’d like? Save you the trip. We can here your... fellow roommate coughing from down the hallway. He sounds like he needs it.”

She hands him a packet of pills, which he accepts gratefully, his smile now genuine.

“Thank you,” he looks at her name tag, “Isabella.”

He walks back to the room, by the end of the corridor he can hear Sam hacking up a lung. He sped up a little, and as he entered the room he was surprised to find that Sam wasn’t in bed. Shutting the door behind him he looked around for the location of the hacking, and his eyes landed on Sam, crouched in the corner of the room, gun aimed straight at Bucky’s head. Fuck, he should have removed the ammunition the minute Sam showed signs of delirium.

Bucky slowly raised his hands in the air in surrender, trying to make himself as small and un-threatening as possible when you’re a massive, muscular, super soldier with a less than inconspicuous metal arm.

“Sam.”

“Who are you? Where am I?”

“Sam, it’s Bucky.” He said, trying to make eye contact with Sam, who was now attempting to stand. As he wobbled dangerously Bucky took a step towards him. Wrong move. Sam trained the gun so the aim was directly between his eyes.

“Where am I?” Sam repeated, his voice breaking as he fights back a cough.

“In a motel. In Chicago. With me, Bucky. We’ve just finished a mission and we were going to leave earlier this morning but you’re sick.”

Sam looked at him with fever glasses eyes, the cogs in his head turning as he tried to follow what was being said.

“Buck?” He asked after a moment, lowering the gun.

“Yeah bud, it’s me.” He replied, stepping across the room and removing the gun from Sam’s hand, emptying the bullets into a dresser draw.

Bucky placed his hands on Sam’s shoulders, guiding him back to the bed.

“Back to bed with you Cap, you need to take these pills then go back to sleep.”

Sitting Sam on the edge of the bed he passed him the glass of water from the bedside table, and pulled the pills out of his pocket, popping two into Sam’s outstretched shaking hand. He downed them in one before collapsing into the bed. Bucky lay the blanket over him, just about refraining from tucking him in like a child.

Sam was asleep almost instantly, worn out from his little half arsed assassination attempt on Bucky. Bucky moved the desk chair back across the room and placed it beside Sam’s bed, taking up the position he’d sat in ever since Sam’s temp had gotten me over 103. He opened his phone and put his headphones in one ear, and continued watching the YouTube videos that Steve kept sending him now he had so much free time, being retired and all.

No more than half an hour later, Sam started coughing. There was no ease into it, he was suddenly spluttering and hacking. He tried to push himself upright but he was coughing too hard. Bucky grabbed his arm and pulled him into the sitting position, keeping his grip on him to stop Sam simply falling over. With his metal arm he gently rubbed circles on Sam’s back, hoping to both reassure and ground the newly titled Captain America. He didn’t fancy another delirious attempted murder scenario. It took a few minutes but Sam was able to take some ragged breaths without coughing. He looked to Bucky weekly.

“You know who I am?” He asked.

Sam have a weak smile, “the pain in my ass that won’t go away?” He rasped, his attempt at humour squashed by another round of coughing.

Bucky handed him the cup of water, which Sam sipped gratefully before flopping back down onto the pillows. Bucky took this as a chance to grab the thermometer and shove it in his ear, earning a feeble glare from Sam.

“101.8, well that’s better. Not great, but better.” Bucky said.

Sam hummed a response, already falling back to sleep. Bucky used this as his chance to cool his partner down further. He went to the bathroom and wet the towel with fresh cold water, before returning to his bedside vigil. He wiped the sweat off of Sam’s brow and neck again.

“Buck I’m a grown ass man.”

“You’re sick.”

“You don’t have to do this, I’m not dying, I’m just sick.”

“I want to help. And I’m not 100% sure on the not dying thing yet you know, best to have someone keeping an eye on you.”

Sam groaned, “ Please just leave me be, this’ll be super embarrassing when I’m with it again.”

“I don’t care Sam” Bucky said, placing a wet cloth over his shivering partner, “we’re brothers now, this is what we do”

Sam huffed a little, but it was completely void of true indignity, as the cooling of the towel pushed him back into sleep.

Bucky sighed, picking his phone up once again. Maybe no was the time to investigate the ebook app he’d downloaded, as it seemed like they wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while.

[fishyandclintbarton]

[TWEET DESCRIPTION: steve rogers is what america believed it was, john walker is what america truly is and sam wilson is what america should be]

.

.

And that's the tea.

[incorrect-fandom-quotes]

Clint: I don't think–

Nat: we know

[incorrect-fandom-quotes]

Natasha : Don’t worry, I have a few guns up my sleeve.

Clint: I think you mean cards.

Natasha, pulling guns out of her sleeves: No, I do not.

[irondadfics]

I'm looking for a fic that I read a while back. I don't remember how it happened, but Peter was having some kind of out-of-body experience, and all of the Avengers (including Tony) thought he was either dead or in a coma and very close to death (he wasn't dead, and he comes back at the end). Peter was trying to communicate with Tony to tell him that he was alive, but Tony couldn't hear him and was grieving.

when my body won’t hold me anymore (where will I go)  by @madasthesea

But he knows. He knows.

He can feel it.

Peter’s dead.

Peter Parker watches as Tony carefully arranges his limbs on a cot.

“Mr. Stark,” he tries for the dozenth time. No one hears him.

[incorrect-fandom-quotes]

Sam: did it hurt?

Bucky, smirking: when I fell from heaven?

Sam: no when you fell out of the plane

Sam: we all saw it

[wellthatwentbetterthanexpected]

(Wo)man down

Nat has worked herself to the ground recently, but hey what’s one more run with Steve before she calls it quits and goes to bed? Apparently a bloody disaster, that’s what.

Nat knew she shouldn’t have come to training this morning. She’d only returned to the compound from her latest solo mission at 3am that morning having not slept for at least 36 hours, and it was only 6am now. Damn Steve and his early bird tendencies. She prayed that the triple espresso would get her through until could collapse in bed and sleep until spending time with Bruce in the evening.

Upon exiting the compound Nat sees that Steve is already warming up, he stops and waves eagerly at her as she approach’s.

“Good morning Natasha, how was your mission?” He pulls her into a warm embrace. She had grown a lot more comfortable with the touchy-feely ways of some of her fellow avengers, even though it still isn’t her favourite thing.

“Fine.” She replies, returning the embrace. She was not being short with him, but both of them knew she wouldn’t disclose much more than that. Years of working alone still keeps her lips tight.

Nat begins her warm up, jogging on the spot before stretching. As she bends to touch her toes, all of the blood rushes to her head. Never normally an issue, but today it caused the outer ring of her vision to turn black and her ears began to ring loudly. She wobbles and begins falling but saves herself just in time to, less than elegantly, sit down. The ringing eases and the black fades from her vision. Unfortunately though, Steve noticed. He was by her side quickly, squatting down beside her.

“Nat? What’s wrong?” He asks, concern written all over his face. His hand has already found its way to her wrist, measuring her racing pulse. She pushes his hand away lightly, and uses it to stand up.

“I’m fine Steve, just jet lag.” Not technically a lie but definitely not the truth. But before he has the chance to question her further, Nat flashes him a grin and pushes past him cheekily, “loser makes breakfast!” She shouts as she runs off.

Ten minutes in and Nat knows she’s fucked up. Big time. Her breath is ragged and fast, which after ten minutes is appalling for someone in her field. Her vision is swimming in and out of focus, and she stopped being able to hear much over the ringing in her ears over a minute ago. She’s been around long enough to know what’s going to happen next. Nat can just make out Steve’s figure a fair distance ahead of her (thank god for his patriotism and his red white and blue running gear making him hard to miss). She slows down gingerly to an unstable stop. She plans to lower herself to the ground slowly and wait for it to pass, and somehow alert Steve to her distress. But as most of her plans seem to go recently, it did not happen the way she planned. The second she stopped running, her legs turned to jello and she feels herself falling towards the ground, blacking out before making contact with the cement.

“Tasha.... come on wake up.... dammit open your eyes.”

Nat can hear the voice floating somewhere around her head, disjointed from everything. Slowly she began to feel herself returning to her senses. Her ears are no longer ringing and she can feel the weight of her aching, exhausted body. And what the FUCK was the new throbbing pain in her head?! Groaning in pain she tried to open her eyes, just about succeeding in making her eyelids flutter.

“Nat? Can you hear me? It’s Steve. Can you open your eyes for me?”

Nat groans in response, forcing her weighted eyelids open, attempting to focus on his face. The black spots had gone, however she was viewing everything through a red haze. She lifts her hand to rub whatever it was out of her eyes, only for Steve to grab her by the wrist.

“No, don’t touch it Nat. You hit your head pretty hard on the pavement, you’re bleeding.”

She groans again, blinking until the blood clears from her eyes, “What happened?”

“You tell me!” Steve said, “ One minute we were running and the next I look over my shoulder to see you stop and fall to the ground! Were you hurt on your mission? Are you sick?”

“Steve, Jesus, enough with the 20 questions.” She moves to sit up, Steve gently helps guide her up until she’s sat up, but keeps his grip firmly on her upper arm as she sways a little. “I’m exhausted.” Nat states simply.

Steve looked at Nat blankly, waiting for her to go on. Being exhausted is nothing new for either of you and you both know it. She sighs deeply.

“Steve, I’m more than exhausted. I haven’t slept in over 36... nope, make that 37 hours now. I’ve spent the last week running around chasing bad guys whilst living off half rations. Before that I was was off with Sam dealing with the issues in Washington. I haven’t had a decent nights sleep or a decent meal in forever. I have nothing left to give.”

She’s not sure where that rant had come from, but felt a small weight lift off of her shoulders. However this was also met with a new wetness on her face, and she realised she were crying. Dammit. She aggressively wiped the tears away, pissed at herself for getting into this state.

Suddenly she felt herself being encased by strong arms and pulled into a tight hug. And that was the final straw, Nat sobbed, all of her exhaustion and emotions spilling down her cheeks and onto Steve’s top. And that’s where she stay, unmoving other than Steve repositioning the two of them and her sobs which rattles through her chest. Slowly Nat was able to start calming down. Steve was rubbing her back and whispering a reassuring “shhhhh” as he held her up tightly. Had he not been there Nat was sure she would have fallen face first back to the ground face. A few more raggedy breaths later and she began to regain a little control of her emotions, and gain awareness of what was happening. Oh my god, she were in a public park sobbing on Captain America’s chest. Emphasis on Public. She pushes herself away from Steve, instantly in surveillance mode, checking that no one was watching them and they weren’t being filmed.

“Nat you’re fine, no one is paying the slightest bit of attention.” Steve said, reading her mind as usual. He leant back onto his heals into a crouch. “Want to try standing?”

She nodded slightly, allowing him to pull the two of them up to standing. She swayed dangerously, the position change threatening to push her back into the darkness of unconsciousness. Steve held her tightly until she regained use of her legs properly.

“Can you walk? I want to get you back to the compound and have Bruce check you over.”

Nat contemplated her ability to walk, her legs more stable but still unsteady, but nodded. She tactfully chose to ignore his comment about seeing Bruce, knowing she wouldn’t follow through but didn’t want an argument.

Slowly they made their way back to the compound, Steve’s arm tightly wrapped around her shoulders, supporting her without being obvious. She made it most of the way before her legs decided to give out on her again.

“Shoot, Tasha, alright okay I’ve got you.” She felt him guide her to what she assumed was a bench, she couldn’t be sure because once again she couldn’t see through the dizzying blackness. Damn she’s not been this exhausted in a very long time. Or was she concussed from the first faint. The throbbing pain that wasn’t easing probably meant she could confidently add concussion into the mix of shit happening to her right now.

She allowed Steve to guide her head down between her legs, grounding herself with the rhythmic circles he was rubbing her back. She could hear him talking in her ear but the words were making no sense. Everything feels disjointed, Nat feels disconnected from the world, completely out of it. In her haze she’s vaguely aware of Steve moving away a little, his voice getting further away but his hand remaining on her upper back. When he moved back beside her she felt more aware of her surroundings, but remained with her head down.

“Hey Tasha, can you hear me now?”

“Mhm”

“I’ve called Bruce, he’s going to meet us at the entrance. You’re dehydrated, malnourished, exhausted and now concussed. Your body is fighting a losing battle with itself, we need to go and get you sorted.”

Nat raised her head and looked at Steve, that movement alone almost sending her pitching forward off of the bench, however Steve had her held securely by the shoulders.

“Can’t walk.” She said, her voice quiet and weak even to her own ears. All she wanted now was sleep, nothing else mattered. She slumped into Steve’s side and closed her eyes.

“No, come on Nat, I know you’re exhausted but I need you to stay awake. Nat? No come on open those eyes for me. Right dammit okay I’m going to run you back.”

She couldn’t have protested even if she wanted to, she was already bridal style in Steve’s arms by the time her foggy brain managed to work out what was being said. And any further protest she may have had died on her lips as the rocking motion of moving became the catalyst that pulled her fully into unconsciousness.

Nat didn’t remember getting back to the compound, she didn’t see the surprised then concerned look on Bruce’s face as Steve had rounded the corner with an unconscious Natasha in his arms. She didn’t recall the elevator journey where Steve reeled off what had happened, his voice growing ever more anxious. She didn’t hear Tony’s surprised shout when they ran past him to the medbay, nor did she hear him helping Bruce set up the equipment.

The next thing Natasha was aware of was the sound of rhythmic beeping and the quiet chatter of low voices. Opening her eyes she took in the scene before her. Steve was sat directly to the right of her, his posture tense, and his hand held hers tightly. Bruce was stood at the bottom of her bed flicking through a chart. To her left she could make out Tony, leaning back into his chair with his feet propped on the end of her bed as a footrest.

“Feet off my bed Stark.” She managed to croak out hoarsely.

And just like that all eyes were on her.

“Nat, thank God.” Steve said quietly, squeezing her hand and pulling his chair closer. He passed her a glass of water and the liquid felt amazing running down her throat.

“I think you’ll find,” Tony started, swinging his legs to the ground, “ that’s technically this is my bed, in fact, 95% of the stuff in this building is mine.”

Nat flipped him off before looking towards Bruce.

“What’s the verdict Doc, will I live to see another day.” She joked.

“Well, you’re dehydrated for a start. The low blood sugar, low blood pressure, and anaemia are obvious signs of malnutrition. Steve told us how long it had been since you last slept so that’s another box off of our bingo card. Add to that the concussion you’ve managed to give yourself, I’d say you’ve got a full house.”

“Basically Little Red, you’re about as good at looking after yourself as I am,” Tony joked, “except when you hit your breaking point you sure as hell do it with flare don’t you. I thought poor spangles here was going down with ya at one point!”

Nat laughed before turning her attention to Steve, who was not laughing, in fact he looked as wrecked as she felt.

“Steve?” She asked quietly, giving his hand a small squeeze and making eye contact with what she could only describe as sad eyes.

“Alright Brucey, let’s give these two some time to talk this out.”

“We’ll be in the lab if you need us.” Bruce said, smiling calmly at Nat and Steve as they left the medbay.

“Hey, I’m alright. They’re fixing me up and I’ll be good as new by evening. What’s with the sad eyes?”

Steve looked at her, “how did it get so bad? How did I notice how ill you were getting? I should never have let you come on that run. I’m sorry Natasha.”

“Hey no, what are you talking about? This was my fault, I know my limits and I should have known I’d passed them. I should have rested. I’m sorry I put you in that situation.”

Steve gave her another sad smile, another reassuring hand squeeze, and stood up. Nat wondered what he was doing as he went over to the main desk, aka the desk that lives in the medbay and belongs to “I’m not that kind of dr” Banner, and opened the top draw. He smiled and turned around, peanut MnM’s and Gatorade in hand.

“Time to work on your dehydration and malnutrition Agent Romanoff.”

[wellthatwentbetterthanexpected]

Go away (please stay)

Nat and Steve are in a safe house awaiting evac when Nat comes down with a stomach bug, and Steve is there to look after her.

Set some time after civil war but before infinity war.

Characters: Nat and Steve - sicfic/fluff

Natasha woke with a start, unsure of what woke her or where she was. As her eyes adjusted to being awake, she took in the one roomed, semi-condemned cabin. A shitty SHIELD safe house. Light snoring alerted her to another presence in the room, and she remembers where she is. In a safe house with the one and only Captain America (or as she called him, just Steve) after a mission, waiting for the unexpected blizzard to die down enough that a SHIELD helicopter can pick them up and take them home.

Now that she’d established where she was, Nat was beginning to establish WHY she was awake. Her stomach was churning sickly, and her mouth was filled with saliva. Nausea rolled through her like waves of the ocean. Propping herself up on her elbows, Nat groaned lightly as the nausea spiked then plateaued. This was not a common feeling. She did not get sick often, and when she did it was never accompanied by, well, actually being sick. The odd flu here and an infected wound there sure, but never did she throw up. Until now that is, her body decided, as thick saliva continued to flood her mouth. Placing one hand on her unsettled stomach, she used the other to push herself off of the mildly damp smelling sofa she’d been sleeping on. She stepped quietly around Steve who was sprawled out on a large, equally damp smelling, rug. She crept hastily to the bathroom, closing the door behind her before lowering herself in front of the toilet shakily. The cold sweats were starting and she felt herself shaking, another thick swallow of saliva and suddenly bile was rushing up her throat. Gagging harshly she began throwing up the measly amount of food she’d been able to eat during their mission. Her stomach muscles clenched repeatedly until she was dry heaving forcefully, unable to stop the spasmic clenching of her stomach.

She was momentarily distracted from her pain by a cautious knock on the door.

“Tasha?”

“Go. Away. Steve.” She managed to gasp out in between harsh gags.

The door creaked open and the next thing she felt was one hand pulling back her hair and another being placed on her back and rubbing circles.

“Breathe Nat, slowly now, you don’t have anything left to throw up.”

It was meant as comfort, she knew this. However she also KNEW that she had nothing left to throw up and being told that was not helpful. She made a pitiful attempt to swipe Steve’s hand off her, however she failed miserably, so decided instead to focus on regaining a little control and dignity in this frankly mortifying situation. And after a few minutes the retching stopped and she flopped backwards against the bath tub, exhausted. Tissue was being wiped by her mouth, and a cold wet towel was being brushed across her forehead. It felt nice for a moment, before she once again realised what was happening, and opened her eyes to glare (albeit pitifully) at Steve.

“Go ‘way” she murmured, though even to herself she could hear the deep level of pathetic misery in her tone.

“No, I’m fine right here thanks,” Steve said, passing her a bottle of water before sitting himself next to her, “drink.”

“Not yet.” Nat said, her stomach still doing flips. She was exhausted, and closed her eyes.

“No, Natasha, come on you can’t go to sleep until you’ve had something to drink. You weren’t exactly hydrated to start with.”

Nat didn’t even bother opening her eyes before replying, “go away Steve.”

She heard a sigh, then felt the water bottle being pressed to her lips.

“Drink.”

She parted her lips, taking the smallest of small sips. She wouldn’t admit it, but the water was refreshing. That was until it hit her stomach, which sent it straight back up and she barely had enough time to lean over the toilet before it reappeared into the bowl. Firm hands were once again rubbing her back, and she could hear Steve mumbling reassurances into her ear, until she was finally able to get the retching under control again.

She once again fell back against the bath, however this time she was pulled away and against a firm, warm chest.

“You were right, you weren’t ready for the water.” Steve said as she lulled her head into the crook of his neck. The urge to say I told you so was strong, but not as strong as the exhaustion that was overwhelming her.

“G’ ‘way” she managed to whisper, though the way she curled herself into him made it clear she didn’t mean it anymore.

Steve chuckled, the vibrations felt soothing against Nat’s aching body. She felt him place a hand gently by her face, and his thumb began tracing her temple soothingly. Had it not been for the vomiting and stomach cramps, Nat thought, this would almost be nice. Things hadn’t quite been the same between them since Germany. Neither held grudges for what had occurred there and after, but still the relationship felt strained compared to the ease of their previous friendship.

They remained like this for a while, repeating them same routine of drinking water then promptly vomiting, for god knows how long. Natasha couldn’t be sure as all concepts of time had left her after the third round of puking her guts up. However the sun was already peaking through the small bathroom window, meaning that not only was it morning, but the blizzard had eased. It had also been at least 15 minutes since she last puked she decided, because Steve was once again pushing a water bottle to her mouth. She sipped it, the smallest sip she could manage, then curled herself tightly against him. She lay there half asleep, waiting for the inevitable vomiting, but this time it didn’t come. Steve clearly noticed this improvement too as he readjusted her position so she was almost totally upright before pouring a little more water into her mouth. And when this one too seemed to stay down, Natasha willingly took a larger sip of water before leaning into Steve again.

“Are you ready to migrate back to the sofa?” He asked quietly, lowering his head to hers.

She hummed lightly in agreement, though she had no real desire to actually move, she was so damn tired and sore. This must have been obvious as the next thing she knew she was being carried out of the bathroom and placed gently onto the couch. She opened her eyes a crack, watching Steve as he layered a blanket over her and place a trash can by her side.

“The weather has cleared.” He said, as she felt him sit on the ground beside her, “ we should be out of here soon, and we can get you to Medbay.”

Nat snorted lightly, “ ‘m not going to medbay for a case of stomach flu.”

“We’ll see about that, you’re pretty dehydrated Natasha, an iv would do you the world of good.”

“Yes sir.” Nat mumbled back. If she had the energy she would have included a sarcastic salute, but her whole body felt like it was weighted down. Everything hurt and she could feel the effects of dehydration in the dryness of her mouth and the foggy feeling in her thoughts. Closing her eyes again she tried to let sleep overcome her so she didn’t have to feel for a bit. As she was drifting she felt a hand encase hers and a thumb began rubbing soothingly on the back of her hand. She squeezed it lightly, and a careful squeeze is returned.

“Go away,” she murmured sleepily, the exhausted humour clear in her voice.

“Never, Natasha, never.”