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When the alarm clock starts wailing at six thirty, Bucky feels no more rested than when he went to bed. He had a headache all night; even when sleeping he was aware of the nail in the back of his head.
He had a headache that just kept getting worse last night. Thinking it was just tension, he brushed it off, expecting to wake up feeling better. Instead, he feels worse.
Beside him, Steve stretches and gets out of bed, looking expectantly at Bucky who doesn’t even remember what they’re doing that means he has to get up this early. His head is still too clouded with sleep, and pain.
“No.” Bucky groans, wanting to stay in bed all day, drowning in his headache.
“We have a long drive.” Steve reminds him.
“No.” Bucky repeats, dragging out the word. He rolls around, ending up face down on the bed.
“The sooner we leave, the sooner we’ll be there. And the more time we’ll have at the hotel before we have to go to the seminar.” Steve tries coaxing him out of bed.
“Why even go to the stupid seminar?” Bucky mumbles into the pillow he has his face smushed into.
“Because Tony asked us to do him a favor.” Steve says, not sounding too happy about it himself. Bucky vaguely remembers. Something about getting more people to show up if Capsicle is on the guest list. As if Iron Man won’t attract enough people by himself.
Bucky lifts his head from the pillow, squinting at Steve. “No.” Then he smothers himself with the pillow again. He won’t have to go if he dies of suffocation first, right?
“Come on, Buck. We agreed to do this.” Steve climbs back in bed, draping himself over Bucky. He leans in to whisper in Bucky’s ear. “I’ll buy you whatever book you want.”
“Lord of the Rings?” Bucky asks hopefully after a moment. He’s waited eight-five years for the sequel to the Hobbit; even now he’s never got around to buying it.
“All three.” Steve confirms, laughing as Bucky perks up.
“Okay.” Bucky gives in. He can push aside the headache for Legolas any day. He really had no clue what he was missing out on when reading the Hobbit. Because, just, Legolas, need he say more?
Steve drags Bucky out of bed with him. Moving hurts Bucky’s head. It feels like his brain hits the inside of his skull when he moves. He pushes it down and quickly gets dressed before joining Steve in the kitchen.
“Are you cold?” Steve laughs as Bucky sits down at the kitchen table.
“What?” Bucky looks down at himself. He’s wearing a thick hoodie with fleece lining, hood pulled up over his head, his favorite winter sweatpants, and warm, cozy slippers. “Oh yeah, isn’t it cold in here?” Bucky asks nonchalantly, seeing Steve wearing only a t-shirt and jeans.
“Not really, no.” Steve looks concerned. “It’s almost eighty degrees outside, you should probably change into something lighter before we leave.” Steve says slowly, looking thoughtful.
“I’m fine.” Bucky answers Steve’s unspoken question. It’s just a headache, nothing to worry about.
“If you say so.” Steve says, unconvinced.
Steve cooks them breakfast while Bucky pretends to not be in pain. When Steve turns his back Bucky scrunches up his face in pain, squinting at the light. He tries rubbing the back of his head, pushing at the spot that hurts. It distracts him for a moment, but as soon as he moves his hand the pain comes back.
“You okay?” Steve pushes when he catches Bucky in the act.
“Yeah.” Bucky tries to come up with a lie. “Just itchy.” He scratches his head through the hood for effect, not even convincing himself.
“Voilà.” Steve definitely pronounces the word wrongly as he puts their food on the table.
The eggs and bacon with toast don’t look nearly as inviting as Bucky expects. The little hunger he had felt before vanishes as he starts eating. He forces himself to eat anyway, not wanting to make Steve even more suspicious. By the looks Steve is sending him, it’s not working.
When they’ve finished eating Steve cleans up while Bucky changes his clothes. He puts on a thinner hoodie and jeans, leaving the slippers by the bed and wraps his arms around himself as it leaves his freezing.
It has to be cold in there, there’s no way the apartment is normal room temperature. Steve can’t judge the temperature; the man doesn’t get cold until it’s forty degrees.
“Ready?” Bucky jumps when Steve is suddenly in the doorway. Bucky puts on a smile, lets his arms down and straightens his back, putting on the I’m-fine mask.
“Yeah.” Bucky is shocked at how normal his voice sounds. He expected it to sound closer to Gollum, maybe even Smaug, including the fire.
The first half hour in the car isn’t too bad. It’s still early, so Bucky is able to play off his behavior as just being tired. The cool window pressing against his head helps a little with the pain. The bumps in the road does not, however. He can’t help imagining a blender making a milkshake as he feels every movement of the car tenfold in his stomach.
He feels Steve look over at him every few minutes, but never returns it. Being in this position with his head leaning on the window, his eyes closed, and arms wrapped around his stomach is where he’s planning on being for the next four and a half hours.
He tries to fall asleep, hoping to just wake up at the motel feeling refreshed and free of pain. Every time he feels like he might fall asleep, there’s a bump in the road, or he as one of those dreams of falling of a chair, and he jumps awake. Steve radiates more and more concerned energy as the minutes pass.
“What hurts?” Steve asks a few minutes later. Bucky isn’t surprised Steve caught on; he’s not doing a great job of hiding his pain. He’s barely even trying, if pretending to be asleep can be defined as trying.
“Nothing.” He lies through his teeth, his eyes slipping open to look over at Steve.
Steve stays silent, knowing Bucky can’t take the uncomfortable silence between them for long. It’s a perfected technique Steve uses all too often. Bucky sighs, cursing Steve in his head for being able to make him talk without saying anything.
“Head.” Bucky says, holding back the whole truth. He doesn’t want Steve to worry about him.
Steve stays silent again, letting the awkwardness settle over them.
“Fine.” Bucky gives in after approximately 5 seconds. “Headache, stomach, and I’m fucking freezing. Can you turn the heating up?”
“Are you nauseous?” Steve asks as he turns up the heating.
“Queasy.” Bucky says, unsure if there even is a difference. He doesn’t feel like he’ll puke, his stomach is just unsettled from the pain in his head.
“Why didn’t you tell me before we left?” Steve looks at him with so much sympathy Bucky wants to roll his eyes, but that would hurt too much.
“It was just a headache.” Bucky feels like he needs to defend himself.
“You still could’ve told me.” Steve says gently, knowing how Bucky gets when he’s sick.
“You didn’t ask.” Bucky sounds annoyed, but really, he’s just tired.
“I did though.” Steve gently pushes him.
“Well-” bucky trails off, unable to come up with anything else to say. It would have been so much easier if Bucky had just admitted he felt sick when Steve asked this morning. But his can’t-admit-weakness complex took control.
Steve reaches out, holding the back of his hand to Bucky’s forehead. Steve’s hand feels cold against his skin. Bucky closes his eyes at the feeling, leaning into it. When Steve retracts his arm, Bucky chases the feeling.
“You have a fever.” Steve frowns at him. “Let me stop somewhere and get you some things.”
Another twenty minutes goes by before they spot a gas station. Steve goes into the store while Bucky stays in the car. His neck is starting to hurt from the position he’s sitting in, but he can’t move without his head throbbing.
The sound of the car door opening makes him jump.
“I got you some meds, water, something salty and ginger ale.” Steve hands him the small shopping bag.
“Thanks.” Bucky mumbles without opening the bag. He doesn’t even want to think about putting anything in his mouth and swallowing it.
“I’m gonna call Tony, tell him we’re going home.” Steve says as he pulls out his phone.
“What? No.” Bucky says, not wanting to ruin their plans. People are expecting them, depending on them being at the seminar.
“Since when were you so eager to go?” Steve asks.
“I’m not. Just, don’t let me ruin it.” It’s just a headache. It will pass before they’re even there.
“Trust me, you’re not ruining anything.” Steve sounds relieved to have an excuse to cancel. “We’re just over an hour away from home. It’s your choice if you want to drive another four hours to go to that stupid seminar.”
Bucky stays silent. One hour to go home or four hours to go somewhere he doesn’t want to be? There’s no choice. Tony will be fine without them.
“That’s what I thought.” Steve pulls up Tony’s number on his phone. Bucky closes his eyes and leans back against the window, tuning out Steve’s voice.
He curls in on himself as he notices just how shitty he feels. The car is a little warmer, but he’s still freezing. Chills go up and down his spine, but he’s sweating. His body feels heavy and achy, making even sitting up tiring. His head is clouded and hurting, making thinking difficult.
“Tony told me to keep your germs far away from him.” Steve says with a laugh.
Bucky can’t think of anything to say.
“Let’s get you home.” Steve starts the car back up and gets them back on the road, this time in the opposite direction.
Driving sets Bucky’s stomach off again. He moves around restlessly, trying to find a more comfortable position. He sits up straighter; the sun isn’t directly in his eyes anymore, but it craves more energy and the tightening of his stomach muscles.
When he slides back down in his seat the sun hits his face, sending shocks of pain through his head that goes straight to his stomach.
So, he closes his eyes, pulling his hoodie up to shut out all light, but this just intensifies his nausea, as he feels the movements of the car so much clearer. It doesn’t help. Nothing helps.
“How much longer?” Bucky asks, not caring how childish it sounds.
“We’ve only been driving for fifteen minutes Buck.” Steve says sympathetically, resting a hand on Bucky’s thigh to offer any comfort he can while driving. “How are you doing?”
“My stomach isn’t feeling too good.” He has his arms wrapped around it, staring as far forward as possible, desperate for something to help.
“I can pull over?” Steve asks, but he’s already pulling over before Bucky can reply.
“I just need a moment.” Bucky sighs as the car stops. He gets out and leans against the side of the car, breathing in the fresh air.
Taking deep breaths for a few minutes leaves him feeling a little better. He gives himself another minute to steel himself for the rest of the car ride.
“Better?” Steve asks as Bucky gets back in. He stayed in the car to give Bucky space. Bucky easily feels smothered when he’s sick, wanting to deal with it on his own.
“A little.” Bucky is honest this time, done with pretending he feels better than he does.
“You okay to drive again?” Steve wants to give him all the time he needs. Bucky is thankful, but he knows he might not make it another forty-five minutes no matter what he does, and he really wants to be back in his bed sooner rather than later.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.” Bucky mutters, sarcasm seeping through.
As they start driving again Bucky tries to focus on anything but how he feels. He looks at the cars driving past them, the trees and traffic signs along the road, tries to predict the turns ahead of them. When he doesn’t focus on the nausea it doesn’t feel as bad. It makes his head ache, but he prefers that to the alternative.
“Steve?” Bucky breaks the silence after a while.
“Yeah?” Steve looks ready to pull over the moment Bucky tells him to.
“What about the books?” Bucky asks softly, holding back a laugh at Steve’s face.
“The books?” That was clearly not what Steve was expecting.
“Lord of the Rings.” Bucky wants to read them so bad; he would be so disappointed if he had to wait any longer. He could of course just buy them himself, but he really wants Steve to get them for him, just like Steve got him the Hobbit all those years ago.
“I told you I would buy it if you came with me, didn’t I?”
“But we didn’t make it to the seminar.” Bucky says in a small voice.
“That’s not your fault though.” Steve reassures him. “I’ll order them when we get home.”
“Thank you.” Bucky tries to hold back his excitement so as not to upset his stomach any further.
Bucky focuses his attention back on their surroundings, breathing deeply through the nausea that is slowly building. He swallows back abnormal amounts of spit, wiping his hands on his jeans every few minutes.
“How much longer?” Bucky asks again, starting to fidget. There are waves of nausea hitting him so hard it’s almost dizzying.
“About twenty minutes.” Steve looks apologetic as he sees Bucky turning green. Twenty minutes? Bucky can’t wait that long.
“I’m starting to feel really nauseous.” He states the obvious. He can’t sit still anymore, constantly making little movements as he pushes down the inevitable.
“Should I pull over?” Steve asks this time, rather than just pulling over. Why he chose to wait for a reply this time, Bucky has no clue, but Steve’s timing is the worst sometimes.
Bucky can only hum in affirmation, clenching his jaw in his fight against his stomach. Steve senses the urgency and immediately pulls over. Bucky opens the door before they’re even completely stopped, already heaving as he gets out.
He holds his knees to support his weight as he heaves over the grass. Quickly growing frustrated as the heaves produce nothing. Bucky’s been nauseous for so long, he just wants to get it out.
Suddenly Steve is at his side, offering his comfort, and for once Bucky doesn’t mind.
“You have to relax.” Steve soothes as he rubs Bucky’s back.
Bucky just heaves again, flinching at the horrible sounds he’s making. He surrenders himself completely to the nausea, letting it take over his body. When he heaves this time it’s wetter, and finally he starts bringing up something.
“You’re okay. Just let it out.” Steve comforts him. Bucky closes his eyes, so he won’t have to see the puddle on the grass. The smell and sound alone are enough to make him retch over and over again, at least he can block his vision.
If he wasn’t so desperate for Steve’s comfort, he would be dying from embarrassment.
Steve keeps rubbing his back, telling him to breathe, let it out, that he’s okay.
When it finally stops Bucky feels like he’s worked out. His stomach muscles are spent, legs shaking from holding himself up.
“Done?” Steve asks to be sure. Bucky nods, yes.
Steve helps him stand up straight, leading him back to the car. He lowers Bucky into the car, careful to protect his head. Bucky tries catching his breath as he slumps in the seat, grimacing at the sour taste in his mouth.
“Rinse your mouth with this.” Steve hands him the water bottle he got earlier. Bucky didn’t even notice Steve getting into the driver’s seat. He takes the water, rinsing his mouth and spitting it out on the grass at his feet.
“Are you good?” Steve asks after a moment.
“Peachy.” Bucky mumbles, his voice raspy. He hauls his legs into the car, closing the door and fastening his seat belt. “Let’s go.”
“Are you sure?” Steve asks hesitantly.
“I just want to get home.” Bucky is too tired to be in the car longer than necessary. He can practically hear his bed calling for him, the thought making him slump even more; he’s so tired.
“Alright.”
By some miracle Bucky makes it the last twenty minutes without another incident. His stomach calmed down some after throwing his guts up, leaving him to nurse the headache with his hood pulled all the way over his eyes.
When the car stops and Steve tells him they’re home, Bucky pretends to be asleep. Steve probably knows he’s awake, but it still works. Steve opens Bucky’s car door, scooping him up in his arms and carries him into their apartment. Bucky rets his head at Steve’s chest, listening to his heart beating; it calms him.
“Bed or couch?” Steve asks, confirming he knows Bucky isn’t asleep. Instead of replying, Bucky points in the general direction of the bedroom. At least he thinks he does. He could be off, considering his sense of direction is less than good even when he isn’t sick.
The soft bed envelops him as Steve lowers him onto it. It’s so soft and warm, Bucky never wants to leave. Steve pushes the hood off Bucky’s head, making Bucky squint at the light.
“Wha-?” Bucky whines, throwing an arm over his eyes.
“I’m just taking it off.” Steve whispers, taking Bucky’s headache into consideration. True to his words he pulls off Bucky’s hoodie, before tucking him in. Steve draws the light-proof curtains closed, leaving the room in complete darkness.
Bucky feels like he’s floating in a cloud of sick, right on the edge of sleep. Every sound around him is echoey, his senses and emotions heightened, while also wrapped in cotton.
“Feel better.” Steve whispers, pecking Bucky on the forehead before leaving the room, softly clicking the door shut behind him.