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“Bucky.” Steve singsongs from the living room. Bucky is curled up under the covers, shielding himself from the day ahead. He can’t breathe as easy with the covers pulled over his head, but Steve undrew the curtains earlier, making the room too bright.
Steve’s footsteps come into the bedroom when Bucky doesn’t move. He hasn’t moved since he woke up. He was having a perfectly peaceful dream for once when Steve so rudely woke him up and filled the room with light.
Bucky holds onto the comforter when Steve tries to pull it down from his head. The muscles in his arms ache with the effort, but he is determined to stay right here all day.
“We’ll be late.” Steve says softly, Bucky groans in response. His head explodes with pain as he is reminded of the pressure residing in his sinuses.
“I know you don’t want to go, but sometimes we have to do stuff we don’t like.”
Bucky would roll his eyes behind his closed eyelids. That is always Steve’s argument when Bucky doesn’t want to go somewhere. And frankly, Bucky doesn’t care what he has to do, he feels too shitty to move today.
Steve tugs at the comforter again, hoping Bucky will let go of it, but Bucky is stubborn.
“C’mon Buck.” Steve sighs, letting go of the comforter. “We can do something fun after?”
Bucky is tempted, he would like to do something fun. But then another chill shakes through his body and he’s reminded why he wanted to stay in bed in the first place.
“Alright. Time to get up. Come on.” Steve’s patience seems to run out. He tugs harder on the comforter and Bucky’s weak arms aren’t able to resist anymore.
Steve looks impatient when Bucky emerges from his cocoon, but his face softens when he sees Bucky, his hair matted and eyes bleary.
“Don’t feel good.” Bucky speaks for the first time. It hurts his throat, making him sound half-asleep.
“You never do.” Steve says, sighing sadly. “That’s why you go to therapy.”
“I’m hot.” Bucky tries to tell him, lifting an aching arm to rest over his own forehead. Definitely warmer than it should be, although it’s hard to tell on yourself.
“Of course you are. You’ve been hiding under the comforter.”
“Think I’m sick.” Bucky puts on his best puppy dog eyes, pleading for Steve to let him stay.
“Remember when you told me your body makes you think you’re ill when you’re nervous about something?”
Bucky nods. When he’s nervous he gets tired and achy, but it passes as soon as he leaves the house. Just a way for his anxiety to make him think he needs to stay home.
“That’s what’s happening now. You’ll be fine by the time we get there.” Steve sounds so sure, Bucky almost believes him.
Cold air bites into his skin when Steve pulls the comforter off of him. He curls up in instinct, trying to regain some warmth. An involuntary whine escapes him. Everything aches, his head pounds, throat burning when he swallows.
“Don’t be so dramatic.” Steve says, half-joking, but mostly impatient. “We’re gonna be late.”
Steve leaves the room, expecting Bucky to follow him. Bucky closes his eyes and counts down from ten before he has to get up. Ten, nine and three quarters, nine and a half, nine and a quarter…
When he gets to zero, he uncurls and slowly sits up in bed. His head spins, white spots appearing in his vision. He squeezes his eyes closed, waiting for his head to clear up before he slides to the end of the bed, counting down again before standing up.
He gets dizzy again and stumbles over to the dresser, holding onto it while he waits for the white spots to go away. He picks out the first clothes he sees when he opens the dresser, too tired to put in any effort.
“Bucky?” Steve calls for him. Bucky ties up his sweaty hair, pulls on the clothes and joins Steve in the kitchen.
“You’ll have to eat in the car.” Steve says and hands Bucky a paper plate with two pieces of toast. The toast looks so unappetizing, it’s hard to recognize it as food.
Bucky puts the toast in his lap when they get in the car, with no intention of eating it. He is so tired he feels queasy. Everything aches and hurts when he moves, and he feels winded for no reason.
He leans back in his seat, closing his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. Walking out to the car took all the energy he had. He can feel Steve look at him but ignores it. He is ready to go back to sleep, but he’s never been able to sleep in cars.
Steve stays quiet through the whole car ride and Bucky is thankful. He doubts he would be able to talk without crying. He knows Steve wants what’s best for him, but sometimes he gets so focused on helping Bucky, he doesn’t stop to ask what Bucky wants. He should’ve listened when Bucky said he felt sick, or at least checked for a fever.
When the car stops moving, Bucky sighs with relief. Keeping his eyes closed wasn’t the best decision for his stomach but keeping them open would’ve made his head hurt even more than it already is.
Bucky counts down from ten again, preparing to get out of the car. The white spots in his vision come right back when he gets out, making him halt to lean against the car and close his eyes before walking into his therapists waiting room.
Steve always waits in the car, but today Bucky wishes Steve had come in with him. Even if he’s mad and hurt, he would feel better with Steve’s arms around him. These chairs are hard, and he can’t find a comfortable position.
“How are you today?” His therapist says when they sit down in his office. He always starts the session by asking that. He knows Bucky hates it, but it’s part of the therapy.
“I’m sick.” Bucky says, figuring he looks too ill to hide it anyway. And there is no way he can sit through the full hour when he can’t even think. Better to let him know up front so he won’t expect anything.
“How do you feel?” He asks, looking concerned. It makes Bucky choke up; he wants it to be Steve who looks at him with concern.
Bucky clears his throat before listing off his symptoms. “A cold, fever, my head fuckin hurts, and I keep feeling like I’m gonna pass out. I’m all achy and exhausted.” He can feel himself slide down in the chair, too tired to sit up straight.
“I only have one thing for you to work on ‘til next week.” His therapist says after a moment of silence. “Getting better. You need sleep and rest.”
“Thank you.” Bucky sighs with relief that he won’t have to do therapy today.
“I’ll see you next week.”
It takes too long for Bucky to get back to the car. He gets dizzy when he stands up again and has to sit back down. His therapist gives him a cup of water and tells him to take his time. He doesn’t say anything, but Bucky can tell that he wonders why Steve let him come if he’s this ill.
He walks slowly down the hall and out of the building, choking up again when he sees Steve’s car. His emotions are all over the place from the fever.
Sitting down heavily in the car, he leans the seat back as far as it will go, thankful that it relieves some of the ringing in his ears. He’s so congested he can’t breathe through his nose and the dizziness doesn’t seem to want to go away at all anymore.
“That was quick.” Steve comments, clearly wanting Bucky to explain.
Bucky just hums. His eyes water, but he can’t tell if it’s from emotion or just being sick.
“What happened?” Steve almost whispers, like he’s aware of how much Bucky’s head hurts.
“Sent me home.” Bucky mumbles, moving a little to try to find a more comfortable position.
“Why?”
“’Cause ‘m sick.”
Steve goes silent. Bucky can’t even hear any movement or breathing.
“I’m sorry, Bucky. I should’ve-” Steve sounds broken up about it. He’s probably riddled with guilt, serves him right. Bucky doesn’t even care anymore. He just wants to go back to his warm, soft bed.
“Jus’ take me home so we can cuddle.” Sleep is pulling him under, even though they’re in the car. His fever fogged brain has been awake for way too long.