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Sometimes, Bucky is reckless and takes stupid decisions. He comes to realize this when he wakes up with a horribly infected wound the day after a mission. He has heightened healing, but apparently, he’s not immune to bacteria, so maybe skipping medical wasn’t the best idea he’s had.
Him and Steve crashed at a hotel somewhere close by, too wiped out to drive home last night. It was a quick in and out mission, taken care of in a couple hours. But it was intense. Even super soldiers are wiped out when they’ve fought constantly for hours.
The rest of the team took the Quinjet home right after the mission. But Bucky gets motion sick on planes, so him and Steve drive when they can. They learned that the hard way. It’s the best for everyone when they don’t have to have a motion sick Bucky on the jet.
Bucky was stabbed in the shoulder, just a flesh wound next to where metal meets skin. He didn’t tell Steve about it, figured it didn’t matter if it was just a small cut. When Steve was in the shower last night, Bucky cleaned and bandaged the wound himself, sleeping in a t-shirt so Steve wouldn’t see.
In theory, he did what he needed to take care of the wound. But all of that doesn’t matter if the wound is already closing around the bacteria, trapping it inside his body all night. He probably could’ve done with some antibiotics, and that’s why they have medical, but Bucky was being stupid.
His shoulder throbs with pain worse than when he was first stabbed, and the wound leaks puss onto the bandages. He’s dizzy and queasy, maybe a little feverish, but none of that matters.
They have a couple of hours to drive home. Bucky can just hide it for the car ride, and sneak down to medical at the compound. Steve doesn’t need to know; he’ll just worry unnecessarily.
Bucky moves slower than normal when getting ready to leave. It’s still early morning as they have to be back at the compound by noon. They’re only collecting their things before leaving.
They get in the car right after eight, and if Bucky’s math is right, he’ll be in his own bed by eleven. Steve has a meeting at twelve, so Bucky can go to the med bay while Steve is gone. He’ll get some antibiotics and be better before Steve is even back. It’s a bulletproof plan.
There are a few things he didn’t think about when he planned how everything would unfold. For one, driving when you’re queasy does not help. For two, Steve knows him too well.
They keep up their usual banter during the drive. Bucky carefully closes every word to make sure he acts normal.
“There’s something off.” Steve comments when they’ve been in the car for forty-five minutes. He catches Bucky off guard. He thought he was playing normal so well. That’s probably his downfall. He’s being too normal. There’s no witty replies or offensive jokes slipping out before he can stop them, because he doesn’t say anything without thinking first.
“What?” Bucky asks, not sure how to respond.
“With you.” Steve glances between Bucky and the road like he can’t decide which is more important.
“With me?” Bucky plays dumb. He has to come up with an excuse, quickly.
“You’re not being yourself.” Steve tells the road, he decided it’s more important to survive their drive than to look at Bucky.
“Oh.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Just anxiety.” It’s not a complete lie. Bucky does feel anxious. But he’s anxious because he doesn’t feel well, not the other way around.
“Do you want to talk about it?” It’s Steve’s go-to comment when Bucky has anxiety. He never wants Bucky to feel pressured. He just lets him know he’s there if Bucky wants to talk.
“Not really.” Bucky can’t talk about it without revealing the truth. He tries to stick to his plan. But he’s not so sure about the bullet proofness anymore as it keeps getting holes.
“Alright. Then what do you want to talk about?” Bucky takes his eyes off the road to look over at Steve, ignoring how it twists his stomach.
“Not fair.” He whines childishly, exaggerating.
“What?” Steve laughs, shrugging.
“It’s impossible to come up with something to talk about when someone asks that.”
“It doesn’t have to be. There could be something you’ve been wanting to talk about.”
“Like what?” Bucky moves his eyes back to the distance, trying to calm the growing queasiness in his stomach.
“I don’t know. A book? Movie? Maybe something’s happened?” Bucky can tell Steve’s trying to be subtle, but he’s as subtle as a neon sign in the dark.
Bucky isn’t being very subtle either, or else Steve wouldn’t know something’s happened.
“Nothing ever happens to me without you knowing.” Bucky cringes at the lie, relieved Steve isn’t looking at him.
“Never say never.”
“Never.” Bucky says just to be annoying. It works. Steve gives an annoyed laugh before silence settles over them. They’ve been in the car for over an hour and they’re almost halfway there. Bucky can do another hour and a half, hopefully.
Steve keeps glancing at him like he’s just waiting for Bucky to fess up, but Bucky won’t relent. This has officially become a competition of who will be more stubborn. He knows Steve won’t pry, and Steve knows he won’t tell. They both know something’s wrong though.
“I’m hungry.” Steve says after a while.
“Mhmm.” Bucky is not a good liar. Never was, never will be, but he tries.
“I’ll stop for food at the next gas station.”
“Gas station food?” Bucky scrounges his face up. The last thing he wants when he feels sick is greasy, soggy, cheap food. He could do with some water though, his mouth has been dry all morning.
“Do you see anywhere better?” Bucky doesn’t dare take his eyes of the horizon, but he can feel Steve’s eyes on him. There’s probably a smug smile on his face.
“Touché.” There are only gas stations and fast-food restaurants along the highway. They’re all the same. Stopping for a while will help his stomach though, so he agrees.
He still keeps his fingers crossed there won’t be one for a while, but who is he kidding? This is America. There are fast-food places very half mile along the highway.
By the time they stop five minutes later, Bucky is shaking. His shoulder hurts, and he’s so nauseous he sees double. His palm is sweaty, and his mouth is watering. The stop couldn’t have come at a better time.
“You’re trembling.” Steve points out the obvious.
“Just anxious about- I’ll wait in the car.” Bucky hates using his social anxiety as an excuse, especially when it’s a lie. But certain situations call for certain excuses and all that.
“You don’t have to go in if you don’t feel up to it.” Steve takes Bucky’s hand in his own, feeling how sweaty it is. The anxiety lie works perfectly as Steve frowns with sympathy. “What do you want?”
“Surprise me.” Bucky can’t think of food, and he sure as hell doesn’t want anything.
“I’ll be quick.” Steve says in a comforting voice. They both know he can’t promise that. It will take the time it takes. It’s out of their control.
Bucky nods with a tight smile as Steve exits the car and walks out of sight. His stomach is twisting and turning, and his shoulder throbs under the weight of his jacket. He pulls open the car visor to reveal a small mirror. Steeling himself, he pushes his jacket to the side and pulls down his shirt.
The wound looks even worse than it did this morning. It’s dark red and brown, almost black some places, leaking puss and other fluids. The sight is so gross, making Bucky even more nauseous. Anxiety rages in his chest. How is he supposed to make it the last hour and a half without Steve finding out?
The car spins around him, and closing his eyes only makes it worse. His heart hammers in his ears, drowning out all other sound.
It’s all too much. His stomach doesn’t want to stay in place anymore. As he reaches for his seatbelt, the dizziness makes him miss. What even is up or down anymore?
He looks around frantically, looking for something to puke into before it’s too late. His eyes won’t focus on anything, so he closes his eyes, accepting his faith. Steve is going to be so mad.
He throws up all over his lap and the floor. He’s been queasy and nauseous for so long, it’s almost a relief. He should feel embarrassed as he heaves into his lap, feeling the warmth seep into his clothes, but he’s too out of it to care.
“Bucky? Shit, what-?”
Bucky’s neck hurts with how fast his head snaps up to meet Steve’s eyes. Steve’s face is blurry no matter how much Bucky squints at him.
“What’s this? You were hurt yesterday?” Bucky’s shirt is still pulled down, revealing the nasty, infected wound.
“’M fine.” Bucky manages to mumble. His lips are tingly and don’t want to form the words.
“You have an infection, Bucky, and a bad one. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Bucky just shrugs. He can’t think straight. It was some clever plan doomed to fail from the start.
“It could’ve gone into your blood stream, you dumbass.” Despite how stressed and worried Steve seems, he still manages to laugh at his own comment. “I’m calling for a Quinjet with medical, your motion sickness be damned.”
Bucky moans in agreement. Ten minutes on a jet is probably better than driving for another minute in this state.