Work Text:
“I’m not sick!”
Bucky rolled his eyes, pushing a bottle of painkillers into Sam’s hands.
“You have a fever of 99, you almost fell off the couch the last time you sneezed, and I can see you shivering from here. Water’s on the table.”
The whole speech came out flat, almost unfeeling as he dropped down into the armchair, picked up his book, carried on reading.
Sam looked from his friend to the pills and water, then did as he was told, for once. “Thank you,” he muttered.
There was a half-smile, half-hidden by Bucky’s book. “You’re welcome.”