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Normal people would probably feel sick, take a day off, and gladly get some rest. Normal people would gladly let their significant others dote on them, they would go to sleep without a care in the world, they’d do the normal routine when one got sick.
Bucky was a special snowflake.
He woke up, sniffling against Steve’s shoulder, and Steve winced.
“You don’t want any tissues, do you?” Steve asked jokingly.
“Fuck off,” Bucky mumbled. Steve did nothing but chuckle and rub his back, because he might as well try to get Bucky to get out of bed in a not-completely-horrible mood. After about ten minutes of sniffles and generally gross sounds coming from Bucky, Steve decided it was a lost cause and got out of bed. Bucky, in a surprising turn of events, whined and even went so far as to use his left arm to keep him in bed. He was sick, though, so it wasn’t much force.
“I’m gonna make coffee. You want some hot chocolate?” He asked, knowing full well he was going to make hot chocolate anyway.
“ ‘m fine, douchebag.” Bucky said into his pillow. It was a pitiful sigh.
Steve had coffee, hot chocolate, and toast ready by the time Bucky came out of their room. He was dressed, though, wearing jeans, sneakers, and a hoodie, and Steve was rather confused.
“Where the hell are you going?” He asked as Bucky was wiping his nose on his sleeve.
“Nat and I habe a standing gym date on Thursdays, you know this.” Bucky said, and it was almost comical how nasally his voice sounded. It made ‘v’s sound like ‘b’s, which Steve, naturally, thought was hilarious.
“I do, but you’re sick. You’re not going anywhere. Go change, you need to rest.”
“Listen here, Steeb, you dunno shit.” He said, and Steve couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of his chest. Steeb. “ ‘m fine, why- why the fuck are you laughing.” Bucky said, and then, “Steeb, you’re a dick.”
“And you, Buck, are sick. Go change, I’ll even pick out some movies we can watch if you’re nice.” He said, and Bucky huffed out a sigh dramatically before turning around and walking back to their room, muttering bitterly about something or other. Steve picked out a few Disney movies, because, really, you couldn’t go wrong with Disney. Bucky was a surprisingly large fan of The Lion King, so he went ahead and queued that.
He came back out in sweats and a t-shirt with the comforter haphazardly wrapped around himself, and Steve thought the sight was adorable. Bucky dropped down onto the couch, curling up and laying his head in Steve’s lap. Steve had a full box of tissues on the end table next to him, holding the box out for the pathetic mess in his lap every time he made grabby hands for it.
For someone who insisted he was fine, he went through a box of tissues pretty quickly. There was an hour left of Tangled when Bucky fell asleep, and it wasn’t exactly like Steve could move. He’d probably cry if he disturbed him, because, although he was snoring like a freight train, he was cute when he was asleep.
Less so when his nose was red and snotty, but still.
Steve must have dozed off, too, because the next thing he remembered was Bucky shaking his leg.
“Steeb, I’m dying.” He said, so Steve pet his hair for a second while he remembered what was going on. Naps were weird, they always left him slightly disoriented.
“You’re not dying, what’s wrong?” He asked as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with his other hand.
“My nose is stopped up.” Bucky said pathetically.
“I don’t want to think about how many bottles of medicine it’d take to have an effect on you.” He said with a sigh.
“Then hand me the goddamn tissues.”
“You used them all, Buck, I have to get up.” Steve reminded him.
“I hate you.” Bucky said, leaning up slightly so Steve could stand up and stretch before walking to the bathroom. He grabbed the tissue box from that room and came back to find Bucky sitting up, progress, but further inspection proved he was half asleep, and all progress was lost.
“Hey,” He said, crouching down and gently rubbing Bucky’s shoulder, trying to wake him up as nicely as possible. It worked, he opened his eyes and blearily looked down at him. Steve smiled and said, “Hey, bed?”
“It’s the middle of the day.” He said, and the congestion was somehow more present then than it had been before. Poor guy.
“You’re sick, rules don’t apply.” Steve said, shrugging.
“Come with me.”
“I will, I’ll clean up and make soup, and I should probably do something about the mess of tissues on the floor, but-“ He started, because a sick Bucky was a mess.
“No, stay with me. You’re warm.” He interrupted. Steve barely managed to suppress rolling his eyes at that.
“Buck, you have a fever, the last thing you need-“
“Shut the hell up, you’re coming to bed with me.” He said, and, really, when would he ever deny Bucky anything. So, with a sigh, he stood up straight, pulling Bucky with him, and led him back to their room.
“Give me the comforter,” Steve said, but Bucky instead fell back on the bed, rolling over to where he was mostly on Steve’s side of the bed.
“You’ll have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.” He muttered, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. Steve resigned himself to whatever the hell Bucky wanted and lay down on his back, barely managing to push Bucky over enough to fit on the bed. Bucky unceremoniously draped his metal arm across Steve’s stomach, effectively restraining him, and pressed closer to him to lay his head on his chest.
Again, there were worse ways to spend a day off.