#what’s worse is when they dislodge when you sneeze. horrible. hell.

[lucifer-kane]

I think the worst thing about the human body is tonsil stones

[whoareurl]

It’s the Bucky anon, thanks so much for responding! As for a prompt, what about a sick, sneezy, post winter soldier Bucky attempting to hide the fact that he’s sick from Steve while still recovering from an injury because Steve is already so worried about him?

so, this kinda got away from me and is more general whump than snzfic BUT i hope you like it anyway kind anon!!

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The mission had been rough on everyone and was definitely in the top five for Most Injuries Sustained at One Time (MISOT). Natasha was nursing a broken ankle, Clint sleeping his way through a pretty bad concussion, and Steve had taken one hell of a beating. Given how quickly Steve healed these days, Bucky was probably unnecessarily concerned. Steve certainly seemed to think so.

“For fucks sake, Buck!” He finally snapped after a long two days of the two of them stubbornly trying to take care of each other without a regard for their own aches and pains. “I’m fine! And in case you’ve forgotten, I’m not the one with broken bones!”

Oh, yeah. And Bucky had a broken wrist and three cracked ribs.

Bucky could practically feel Stark and Rhodey tense from where they were sitting at the breakfast bar and he almost wanted to roll his eyes. Sure, he’s been jumpy and unpredictable throughout his recovery. But he’s also known Steve since they were children and the little punk is precisely as loud and stubborn as he’s ever been. It would take a lot more than a snappy Steve to trigger anything serious for Bucky.

“I’ve had worse,” Bucky said with an almost fond roll of his eyes. The movement sparks a jolt of pain in his head but he ignores it without much trouble. He’d been thoroughly trained in that regard.

“So have I,” Steve bit back, looking for all the world like the skinny little shit who got his ass handed to him on the regular in the 1930s.

Bucky swallowed a laugh. “Yeah, I remember when Mrs Johnson’s boys gave you a kicking behind Delmar’s.”

Despite his show of righteous indignation, Steve’s cheeks dusted pink at the memory. “It wasn’t that bad,” he grumbled.

“They broke two of your ribs. You could’ve died.”

“I had ‘em o-”

“On the ropes, I know,” Bucky finished for him, chuckling quietly. The laughter left an uncomfortable, aching feeling in his chest. He figured it was from his ribs.

And that was how Bucky ended up with 240lbs of pouting supersoldier sprawled across him on the couch, apparently indicating that he was done with this conversation and if Bucky was going to be difficult then he could damn well be a half-decent pillow as well. Behind him, Bucky felt the tension between their two guests dissolve.

“Just worried about you,” Steve admitted quietly from where his head was pillowed on Bucky’s thigh. Bucky dropped his metal hand into Steve’s hair without really deciding to do so.

“I know.”

~

Over the coming days, the tight pain in Bucky’s chest revealed itself not to have been caused by his injuries. Rather, if the fierce cough and sweltering fever were anything to go by, it was a sign of what promised to be a thoroughly miserable cold. It certainly didn’t help that every cough and sneeze set back the healing on his ribs. No, that was just an unwelcome bonus.

Steve, typically, was as fussy and impossible as he had always been and, honestly, Bucky found it kind of comforting. Sure, Steve’s incessant questions about how he was feeling weren’t exactly working wonders for his headache but Bucky couldn’t deny the bubble of warmth in his chest he felt knowing how much Steve loved him.

Idiot.

Steve, despite his concern for Bucky, had become desperately antsy after just one day of lounging on the couch while he healed and, at his boyfriend’s request, nay, insistence, had resumed his regular workout routine because “your pent up energy is a pain in my ass, Stevie.”

“Alright, Barnes?” Clint asked, dropping down onto the couch beside him.

Bucky couldn’t stop himself from wincing at the way the movement jostled his aching ribs. And, because he’s unlucky and apparently God hates him, his tiny gasp of pain sent him into a punishing coughing fit.

“Christ,” he rasped when it was finally over, metal hand shifting from his mouth to his chest as the pain started to settle down.

“Well, you certainly sound like shit,” Clint said cheerily. Bucky shot him a glare. “You told Steve yet?”

Bucky glared harder. “I swear, Barton, if you-”

Clint raised his hands in surrender. “Hey, man, relax. I have zero desire to get involved in your domestic disputes. I just wanna make sure I don’t miss the show.”

Bucky slapped him with a nearby cushion and turned to stifle a sneeze into his shoulder. Well, a sneeze or six. Clint snagged the box of quickly depleting tissues off the table and tossed them into Bucky’s lap with an air of practiced nonchalance. Despite literal years of stealth training, Bucky couldn’t hold in the last sneeze and it burst out with a rough hznkchh! Well, this was definitely shaping up to be one of his least favourite colds of all time.

“Gesundheit,” Clint mumbled around a mouthful of pringles.

“Thangks,” Bucky muttered, letting out a stuffy breath through his mouth. God, his head was hammering. He gave his nose a quick, harsh blow and stood. “Gonna take a shower.”

“Good call. You stink.”

“Fuck you, Barton.”

~

The shower felt sinfully good and the hot water pounding against his back eased the aching, bone-deep pain in his left shoulder. His new vibranium arm was much lighter and far more comfortable than the one Hydra had given him but carrying the weight of a metal limb for on and off seventy years had certainly done a number on his nerves. The pain was far from constant but it tended to come back with a vengeance when he was sick. Like now.

There was also the small issue of the steam loosening the congestion in his sinuses to the point where he could barely finish rubbing shampoo into his hair before he was sneezing forcefully towards the ground, metal arm braced against the wall.

“Hrrushch! ih-heh’hrkrushhh!”

The ache which had been steadily building behind his eyeballs all day did, mercifully, start to fade as he…now what was the technical term? Sneezed out his fucking brain.

“Jesus,” he grumbled after what felt like the fiftieth sneeze. If this was the way things were going to be, he certainly wasn’t going to bother with conditioner.

(Bucky liked to pretend, especially around Steve, that he only cared this much about his hair and personal care because it had been denied to him for so long. It was a game which proved to be unfailingly hilarious because Steve could become almost apoplectic with disbelief at the “bold-faced lies, James Buchanan! What would your ma think, God rest her soul?”

Yes, it was definitely Bucky’s favourite game.)

When he stepped out of the shower, Bucky physically recoiled from the blast of cold air that washed over his whole body. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before he was wrapped in two giant fluffy towels, tousled hair caught up untidily in one of Nat’s hair claws. It wasn’t perfect or particularly flattering but at least he didn’t run the risk of dislodging it with another embarrassingly forceful sneezing fit.

Without warning, Bucky felt an ache in his chest. He wanted his Ma, so badly it hurt. It had been a long time since he’d thought about her and for that he felt guilty. She’d probably received a telegram when he fell from that stupid train, apologising for the fact that she’d never be able to bury her son’s body. Bucky wondered if she’d been able to move on without his body to serve as closure or if maybe she’d always held out hope that he’d come back to her.

Bucky stared fiercely at the rug in front of the TV, trying not to think about how his Ma felt when they told her Steve was dead too.

My boys, she used to say, all grown up.

In a way, she and Sarah Rogers had been so alike. He and Steve had been lucky enough to grow up with two mothers, two families, two homes. Bucky had no doubt that she’d have mourned Steve too.

For a moment, a brief, horrible moment, he hated Steve for his choice, for not thinking about all the people he was leaving behind. And maybe there had been no other choice, maybe it was really the only way to save all those people, but Bucky had heard the recordings and nobody says ‘this is my choice’ if there really is no other way. But Bucky thought he understood how Steve felt - like Hydra was too big to take on alone, like this might bring them down for good, like he had nobody left to go home to - and he didn’t have Bucky to tell him not to be so goddamn stupid.

Bucky didn’t realise he was sobbing but he was vaguely aware, at least enough to know that it wasn’t pretty. He’d always been an ugly crier. Of the two of them, Steve had always suffered more gracefully, maybe because he’d had more practice. His chest ached with pain and congestion and awful, burning heartache. More than anything else in the world, Bucky wanted to go home. Maybe if he closed his eyes, he could imagine he was in the Rogers’s tiny apartment in Brooklyn Heights with Steve sleeping fitfully against his side as Sarah Rogers arrived home from a late shift at the hospital. He’d pretend to be asleep while Sarah sighed and tucked the blankets tightly around them and gave them each a kiss on the forehead.

Bucky wrapped his arms across his middle, doubling over with a fit of rough coughs. He gave a pained whimper and made no attempt to sit up. His shoulder ached, his back ached, his heart ached and Bucky just wanted to go home.

“Hey, shhh, I’ve gotcha,” said a voice.

“Ma,” Bucky whispered, only realising his mistake when he heard the most pitiful pained sound he’d ever heard.

“Oh god, Buck,” Steve choked, pulling Bucky roughly into his arms. “I- I’m sorry.”

Bucky buried his face in Steve’s neck, wincing at the way his chest twinged with pain again. Later, he couldn’t say why he said it - maybe it was the way Steve’s fingers in his hair made him feel like soft putty - but the words came spilling out of his mouth like a man under a spell.

“M’real sick, Stevie. Don’t want you to get sick.”

Steve’s fingers stilled briefly. “I won’t get sick, Buck,” he said softly but Bucky was too busy trying weakly to push him away.

“No,” Bucky muttered dumbly.

“Hey,” Steve whispered, pulling him close. His hold was so strong and steady that Bucky couldn’t help but melt into him. “S’okay Buck. I’m gonna take care of you. You got nothin’ to worry about.”

When Steve pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Bucky’s head, it felt like the world had switched off. All he could feel was Steve’s body pressed tight against his own, the soft, gentle movements of Steve’s fingernails scraping along the base of his scalp.

“Home,” he mumbled and all he could hope was that Steve understood. This was home. With Steve.

Like always.