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whumpybucky · 2 years

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A promise

Pairing: sam x bucky (early FATWS-era)

Word count: 3,784

Summary: Bucky is adjusting to life as an ex-assassin. Sam made a promise to look out for Bucky and he wasn’t about to break it. Quelle surprise when Bucky doesn’t want to admit he’s sick and Sam just wants to take care of him.

A/n: Here's 3.7k words of angst and hurt/comfort that absolutely no one asked for, with poor Bucky getting hit with the flu and Sam being the most soft and protective.

Sam sighed as he put his phone face down on his desk. Yet another one of his texts to Bucky left on read.

He knew the super soldier was still adjusting. Working through things. The state-mandated therapy alone must be uncomfortable at best, and much too close to the forced treatment he endured for decades at worst. Not to mention Steve. Christ, if Sam was still mourning the loss of his best friend he can only imagine what Bucky felt losing him twice. More like a thousand times over with what Hydra did to him.

Sam shook his head, willing the images of Bucky being tortured out of his mind’s eye. He had seen some of the lost footage. A last minute mission he and Steve went on to an old abandoned Hydra base while Bucky was still in Wakanda.

S.H.I.E.L.D. had confiscated some old boxes containing mostly useless administrative documents from Hydra’s glory days. They did, however, find plans of a small building and Steve and Sam were supposed to fly in, level it, and fly out. That was the plan, until Steve had noticed a secret room no bigger than a broom closet on the lowest floor of the drawings. The Winter Soldier symbol, like a tiny star-shaped blood drop in the middle of the room’s outline, with no other description. I’ve just got a feeling, Steve had said. Sam followed without question.

Well, Steve had been right. After killing a few scattered Hydra loyals left to guard the otherwise abandoned base, the two Avengers found the closet lined with reel-to-reel tape and a somehow functioning projector. They spent hours checking each roll, all which turned out documentation of Hydra’s failed experiments. And the one successful one.

It’s the only time Sam ever witnessed Steve fully break. It took two minutes before he vomited. Another two before he dropped to his knees, sobbing into his hands, choked apologies sputtering out of his mouth to his closest friend who was thankfully continents away.

Sam just held the blonde super soldier until he was all dried up. Then, as if a switch was flicked, Steve simply got up and continued checking every last tape until they had separated them all into two piles: Winter Soldier and others. When they were done, Steve told Sam to wait outside. I need to do this, he had said. So Sam stood back and watched as the captain filled the empty duffle bags they had brought with the ‘other’ tapes. Then he dumped an entire bottle of lighter fluid on the Winter Soldier pile, and stood there with sweat beading on his forehead from the flames, coughing at the fumes, until he verified with his own eyes that every last tape had burned to a crisp.

No one needed to watch the torture his best guy had endured. And he couldn’t risk Bucky seeing even a minute of it—he already relived it nearly every night. So Fury and S.H.I.E.L.D. be damned, as far as Steve was concerned the Winter Soldier program was over. Gone. Do not resuscitate.

Sam would have followed Steve anywhere. It's why he never breathed a word about the tapes to anyone. It’s also why he agreed not just out loud, but in his heart, to watch over Bucky when Steve asked him to that day he handed him the shield. It’s the only thing he had been sure about in the aftermath of the blip, the war, Thanos, losing Natasha, Tony, Steve. Nothing made sense except that.

Everything Bucky had endured. The freezing and thawing. Losing autonomy over his body. Watching from the inside as his hands inflicted unimaginable pain, unable to stop them. Memories of a young life stolen from him just as they would start to form again, at the tips of his fingers like dust in a sunbeam on a summer afternoon.

Watching over Bucky gave Sam purpose. A reason to keep going. Being needed was a powerful motivator. And whether Bucky admitted it or not, deep down Sam knew he needed somebody. And he promised Steve he would be that somebody.

It’s why he never went more than a week without texting the Brooklyn native from then on. Sometimes a photo. Sometimes a link to an article he thought Bucky might find interesting. Sometimes a Hope you’re ok. Here if you want to chat. The last text was letting Bucky know he was going to be in New York for the weekend and that they should grab a bite.

He wouldn’t give up. A promise was a promise. And Sam kept his promises.

—————

“Are you still having nightmares?”

“No,” Bucky lied.

“So what do you call that dream you were just telling me about?”

“Dunno doc, you tell me.” Bucky’s added scoff turned into a cough that turned into a twenty second fit, ending with Dr. Raynor handing him a bottle of water,

Bucky accepted, nodding in gratitude once the fit had finally passed.

“You know, it’s okay to let yourself rest once in a while,” she reminded Bucky once she had sat herself back down into her wingback chair.

“I rested for nearly 70 years.”

Bucky caught the furrow of Dr. Raynor’s brow from the corner of his eye.

“You and I both know that was anything but rest.” She moved forward in her seat, placing her notebook onto the small white side table beside her chair. “You’ve been through a lot, James. Mentally, physically. You need time to heal.”

“Is that what this is?” Bucky gestured between the two of them with a gloved hand as he rolled his eyes, looking anywhere but at his therapist.

“If you want it to be.”

Of course. Always putting the ball back in his court.

Another cough wracked through Bucky’s lungs. The other half of the water bottle helped stop the fit before it began.

“You’re clearly unwell. Your homework this week is to rest. And reach out to Sam, let him know how you’re doing.”

Another eye roll. Another cough. “I’m fine, just a tickle.”

“You know, you don’t have to keep punishing yourself.” She paused before adding, “You’re not him anymore.”

Her frankness caught him off guard and he made real, true eye contact with Dr. Raynor for the first time during their entire session.

“I… I'm not…” another cough escaped Bucky's lips and he quickly caught it with his fist.

“Just think about at least replying to one of his texts, alright? He cares about you. Let him. I'm going to end our session for today. You need to go home and rest.”

Bucky sighed as he looked away. He was tired, that was all.

“Fine by me. See ya next week.”

“Take care, James. Feel better.”

Bucky shook his head as he passed the forest wallpaper on his way out. He was fine. And even if he wasn’t, it’s nothing the serum couldn’t handle. A nap would fix him right up. Well, at least it would take care of the cough he’d woken up with. The rest of him was another story entirely.

He skipped his post therapy sushi lunch routine, opting to head straight home. After checking each window and room in his apartment, he downed a power bar and an Ensure before slumping into the couch. His eyes glanced at his phone on the coffee table. Sam’s last text had said he was in town for the weekend. Bucky wondered if he was already here. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst idea to meet for a drink.

His chest ached suddenly. He missed Sam. A lot.

Sam had been there for Bucky when he fell into a depression after Steve had come back to give Sam the shield. In return, Bucky had helped Sam realize he was good enough to be the next captain. It was one of the few times when Bucky felt connected again. When Sam was sent to D.C. Bucky tried to be happy for him. Said he would keep in touch. But he just couldn’t get into texting. And after a few calls went unanswered, Bucky convinced himself that Sam was better off without him.

Now alone in his apartment, the thought that Sam might be in the same city buzzing around his pounding head, Bucky ached to see his friend that he had left on read these past months.

The realization was interrupted by a cough that scraped his throat and made him wince. Shifting onto his side, the super soldier curled into himself, head on the armrest of the sofa and legs tucked in. He couldn’t seem to get warm, but the blanket bunched at his makeshift floor bed was too far away. Besides, he was used to being cold. He could tough it out. He had felt worse. He was just tired. Too many sleepless nights. He would shut his eyes for five minutes. Five minutes and he would finally text Sam back. Fuck it, he’d call him. Just five minutes and the ache at his temples and the throbbing in his throat would be gone.

In what felt like a blink of an eye, Bucky was being pulled awake by someone pounding on the walls. Or maybe it was the door? The noise had Bucky stuck between sleeping and waking as he scrambled to get his bearings. His eyes blinked, adjusting to his now dark apartment where everything in the room suddenly seemed too big for some reason.

He was in Brooklyn. It was 2023. He was James Buchanan Barnes and he was no longer the Winter Soldier.

He repeated the mantra a few times until his heart slowed. A sigh left his lips as the noise that woke him seemed to slip back into his dreams. But his next inhale caught the back of his tender throat and a coughing fit burst through his lungs, setting them on fire. Fighting to catch his breath Bucky grabbed the mug of water he’d left on the coffee table earlier that morning.

“Bucky! Open up man, I can hear you in there.”

So it wasn’t a dream.

Bucky swallowed the water and nearly cried out at the pain. He put his metal fist on his chest, and took a few shallow breaths, willing his lungs to cooperate. Then he attempted to get up off the couch. And what an attempt it was. He felt like he was a newborn colt, shaky and weak, unable to maintain a straight line. He barely made it to the door, grabbing onto the beveled wooden casing for support before unlocking the deadbolt and chain.

—————

Just as he was about to head back down the hall to the stairwell, Sam heard Bucky cough. So he knocked one more time, announcing his presence. Then he waited. The sound of footsteps on creaky hardwood floors started up, though something seemed off about their rhythm. Eventually the door swung open and the reason was obvious.

“Jesus christ, James, you look like shit.”

“Nice to see you too, Sam.” His voice was hoarse and Sam noted the pained look that flashed across Bucky’s face as he cleared his throat.

He eyed the super soldier up and down, trying to figure out his next move. “You got someone in there, or…”

“Unless they snuck in while I was passed out on the couch, it’s just me and the air.” Bucky followed the sarcastic retort by catching a jagged cough into the crook of his elbow.

“I, uh, did you get my text?”

Bucky sighed, “Y-yeah man. I’m, uh, sorry I haven’t responded. I was gonna today, but then I fell asleep and…” Another cough rattled through his friend’s chest.

“‘S all good, man. You sound sick. Can I come in and make you some tea or something? I could order you some soup, or—”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m—” Bucky paused to clear his throat, “fine.”

“Right. I don’t know what you and Steve used to define as “fine” back in the day, but this sure ain’t it.”

“Seriously, Sam, I’ll catch some shut eye and be right as rain tomorrow.” Bucky managed to get all that out between sputtering coughs that he tried to cover with his fist. But that was as far as he would get in this interaction. All of a sudden he was doubled over, tears from the strain leaking onto his flushed cheeks as he battled his lungs.

“Buck, c’mon, let’s get you inside,” Sam pleaded softly.

He wanted so badly to rub his friend’s back, but restrained himself. He remembered how hard it was to be touched after coming back from his final tour. After losing Riley. Everything had been too much sometimes and the idea of someone touching him would send him into a panic. As if the slightest brush against his arm and the entire world would simply shatter.

Maybe he was projecting. But he would rather err on the side of caution. The last thing he wanted was become one more thing Bucky had to tolerate. Especially in the state he had just found him in.

The coughing finally eased off and Bucky stood as upright as he could, still clutching the doorway. Sam was about to reiterate his last suggestion when a strange look flooded Bucky’s face. His brows furrowed, as if he was confused. Then the confusion turned to realization and a quiet “fuck” slipped past Bucky’s lips. Before Sam could reach out his arms to stop it, Bucky had collapsed in the entrance to his apartment like a rag doll.

So much for not touching him.

—————

The first time Bucky woke up, his skin felt like it was on fire yet he was achingly cold deep into the marrow of his bones. He hadn’t felt that cold since—

“Hey, James. I need to take your temperature. Can you open up for me?”

Bucky had never been more grateful to hear Sam’s voice. He opened his mouth. He wasn’t a fan of medical equipment, but he’d been through enough evaluations with Dr. Cho, then in Wakanda. He had learned to tolerate it if the situation warranted it.

Judging by the worsened pounding in his head, the burning in his throat, and the heaviness bearing down on his chest, this seemed like one of those times.

The thermometer beeped and Sam brought it close, a whistle escaping his lips as he read the results. “Damn, James, you really got hit hard.”

Bucky suddenly registered that he was somehow in bed. And Sam was here. “W-what’s happening? Y-your here.”

“I am. I texted you that I was going to be in town and decided to pop by since I knew you’d never respond. As for what’s going on? You have a temperature of 103.1. Turns out super soldiers can get sick,” Sam added, though Bucky was still having a hard time processing it all with his fever-wracked brain.

“I’m going to help you sit up for just a minute, okay?”

Bucky nodded. He still couldn’t grasp what was happening, but he trusted Sam.

“Take a sip of this. You need fluids”

It was sweet. Tasted like the apple juice Steve’s ma used to pour them on hot summer days, unfiltered with a tartness to it.

“That’s good. Now I need you to take these pills. It’s just Tylenol. For your fever, and the aches.”

How did Sam know he was in pain? Did he tell him about how his shoulder felt like it was made of lead right now? How all his joints were throbbing? That even his hair follicles hurt?

“I can see that cyborg brain of yours working. I’ve had the flu before, Buck. I know how uncomfortable it is.”

“Oh.” The soft acknowledgement was all he could muster as his brain slowly connected the pieces together. He took the pills that Sam put in his flesh hand and was now guiding up to his mouth. Then he swallowed them with the juice Sam brought back to his lips.

The flu. He hadn’t had the flu since before the war. Before…

A glorious cold sensation on his forehead broke him out of his thoughts as Sam guided him back down to his pillow. He allowed his eyes to flutter shut, then he drifted away.

—————

Pastel light filtered into Bucky’s room, waking Sam up from one of many naps he had taken throughout the night. It had taken six hours, another double dose of tylenol, and a lot of cold compresses before Bucky’s fever began to break. Sam had woken him every two hours to make sure his temperature was trending in the right direction. At least the serum seemed to speed things up. Last time Sam had the flu he had been out for two weeks. With any luck, Bucky would be back to his brooding self by tomorrow.

Sam silently chuckled at the thought of his friend’s surly exterior. It was growing on him in a way he didn’t understand, but didn’t care to fight either. And now, with the soft morning glow coming through the curtains of Bucky’s three-story walk up apartment, he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face if he tried. He had allowed himself to fall asleep next to Bucky. Maybe it was overstepping. But it’s not like the ex-assassin had a guest bedroom. Besides, he needed to be close in case his fever kept rising.

He felt a warmth spread in his belly, and his cheeks followed suit as he watched his friend sleep. Bucky’s prosthesis was folded and pushing slightly against Sam’s chest. The gentle light signaling sunrise reflected off the sheen across his forehead. His lips were parted ever so slightly and his breathing was low and steady. Resting on his side, Bucky seemed so peaceful and Sam wondered if this is what he’d looked like before he got his papers. Youthful. Free.

A barely there cough stirred the super soldier and his eyes fluttered open, then shut again.

“How did you get in,” Bucky mumbled, voice gravelly and low.

“You let me in. Right before you fainted.”

“Uunnngghhhh.”

Sam chuckled at his friend’s embarrassment.

“‘S not funny,” Bucky mumbled against his pillow. His eyes opened again. They were soft this time. Almost warm.

“No, you’re right. You scared me there for a minute.”

Bucky grinned at that. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Had me checkin’ your temperature every two hours.”

“Didn’t have to do that.”

“Sure I did. You would’ve done the same.”

Bucky huffed at the statement, though quickly digressed into a coughing fit.

Sam pushed himself up from the bed and turned to grab a glass of water off the nightstand. Bucky sat up and took the glass, sipping slowly until he could breathe easy again. He offered a quiet “thanks” as he passed the glass back to Sam.

“I feel like I got hit by a bus,” Bucky moaned as he flopped back down into his pillow.

“That’s what the flu feels like,” Sam validated, laying back against the headboard, his chest bare.

Bucky looked up at him, his ice blue eyes searching Sam—for what, he couldn’t tell. He watched as Bucky’s brow began to crease slightly. A heavy silence hung between them for several minutes and Sam didn’t push. He would give Bucky all the time he needed to sort out his thoughts.

The super soldier’s eyes closed. Then he took a breath and in one motion, had positioned his head against Sam’s chest and his prosthesis draped over his stomach before either of them had a chance to get a word in.

Sam thought his cheeks might break at how wide his smile grew. The shock of the vulnerability of it all was quickly replaced by a comfort he’d only imagined when he granted himself the indulgence late at night. On instinct, Sam started carding his fingers through Bucky’s short waves.

“Mmmmmm.”

“Feels good?”

Sam felt Bucky’s head nodding.

“Good.” Sam replied softly. He placed his free palm on Bucky’s forehead. Still warm. “Jeez. How’d you get so sick?”

“Dunno,” Bucky shrugged. After a long silence he spoke again. “Raynor says I’m punishing myself.”

“Are you?” Sam asked, making sure he sounded as neutral as possible.

“Probably. Can’t seem to make up for it. No matter what I do.”

Sam didn’t hesitate. He wrapped both his arms around Bucky and simply held him. No words, just a solid, unshakable hold.

“You have nothing—nothing—to make up for. It wasn’t you, James. It was never you. And I’ll tell you a million times over until you believe it.”

Sam heard a sniff and felt dampness on his chest. He tightened his grip, never easing up until he felt Bucky’s shoulders relax and his breathing settle.

It was quiet. So quiet he almost missed it. But Sam heard Bucky whisper, “I missed you.”

“Me too,” he replied matter of factly. Then added, “think I’m going to start coming up to New York more often.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asked, clearing his throat.

“Yeah.” A promise was a promise. Not that Sam needed promises to make him want to visit Bucky. To hear his cheeky sarcasm. To see his eyes blinking at him like sapphires in the morning light.

Sam’s heartbeat picked up at Bucky’s silence. Had he taken this too far? He was just going off his cues. But maybe it was too much. Too soon. Too—

“That’d be nice. Not great at texting. Better in-person.”

Sam chuckled at his friend’s blunt self-awareness.

“I noticed. And I get it.” He removed one arm from his hold to go back to playing with Bucky’s hair, but suddenly the super soldier was grabbing his wrist and lacing their fingers together. Then bringing them up to his lips, Bucky kissed the back of Sam’s hand. Chaste, but sweet.

“Thank you, for coming. For staying,” he muttered into Sam’s knuckles before bringing their hands back down to Sam’s chest.

Sam sighed. Two words that carried so much weight. The weight of your best friend—best guy—leaving you for a life lost. Leaving you lost in a life you didn’t choose.

“I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.”

No declarations. Just an open invitation, if he wanted it. Sam would always let Bucky choose.

Bucky’s lips pressed into the back of his hand again. A silent response, but Sam heard it loud and clear.

Within a minute Bucky’s breathing had slowed, and Sam felt the brunette become heavier on his chest. With his one free arm, Sam pulled the blanket up and around his friend’s shoulders. Then he pressed the ghost of a kiss into the top of his head before relaxing into his pillow and letting his eyes close.

He could get used to this.

#no one asked for this #but i wrote it anyways #my fic #sambucky #sam x bucky #sickfic #marvel sickfic #m/c/u #winterfalcon #soft sick bucky #protective sam wilson

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