Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The door to the common room swung open, and Sam strode in first, rolling his shoulders as though shaking off the weight of the mission. Steve followed, ever composed, but his movements carried a stiffness that hinted at exhaustion.

Sam’s grin was immediate as he spotted Y/N. “Hey, sweetheart, miss us?”

Y/N smirked. “I don’t know, how much trouble did you all cause?”

Steve chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled her into a quick hug. “It’s good to be back.”

Bucky entered last, quieter than the others, but his presence still had weight. He didn’t say much, he rarely did, but the way he stepped toward her was familiar. His fingers brushed her jaw, and then, without hesitation, he leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. It was brief, barely a whisper against her skin, but she felt the tension he was carrying in the way he lingered just a second longer than usual.

Before she could ask, Bruce cleared his throat from the kitchen. “Do I need to patch anyone up, or did you all miraculously survive without a scratch?”

Steve shot him a tired but assuring look. “We’re fine.”

Sam threw a dramatic arm over his forehead. “A few emotional wounds, but nothing you can fix.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Right. I’ll keep the gauze in the drawer then.”

Y/N glanced back at Bucky, watching the way he rubbed his temple briefly before catching himself and dropping his hand. “Food’s ready, if anyone’s interested.”

From across the room, Tony lifted an eyebrow, never missing a chance to stir the pot. “Is this a real meal, or one of your culinary crimes against humanity?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, arms crossing over her chest. “The only cooking I did was ordering pizzas, so if you have complaints, take it up with New York’s finest.”

Sam perked up instantly. “Now we’re talking.”

Steve managed a tired but appreciative nod, already moving to grab a plate. Bucky lingered near the door, his gaze distant, his jaw tightening for just a fraction of a second. She caught the flicker of discomfort, a moment barely noticeable, but it was there.

The room buzzed with conversation. Natasha leaned against the couch, arms crossed, eyes gleaming with amusement. “I still say it was a terrible plan.”

Clint, sprawled in an armchair, lifted an eyebrow. “You say that now, but we’re all sitting here in one piece, aren’t we?”

Natasha shook her head “That doesn’t mean it wasn’t reckless.”

Bruce, stirring his tea, glanced up from the kitchen. “I’d argue it was chaotic more than reckless.”

Steve sighed, rubbing his temple. “It worked though. That has to count for something.”

Tony scoffed, leaning forward. “Right, because every good plan involves jumping off a collapsing bridge into a moving transport.”

Natasha smirked. “I had control."

Clint gestured broadly. “We had a little bit of control.”

Sam chuckled, stretching his arms behind his head. “That’s being generous.”

The conversation rolled on, voices layered between exhaustion and amusement. Steve was half-heartedly defending the strategy, Bruce was poking holes in it with scientific precision. 

Y/N stole a glance at Bucky. He hadn’t joined in and had barely moved from where he stood near the doorway. He was listening but not engaging, his fingers brushing the edge of the table for just a second before curling into a fist. She caught the flicker of tension in his jaw, the distant look in his eyes before he forced his expression back to neutral.

Tony, ever perceptive despite his constant antics, tilted his head. “Barnes, you were the one with the least amount of faith in the plan. Any commentary now that it didn’t implode?”

Bucky remained silent, his expression unreadable. “Looks like our resident brooder is sticking to his reputation.”

Sam, catching the silence, immediately shifted gears. “If anything, the real disaster was Tony trying to override the comms mid-mission. That’s what almost got us caught.”

Tony gasped, hand over his heart. “Excuse you, my interference was calculated.”

Bruce hummed into his tea. “It was something.”

Y/N looked over to Bucky… it was clear he was drifting.

At first, it was subtle, the way he stayed on the edge of the group, listening but rarely engaging. Then, the distance grew. His shoulders hunched slightly, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the room. Y/N watched him, tracking the small tells and the stiffness in his posture, Lately his migraines had been more frequent, but there was something else beneath them, something he wasn’t saying.

She considered pressing the issue, pulling him aside, making sure he wasn’t just suffering in silence. But then, he picked up a slice of pizza, and slowly, he started to eat. It wasn’t much. It didn’t mean everything was fine. But it was something.

So she let him be.

Sometimes, pushing wasn’t the answer. Sometimes, she just had to trust him to cope in his own way.

As the night stretched on, the common room hummed with energy. Tony, ever the instigator, was halfway through a dramatic speech about how pineapple on pizza was "a culinary insult to the very fabric of society."

Sam, lounging with a fresh slice of pizza in hand, pointed at him with it. "You’re just mad because your expensive palate can’t handle sweet and savory."

Steve, ever the mediator, sighed. "It’s not that deep."

Natasha, perched on the arm of the couch, smirked. "Everything is deep to Tony. Remember last week when he tried to make a case for why AI should get voting rights?"

Bucky lingered near the doorway, quiet, observing without truly engaging. He had that look, the one Y/N recognized all too well, where he was present but not fully there. His fingers drifted toward his temple for just a fraction of a second before he caught himself and dropped his hand.

Bruce stirred his tea, chuckling. "Oh, that debate. Did we ever settle that?"

"No," he answered his own question, setting his mug down. "Mostly because Tony's argument hinged on the idea that JARVIS would have made better presidential decisions."

Tony crossed his arms. “Are you telling me I was wrong?”

The room was alive with chatter, warmth layered between exhaustion and camaraderie. Steve had finally sunk into one of the chairs, his empty plate balanced on his knee as he listened to Sam and Natasha bicker about another mission detail. Bruce had given up pretending he wasn’t entertained and had joined in with occasional jabs.

Y/N stole another glance at Bucky. He hadn’t moved from the doorway. He was listening, tracking the conversation, but the stiffness to his posture and tightness in his jaw hadn't faded with the passing of time.

Tony noticed immediately. "Well, well, Barnes, are you planning on engaging with the conversation instead of just sulking in the corner?”

Bucky didn't respond, didn't even react. His gaze flicked toward Tony for only a second before settling somewhere far away. His fingers curled against his palm, tight, then flexed as if he was catching himself.

Knowing there was something going on with Bucky that Tony hadn’t picked up on, Y/N jumped to his defence “Leave him alone Tony” 

Sam, picking up on the tension, quickly pulled the conversation away from Bucky. "And this is why we needed the pizza. For the collective emotional damage we take every time Tony opens his mouth."

Tony gasped, scandalized. "You don’t mean that!”

Sam took another bite, shrugging. “Wanna bet?”

Chapter Text

Something pulled Y/N from sleep. A noise.

At first, it was subtle, barely enough to register. The room was steeped in darkness, quiet except for the soft hum of the city beyond the tower windows.

Then, Y/N noticed the absence beside her. The space where Bucky should have been. She reached out, fingers brushing cold sheets.

A second later, it came again - the harsh, unmistakable sound of retching.

Y/N’s stomach twisted. “Bucky?” she called softly, barely more than a whisper.

No response.

Y/N pushed back the covers, stepping onto the cool floor, her pulse picking up as she crossed the room. The bathroom door was ajar, light from the hallway casting a faint glow against the tiles.

Inside, Bucky was hunched over the toilet, hands gripping the edges like he was bracing himself against the next wave. His shoulders were rigid, his breath uneven, and the sound of him struggling sent a fresh pang of worry through her chest.

Y/N knelt beside him, her voice gentle but firm. “I’m here.”

He didn’t lift his head, didn’t argue. He just let her settle beside him, her hand resting lightly against his back. His muscles were tight, each tremor betraying how much this was taking out of him.

Minutes passed before he finally slumped back against the wall, exhausted, spent.

“You’re burning up,” Y/N murmured, pressing her palm to his forehead. His skin was hot to the touch, a stark contrast to the paleness that had overtaken his face. Her chest tightened. Was this just another symptom of a migraine? He got sick from time to time when they were bad, she’d seen it plenty of times before. But this felt different. The fever, the way he was completely wrung out, his silence.

“Buck…” She exhaled, watching him carefully. “Is this just a migraine?”

His head lolled against the wall, his eyes heavy-lidded with exhaustion. He didn’t answer, not really. Just the slightest nod, so faint it barely counted.

Y/N wasn’t convinced. She pushed up, grabbed a glass, and filled it at the sink before crouching back in front of him. “Small sips,” she urged, watching as he took the glass.

But instead of pacing himself, he downed it in one go.

“Hey. Easy,” she frowned, taking the empty glass from his hands. He was desperate, whether for water or control, she wasn’t sure. But the way his fingers shook slightly as he let go made her worry deepen.

She softened, her hand finding his cheek, thumb brushing gently against his skin. “What’s going on, Buck?”

He didn’t answer right away. His breathing was uneven, shallow, like every ounce of energy had been drained from him.

This wasn’t just a migraine.

Her stomach twisted at the realization, the weight settling deep in her bones.

Y/N sighed, shifting closer, voice dropping to something softer. “Let’s get you back to bed, alright?”

He gave the faintest nod. She helped him up, he was steady, but there was a sluggishness in his movements that she didn’t like.

Something wasn’t right.

She guided him slowly, keeping her grip firm but gentle. His weight was solid against her, but every step felt like an effort, his body sluggish with exhaustion. The fever had drained him, leaving his movements slow, deliberate, like wading through deep water.

They reached the bed, and she helped ease him down, adjusting the pillows behind him. He sank back, closing his eyes for a moment, but his breathing wasn’t quite steady. She could see the rise and fall of his chest, just a little too fast, just a little too shallow.

She brushed damp hair from his forehead, watching for any flicker of response. “You need rest,” she murmured, but the words felt hollow. Something gnawed at her, a whisper of unease that wouldn’t quiet.

The city hummed outside, distant and indifferent, but here - here, in this small space, the world had narrowed to just him, just this moment.

She moved quickly, fetching a damp cloth from the bathroom and pressing it against his heated skin. The coolness made him shudder, a weak flinch, but he didn’t pull away. That was what unsettled her the most. He wasn’t fighting it.

Her hand lingered against his, fingers curling slightly in silent reassurance. “Buck, you need to tell me if this is worse than usual.”

For a long time, there was only silence, stretching between them, heavy with unspoken things.

Then, finally, his voice - barely more than a breath. “It’s worse.”

Chapter Text

Morning crept in, but the warmth of the sun did nothing to ease the anxiety twisting in her stomach.

The first thing Y/N registered was the sound - the wet, rattling cough that tore through the quiet, 

shaking Bucky’s frame as he curled into himself.

Y/N was up before she could even think, rolling toward him, pressing her palm against his forehead. Heat radiated off his skin, hotter than the night before, his fever burning high enough to make her pulse spike in alarm.

“Bucky,” she whispered, brushing damp hair from his forehead. “This is bad. You’re burning up.”

His eyes cracked open, unfocused, glassy with exhaustion. “M’fine,” he muttered, voice rough, barely above a breath. “Just need - just need to sleep it off.”

The words made something tighten in her chest. He was trying to downplay it, trying to make it seem like nothing… but this wasn’t nothing.

She sat him up carefully, noting how heavy his movements were, sluggish and uncoordinated. 

“We need to get your fever down, Buck.”

“Don’t -” He coughed again, the sound tearing through his chest. “Don’t worry. Just need rest.”

That wasn’t enough. Not when he could barely sit upright without swaying.

Y/N peeled off his sweat-soaked shirt, looping an arm around his waist, steering him toward the bathroom with quiet determination. He didn’t fight her, didn’t resist, just let her guide him, his body leaning into her far more than she liked. Her heart pounded as she turned the shower on, cold water rushing from the faucet. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but this will help,” she murmured, adjusting the temperature, trying to make it tolerable without losing the cooling effect.

Bucky barely nodded, and she steadied him as she helped him step inside.

The shock of the water made him tense, breath hitching, but she was right there, standing under the spray with him, arms wrapped around his waist to keep him upright. His body trembled, his weight pressing into her as he sagged forward, too exhausted to hold himself up properly.

Y/N tightened her grip, swallowing hard. “I’ve got you, okay? Just breathe.”

His forehead rested heavy against her shoulder, his breath uneven, every ragged inhale scraping against the edges of her concern. She could feel it; he was too hot, too weak, this wasn’t passing.

“We need help,” she whispered, barely realizing she’d said it out loud.

And deep down, Y/N knew he’d argue, insist he didn’t want to bother anyone. But at this point - it wasn’t up to him.

Y/N wasn’t sure how long they stayed under the cold spray. Long enough that her own skin pricked with chill, but not long enough to fully ease the fever burning through Bucky. His body sagged against hers, the weight of exhaustion pressing him down like gravity had doubled.

“Okay,” she murmured, shifting carefully. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

He barely responded. Just the faintest nod, sluggish, slow.

She guided him out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his shoulders before easing him onto the closed lid of the toilet. His breath was uneven, his chest rising and falling too fast, his cough rattling through him again, deeper this time. It tore through him like it was scraping raw against his lungs.

Her pulse picked up.

She grabbed another towel, gently running it over his arms, his back, drying him as best as she could before maneuvering him into fresh clothes. He didn’t protest, didn’t argue, just let her move him - like he knew he didn’t have the strength to do it himself.

That scared her.

By the time Y/N got him back into bed, he slumped onto the mattress with a heavy exhale, his body sinking into the sheets.

“Just need to sleep,” he rasped, his voice barely above a breath. “I’ll be fine.”

She swallowed down her frustration - not at him, but at the way he was always so willing to suffer in silence, as if willing himself better would be enough.

So she sat with him, brushing soothing circles along his back as his body fought against whatever had overtaken him. His breathing stayed uneven, his cough worsened, but after a while, exhaustion won. His body went still, chest rising and falling with the slow rhythm of sleep.

Only then did she leave.

Y/N barely registered the way her damp clothes clung to her until she was halfway across the room, shivering slightly as she grabbed fresh ones and changed quickly. Once she was dry, she moved to the kitchen, grabbing her phone with hands that weren’t entirely steady.

She dialed Sam.

He picked up quickly. “Morning, sunshine. You’re up early.”

She didn’t waste time. “It’s Bucky.”

His voice shifted immediately, all trace of humor gone. “What’s wrong?”

Y/N walked him through everything - the fever, the cough, the vomiting, the way he barely had the strength to keep himself upright. The way his breathing had changed, shallow and uneven.

Sam was quiet for half a beat before he said, “Alright. I’ll be over in a few minutes.”

“Bring Steve.”

She hung up, pressing her phone against her forehead for a moment, grounding herself.

This wasn’t something he could just sleep off.

She knew that now.

Chapter Text

The knock at the door came faster than she expected.

When she opened it, Sam was the first to step inside, eyes flicking over her quickly - assessing, just like he always did. Steve followed, his expression tight, concern etched into the lines of his face.

“You okay?” Steve asked, voice steady but laced with worry.

Y/N exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “Yeah. Fine.”

Sam gave her a look - the one that said he didn’t buy it for a second - but he didn’t push. “How’s Bucky?”

Y/N glanced toward the bedroom, pressing her lips together. “Bad. Fever’s worse. He’s exhausted, coughing non-stop.” She paused. “He’s not going to like you being here.”

Sam sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Bruce gave me something.”

Her stomach tightened. “What kind of something?”

“Sedative.” His voice was gentle but firm. “Something strong enough to subdue a super soldier long enough to drag him up to medical if we need to.”

Her pulse kicked up.

Bucky hated medical settings. Hospitals, labs, even the quiet hum of diagnostic machines - they sent him straight back to Hydra, to sterile rooms and hands that only ever brought pain.

Y/N already knew what would happen the second he saw Sam and Steve. He’d realize things were escalating. He’d realize they were one step closer to forcing him into a doctor’s care.

Her hands curled into fists at her sides, tension knotting in her chest.

“If we use that, he’ll know exactly what’s happening,” Y/N murmured. “And he’s going to panic.”

Steve’s voice was quiet. “We’ll do everything we can to avoid that.”

She swallowed hard, nodding once; but deep down, she wasn’t sure how much of this would be in their control.

Sam exhaled. “Before we do anything, I want to see him myself. We assess, then we decide. No forcing anything unless we have no other choice.”

That was fair. Even if deep down, she already knew what the assessment was going to show.

She nodded once, then led them toward the bedroom.

The air inside was warm, too warm. Bucky was still curled on his side, face pressed into the pillow, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths.

Sam approached first, sitting on the edge of the bed. He reached for Bucky’s wrist, pressing his fingers against his pulse point.

She watched carefully, tracking the way Sam’s jaw tightened slightly.

Bucky stirred under the touch, brow creasing faintly before his body tensed.

A cough ripped through him, deep and wet, rattling through his lungs like his body was trying to expel something it couldn’t quite shake.

Sam pulled his hand back, meeting her gaze; and in that instant, she saw it.

The silent confirmation.

They had to do something.

“He needs to be seen,” Sam said quietly.

The words barely left his mouth before Bucky’s eyes flickered open.

And the panic set in. He moved fast - too fast for someone in his condition - throwing himself off the bed, staggering backward until his back hit the wall. His breathing was harsh, shallow, too quick. His eyes darted between the three of them, realization hitting in full force.

“No,” he rasped, shaking his head. “Not happening.”

She took a step forward, hands open, voice soft. “Buck, you’re sick. You need help.”

“I said no.” His voice had an edge, a desperate sort of defiance, even as he swayed slightly, his body betraying him.

She felt the weight of Sam’s gaze, the tension rolling off Steve in waves.

They were running out of options.

Y/N knew it had come down to this the moment Sam had looked at her. They all stood just outside the bedroom, the tension hanging thick between them, a quiet kind of understanding passing in the silence.

“He’s not going to let me near him,” Sam said carefully, his voice low, measured. “Or Steve. Not for this.”

She knew he was right. Bucky was already wired for resistance, and if he so much as caught sight of the syringe in Sam’s hands, it would be over before they could do anything.

Her chest tightened. “I don’t like this.”

“Neither do we.” Sam exhaled, running a hand down his face. “But we don’t have a choice. You’re the only one he’ll let close enough.”

She swallowed hard.

Sam held out the syringe. The correct dose was already drawn up, the liquid settling inside the barrel like a quiet promise.

She stared at it for a long moment.

“The easiest place to do this is his thigh,” Sam continued gently. “Right into the muscle. It’ll work fast.”

Her fingers curled tightly around the syringe, the weight of it heavier than it should’ve been.

Sam was close beside her, his voice low but firm. “You’re the only one he’ll let near. If he sees this, he’ll fight - hard. We have to do this carefully.”

Steve’s expression was drawn, tension lining his features. “We’re right here. He won’t hurt you.”

Y/N nodded once, but her pulse was racing.

Bucky hated medical intervention - hated the sterile procedures, the hands that forced him into treatments he didn’t ask for. And the second he saw Sam and Steve hovering too close, he would know. 

She steadied herself, inhaling deeply before stepping back into the room.

Bucky was still pressed against the wall, his breathing rough, his fever burning bright in his eyes. He tracked her movements immediately, cautious, his muscles tensed like he was preparing for whatever was coming.

Y/N made sure her approach was slow. “Buck,” she murmured, crouching in front of him. “It’s alright.”

His gaze flickered, wary.

She didn’t reach for him - not yet. Instead, she let the space between them settle, let the air shift with quiet reassurance. “You’re safe. You’re home. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

His shoulders slackened slightly, just enough to make her exhale slowly.

She shifted closer, careful to keep the syringe hidden, her touch light as she rested her palm against his leg, just above his knee. He leaned back against the wall, his jaw tight, his body exhausted beyond words. The fever weighed heavy on him, his skin flushed, his breath uneven.

She kept her voice soft. “I’ve got you. You don’t have to fight this.”

His eyes fluttered shut.

In that brief second Y/N acted. The needle pierced muscle, smooth and quick, and immediately, his body tensed. His reaction was instant. His breath hitched sharply, panic flashing through his fevered haze as he jerked forward.

Steve was already moving, catching his wrists, holding steady.

“Easy - hey - hey. You’re alright.”

Bucky fought against the restraint for half a second, his body reacting faster than his mind could catch up. His muscles strained, his breath rapid, but the sedative was working. Slowly, the tension eased. His movements dulled, his frame sagging under the weight of exhaustion. 

His gaze flickered toward her, hazy, but she held his face gently between her hands, grounding him. “I’m right here.”

His breathing slowed. It wasn’t enough to knock him out, but it was enough to keep him still. To keep him calm.

For now, that was enough.

Steve stepped away, pulling his phone from his pocket, pressing it to his ear. His voice was low, steady - calm despite everything.

“Bruce, we’re bringing him up.” A beat of silence, then, “Yeah. We had to use the sedative.”

Y/N barely registered the conversation. Her focus was entirely on Bucky.

He was still sitting against the wall, his body sluggish from exhaustion, the sedative dulling the sharp edges of panic but not pulling him under completely. His breathing was shallow, but his grip was solid when she took his hand, lacing her fingers through his.

“Hey,” Y/N murmured, voice soft. “I’m right here.”

His eyes flickered toward her, glassy with fever, his body too drained to put up much of a fight anymore.

She squeezed his hand gently, ignoring the way her own pulse was still racing. “I know you hate this,” she whispered, keeping her voice quiet, careful, meant only for him. “But I swear - you’re safe. We’ve got you.”

His jaw clenched faintly, but he didn’t pull away. That was something.

Steve ended the call, nodding toward Sam before both men crouched down, their movements slow, calculated.

“Alright, Buck,” Sam murmured, “Let’s get you upstairs.”

Bucky shifted slightly, but Sam and Steve were already looping their arms under his, lifting him up.

His legs barely held him, his body too weak to stand on his own, so they bore most of his weight, carrying him out into the hallway and toward the elevator.

Chapter Text

The elevator ride was thick with silence, pressing in from all sides.

Y/N kept her focus on Bucky, watching the sluggish rise and fall of his chest, the fever-drained exhaustion weighing down his every breath. Steve and Sam held him steady between them, their grips firm but careful, ready for whatever came next.

Then a rough, sudden cough tore through him. It came fast, violent enough to shake his whole frame. His head dipped forward, muscles twitching as another cough followed, harsher than the last.

Sam adjusted his grip, steadying Bucky as his breath stuttered - catching against the fever tightening in his chest.

Y/N’s stomach twisted, heat creeping into her throat. She’d never seen him sick like this.

Steve and Sam held him steady between them, their grips firm but careful, ready for whatever came next. But Y/N wasn’t ready. Not for this - not for the uncertainty gnawing at her gut.

She turned to Sam, voice quiet but urgent. “How long until the sedative wears off?”

Sam exhaled through his nose, glancing at Bucky’s slack form before shaking his head. “No idea.”

Her stomach tightened. “Bruce didn’t know either?”

Sam’s jaw ticked. “Nope.”

That wasn’t reassuring.

Super soldiers didn’t react to medical drugs the way normal people did. Their metabolisms worked differently, burned through chemicals faster. The sedative could last another hour… or it could wear off in minutes.

The unpredictability sat heavy in her chest.

Steve shifted beside them, gaze flicking toward Sam. “Let’s hope we get him settled before it does.”

Sam let out a low hum, but didn’t answer. He was thinking the same thing.

The elevator doors slid open.

Bruce and Tony were waiting as the elevator doors slid open, their expressions grim.

The walk to the exam room was tense, weighted by the lingering uncertainty.

Tony, predictably, was the first to break the silence.

“You know, Barnes, this isn’t how most people book an appointment,” he mused, falling into step beside them. “But I guess collapsing with a raging fever does guarantee VIP treatment. If you wanted more attention, all you had to do was ask.”

Nothing.

No reaction. No glare. No halfhearted attempt to shut Tony up.

That sent another ripple of unease through Y/N.

Tony sighed dramatically. “Wow, nothing? Not even a scowl? He’s worse than I thought.”

Bruce shot him a look. “Tony.”

“What? This is serious. If Barnes isn’t threatening to shove me off the balcony, something is very, very wrong.”

Still nothing.

Y/N felt the weight of it settle deep in her stomach.

They reached the exam room. Bruce moved first, pulling his stethoscope from around his neck, scanning Bucky with sharp, assessing eyes.

Tony crossed his arms. “Alright, Doc, what’s the verdict? Are we putting him down or patching him up?”

Bruce didn’t dignify that with an answer. “Let’s get him up on the table” 

That’s when everything shifted. Bucky took one look at where Sam and Steve were leading him and imediately planted his feet. 

Panic. Sharp. Immediate. Uncontrollable. It hit like a lightning strike, taking over faster than logic could catch up.

“No -” His voice was raw, desperate, and in an instant, he pulled back, muscle memory taking over.

Sam and Steve moved fast, their grips tightening as Bucky twisted, muscles coiling in frantic resistance.

He moved fast - faster than anyone sick with a raging fever should’ve been able to. Steve barely had time to react before Bucky wrenched himself free, instincts overriding the exhaustion weighing down his limbs.

Sam lunged, trying to cut him off, but Bucky twisted sharply, nearly taking them both down in the process.

Y/N stepped forward “Buck, stop -” but she wasn’t quick enough.

His frantic movement sent her stumbling backward, her shoulder crashing into the counter before her knees buckled.

A sharp jolt of pain shot through her as she hit the floor, momentarily stunned.

“Wow, okay, Barnes, if this was your attempt at winning a dance battle, consider me unimpressed.”

Tony.

He appeared beside her, offering a hand, smirking in that way that was both effortlessly smug and mildly concerned. “Seriously, I get it - you’re a super soldier with some excellent evasion tactics. But maybe next time try not to use your girlfriend as a human speed bump?”

Y/N exhaled sharply, ignoring the ache in her ribs as she took his offered hand. “Shut up, Tony.”

“I’m just saying, at least clear a space if you’re gonna go for the full parkour routine.”

Meanwhile, the fight between Bucky and Steve had escalated.

Steve had one hand locked around Bucky’s wrist, trying to hold him steady, but Bucky was running on pure adrenaline, twisting with enough force to nearly break free. Sam stepped in, catching Bucky’s other wrist, trying to pull his weight down.

Bruce moved quickly, snatching another dose of sedative from the tray and tossing it to Sam.

“Use it - now!”

Sam didn’t hesitate. In one swift motion, he jammed the needle into Bucky’s thigh.

Bucky’s entire body jolted, his breath hitching sharply, his muscles stiffening. He tried to fight it, tried to shake off the slow drag of the drug, but his movements dulled in mere seconds.

Steve and Sam kept their grip firm, guiding him down onto the exam table as the last remnants of resistance faded.

His breathing was still fast, uneven, but his limbs went heavy, the sedative working quickly.

She stepped forward, brushing damp strands of hair from his forehead, grounding him with the steady warmth of her touch.

“It’s alright, Buck. You’re okay. Just breathe.”

His gaze flickered toward her - hazy and unfocused - but he didn’t pull away.

Tony crossed his arms, tilting his head. “So, was this Plan A or Plan B? Because honestly, I feel like we skipped right to Plan F for ‘fiasco.’”

The restraints started clicking into place, sharp and final. The first locking his around his metal arm, keeping it held down against the exam table. 

Bucky knew what was happening, even through the haze of sedation -  even as the fever burned through him. He still found enough energy to fight back.

The moment Sam reached for his oher wrist, Bucky yanked sharply, twisting away with more force than his body should’ve had right now. Steve caught him before he could fully break free, grip strong, steady - but Bucky wasn’t making it easy.

“Buck - stop.”

He didn’t.

The fever may have slowed him, but his instincts ran deep. His body wasn’t listening to reason, wasn’t listening to the exhaustion weighing his movements down. It was reacting. Fast.

Sam moved quickly, snapping the restraint around his right wrist. Bucky bucked against it instantly, teeth clenched, his breath sharp and uneven.

Tony huffed, standing a safe distance away, arms crossed. “Okay, Barnes, I get it, you’re not thrilled. But maybe let’s ease up on the dramatics?”

Sam and Steve managed to get the strap across Bucky’s hips without too much hassle. 

Bucky yanked hard enough that his muscles strained, his body twisting violently.

Y/N stepped in, pressing her hands against his chest, grounding him, ignoring the tight knot of anxiety curling in her stomach. “Bucky, it’s okay.” His chest rose and fell rapidly, nostrils flaring, eyes wild as they flickered toward her.

She exhaled slowly, fingers brushing against his skin, easing the tension. “We’re not Hydra.” The words hit like something sharp, something raw, something fragile. “Just us, Buck. You’re safe.” He stiffened - then, slowly, his breath steadied.

The metal remained, tightly holding Bucky down on the table. But the panic slowly faded.

Bruce works efficiently, methodically, moving through the steps with careful precision.

Y/N stays close, fingers still curled around Bucky’s wrist, trying to comfort him as he shifts in irritation, jaw tight, muscles tensed under the restraints.

“Buck, just breathe,” she murmurs, watching the way his chest rose and fell in uneven intervals as Bruce pressed the stethoscope against his chest. “You’re alright.”

Bruce held up his hand, immediately silencing everyone. 

The moment Bruce has enough quiet to listen to Bucky’s lungs, his expression shifted - barely noticeable, but Y/N caught it. A slight crease of his brow. The quiet inhale through his nose. The way his posture stiffened just a fraction.

She felt a fresh wave of unease settle deep in her stomach.

“Bruce?” Her voice was steady, but the undercurrent of concern was unmistakable.

He exhaled slowly, moving the stethoscope, listening carefully, his expression tightening further.

Then Bucky coughed. Hard.

The force of it rattled through him, shaking his frame like it had clawed its way out from deep in his lungs. His body tensed, muscles locking as another cough followed, sharp and uncontrolled.

Y/N felt her stomach tighten at the sound - at the rawness of it, the way it stole the air from his lungs.

Bruce’s brows pulled together, concern flickering beneath his usual composure.

“That cough sound normal to you?” Sam asked, watching with sharp eyes.

Bruce exhaled, adjusting the stethoscope, listening for another breath. “No,” he admitted.

That single word was enough to make her chest go tight.

Bruce pulled away. “There’s fluid on his lungs.”

Silence hung heavy over the room.

Tony’s usual smirk faded, arms crossing tighter over his chest. “That’s bad, right? We’re saying that’s bad?”

Bruce nodded, exhaling sharply. “It’s not good.”

Sam’s expression hardened. “What do we do?”

Bruce was already moving, prepping an IV, his thoughts moving a mile a minute. “For now, antibiotics. Oxygen. Close monitoring.”

She swallowed hard, looking down at Bucky, watching his chest rise and fall with what seemed like slightly more effort than before.

His eyes flickered towards Y/N - sluggish, exhausted - but the tension in his frame hadn’t fully left. She leaned in “You’re alright, Buck. We’ve got you.”

He grunted in response, but the tension in his shoulders remained.

Bruce adjusted the blood pressure cuff, securing it around Bucky’s arm before pressing the pump.

Tony, ever the commentator, leaned against the counter. “You know, Barnes, there are easier ways to get room service. Dramatic fevers? Not necessary.”

Bucky exhaled sharply through his nose - something between annoyance and acknowledgment - but he didn’t waste the energy to snap back.

Bruce pulled away, nodding once to himself before moving to prep for the blood draw.

At the sight of the needle, Bucky stiffened, his eyes tracking every move Bruce made. 

She squeezed his wrist gently, leaning in, voice dropping lower. “It’s just Bruce. No one else. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

His jaw clenched, but thankfully he didn’t fight.

Bruce worked quickly, sliding the needle into place, drawing blood in practiced motions.

Bucky exhaled slowly, his body sinking further into the bed, exhaustion weighing him down even as frustration simmered beneath the surface.

Then - Bruce reached for the IV.

Bucky groaned, shifting against the restraints as much as he could. “No -”

Bruce shot him a flat look. “You need fluids.”

Tony smirked. “Don’t complain, it’s free.”

She brushed her fingers against Bucky’s knuckles. “Just let him do it, Buck.”

His muscles tensed again - but he let Bruce work.