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rookthorne · 2 years

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⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐈𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥

Bucky swore — he swore — that no harm would ever befall you, but he couldn’t fight against your own body. It would not stop him from tearing down mountains and breaking every law to keep you alive, though.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✰ Biker!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ✰ 3.3k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ✰ Hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, sick fic, hospital environment

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ✰ We're finishing this insane month with a bang, folks.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎 ✰ Angel by Sarah McLachlan

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ✰ Whumptober 2022 — Masterlist

𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Bucky had kept watch over you for days - several very long fucking days. The illness that had you in its grasp was worsening every hour, but ever so stubbornly, you refused to get help, or let him call Stephen just to check you over.

Each day that passed brought him closer and closer to a nervous breakdown.

“It’s just the flu, Buck,” you had mumbled after a violent coughing fit. Bucky just stared, incredulously, into your much too flushed face that was soaked with sweat, and then glanced down your body to see your shivering frame wrapped in a dozen or so blankets.

If this was just a flu, he would sell every single damn gun and bullet he owned, and turn in his patch. Presidency be damned.

Bucky had seen what pneumonia could do to a person - when he and Steve were kids, Steve had been struck down more times than Bucky could count on both hands with numerous chest infections, and bouts of pneumonia that almost killed him.

It was a cruel twist of fate that you lay here before him just as sickly, and frail.

You had been so out of it that night that you didn’t even realise Bucky had moved you from his apartment, and onto the games room couch, where he and the others could keep an eye on you. Bucky hadn’t let you rest at home either - he told you it was so he could keep an eye on you himself while he ‘worked’, but the truth he omitted that the clubhouse was, in fact, closer to the hospital, than your home.

They all understood that when his Queen was down and out - whether you were a friend or a foe, you would incur his fury if even a hair on your head was out of place.

Bucky had settled himself next to the couch on the hardwood floor so he could watch your face for any sign of unusual discomfort, and he compulsively stroked your cheek with his thumb - a quiet but soft ritual of reassurance, that you were still here.

Quiet footsteps approached his side and Bucky glanced from the corner of his eye to see Peter. “Hey, boss,” Peter whispered and Bucky nodded once, too focused on you to think of anything else. “How is she?” Peter asked quietly, peering over Bucky’s shoulder to look at your face that was much too pale.

“‘M not sure,” Bucky mumbled back. He carefully moved some of your hair from your face when your eyes finally opened. “Hey, sweetheart,” he whispered and he watched you smile weakly.

The dimmed lights of the clubhouse did no favours for your worsening pallor, and Bucky felt helpless. He had fought with you over whether to go to hospital and you had adamantly refused. Even after Steve, Sam, Peter, and Natasha chimed in, you foolishly stood steadfast at the fact you were not stepping foot in a hospital over the ‘flu’.

Bucky knew the real reason, though. Hospitals were hard enough to stomach when he or one of the guys landed there, but for yourself? Hell would freeze over before you’d step foot in there willingly, for your own sake.

He watched your bleary eyes focus on his face until they fell shut again, the flood of exhaustion too much to fight against. “That’s it, baby, need you to rest up,” he said quietly, resting his palm against your cheek so he could keep the hair from your face.

“Buck,” Steve spoke up, and Bucky turned his head to look at him. “She’s getting worse by the hour-”

“I am not fuckin’ taking her, Stevie,” Bucky argued, though he was losing this argument and his resolve the longer he sat in front of you and heard your wheezing breaths. “She’ll hate me, I can’t do it.”

Peter’s hand rested on his shoulder and squeezed. “Boss, you might not have a choice,” Bucky looked up at him, only to see him staring at you. “I have a bad feeling, I can’t shake it.”

“No hospital.”

Bucky’s gaze snapped to your pale face and he stared, shocked that you had woken so soon. Your breathing was laboured, your voice alarmingly weak, and it looked like you were fighting for every second you stayed conscious.

“Sweets, we have to-” Peter started, crouching down to your level next to Bucky.

“I said no hos-” A violent coughing fit wracked your frame and Bucky launched forward.

“Easy, easy,” he soothed, manoeuvring your shaking body so you would be sitting up. “Hang on, baby, hang on,” his palm landed hard against your spine between your shoulders, and Peter was ready with a bowl when you coughed up a hawk of phlegm.

With you sitting up and forward, Bucky slipped in behind you to hold you to his chest. It was killing him, seeing you like this - he could feel every rattle and cough in his own ribs.

Bucky was so preoccupied with soothing you; he missed the shared look of worry between Steve, Sam, and Peter. If Natasha hadn’t gone to bed after spending the whole day with you and missed this violent fit, she would have taken charge and called an ambulance, regardless of Bucky’s protests.

The coughing fit eased and the rattle of your lungs only instilled a sense of fear in Bucky that finally overrode any need to comfort you.

You had to go, and you had to go now.

“Sweetheart,” he said softly, mindful to keep up the soft touches on your back and shoulders while you fought for breath. Peter moved the bowl away and walked back to the others, talking quietly amongst themselves. “We have to go, I’ll be there the whole time, I promise. You remember that promise I made you?”

You nodded slowly, and rested your head against his shoulder. “Please, no,” you whispered hoarsely. “If I have another fit, I’ll let you.”

Bucky sighed and looked up at his family, all of whom were watching the two of you like hawks. “Okay, just rest, baby, I’ll take you if you have another fit,” Bucky said, loud enough for the others to hear. They looked uneasy and Sam went to say something, but Bucky silenced him with a sharp glare - you had made a compromise, it was okay.

You relaxed into Bucky’s chest and he tried his hardest to calm down, desperately ignoring the way your chest stuttered with every breath.

It was going to be okay.

Time seemed to drag the longer he sat with you in his lap, your ragged and heavy breaths that hitched with every single inhale and exhale drove him to the brink of nervous collapse.

Steve, Sam, and Peter were still sitting at the bar playing a game of cards, for which Bucky was immeasurably grateful that they had stayed up with him, even under the illusion of ‘club business’ - he had to pretend everything was normal, that he wasn’t untethered.

Cards hit the bar with a slap and Bucky heard Steve grumble, annoyed at yet another loss, when it happened.

Bucky was watching old cartoons on the TV mounted to the wall when he felt you shift slightly, and he looked down to see your one visible hand in the bundle of blankets lying abnormally still. You always had a slight twitch in your sleep, and if you were positioned right while lying next to him when you slept, you would tickle his side or neck and wake him.

“Okay,” Bucky mumbled, “you’re alright.”

A single bead of sweat trailed down the side of your face and down your neck, where your pulse was racing. Bucky frowned and gently grabbed hold of your chin, tilting it backwards so the back of your head rested against the couch.

You were pliant - a limp weight in Bucky’s arms.

There was no visible change to your pallor, aside from your lips being abnormally pale compared to what they were before, and there was no change to your breathing.

Bucky, however, could not help feel ice cold dread burn through his veins - the heavy weight of it settled deep in his stomach like an anvil.

“Can you hear me, doll?” The cards on the bar behind him stopped shuffling, and Bucky heard the bar stools creak and scrape against the floor. “Baby?” He watched your face for any sign of acknowledgement, any sign that you had heard him.

Nothing.

He could feel the presence of the others standing behind him and he willed his heart to settle. “I think she’s asleep.”

“You feel it, too?” Bucky looked up at Peter and gaped. How the hell?

“Yeah,” Sam cut in. He moved to sit in the recliner next to the couch. “I do.”

Your face twitched, and Bucky stared wide-eyed with fear, searching your expression for something, anything. “I don’t-”

“Boss,” Peter started, and Bucky looked at him quickly. He was shuffling his feet against the floor like he was preparing to run. “Boss, we gotta go-” Peter pointed at your face and Bucky turned to look back at you.

Horror struck, he watched your lips become tinged with blue, and your breaths, once laboured and slow, turn into shallow pants - almost like you were gasping for air that wouldn’t come.

All hell broke loose.

“Buck-” Steve yelled, but Bucky had already pulled you flush to his chest, and slipped his arm under your knees, and the other behind your shoulders.

“Fucking MOVE!”

Peter sprinted to the door and ripped your car keys from the wall, his light feet pounded against the cement when he ran to your car to start it. The car revved to life just as Bucky reached the doorway.

“Go! Go, go!” Sam shouted, grabbing the keys to their bikes. Steve caught his keys when Sam threw them, and Peter ran from your car to his bike.

“Parker! You’re up front!” Bucky heard Steve yell as he ran to your car, ignorant of the break in hierarchy - you were fucking dying, to hell with it. “We’ll be right behind you!” Steve shouted, and his bike roared to life.

Bucky managed to manoeuvre you into the passenger seat with little fight. You were a deadweight, and that terrified him more than any nightmare he had ever experienced.

Hell, this was a nightmare come true.

“Baby, stay with me,” Bucky rushed, his hands eerily steady while he buckled you in. He slammed the door shut and slid into the driver’s seat, forgoing his own belt in favour of peeling out of the lot behind Peter.

You coughed wetly next to him, and Bucky turned to look at you - his breath hitched as fear twisted his gut into a fisherman’s knot when a rivulet of phlegm dribbled from the corner of your mouth.

Your lips were too fucking blue.

“Baby,” he called, his eyes returning to the road as he ran red light after red light. “I’m takin’ you to the hospital, stay with me, c’mon!”

The engine roared as the revs climbed, his foot heavy on the accelerator with unprecedented desperation. Your car needed a set of red and blue lights - an ambulance was much too slow, compared to the speed Bucky maintained.

Peter was riding ahead, close enough to create a triangle formation with Steve and Sam who were right on Bucky’s tail, their bikes tearing down the road and ready to intercept and prevent anything from getting in the way.

Another coughing fit wracked your already slumped frame just as Bucky pulled up to the hospital. “Fuck!” He flew out of the driver’s seat, not caring that the car was still running. You fell easily into his embrace when he pulled you from the passenger seat and against his chest once more.

“Steve!” Bucky shouted, gesturing with his head towards the emergency doors of the hospital. “Go!” Steve ran through the double glass doors and Bucky could see a group of nurses run to him while he pointed towards the two of you.

God, he never wanted to feel your deadweight in his arms ever again, Bucky prayed, adjusting you so your head lolled against his shoulder.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Bucky murmured against your temple, jogging towards the doors, where a medical team of doctors and nurses waited. It was a mantra he’d chant on repeat if you would just wake up. “They’ll help, I’ve got you.”

There was a faint hiss by your ear, and the soft feel of cotton against your palms and tips of your fingers when they twitched against the fabric. A steady beep echoed by your head, and the smell of disinfectant burnt at your sinuses, but no matter how hard you struggled, you could not open your eyes.

Where am I?

“She’s improving with the course of intravenous antibiotics,” a soft voice, one that was entirely unfamiliar, began. It was coming from your feet and you strained to hear it over the combined noise of instruments cluttered at your head. “However, we will continue to keep her for observation.”

A ruffle of fabric, then paper, and another voice spoke. “Thanks, doc.”

That voice. Bucky.

There were footsteps and a small sigh, then the sound of someone sitting down in a chair. You could hear the sound of a phone keyboard - clack clack clack.

No matter how hard you tried, your eyes refused to open. Your chest felt like it was in a vice, a band around the entire width of it that constricted when you inhaled.

The person shifted in their seat, and then a hand - one that you had held so many times before - held your own. Callused, rough, but ever so soft, and gentle. Bucky, he was sitting right next to you, and you needed him; stuck in the darkness because your eyes refused to open, and you were scared.

The monitor by your head beeped at an increased rhythm, and you felt Bucky’s hand grip yours tighter.

“Doll?” His chair scooted along the floor and you could feel his presence at your side, much closer and within reach - if only your body would let you reach out. “You’re alright, you’re safe.” You heard a quiet plunk when Bucky placed his phone on the surface by your head, and then you felt his now free hand against your jaw. “Can you open your eyes for me, baby girl?”

Bucky’s thumb brushed your cheek when your eyelids fluttered, and they slowly opened. Your vision was blurred, but you could make out the cotton sheets over your legs, and the plain sterile walls that enclosed you on all sides.

“Hey,” Bucky breathed and your eyes roved lazily to meet his, the soft smile he wore enough to steady your heart rate. “How’re you feelin’?”

You blinked once, your mind still much too foggy to comprehend anything. Bucky seemed to realise this. “You’re in hospital,” he squeezed your hand and leant forward. “You gave us all a hell of a scare last night, doll.”

The flow of oxygen to your nose began to annoy you, and in your groggy state your arm moved to tug it away when Bucky stopped you. “No, no, leave it, you need it.” A quiet whine left your throat in protest and Bucky smiled gently, bringing your hand back down and placing it on your stomach.

“Wha’ happen?” You slurred, staring at Bucky through half-lidded eyes.

“This ain’t no flu, sweetheart,” Bucky sighed, staring back into your face. You suddenly noticed that his eyes were puffy. “You basically stopped breathing on me last night. I broke a dozen laws trying to get you here,” he chuckled. “You’ve got pneumonia, and a chest infection.”

Your eyes widened slightly at the news and Bucky leaned back in his seat, rubbing his face with one hand, while the other still held yours.

The door to your room opened and Bucky looked over, while you continued to stare at him. Pneumonia?

“Hey, Steve,” Bucky said quietly as Steve came into your field of very limited vision.

Steve squeezed Bucky’s shoulder, offering him a cup of something, and then Steve looked at you, a soft smile on his face. He looked relieved. “Hey, Sweets,” he said quietly. “Gave us all a damned heart attack last night.”

Guilt churned in your stomach and you frowned, looking between the two of them. “‘M sorry.”

Bucky sighed, and Steve shook his head. “No apologisin’,” Steve started, walking back towards the door. “Though it would be good if you weren’t so damn stubborn.” The door clicked shut behind him and Bucky chuckled, shifting in his seat again. He looked so uncomfortable.

“Wan’ you,” you murmured, squeezing his hand slightly.

Bucky raised his brows around the cup he was sipping from, and he looked at the bed. It was true, he pulled money from the club’s stash to make sure you got a room on your own - by some miracle it was enough, but the bed was still fucking small.

“I don’t think I’d fit, baby,” he whispered, placing the cup by your head and leaning forward again.

“Don’ care,” you insisted, using what little strength you had to lift his hand and tug on it.

“Alright, alright,” Bucky stood, letting go of your hand so he could take his boots off. “Those drugs they have you on made you needy, huh?” You nodded slowly and Bucky smirked. “No funny business, missy, doctor's orders.”

A huffed laugh escaped before you could stop it and you coughed harshly. Bucky only winced in sympathy.

“No funny-” You tried when it passed but Bucky shushed you.

His hands snaked their way underneath your shoulders and hips, lifting you up with a playful grunt of exertion, and moved you to the side of the bed. “Don’ be an asshole, Barnes,” you murmured, rolling your eyes.

Bucky grinned cheekily and moved your legs over so he could sit on the edge of the bed. “Never, baby,” he breathed and you smirked. Asshole, you thought sluggishly.

“I’ll get you back,” you threatened. Bucky rolled his eyes while he adjusted some of the wires to loop up and over your head.

Finally, Bucky shifted up the bed and laid back, lifting his legs with a loud and dramatic groan. You had to resist the urge to laugh at his antics, so you settled on poking him in the side while he tried to get comfortable. “Hey!”

The monitor by Bucky’s head picked up in rhythm when the change of position made you feel woozy, and Bucky frowned. “C’mere,” he moved his arm to rest under your shoulder and pulled you close. You cuddled up to his side and rested your cannulated hand on his middle. “That’s it, need you to take it easy for me, sweetheart,” Bucky murmured against your forehead.

Slowly you adjusted to the new position, and took as deep a breath as you could.

“This is a hell of a lot more comfortable than those damn chairs,” Bucky murmured into the crown of your head. “How you feelin’?”

“Sore,” you whispered back sleepily. Every inhale was an effort against the elephant on your chest, but with Bucky holding you, you could forget about it, if only for a moment.

Bucky’s hand rubbed your shoulders and back for a while, and you were almost lulled into a comfortable sleep when he spoke again.

“I almost lost you.”

His voice, always so strong and full of authority, wavered with unbearable fear.

With every last ounce of strength you had left, you moved your arm so you could rest your hand over his heart, the beat steady and true.

“Love you,” you slurred, the current of sleep doing its damndest to pull you under.

Bucky’s free arm moved so he could gently grab hold of your cannulated hand, and with practised ease, he intertwined your fingers as your eyes drooped shut - unable to fight against the current any longer.

“I love you more, sweetheart.”