Chapter 1
When Tony woke up, he knew instantly that today would not be a good day. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, and the cold air settled into his bones like a vise. The room was freezing—way more frigid than usual—despite Jarvis's insistence that the tower was set to a consistent temperature. Right, Tony thought bitterly. Consistent.
With a groan, he dragged himself out of bed and stumbled across the floor, his bare feet barely able to tolerate the chill. His body felt like it had been put through a meat grinder—aching, stiff, and uncooperative. He made his way, slow and deliberate, to the kitchen, convinced that a good shot of caffeine would at least get him on his feet.
The coffee machine beeped as it finished brewing, the sound oddly louder than usual. Tony reached for his mug, but before his fingers could close around it, a hand pressed gently to his forehead, sending a jolt of surprise—and pain—through his body. He jerked back, his heart hammering, instinctively clutching his arc reactor.
Natasha stood there, looking as unbothered as ever. "You feel warm," she remarked, her voice flat.
Tony, still trying to steady his breath, blinked at her. "And you're a scary, scary woman." His eyes flitted around the room, landing on the small crowd gathered around the kitchen table. The usual suspects—Clint, Natasha, Bruce, sans Thor who was away this week—were all there, but Steve and the tower's newest resident, James Barnes, otherwise known as Bucky, were nowhere to be seen.
Since Barnes returned, Steve had been glued to his side like an overprotective shadow. Steve didn't even bring food down to his lab anymore. Tony had noticed he had dropped a few pounds over the last few weeks. He needed a belt to hold up his pants, and he was sure if Steve noticed(or cared), he'd have used that exact belt on his behind. Steve had never used anything but his hand before but he has always threatened. Tony internally winced at that thought, the act alone was terrible but having to wear the belt around his waist after it was applied to his stinging backside would make it feel like a weighted reminder.
Natasha snapped her fingers in front of his face, bringing him back to the present. "Did you hear anything I said?"
Tony blinked and looked at her, still groggy. "Uh…" He glanced around the table, trying to process what was happening. "…What?"
"You're not looking so good," she stated flatly, staring disapprovingly with a hint of concern at Tony's inattentiveness.
Tony opened his mouth to argue, but a harsh cough broke free, rattling his chest and making his whole body seize up. He barely had time to catch his breath before Natasha was patting his back hard until the fit passed.
Clint leaned back in his chair, wearing that damn grin that made Tony want to throw something at him. "Sure, you are," Clint said, eyes twinkling with mischief.
Bruce, ever the doctor, stood up and walked over, his expression unreadable. "I have a hunch about what you might have. Jarvis, what's his temperature"?
"Jarvis, don't you dare," Tony interjected, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm fine. Just a little bug, nothing to worry about."
But Bruce ignored him, reaching up to rub his neck. "Hmm. It's a little swollen. With these symptoms, I'd say you've got—"
Before Bruce could finish, the door to the kitchen opened, and Steve, along with Barnes, walked in. Both were still dressed in their workout gear, hair damp with sweat. Steve took in the scene—Natasha hovering over Tony, Bruce scrutinizing him—and frowned.
"What's going on here?" Steve asked, looking from face to face, his gaze landing on Tony, who felt a sudden stab of discomfort.
"Nothing's happening," Tony muttered, his voice tight. "I was just leaving. I've got a ton of important things to do." He turned abruptly, abandoning his coffee on the counter with a sharp, irritated exhale. The last thing he needed was to be the center of attention, especially when it seemed like Steve had way more important things to do than worry about him.
Tony tried to squeeze past Bucky, but the man's cold, unmistakable iron hand shot out and gripped his bicep with a force that made Tony shiver. He froze, looking at the hand, then slowly up at Barnes, whose icy blue eyes were locked on him with an intensity that sent an involuntary ripple of unease down Tony's spine.
"You look pale," Bucky said, his voice measured.
Tony swallowed and glanced at Steve, who had stepped up behind the taller Burnett, now eyeing him with concern. "Uh, well, we can't all frolic in the sun. Some of us have to work," Tony managed, though his voice came out more strained than he intended. It took a second for his brain to reboot, and then he was off—scurrying past them faster than anyone could react, heart pounding in his chest.
He almost felt disappointed when he made it to his lab without anyone following. It wasn't like he wanted them to, but the silence after the encounter sat heavy in his chest.
Sighing, Tony grabbed his welding mask and set it over his face, flipping the switch with a mechanical hiss. The blue glow of his arc reactor illuminated the workspace as he fired up the welder, ignoring Jarvis's warning about his own temperature being dangerously high. The heat from molten metal was a comfort, in a way. A welcome distraction from the tension building between him and the supersoldiers.
He focused on the task at hand, trying to forget how Steve had looked at him—or how Bucky's touch had made his heart race.
Tony's mind briefly wandered as he worked, and he couldn't shake the thought that had been gnawing at him for weeks. Was Bucky even aware of him beyond the occasional cold stare? Hell, did he even like him?
Every time their paths crossed, it felt like Bucky was studying him, like he was trying to figure out if Tony was worth trusting—or maybe even tolerating. The man had a way of keeping his distance, even in the same room, but when he did speak, his words were often wrapped in layers of careful calculation. Maybe that's just Bucky, Tony mused. Maybe he's just… distant.
It didn't help that Steve seemed to keep a tight leash on him. The two of them were practically inseparable, and every time Tony tried to engage Bucky directly, he was met with those unreadable blue eyes and that damn silent wall. Was it just the Winter Soldier thing? Or did Bucky have actual reservations about him? Tony couldn't tell, and he didn't want to know. It was bad enough having one of his childhood superheroes thinking he was not worth it…
But it hadn't felt hostile when Bucky had gripped his arm this morning, more like… concern. Tony shook his head, frustrated. Focus, Stark. Focus on the damn welder. He couldn't afford to think too hard about James fucking Barnes. Not today. Not when everything felt like it was falling apart.
************************************************************
Each time Tony tried to open his eyes, everything blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors. A high-pitched ring cut through his ears like a needle on a record, and voices swirled around him, muffled and distorted, like he was submerged underwater. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to blink it away, but the sharp light that hit him when he opened them again nearly blinded him. He grunted and squeezed his eyes shut tighter, only to reluctantly open them a second time.
This time, the world was clearer. And so was Bruce's frown. "Tony, can you hear me?" he asked, his voice full of quiet concern.
Tony winced as the sound crashed through his skull. "Loud and clear," he mumbled, struggling to reorient himself on the cold, hard floor of the workshop. His body felt heavy, each movement more effort than the last.
Bruce was kneeling beside him, penlight in hand, casting an almost too-bright beam in his eyes. Must've passed out while working, Tony thought, his mind sluggish. I don't usually do that until the third day of no sleep.
Ignoring Bruce's protests, Tony tried to sit up and immediately regretted it as the world spun like he was on a tilt-a-whirl. "Ouch," he muttered, his hand pressing against his forehead. Bruce guided him to breathe through the nausea.
He glanced to his left and saw Barnes standing in the doorway, his brow furrowed. "Hey, Robocop, where's Spangles?" Tony asked, his voice hoarse. Bucky didn't respond, his icy blue gaze unwavering as Tony felt the weight of his silence.
"Jarvis, what's his temperature?" Bruce asked though Tony was already dreading the answer.
"Don't say—" Tony began, but Jarvis beat him to it.
"103, Dr. Banner."
Tony's eyes met Bruce's, sheepish. Maybe it was a good thing Steve wasn't around. He didn't need another lecture.
Bruce rolled his eyes, muttering something about "idiots." Tony couldn't help but shiver. How could he be freezing and burning up at the same time? He squeezed his eyes shut, praying for blackness to swallow him up again.
Before he could retreat into the dark, he felt strong hands slide beneath his shoulders and knees, lifting him effortlessly. "Hey, I can walk," Tony protested weakly, trying—and failing—to sound angry. It probably came out more like a pout.
"Take him to his room," Bruce said, his voice soft but firm. "I'll bring soup and meds in a bit."
Tony looked up at Bucky, who had that same unreadable expression on his face. Amused, but with a hint of something... murderous? It was kind of hot.
Bucky met his gaze as he hoisted him into his arms. "You need to relax," he said quietly.
Tony deadpanned. "If I relax anymore, I'd be dead." But even as he said it, he couldn't help but lean into Bucky's warmth, the only comfort he could find in that moment. Resting his head on Bucky's shoulder.
The last thing Tony heard before everything turned black was a soft chuckle that rumbled Bucky's chest.
************************************************************
A few hours later, Tony woke up in his bed. The soft glow of the room told him it was later in the day; the sun had long since set. His head felt heavy, his limbs sore, and his throat dry. As his bleary eyes focused, he spotted a note on the nightstand, along with cold medication and a bottle of water. He reached for the water first, ignoring the gross medicine, and took a long drink, letting the cool liquid soothe his parched throat.
With a groan, he tried to sit up. Every inch of his body felt like he had gone a round with the Hulk. His muscles screamed in protest, stiff and sore. He winced, his back tightening into a knot with the effort.
He glanced at the mirror, catching his reflection. His hair was a mess, and his face pale, nose red but it was the long sleeve shirt and pajama pants that made him stop. The black shirt had the words "Most Likely to Get Coal in Their Stocking," across the chest, and the red fuzzy pajama pants—well, they were just too ridiculous.
Tony crawled on his knees, craned his neck and angled his hips to read the white text sprawled across his butt: "Naughty."
“Fucking Clint,” Tony muttered under his breath. He really was tempted to take them off, but... they were warm. And right now, that was all he cared about. He briefly wondered who had allowed this choice and changed him.
He swung his legs off the bed and padded barefoot toward the door. The hall was quiet—good. He could get back to work, bury himself in something, anything, to distract from the gnawing emptiness that had settled in his chest. It was easier than facing the reality that, for all the warmth they had shown him in small, quiet moments, the supersoldiers had left him once again.
With a soft exhale, Tony pressed the button for the elevator, but it wouldn’t stay lit. He was about to call Jarvis when—
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Tony spun around, his heart leaping in his chest. There, standing behind him with arms crossed, was Steve Rogers in all his Captain America glory, his expression stern. And right behind him, arms folded with a raised brow was the Winter Soldier.
“Damn it, you shouldn’t sneak up on me like that,” Tony gasped, clutching his chest in mock distress. “I have a heart condition.”
He tried to calm his thumping heart, but then a cough wracked through his chest, and he doubled over, gasping for air.
Steve was instantly at his side, rubbing his back until the fit passed. “Why aren’t you wearing socks?” he asked, his tone strangely exasperated.
Tony groaned, his body aching and his face burning with embarrassment. This day just kept getting worse. Being miserably sick was one thing, but having the man he was very much pining after being obligated to look after him? That was another.
Without much more said, Tony was ushered to the couch. Steve disappeared into the kitchen, and before Tony could protest, a bowl of soup appeared in front of him, placed on a lap tray. Steve gave him a look that made him squirm, so he quickly scooped some soup into his mouth. Satisfied Steve left for the kitchen. The sound of the sink turning on and the clinking of dishes followed.
He looked up at Bucky, who had already settled beside him, pressing play on the TV remote to start some kind of holiday special.
Tony lifted the spoon to his lips again and took a sip. Steve was right—he was freezing, but he couldn’t figure out if it was the fever or something else. The socks Steve forced him to wear were ridiculous, but they were warm.
Tony caught himself studying Bucky’s profile. Bucky’s gaze was distant, lost in whatever show was playing, the lights dancing across his face. Tony tried to focus on the soup, but the warmth inside him was spreading, slowly, almost imperceptibly. It was the way Bucky sat beside him—his presence comforting, steady, protective. He was surprised Barnes didn’t follow Steve to the kitchen.
The soup warmed him from the inside out, and with every small, deliberate movement, Tony felt the tension in his body begin to ease. He looked up at Bucky again, who hadn’t moved, still watching the TV with an almost too-calm expression.
Tony tried to keep his eyes open, but his eyelids were heavy, and the warmth of the soup was making him drowsy.
Bucky must’ve noticed when Tony started to drift off, because the next thing he knew, the spoon was gently pressed to his lips. How the spoon got into his hand Tony will never know, but Tony wasn’t one to be babied. In his weak state, all he could do was keep his lips sealed and glare.
"You have to eat, babydoll," Bucky murmured. "You won’t get better if you don’t have energy."
Tony’s lips parted, and the warm liquid slid past his lips before he could stop it. Normally, he would’ve protested more, but right now, he didn’t have the strength to fight. And Bucky—his voice, his touch—made it all feel too easy.
As the last of the soup disappeared, Bucky gently lifted the tray from Tony’s lap and shifted him slightly, positioning his head on his lap.
For a moment, he was about to drift into oblivion—his exhaustion overtaking him, the fever that had been clinging to him for days finally loosening its grip, and the warmth of Bucky’s hand in his hair and the steady beat of his heart. But then, just as his eyelids began to fall, he heard Bucky’s voice, low and measured, breaking the quiet.
“Jarvis, what’s Tony’s temperature—”
“No,” Tony grumbled, his voice thick with the fog of fatigue, a frown pulling at his brow. “Don’t answer that,” he muttered, not wanting to be reminded that he was, indeed, sick.
Bucky chuckled softly, but it was that gentle sound that only made Tony feel more cared for. He’d expected Bucky to let it go, but instead, Bucky’s voice lowered a quiet but firm command.
"Quiet doll face. There's more than one way to take your temperature."
Tony's response died on his lips. The tone of Bucky's voice sent shivers down Tony's spine, and it was clear he wasn't talking about traditional methods. Tony couldn't help but imagine Bucky putting him across his lap, pulling down his pajama bottoms, and exposing him to take his temperature in a more intimate way. The thought made Tony blush and he pulled the blanket tighter around himself, feeling both embarrassed and aroused.
"I have a lot of experience dealing with punks who refuse to take their doctor's order." Bucky teased breaking Tony out of his daydream.
Tony blinked a few times, sluggishly pulling himself back to reality. He let out a low groan and gave Bucky a half-hearted glare. “I’m fine, Buck. Really.”
But Bucky just raised an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. Jarvis’s voice rang out. “Sir's temperature is 104.”
Bucky’s brow furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line as concern immediately flickered across his face. His gaze immediately snapped back to Tony. He shook his head, clearly frustrated. “You didn’t take the medicine we put out for you, did you?”
Tony tried to roll his eyes, but it just made his head spin. “I don’t need it,” he muttered, even though his voice sounded a little too weak to be convincing.
Bucky let out a quiet sigh. “You’re not invincible, Tony.” He brushed Tony's mused hair away from his forehead. looking down at Tony with that familiar mix of teasing and concern. “You’re burning up, and you’re still trying to play tough guy?”
Tony groaned again, his voice weak and petulant. “I don’t need it. Just let me sleep.”
But Bucky was already pulling a small bottle from his jacket pocket. Tony’s eyes narrowed as he watched Bucky hold it up.
“Noooo,” Tony whined, pulling the covers up to his mouth in protest. “I don’t wanna.”
Bucky raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips, but there was no humor in his eyes. “You’re taking it. No arguments.”
Tony tried to push the bottle away weakly, but Bucky was having none of it. With a swift, playful move, he pinched Tony’s nose, cutting off his protest. Tony’s eyes went wide, and he tried to wiggle away, but Bucky kept the pressure firm.
“You’re taking the damn medicine, Tony,” Bucky said softly, his voice filled with gentle authority. “Now, open up.”
Tony squirmed, his cheeks flushed with frustration as he struggled to pull his face away “I can’t breathe,” he mumbled, his voice nasally because of Bucky's hold.
“Don’t make me pinch harder, Stark,” Bucky teased, his grip tightening just enough to make Tony open his mouth in defeat.
Bucky’s hand released Tony’s nose, the bottle pressed to his lips as Tony let out a small, resigned sigh. “You’re the worst,” he grumbled as he reluctantly took the medicine.
Bucky chuckled, smoothing Tony’s hair back as he settled him back down. “I know, doll. I know.”
Tony huffed but started to relax as Bucky’s strong hands worked into his back. God, he was even better than Steve. If Tony were a cat, he’d be purring. Each knot Tony hadn’t known existed melted away under Bucky’s touch, the pressure from his metal arm easing the tension.
Soon, the exhaustion from his fever caught up with him, and Tony felt himself drifting off, his body completely unwinding under Bucky’s care.