Synonyms
Bucky wakes up like a well-spun top, not daring to move an inch. His body decides that today is a vertigo-kind-of-day, and he can't contain his excitement already.
"Fuck this," he says to no one in particular. Realizing he's alone, Bucky slowly gets up, holding on to things to keep himself from faceplanting on the floor.
The effects of Bucky's brain injury linger well into the sixth week of nausea, headaches, body aches, short-term memory loss, partial blindness, loss of motor functions, and slurred speech. This downtime proves to be far too slow for a super soldier. He has memorized almost all possible synonyms for slow: sluggish, snaillike, lagging, languid, dragging, heavy-footed, ambling, and even pokey , proving his recovery is unbearably and painfully slow. Bucky commits himself never ever to get shot in the head again.
He gingerly climbs upstairs to mother hen's bedroom like a sloth . " Sloth-like, perfect! " Bucky whispers to himself, proud of the newly thought of synonym.
Mother-of-all hens, a.k.a. Samuel Thomas Wilson worries Bucky. He knows that his injury has also taken its toll on his friend. On top of being THE Captain America, Sam does everything and anything for Bucky. He makes sure to take care of all of Bucky's needs, physical or otherwise. Bucky would even bet that had he been entirely immobile, Sam would have been the one who'd change his diapers. He is not complaining but thinks it isn't fair to Sam.
Bucky finds Sam sleeping in his study with a laptop for a pillow. Bucky sighs, retrieving a blanket like a newborn calf and draping it carefully over Sam. His friend must be too exhausted not to hear his awkward shuffling and occasional stumbling.
"This is my fault," Bucky quietly mutters under his breath.
💜
Sam wakes, dead tired. Well, at least he's not cold. He absentmindedly strokes his blanket, wondering how it got there. However, two things are certain: he's no Doctor Strange and has no Cloak of Levitation.
Sam goes downstairs to check on Bucky.
💜
Sam catches Bucky clumsily fussing all over the kitchen, slicing vegetables, fruits, or whatever a chicken's being boiled. He's visibly struggling, not because he's no Gordon Ramsay but because he's still as weak as a kitten.
"The fuck are you doing? You should be resting," Sam scolds Bucky, readying to kick his ass.
"Hi Sam, good morning to you too," Bucky says, sheepishly smiling as he transfers the vegetables to the pot, snaillike.
"My mother used to cook this for me back in the day whenever I felt tired," Sam internally melts while Bucky beams his steel blues at him.
"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Sam sighs and proceeds to help.
"I am fine, Sam. It's you I'm worried about," Bucky throws a meaningful look at him. Sam is dumbfounded. Bucky, who limps and staggers about like a partially eaten reanimated corpse, is worried for him. He looks at his friend like he got shot in the head.
"I know what you're thinking, listen," Bucky counters Sam's "look" and explains, " Sam, you're not even a super soldier, but you carry the weight of the world. I can't even begin to understand how you're coping. And these past weeks, I am of no help either," Sam dislikes where this is going; he could already see Bucky blaming himself again. He opens his mouth for a rebuttal, but Bucky quickly stops him.
"I'm not sorry, Sam. I'm grateful you're looking after me. But I'm worried because no one's taking care of you," Bucky sighs, approaching Sam with heavy feet.
"For once, let me take care of you," Bucky continues, placing his unsteady flesh hand on his friend's shoulder. Sam's eyes glisten at his friend's foolish offer. He tightly wraps his arms around Bucky, reassuring him.
"You have saved my life, Buck. Over and over. How is that not taking care of me? Don't think for a second that it is one-sided, man. You've done a lot for me, too," Sam sobs, hating that Bucky still doesn't know that he is more than enough.
Sam isn't sure if he got through to Bucky, but there is no doubt he will continue trying, even if it's the last thing he'd ever do.
❤️