"Steve, don't push yourself, okay?" James says, as Steve tries, and fails, to get out of the car on his own. "It's okay to need help."
"Yeah," Steve sounds on the verge of tears. James wishes he could just take all the pain, emotional and physical, away.
"Here," He offers his hands to Steve, who reluctantly takes them, and pulls himself to standing. He immediately wobbles, and his face goes pale. "You okay?" Steve only swallows in response. "How about we sit down," James gently guides him to the ground, ignoring that it's a dirty sidewalk.
"S-Sorry," Steve rasps.
"It's fine," James pushes sweaty strands of hair off his face.
"Just…got dizzy," Steve's POTS has gotten so much worse ever since he had the aneurysm. All his symptoms have, really, but this one’s the worst. It’s probably due to the forty-ish pound weight loss, and decrease in blood volume. Neither of those things are easily fixable, though, and Steve knows it. Which breaks James's heart even more.
"It's okay," James murmurs. "Tell me when you're ready."
"I-I…I think I'm okay," Steve says, although he seems anything but.
"Okay, slowly," James helps Steve up again, and hooks one arm around his waist. This time it goes a bit better, although Steve still looks like he might pass out, or throw up. They make it inside, at least, before either of those happen.
"B-Buck," Steve freezes just as they make it through the entryway.
"What is it? You alright?" James realizes Steve's shaky and sweating now. It's a big sign he's not doing so good. "Okay, sit," He pulls Steve to the floor. "You're not feeling so hot, are you?" James presses the backs of his knuckles to Steve's jaw, which is clammy.
"No, I-" Steve's face goes blank. His eyes begin to droop.
"Stevie? You with me?" James claps him on the shoulder, but he doesn't respond. "Okay, breathe," James says softly, as he pushes Steve to lie on his back. He presses two fingers to Steve's inner wrist. He doesn't count exactly how many beats, but Steve's pulse is definitely racing, even in supine position.
"He okay?" James turns to see Tasha standing at the base of the staircase, witnessing this all.
"Yeah, just super tachy," He replies, gently shaking Steve's shoulder.
"Oof," She crinkles her nose sympathetically, "You guys need anything?"
"No, I think we're good."
"Alright, let me know," Tasha's footsteps start loud, and decrescendo as she hops up the stairs.
"Hm?" Steve tilts his head to look at James.
"Hey," James smiles, "There you are."
"I-I…I don't f-feel that good," Steve uses James's arms to pull himself to sitting.
"Yeah, I wouldn't think so," James pats him on the back softly. "You wanna go sit on the couch? Probably more comfortable than done here," He smiles.
"Yeah," Steve starts to stand on his own, but his balance is less than Ideal. James wraps his arm around his waist.
"Take it easy," He takes on most of Steve's weight. He's gotten so light lately. They gave him a feeding tube in the hospital for a couple of days, but then he threw it up. The medical team presented no further options, despite James practically begging them.
"Buck, s-stop," Steve curls in on himself when they're a few feet from the couch.
"What is it?" James is prepared to run, or sit, or whatever Steve needs.
"I just…I-I feel…not good…" Steve trails off, gulping.
"Okay sit first, puke next," James drags him the rest of the way, and guides him onto the sofa. "Here," He takes the small trashcan nearby, and sets it in Steve's lap.
"I don't…I-I…" Steve breathes sickly, while James rubs his back, for a few moments. Then he retches, painfully and emptily. Tears jerk to the corners of his eyes.
"It's okay, breathe," James intones. He presses his cold prosthetic to Steve's cheek, hoping to offer some relief to miserable hot nausea.
"I'm…" Steve starts to speak, but instead gags again. He spits out a mouthful of stomach acid, then gasps for breath.
"Yeah, you're okay," James pats him on the back while he catches his breath.
"I f-feel really b-bad," Steve collapses backward into James's arms.
"I know," James sighs, and slicks back Steve's sweaty hair. "Anything I can get you? Like to drink or something?"
"Oh god, no," Steve's face pales. He looks like he might vomit again.
"Okay, that’s okay, we can try later," Steve's been on an IV for the past five weeks. The hospital didn't even ween him off it, which James is pissed about. Steve's barely been tolerating oral stuff, and they haven't even been able to get a dietitian appointment for another two months.
"Sorry," Steve mumbles into James's shoulder.
"No apologizing, okay?" He pulls Steve into a gentle side embrace, "It's fine."
"It's…It's just t-that my s-stomach…it really h-hurts," Steve sniffles.
"I know, I'm sorry," James wants nothing more than for this to all be over. "We'll figure this out, you have appointments with cardio and GI in a few days, they might be able to help." The hospital set up a shit ton of follow-up appointments after they discharged Steve. In James's experience, ninety percent of them will be canceled, but they might get something out of it. Emphasis on might.
"I…I'm r-really tired," Steve murmurs.
"You can take a nap, I'll come bother you in a bit," James makes to get up, but Steve grabs his hand.
"S-Stay…please?" Steve looks so small. James doesn't have the heart, nor does he want, to say no.
"Of course," He smiles, and guides Steve's head into his lap. It's only a matter of minutes before he's out cold. James carefully slips out from under him, and pads into the kitchen.
"Hey," Tasha's there, drinking what's probably an alcoholic beverage in a mug. She has a problem with it, but James finds it low on his list of priorities, considering Steve and Yelena's needs.
"Hey," James busies himself with making a PB&J.
"How's Steve doing?" Tasha asks.
"He's…" James could answer in one word, or a monologue. "He's not doing so good."
"Yeah," Tasha shakes her head, "I mean does he even eat? Or, well, can he at this point?"
"He tries, but he throws up almost everything," James sighs, and claps his two pieces of bread together. "He had the NG for like three days, then he threw it up, and they decided not to place another one for fuck knows what reason."
"What about an NJ or a surgical thing?" Tasha tilts her head. "TPN?"
"I've begged and pleaded," James is exhausted at this point. "He's lost twenty percent of his body weight. I don't know what to do."
"Try again through the portal?" Tasha offers.
"Yeah, I will, I don't think they'll respond though," James sits down at the kitchen table.
"They never do," Tasha squeezes his shoulder as she passes by. She seems to be heading back upstairs, but stops, and turns around, "Remember to make him drink Gatorade round the clock. He's not gonna like it, but don't let him get super dehydrated on your watch, okay?"
"Okay," James nods, then eats his meal in silence.
When he finishes, he checks on Steve, who's stirring. He looks uncomfortable, in pain, probably. His face is flushed, and he's not sweating anymore.
"Oh shit," James mutters. "Hey, Stevie," He whispers as he crouches down opposite to him. "Bud?" He shakes Steve's shoulder as delicately as he can. "Love?"
"Hm?" Steve slowly opens his eyes.
"Hey," James can't contain a smile. "Feeling a bit better?"
"N-No," Steve shakes his head miserably.
"Aw, Stevie," James pets back his stray hairs. "I'm sorry."
"s'okay," Steve sits up slowly, using both James and the couch for support.
"I know you're not gonna like this, but I think you need to drink something," Steve goes ashen just at the suggestion. "We have sprite, ginger ale, and Gatorade. I can also run out and get you anything you'd like."
"I…" Steve gulps. James grabs the trash can for him, and sets it in his lap.
"It's okay, you're gonna be okay," James murmurs. Steve lets his mouth hang open over the bin. Strings of saliva cling to his lips. He looks too exhausted to detach them. "Breathe through it," James soothes, when Steve clutches his stomach, and tears fall down his cheeks.
"J-Just feel…r-really sick," Steve's knuckles are white from his grip on the trash can's rim. James can only imagine how much pain he's in.
"I think you're really empty," He decides when Steve's gagged up nothing for what has to be the tenth time.
"Feel sick," Steve spits, and swipes at his teary eyes.
"I know, but you really need to drink something," James says softly. "It'll hurt less if you throw up again," He's aware there really isn't a bright side to offer, but he'll do his best.
"Still feel sick," Steve repeats, obviously not understanding James's point. James can't blame him though, he’s super dehydrated, exhausted and a bit incoherent. James can't imagine he'd be any better in this situation.
"How about we start with water, and if that stays down, we can try Gatorade, okay?" He suggests. Steve doesn't respond this time, he just retches dryly. "Okay," James sighs, pats him on the back, and then fills up a glass of water from the tap. "Here," He announces his presence as to not spook Steve, who has his head buried in the trash bin.
"Hm?" Steve looks up dazedly, then swallows.
"Can you try some water?" James offers the glass. Steve shakes his head. "Come on, I know you feel bad, and it really sucks, but please drink something," James tries, and again Steve refuses. "Stevie, I really don't want to drag you to the ER when you just got out of the hospital," With that, Steve seems to be listening.
"N-No hospital," James can't tell if it's a statement or a question.
"I can't make any promises," Steve frowns at this, "But it's less likely, if you drink," He still looks reluctant, but shakily takes the glass from James's hand. Right away, he almost drops it, so James places his hand over Steve's.
"That's it," He guides, as he helps bring the drink to Steve's lips. Steve tentatively takes a sip, then immediately yanks his hand away from the cup. James has to quickly realign his grip, so that they're not going to be soaked in twelve ounces of water.
"Buck…" Steve groans, and grabs the trashcan.
"You're okay," James sets the water down. "Take a deep breath."
"It hurts," Steve whines.
"I'm sorry, I know," James whispers. He knows he shouldn't feel guilty. Steve needs to drink. But he still can't help feeling a bit responsible.
"I…I…" Steve gulps convulsively.
"It's okay, breathe," James intones. He doesn't know what else to do. He's running out of things to say.
"I-I don't-" Steve's breath hitches, and his complexion goes greenish-grey. He hangs his head over the trash bin for about ten seconds, the releases it back to the floor. "I'm okay," He rasps.
"Are you sure?" James asks, surprised.
"Y-Yeah," Steve sinks into James's arms.
"You want to try some more?" He picks up the glass.
"No," Steve paws at James's arm, presumably searching for comfort. James makes a deal with himself, he'll let Steve cool down for five minutes, then push more fluids. Then ten minutes go by. And twenty. And thirty. And then- "Buck?" Steve whispers.
"Yeah?" He zoned out, now he's back at attention. He realizes Steve's gotten somehow paler, and is shaking.
"I-I…I'm r-really dizzy," Shit, James should've made him drink. He should have been paying more attention. He should have-
"Stevie?" Steve's gone limp, and his eyes are closed. James feels his full weight leaning against his shoulder. "Hey, wake up," He gets up and lays Steve flat on his back. "Steve," James says louder. He presses two fingers to Steve's neck. His pulse is way faster than it should be. James grabs one of Yelena's pulse oxs she's left around. He keeps bothering her about putting them away, but right now, he's grateful.
"What's going on?" Tasha's voice sounds. James ignores her.
"Shit, Shit, Shit…" Steve's heart rate is 170. That's not good.
"Jamie, hey, is he okay?" Tasha's right next to him now.
"No…he's…he's in the 170s," James feels his breathing quicken.
"Calm down, okay?" Tasha places a hand on his back.
"No, Steve's…Steve's sick, and it's all my fault," James swallows back tears.
"It's not, and you need to calm down," Tasha says sternly.
"No, No, No…Steve's gonna die because of me," James wails.
"He's not-"
"Oh my god, I've fucking killed the love of my life," He screams.
"Jamie-"
"I'm a monster, I'm a-"
"Hey," Tasha yells. "Shut the hell up, Steve is going to be fine," James looks up at her, still feeling tears streaming down his face, "Now are you listening to me?" He nods. "Okay, look," Tasha holds up Steve's limp hand, so James can see the pulse ox. Steve's heart rate is down to 155. "He's not dying, he's dehydrated, and it's making his POTS worse, okay?" James knows this. Yelena has POTS. Even though this exact situation has happened to her, it doesn't stop James from worrying. It's different with Steve. He's not used to seeing him like this.
"Okay," James wipes his eyes with his sleeve.
"He's already coming around," Tasha points to Steve, who's eyes are fluttering.
"Hey, Stevie," James grabs his hand.
"Hm?" Steve groans.
"You just passed out," James explains.
"My head…" Steve mumbles.
"Dehydration headache," Tasha bites her lip as she looks to James.
"Um…I could call Sam or Peggy, see if they can start an IV?" He suggests. Tasha nods.
"IV? H-Hospital?" Steve rasps, attempting to sit up. James pushes him back down.
"No hospital, not yet, but we're gonna see if we can get you an IV, okay?" James explains.
"No veins…" Steve continues on to mumble about how it's not going to work, but the words are borderline unintelligible.
"Peggy'll be able to find a vein," Tasha snorts. "She was a military nurse for christ sake, remember before Yelena got her port, she was the only-"
"Now's not the time for anecdotes, Tash," James interrupts. He does remember Peggy being especially talented at IVs, though. Yelena's one of the hardest sticks you'll find, her record is twenty-two tries in the ER before they got a needle in a vein. Peggy's never had to stick her twice, though.
"B-Buck?" Steve's voice is weak. "I-I feel-" He gags emptily. James turns him on his side on the off chance something will come up.
"I'm gonna go call Peggy, she's always on night shift now, so I bet she'll be available," Tasha stands, and begins to walk away, but before she even reaches the doorway, she turns around. "He'll be alright, you know that, right?"
"Yeah," James sighs, "I just can't not worry."
"I know," Tasha shakes her head, "He made it through something with a survival rate of less than twenty percent, he's strong, he's gonna be okay."
James only nods. He runs his fingers through Steve's hair, and murmurs, "Yeah, Stevie, you're gonna be okay."