Poor little Steve has come down with a bug, and he's not a happy camper. But the team has chicken soup and popsicles and TV marathons all ready to go to cheer the little fella up.

Steve usually got up on his own—and usually before Bucky—so Bucky was a little surprised that Steve was still asleep when he got out of the shower. He would have thought he'd be helping Barton make breakfast like he normally did.

"Hey, Stevie, you gonna get up?" he asked, patting his shoulder.

"Mmf," Steve grunted.

"Come on, buddy, it's time for breakfast." He poked him in the side.

"Go 'way," Steve grumbled, rolling out of reach.

That was oddly grumpy for someone who was generally a morning person. Bucky sat down on the edge of Steve's mattress. "You okay?" he asked.

Steve grunted again and pulled the blanket up over his head. Bucky waited. The lump under the covers sighed. "I don' feel good," Steve huffed.

"You don't, huh?" Bucky asked. Steve had gotten sick a lot last time he'd been little—Bucky was actually kind of surprised he'd gone a month without anything happening (barring the allergy thing with the mangos)—but that didn't necessarily mean this was something to worry about right off the bat. "Like how?" he clarified. "Like you want to throw up?" The lump under the covers shook its head. "Like your head hurts?"

"Stop askin' me questions," Steve snapped. "I just feel bad."

Bucky did feel bad that the little guy was sick, but he had to smile at that. Steve was…well, for as often as he did it, he was terrible at being sick. "F.R.I.D.A.Y., Steve's not feeling well. What am I looking at?" He had to repeat the problem for the A.I. since she didn't listen in or record anything in the private living quarters. Saying her name brought her temporarily online, but she wouldn't have been there when Steve said he felt bad.

"I am reading a low-grade fever, Sergeant Barnes," she replied after a moment's scanning. "A slight difficulty in breathing which would indicate a build-up of phlegm, but not so serious as to require professional intervention," she continued, and Bucky took a moment to appreciate how intuitive she was—he was trying to figure out if this was hospital-worthy without scaring Steve. "I believe it is just a bug," she went on. "If it maintains its current trajectory, medication available in the Tower should be enough to make it runs its course in twenty-four to forty-eight hours."

"Okay," Bucky said. "Good. Could you tell me where some of that medication is?"

"DUM-E is already on the way up with it, sir."

"Thank you."

"Of course."

Bucky looked down at Steve, who was still under his blanket. "Sorry you're not feeling well, buddy," he said, resting a hand on his back. Steve made a grunting sort of noise, but didn't try to shake Bucky's hand off. He rubbed his back for a couple of minutes until the door opened and DUM-E rolled inside carrying a little basket which it deposited on the nightstand by Steve's bed.

"Thanks, DUM-E," Bucky said.

The robot chirped and left.

"Alright, Stevie," Bucky said, leaning over to pick up the thermometer. "Can you sit up for a minute?"

Steve, still under the covers, curled up in a little ball in response.

"Just for a minute?" Bucky asked. "I need to take your temperature."

"No."

"I could do it the other way, but that's going to be a lot less fun for both of us."

Steve sat up, and for someone as little and cute as he was, that was a pretty good murderous glare he was pulling off. He said nothing, but opened his mouth and allowed Bucky to put the thermometer in it. Bucky looked him over while he sat there. His nose was red and his eyes were a little runny, but he didn't look flushed, and when Bucky put a hand up to check his throat, he didn't feel anything swollen. The thermometer beeped, and as soon as Bucky took it out, Steve dropped back into his pillow with a grunt.

"Okay. 100.1," Bucky read. F.R.I.D.A.Y. was right—not enough to go to the hospital for. He looked through the little basket of medicine DUM-E had brought, picking out a fever reducer, as well as one for his sinuses when Steve sniffed loudly and turned his head so that his nose wasn't buried in the pillow. "Alright, I need you to sit up again," he told him.

"But why?" Steve whined.

"So you can take your medicine."

Steve sighed dramatically, but hoisted himself back upright, looking less homicidal than he did last time. He took the medicine without complaining, though he scrunched up his face in distaste. He stayed sitting up after he had swallowed it. "Bucky," he said.

"Yeah, buddy?"

"I don't feel good," he said sadly, and he slumped over again, but this time it was to lean against Bucky's side.

Bucky looped an arm around him and rubbed a hand up and down his arm. "I'm sorry, Stevie," he said. "What can I do to help?"

Steve didn't seem sure.

"You want to eat something?"

Steve shook his head.

"You want to go back to sleep?"

Steve sort of shook and nodded his head at the same time.

Bucky smiled. "You want to just sit in my lap for a while?"

Steve nodded, and Bucky's smile widened.

"Okay," he said. "First, though," he went on, standing up. "You look like you're cold. Here, put this on." He grabbed one of his hoodies from his closet and handed it to Steve. A blanket would have worked just as well, but if Steve was feeling clingy, one of Bucky's hoodies would feel more homey.

Steve slid the hoodie over his head, and it was adorably huge on him. Bucky sat down and Steve crawled up into his lap, snuggling against his chest and tucking his head under his chin. Steve sniffled a few times and let out a pitiful little cough, but it wasn't long before he fell back asleep, snoring somewhat through his clogged sinuses. Bucky sat there a little longer, just holding on to him, smiling to himself whenever Steve let out a particularly loud snore. He turned and carefully lowered Steve back down onto the mattress, tucking his teddy bear under his chin and pulling the blanket back up over him. Steve hugged the bear tighter and made a snuffling noise, nuzzling his face down into the soft fur. Bucky smiled softly and ran a hand gently over Steve's hair, then stood up and crept quietly out of the room.

"Hey, where's the little guy?" Barton asked as Bucky walked into the kitchen. "I was gonna show him how to make breakfast tacos today."

"He's sick," Bucky said, snagging a couple of the aforementioned tacos and sitting down.

"Anything serious?" Sam asked, raising a concerned eyebrow.

"F.R.I.D.A.Y. said it was just a bug," Bucky said. "He took some medicine and went back to sleep."

It was odd, as the morning progressed, that it sort of felt like there was something missing. Steve wasn't a loud or demanding kid by any means, but they'd all gotten used to him being there, humming softly to himself while he drew, draping over the furniture to read, or talking or playing with one of them. The Avengers, as a group, were a pretty independent bunch, and while they all still did their own thing, there was a sort of present-ness now that hadn't been there before. Bucky realized with kind of a jolt that Little Steve was…He was their new normal now. He was still a key part of the family, but in a different role—Stark used to tease him about being the Team Mom with the way he looked out for everyone, but now he was the Team Little Brother—and everyone had just sort of…gotten used to it. Missions were happening again, and they'd adjusted to Steve's absence. Daily routines were formed around including him and making sure he was looked after. Plans for the future were talked about like Steve was still going to be little when they happened. Bucky had actually been thinking last night about needing to talk to Stark about getting some paperwork worked up for Steve so they could enroll him in school after the summer was over. The fact that that had seemed like a natural thing to do scared him a little bit.

He got up to check on Steve, who was still asleep (and snoring very loudly). If he was still asleep by the time lunch rolled around, Bucky would make him get up and eat something, but for now, the sleep was good. He stood there for a few minutes and just watched his little friend. No one had given up on trying to figure out how to return him to his adult state, but all anyone was turning up was a whole lot of nothing. They were getting used to this, and that was weird, and maybe it was bad, but what else could they do? Bucky missed the big guy like hell, but he was awfully fond of this little one too. He sighed. He honestly didn't know what to do here, so until they found something that looked like a solution, he guessed he would just keep doing what he had been.

A little while later, he was in the living room playing cards with Sam when he heard the sound of little feet coming down the hall. Steve appeared in the doorway, looking grumpy and not quite awake, with a truly fantastic case of bed hair. He still had Bucky's hoodie on over his pajamas, which hung down around his calves, and he was holding on to Franklin the Second's foot, dragging the bear along behind him. "Hey, Stevie," Bucky said. "How you feeling?"

Steve just sort of grunted and continued his journey into the living room. He walked to the couch and shoved Bucky's arms out of his way so he could climb up into his lap, curling up into a little ball. A quick look up at Sam showed Bucky the counselor was trying very hard not to smile.

"Any better?" Bucky asked. Steve just grunted again. Bucky put a hand to his forehead, and he still felt a little warm. "Here," he said, and Steve made an unhappy little noise as Bucky readjusted him, then relaxed as Bucky rested his metal hand on his forehead. "How's that?" he asked, figuring the cool metal would feel good on his warm skin.

Steve was quiet for a moment before muttering, "S'better," in a somewhat begrudging tone. Sam couldn't quite keep from laughing then, though he masked it reasonably well with a cough. Bucky smiled and patted Steve's arm.

They finished their game, then Sam got up and offered to make lunch. "What do you want to eat, Steve?" he asked.

"Don't want nothin'," Steve grumbled.

"You sure?" Sam asked. "Some toast, maybe?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Soup?"

"No."

"You should try something," he pressed. "It'll help you feel better."

Steve said nothing in response, but he stuck out his tongue and blew a raspberry, then pulled the hood of the hoodie up over his face and curled into an even smaller ball.

Sam doubled over in silent laughter, and Bucky was having a hard time not laughing himself. "Steve," he chastised as sternly as he could manage. "I know you're not feeling good, but you don't need to be rude."

Steve was quiet for a minute, then a muffled, "Sorry, Sam," floated up from under the hoodie.

"It's alright, man," Sam said, still smiling.

"Go ahead and make him something," Bucky mouthed. Kid did still need to eat.

They sat there for a little while as Sam banged around in the kitchen, Steve sniffling and coughing, and Bucky rubbing circles on his back. After a little while, Sam came back in with a bowl of chicken noodle soup, some crackers, and a glass of ginger ale. "Alright, Stevie," Bucky said, patting his back. "Lunch time."

"I don't wanna eat," Stevie whined, making no move to uncurl himself from his little huddle.

"I know, but you need to try a little bit, okay? Give your body some fuel so it can fight this thing off a little better, huh?"

Steve whined and shifted around but still didn't sit up.

"Come on, Steve," Bucky said, poking him gently in the side until he sat up with a growl. Bucky smiled in response to his glare and reached up and flipped the hood back so he could see the rest of his face. "See, look, Sam made you some nice soup, and there's some plain crackers and some ginger ale to help your stomach feel better. Just eat a little bit, alright?"

"Alright," Steve huffed. "But if I throw up on you, s'your fault."

"Noted," Bucky said. He pulled the coffee table closer so Steve could reach the bowl, then got up to go get the basket of medicine from Steve's room. Steve crawled up into his lap as soon as he sat back down, almost spilling his soup as he did so. He took the medicine without complaining, and though it took a while, he finished the ginger ale and crackers and about two thirds of the soup.

"Can I stop now?" he asked, snorting back a nose full of snot and then yawning.

"Okay," Bucky said, leaning over to set the bowl back on the table. "You did good, Steve."

Steve sort of hummed and shuffled back down into his little ball, retreating further into the hoodie. Franklin the Second was sitting on the couch, and Steve reached out and snagged his leg, pulling the bear back up against his chest with a sleepy little sigh.

"You want to go back to bed?" Bucky asked.

"Nn-nh," Steve replied, shifting a little more so that his forehead was pressed against Bucky's metal arm.

"Okay," Bucky said softly, reaching down and stroking Steve's hair. Steve made a snuffling sound, and it was just another minute or two before his breathing evened out in sleep. Bucky smiled to himself and kept petting his hair.

"Hey, man," Sam said quietly, stepping back around to the front of the couch. He smiled down at Steve's sleeping form. "I saved you some lunch back in the kitchen, but since it looks like you're a little tied up right now…" He gestured with the bowl of soup he was holding.

"Thank you," Bucky said, accepting the bowl, transferring it to his left hand since he couldn't really move that one with Steve laying on it, freeing up his right hand to use the spoon. "Sorry about little Sourpuss here," he said, referring to the argument about lunch and nodding down at Steve.

Sam chuckled. "Don't worry about it. It was actually pretty cute. He always get like that when he's sick?"

"Yeah," Bucky nodded. "Believe me, it was less cute last time we were nine and I'd been putting up with it for six years already. I remember one time his ma couldn't get him to eat for, like, three days, and she was really worried, and I told him I would sit on him and force feed him if he didn't eat it on his own." He shook his head and chuckled. "Kid was pissed. Worked, though."

"The threat, or actually sitting on him?" Sam wondered.

"Just the threat," Bucky said. "I had to use it a couple times since then, but I never actually had to do it."

Sam laughed. "I gotta tell you, I kind of want to see that."

Bucky smiled. "I'm sure you'll get the chance some day."

Bucky ate his lunch and Steve kept sleeping. "He snores awfully loudly for someone so small," Wanda said, coming into the living room.

"He really does," Bucky agreed. He didn't usually snore, but it was amazing the volume those little lungs could produce when he did. "Congested sinuses don't help."

Wanda rounded the couch and smiled, placing one hand over her heart. "Oh, that is so cute!" she said, looking down at Steve with his over-sized hoodie and teddy bear. "Aw." She watched him for a moment before seeming to remember what she came into the living room for. "Natasha and I were going to go to the store. Do you need anything?"

"Would you mind picking up some popsicles for him?" he asked. It might be less of a fight to get Steve to eat something like that.

"Of course."

She left, and Bucky very carefully moved Steve off of his lap and onto the couch so he could get up and go to the bathroom. When he came back, Steve was still sleeping soundly, so he draped a blanket over him and left him to rest. He went to help Clint with something, telling F.R.I.D.A.Y. to call him if it looked like Steve needed anything, and was surprised when he came back into the living room to find Thor stretched out across the couch Steve had been on with Steve curled up like a cat on his chest. One of Thor's hands was curled over Steve's back, scratching it gently and enhancing the cat comparison. They were watching TV.

"Hey, guys," Bucky said. "What are you watching?"

"Chip and the Lady Joanna," Thor said. "There is great distress at the moment over the resizing of the bathroom."

"Couldn't've took that wall out anyhow," Steve muttered stuffily. "S'load-bearing."

"Indeed," Thor agreed. "Though the placement of the closet on the other side concealed that fact initially."

Steve sniffed and shrugged, conceding the point. Thor looked up and chuckled softly as he caught Bucky's puzzled expression. How in the hell did Steve know about home renovation? "Steve and I have observed many chapters of this show," Thor explained. "He is well-versed in their language."

Bucky perched on the arm of the couch, still somewhat confused. Surprise joined his confusion and his eyebrows just about went up into his hair when Thor reached up with a tissue to wipe away the snot leaking from Steve's nose and Steve let him.

The scene shifted from the bathroom crisis to one of the bedrooms. "Ah, this one has much improved!" Thor declared. "That monstrosity of a fireplace has been removed."

"It looks a lot better," Steve agreed. "'specially since you c'n see the window now." He snorted disdainfully. "Knew she was gonna do that wall in shiplap, though."

"She does seem to have a passion for it," Thor agreed.

"Shiplap's stupid," Steve declared. He paused and sniffed again. "The french door looks nice, though. She's good at those."

Bucky watched the two of them curiously, their conversation about recessed lighting and HVAC systems doing nothing to allay his confusion. Apparently this was a regular thing Steve and Thor did, and he had no idea how he hadn't known that. Also, sure, Thor was frequently interested in stuff that no one would have pegged him as enjoying, but Bucky did wonder what draw there was for a nine-year-old in a home improvement show. Two hours later, though, he found himself still sitting there watching it with them, so there was something oddly compelling about it.

It was time for supper when the home improvement marathon ended, and Steve, having been awake for nearly three hours straight now, was getting tired and cranky again. "G'off me," he complained, swatting at Bucky's hand as he tried to feel his forehead and gauge his temperature.

"Just trying to see how you're doing," Bucky said. "You're still feeling a little warm."

"Big surprise," Steve muttered. "Since I got a fever an' all. A+ diagnosis, there."

"Being rude again, buddy."

"Yeah, well, you're being annoying again," Steve snapped.

Bucky stood up, restraining himself from rolling his eyes. "Go wash up for dinner."

"Not hungry," Steve pouted.

"Didn't ask if you were," Bucky replied. Steve glared at him, then sneezed loudly, barely getting his hands up in time to cover his mouth. They were covered in snot when he pulled them away. "That's gross, man," Bucky said, unable to keep his nose from wrinkling. He gestured toward the hallway. "Bathroom."

Steve looked like he wanted to argue some more, but knew the snot-covered hands invalidated whatever he was going to say. He huffed and stomped off to the bathroom.

Thor was watching from a polite distance, making a show of folding up the throw across the back of the couch to stay out of the argument. He looked up now with a smile. "Being ill would seem to put him in a most foul disposition."

"Yeah, it does," Bucky sighed.

"You handle it well, my friend," Thor said, clapping him on the shoulder.

Steve had no desire to eat the pasta the rest of them were having, and he looked ready to dig in his heels about eating more of the soup left over from lunch. He showed some signs of caving when Natasha mentioned the popsicles she and Wanda had gotten for him (they'd picked them up from the pharmacy, and they were supposed to have electrolytes and vitamins and things like that in them), and Bucky figured since Steve wasn't cranky with her right now, that he'd pull back and let her talk him into eating.

"You're good," he whispered to Natasha a little later. Steve had consented to eat half a piece of toast with strawberry jelly on it in exchange for a popsicle in a flavor of his choice.

Natasha chuckled. "Comes with the job," she said. "I talk people into things all the time." She nodded to where Steve was currently snuggled up in Wanda's lap, toast crumbs all over the front of his hoodie, more or less happily eating a purple popsicle. "Has he been a complete terror today?"

"Just a minor one," Bucky said with a smile. "You sound like you're familiar with Sick Steve."

Natasha looked back at him and laughed. "Sick Steve, no, but I did put up with three weeks of Steve with multiple fractures in his leg." She closed her eyes and shook her head at the memory. "Longest three weeks of my life."

Bucky chuckled. "That sounds awful. No, he's been flip-flopping between being all cute and pathetic and clingy and being a snotty little ball of attitude."

"Emphasis on the snot?" Natasha asked as Steve sneezed again. He failed to cover his mouth in time this time, and Wanda pushed her half-finished plate of pasta away gingerly.

Bucky laughed and went to scoop up some more uncontaminated pasta for Wanda while Steve blushed and apologized.

After dinner, Steve spent a long time in the bathtub soaking in the warm water—long enough that Bucky went and checked on him twice to make sure he hadn't fallen asleep and drowned. He stumbled out blearily into the living room when he was done, wearing a clean pair of pajamas and dragging Franklin the Second along behind him.

"Don't you want to go to bed, Stevie?" Bucky asked as Steve climbed back up into his lap.

"No," Steve said, swallowing down a massive yawn. "S'boring in there."

"Boring, huh?"

"Mm."

"Well, you can sit in here with me if you want and watch Tony and Clint play their racing game." Some sort of video game competition was happening on the other side of the living room.

"'kay," Steve said sleepily. He shifted back down into the little ball he'd spent most of the morning curled up in. "Hey, Bucky?" he said quietly.

"Yeah?"

"'m sorry I was mean," he said.

Bucky smiled and patted his back. "It's okay, Stevie," he assured him. "I know you've been having a rough day."

"Sorry," he muttered again. He turned his runny eyes up to blink at Bucky. "I love you," he said, like he was worried his earlier attitude might have caused Bucky to doubt that.

Bucky smiled warmly and put a hand to the side of his face, running his thumb across his cheek. "I know," he assured him. "I love you too."

Steve smiled, sniffed, and curled back up into his little ball, one hand reaching out to curl around Bucky's metal arm. He dozed in and out for a while, waking up whenever a particularly loud cheer came from the gamers, or when a big cough rattled him awake. Eventually Bucky suggested again that maybe it was time for bed, and Steve nodded in sleepy agreement.

Bucky carried him back to their room, but Steve rolled around to sit up instead of letting Bucky tuck him in. "C'n I have 'nother one of your sweaters?" he asked.

"Do you need more blankets?" Bucky asked. He could round up a couple more if Steve was worried he was going to be cold.

"S'enough," Steve mumbled. "Jus'…" He sniffed and blinked up at Bucky. "I like your sweaters. Makes me feel better. S'all soft an'…" He shrugged. "Smells like you."

Bucky swallowed down an unexpected lump in his throat and nodded. "Sure," he said softly. He got up and picked another one out, then helped Steve maneuver his tired limbs into the sleeves. He gave him another dose of medicine before he tucked him in and sat down beside him, running his fingers over his hair. "Go on to sleep," he said. "I gotcha."

"M'kay," Steve yawned, eyes already shut. "Night, Bucky," he whispered.

"Goodnight, Stevie."

Sick Steve may not not be the easiest to take care of, but Bucky's got this. He's always got Steve. (And I'm not sure what the draw in home improvement shows is either, but I can sure sit down and watch Chip and Joanna fix houses for hours without realizing where the time went.)

Up next, Tony takes Steve to a baseball game.