Chapter Text
2012
It started with a sneeze—
"Did you just sneeze? I don't think I've ever heard you sneeze before."
"It's just the dust in the air, Tony," Steve said with exasperation. To prove his point, he waved his hand in front of his face and parted the thick cloud that had risen after they'd opened the door of the warehouse that supposedly housed hundreds of pieces of Chitauri tech.
—then a cough—
"You alright man?"
"Yeah," Steve said when he could breathe again. "Just choked on my water."
"Considering you're almost a hundred, I'd've thought you'd've figured out that was bad already."
Steve lifted his hand to signal the waitress. "Barton will take the check."
—then the tiredness—
Steve held up a hand and stepped away from Natasha, resting his gloved hands on top of his skull to open up his lungs.
"Everything okay, Steve?"
"Didn't sleep well last night," he lied between heaving inhales. They'd barely begun their normal workout routine and here he was struggling to catch his breath. "Guess it tired me out more than I thought."
Natasha looked at him and he could tell she didn't quite believe him but she nodded. "Okay, let's call it a day then. Same time tomorrow?"
"Count on it."
By this time, Steve should have suspected this was more than a random series of events, but he was so worn out from the last few months of Avenging that his brain didn't put the pieces together. Truly convinced that a lack of sleep was at fault, Steve headed straight to his room and stripped out of clothes that were sweatier than usual before crawling into bed and pulling the covers tightly around his chin.
He was asleep within the minute.
"Captain Rogers."
"G'way," Steve managed to mumble, his mouth dry and cottony.
"Captain Rogers, I must insist you wake briefly."
It took quite an effort but Steve managed to pull himself from sleep long enough to open one thousand-pound eyelid. His chest began aching with fervor and a cough slipped out of his mouth, jarring him into full consciousness.
"Wh't, J'r'v's?" he croaked around a fiercely-aching throat.
"Captain Rogers, I do believe you are sick."
"Can't…be." Steve rolled onto his side and reached for the unused tissue box beside his bed. His arm felt like a lead weight and it took him more than one try to grab the protruding tissue and use it to blow his nose. "Serum," he stated with a phlegmy voice.
"I agree that this is most unusual but that is my conclusion based on the scans which I took the liberty of performing to ensure your continued health."
Steve shot upright, the motion sending spikes of pain through his stiff body. If he was truly sick, then he'd caught something strong enough to get past the serum. Either that or the serum was failing—he'd always suspected that it was going to quit someday, having not been designed to last more than one lifetime, but he'd been hoping he'd have a few more years, given the plethora and availability of food and nutrients in this century—
"Captain Rogers, I need you to calm down. Your heart rate is dangerously high."
"Serum," Steve squeaked out as a bout of sneezes racked his body. "Still've serum?"
JARVIS was quiet for an achingly long moment. "It seems that way but you will need a blood test to confirm. I can send in Mister Stark or Dr. Banner if—"
"No!" Steve exclaimed, then doubled over as a coughing fit ensued.
"Captain Rogers, it is my conclusion that you've worn yourself out the past few weeks, making yourself susceptible to a common cold. I have no reason to believe that any foul play was at fault."
As his heart rate began to normalize, Steve nodded; he was okay, he still had the serum, he could still be Captain America—
"Your fever is climbing, Captain. I am under orders to alert the Tower when such an anomaly occurs."
"Wait, JARVIS—" Steve began, but he was overtaken by round of coughing so intense that dark spots flashed in front of his vision and his lungs burned from lack of oxygen.
"Oh, shit!"
Suddenly, a warm hand was rubbing circles on his back. It wasn't helping much, but Steve appreciated the thought all the same.
"Just breathe, okay? Breathe. In and out.. In and out... That's it."
Steve wanted to see who the voice belonged to, but his main focus was on pulling in as much air as he could between coughs. His lungs were aching, his brain was screeching, and his vision was starting to darken around the edges.
"JARVIS, start the shower! As hot as it will go!" Someone grabbed Steve's legs and moved them off the bed. Then a hand was under his arm, lifting him, and before he knew it, he was resting next to something cool. Steve leaned his head against it, relishing in its minute relief.
"Deep breaths, Steve. Breathe in the hot air."
Steve took a shaky breath which ended up setting off another round of coughs.
"That's okay, try again."
Aiming for a shallower breath, he did as he was asked. This time, he felt the hot air swell in his lungs and start to chip away at the vice wrapped around his ribs.
"That's it."
Steve's total focus was on breathing, until his lungs no longer ached with lack of oxygen. He thought his vision was still blurry but slowly realized it was just the thick haze of stream hanging in the air. He squinted and looked at his surroundings, realizing he was sitting on the far side of a massive shower, just out of the direct spray. The shower door was almost completely closed sans a small slit through which Tony was staring concernedly.
"Thanks," Steve gasped.
Tony nodded but still looked incredibly freaked out. "You're sick," he stated, after a long moment.
"Seems…th't way."
"Have you been tested for biological weapons? Infectious diseases? Plague? Cholera?"
Thankfully before Steve had to reply, JARVIS chimed in and repeated what he'd told Steve earlier.
"Blood test to confirm," Tony mumbled as he pulled out his phone and tapped out a text. "Bruce is on his way," he reported a moment later. Then he looked up at the ceiling. "When all this is over, we're going to have a serious conversation about what you call 'sick', J."
"I did the best I could, sir. Your response was, 'Ha, good one, JARVIS. Let's go see what Gramps is really up to.'"
As much as he tried to hide it, one corner of Steve's mouth lifted slightly.
"And look, a smile. He must really be sick."
Steve responded by flipping Tony off. The inventor just shrugged, then began rooting through the bottom drawer in Steve's bathroom. "You have any cold meds on this floor? And don't tell me you don't need them. You obviously do."
Steve just shook his head.
"I didn't think so. JARVIS?"
"The closest ones are on Agent Barton's floor. He is not in the Tower but has previously given permission for his floor to be accessed in case of emergencies. DUM-E will bring them to you shortly."
"Thanks," Steve croaked out.
"When was the last time you ate or drank something?" Tony asked, turning back to Steve.
It took Steve's foggy brain longer than it should have to churn out an answer. "Last night?"
Tony sighed. "J, have the kitchen send up some soup. Chicken noodle is best but a close substitute would be..." He looked expectantly at Steve.
"Tomato," Steve muttered as he wiped his dripping nose on the back of his hand.
Suddenly a box of Kleenex was chucked into his lap. Steve grimaced, then pulled a tissue from the box before they became too damp to use. By the time he could breathe through one nostril again, the shower door had opened long enough for Tony to stick a trash can through before it quickly returned to its usual slit.
At that exact moment, concern lanced through Steve's stuffy brain and he rolled his head to the right so he could look directly at Tony. "Shouldn't be here," he rasped, tapping at his sternum, in the exact spot where Tony's reactor would be.
From the other side of the glass, Tony scoffed. "Well, I can't exactly leave you in this state."
"'ARVIS?" Steve asked, looking up at the ceiling for support.
"Dr. Banner is on his way, sir..."
"Go. Don' want 'ou," Steve paused to cough painfully, "to get you sick."
Tony looked back at the door, then tapped a bit on his phone. "I'll be fine once DUM-E gets here. Just try not to breathe on me in the interim."
Steve rolled his head slightly in the other direction and nodded.
By the time Dr. Banner arrived, Steve was back in his own bed and propped up by a truly amazing number of pillows. He'd managed to talk Tony into wearing a mask and gloves, which the inventor had sent DUM-E to retrieve from his lab. Steve'd also downed a truly amazing number of cold meds, knowing they probably weren't going to do any good, but Tony had looked so desperate it had been hard to say no.
Banner, despite not being that kind of doctor, took Steve's vitals and drew a few small vials of his blood. "I'll need a lab to confirm, but I think you just have a cold. We'll keep an eye on it though, in case it heads toward bronchitis."
"But how is he sick?" Tony asked, his voice soft from behind the mask.
"General exhaustion, based the schedule JARVIS sent me. Made him susceptible to things he'd normally be able to fight off."
"Hear that, Cap? I told you that rota Fury has you running was too much."
"But I was fine," Steve protested weaakly. He then rubbed at his sternum as his lungs started to ache again.
"I think was was the opportune word," Bruce said with a kind smile. "I'll get your blood running, then I'll track down some stronger meds to mitigate whatever symptoms you might have."
"'anks," Steve mumbled as he leaned his thousand-pound head back into his mountain of pillows and closed his equally heavy eyes.
"Try not to get him too worked up," he heard Bruce tell Tony, who responded with an indignant squawk of protest.
Steve briefly remembered smiling before sleep pulled him under.
Thankfully, Bruce's labs confirmed Steve had indeed caught a strong derivative of the common cold. He was prescribed with OTC meds in truly fantastic quantities, a nebuilizer to keep his chest open, fluids, and rest. As much as he wanted to protest that he didn't need to be in bed all day, he did little but sleep the next few days. He was vaguely aware of food and water appearing by his bed, and brief flashes of all the Avengers, but not much else.
Finally, on the third day, he opened his eyes and didn't feel like groaning. He was actually able to stumble to the bathroom on his own accord, throw some water on his face, and attempt to brush his limp hair out of his eyes. Changing clothes was a bit of a challenge, but he managed to worm into an oversized hoodie and sweatpants before heading downstairs.
"Welcome back to the land of the living," Barton quipped as soon as Steve set foot in the kitchen. Steve did his best to make it to the coffee maker but his center of gravity tipped a few steps in and dumped him into a bar stool.
Thankfully, Barton, after making sure Steve was steady, rose to pour Steve a cup of coffee. "How are you feeling?" he then asked as he slid the coffee down the counter.
"Finally better." Steve took a sip of the liquid and could have cried at how good it felt going down his sore throat. "How's Tony?"
"Hanging out in his lab, working on some project for Fury."
"Is he sick?"
"Not that I know of."
"JARVIS?"
"Mr. Stark is not sick, Captain. But he does ask not to be disturbed until his project is complete."
"Please tell him thank you. For all he did."
"I will relay that message, Captain." With that, JARVIS fell silent.
"That's not all you're going to do, is it?"
Steve looked back at Clint and shook his head. He hadn't given it much thought until now, given that he'd only been able to string two coherent thoughts together ten minutes ago, but as soon as Clint said it, Steve knew it was something he had to do. He didn't remember much of the last few days but he had a faint recollection of Tony getting him into the shower, which allowed him to breathe without feeling like knives were stabbing into his lungs.
"Good." Clint upended his bowl of cereal and slurped down the remnants. "Cos the guy barely left your side, even though literally everyone advised him against it."
That Steve hadn't known. "He'd do the same for all of you," he replied. Unfortunately, it wasn't until the words were out of his mouth that he realized how callous they sounded.
Clint quirked an eyebrow and Steve rushed to amend his previous statement. "You know what I meant." That he wasn't special. That Tony's heart of gold, as much as he wanted to deny it, extended to the other four members of the Avengers as well.
Clint's somber expression held for another three seconds before he broke into a wide grin. "Yeah, I did. I was just messin' with you." He slid his bowl down the counter so it came to a stop right at the edge of the sink, then sprang to his feet and strode out of the room. "Feel better!"
Two days later...
"I don't get it."
Steve looked up from the toast he was spreading with peanut butter to see Tony standing in the doorway of the kitchen, two slips of paper in hand. "They're Yankees' tickets."
"I can see that, but why do I have them?"
"To thank you." Steve slid the toast onto a paper towel and screwed the lid back on the peanut butter. "For all you did for me. I know you could buy more expensive ones, but I wanted to show my appreciation."
"How do you even know I like baseball?"
Steve shrugged. "I've seen you checking the scores on your phone during mission briefings and took a chance."
Tony looked back down at the tickets, his expression unusually blank.
"They're right behind home plate," Steve offered, now feeling slightly embarassed by his gift. In hindsight, it was silly for him to purchase those tickets; Tony probably had a box suite he bought out instead.
Tony looked up at the supersoldier and smiled lopsidedly. "Thank you, Steve. Really. But they're unnecessary." Tony held out the tickets and, when Steve didn't take them, shook them in Steve's direction. "You didn't need to."
Steve just straightened up and clasped his hands behind his back. "You know it's rude to give back a gift."
Tony actually looked a little flustered. "I'm not—"
"You and Pepper go have fun," Steve said as he took his breakfast down to the last barstool, in order to put as much distance as he could between him and the maskless and gloveless inventor. "I can't help but notice we've been Avenging during your last few date nights."
Tony cocked his head slightly to the right and was quiet for about a second. "That would probably be a good idea," he muttered absently. Then he spun on his heel and walked out of the kitchen without another word.
Having been around Tony for a few months now, Steve didn't pay the semi-dramatic exit another thought and returned to his breakfast.
As he was putting his plate in the sink, Tony walked back into the kitchen and slapped a slip of paper against Steve's chest. "You're coming too. I bought the seat next to us. Had to pay way over its cost, but I'm not going to leave you here like some sort of sick puppy while we're out enjoying ourselves."
"But I might still be contagious," Steve protested, quickly pulling away from Tony, who was still without any sort of protective gear.
"J?"
"Given what we know about the serum, I believe the contagious period for your illness has passed, Captain."
Tony beamed at Steve. "There. You have no more excuses. Be ready to go at ten!"
As was the way with Tony Stark, Steve was left staring in shock at Tony's retreating form.
"If I may, Captain," JARVIS spoke up, a few seconds later, "you could take a nap to reduce chances of wearing out during the game. My calculations suggest you will have time to reach REM sleep if you fall asleep within the next five minutes."
Steve was ready to politely decline JARVIS' suggestion but then a wide yawn cracked open his bottom jaw. "You know what, JARVIS, a nap actually sounds great."
"Thank you, Captain. If only you could convince Mr. Stark to do the same."
Steve just grinned as he rinsed off his plate then headed for his room. "JARVIS, I will see what I can do."