Cold Road (Marvel Cinematic Universe, Sam Wilson, lowkey Steve/Sam)

[fufufufu]

Set during Steve and Sam's Road Trip of Justice (TM) to find Bucky. This story features Sam suffering from a cold and some mild pining on Steve's part. Enjoy!

 

--------

 

They’re driving through Washington State, evergreen trees flying past and a fog settled thick over the mountains. A steady rain’s been falling for several hours.

 

Steve and Sam are traveling in a small, weatherbeaten pick-up truck. It’s easy to disguise their gear and pass themselves off as hikers while they trek towards the rumored location of a HYDRA base. The heater provides a steady, roasty warmth, supplemented by Al Green crooning from the tape deck. (They’d expanded from Marvin Gaye a few months into their search for Bucky.)

 

Compared to the foggy, cold rain outside, it’s downright cozy inside the truck. Normally, Steve would enjoy this part of their journey. Sam’s a good traveling companion and a lively conversationalist. He has a bottomless knowledge of soul music and a steady, easy drawl of a voice. It’s easy to see why he’d found his second calling as a counselor. Steve could, and has, listened to him talk for hours.

 

Sam’s quiet today, though. Quiet, and grumpy, and sniffly.

 

Steve glances over when Sam inhales yet another heavy sniffle. As if to match the dreary weather, he’s nursing some kind of cold. Tiredly, Sam rubs a napkin across the bottom of his nose, back and forth. Then he hunches in and blows, loud and wet. He’s been battling a stuffy nose since they’d started driving that morning, and he’s already used up half the their supply of napkins. His brown skin’s drained of its usual warmth and vitality. When he can be bothered to talk, his voice is scratchy and distorted by congestion, and his eyes are a little glassy, probably from fever.

 

The cold, or whatever it is, is kicking Sam's ass. Not that he'll admit it. He’s been snappish if Steve so much as hints he might not be at full health. So even though Steve’s bursting to ask if he can feel Sam’s forehead or if they needs to stop for some Sudafed, he keeps his mouth shut.

 

Instead, Steve fixes his attention on the road. He listens to Al Green’s smooth voice and the back-and-forth squeak of the windshield wipers, and tries to focus on the days ahead. Their plan is to drive to a certain cheap motel near Bellingham and spend the night. Then he and Sam would get up early in the morning, drive the rest of the way to the location of a rumored HYDRA base, and raid it. During one of their last raids, in rural Wyoming, they’d found clues pointing to a base in northern Washington, one where the Winter Soldier might have been kept.

 

Steve bites his lip. Those are the bases where they’re most likely to even have a hope of sighting Bucky, let alone finding and talking to him. Bucky seems to be on a one-man mission to demolish them all. Not that Steve will begrudge him that for a second. It would just be nice to find him for once, and not the aftermath of a Winter Soldier rampage.

 

“EISHH-SSCHIEEW!”

 

Steve jolts, nearly jerking the wheel of the car. The shrill sneeze seems to have taken Sam equally by surprise, as he’s blinking and a little dazed.

 

“Warn me next time, willya?” Steve says.

 

“Funny, Rogers. Heh…” Sam’s breath quickens, and he presses the soggy napkin hard against his nostrils. “hah-ATTSSCH’EW!”

 

Steve looks over in concern. “Bless you.”

 

“Hmph,” Sam responds, managing to pack a lot of irritation into one grunt. He’s busy rifling through the take-out bag where they keep their supply of napkins. He barely manages to get ahold of them in time, pulling a handful out and clamping them over his nose. “hiiih-ASSCHHH! haihss-SSCHOO!”

 

Steve stays quiet, waiting to see if Sam will sneeze again. He doesn’t. Instead, he’s back to fighting off relentless watery sniffles. A protracted honk of a noseblow does nothing to help. 

 

“Bless you,” Steve finally offers.

 

“Yeah, thanks,” Sam croaks, and finishes with a little cough.

 

“Are you still going to yell at me for suggesting you’re sick?”

 

“I don’t…” Sam sniffles breathlessly into his napkin. “…I don’t think I yelled at you.”

 

“Well, I sure didn’t see your sweet side the last time I asked if you wanted to stop,” Steve says.

 

Sam gives a fierce sigh. “We don’t need to stop.”

 

“You need to rest,” Steve says. “You look awful, Sam.”

 

“It’s not that bad,” Sam answers. “I can rest once we get to the motel.”

 

Steve frowns over at him. “That's still at least a few hours away.”

 

“I’ll be fine,” Sam insists. “….HIISSCHHH’OO!”

 

“Yeah, you sound great.”

 

“Shut up,” Sam mumbles from behind his napkin. “It’s not worth slowing us down for. I’ll be fine.”

 

Steve swallows an irritated hiss, his jaw tightening. He fixes a laser-like gaze at the road ahead, trying to formulate how to respond to Sam in a way that doesn’t involve yelling. Sam can be so damned stubborn sometimes. Not that Steve himself has any room to talk in that regard, but still…

 

“ehhh’EETSCCH!” Sam jerks forward, the force of it absolutely punishing the napkin he has clamped over his nose.  “…hihh-EtcchHIEW!”

 

“Bless you,” Steve mutters.

 

“hih'ENGSHOO!” Sam finishes off another fit of four sneezes, and again, goes into the bag for a fresh napkin with which to blow his nose.

 

“We’re going to have to stop for more napkins soon.” Steve taps his fingers sharply on the steering wheel. “You must be able to admit at least that.”

 

Sam peers up over his tissue. “…Are you angry?”

 

“Now why would I be angry?” Steve answers.

 

"Steve, come on." 

 

“No! You’ve been coming down with a cold all day.” Steve takes a hand off the steering wheel and places the back of it against Sam’s forehead. “Actually, no. Worse. You’re burning up."

 

“I am not,” Sam says. “It’s sort of cold in here.”

 

“Oh, great!” Steve flips a hand up, exasperated. “So not a fever. Chills, then.”

 

There’s a long quiet. When Steve risks a glance over, he immediately feels like crap. Sam’s shoulders are sunk, his expression resembling that of a kicked dog.

 

“Sam,” Steve says, more softly. “You always look out for me. Am I ever going to be allowed to return the favor?”

 

“Of course, but...” Sam’s face scrunches up in dismay. “Well, you shouldn’t. Not if it means missing a chance to find Barnes.”

 

Steve blinks. After a moment, his mouth drops open slightly. “Is that what this is about?”

 

Sam’s quiet, sniffling into his soggy napkin wad.

 

“For God’s sake,” Steve says. “I don’t care how far it sets us back. You need to get well.”

 

“I’ve flown feeling worse.”

 

“Well, you’re not in the Air Force anymore.”

 

“But there’s still a mission,” Sam answers. “What if we lose him?”

 

Steve growls to himself in frustration. A little ways up the road, he spots a pull-off, and sharply turns the steering wheel.

 

“What are you doing?” Sam cries.

 

Steve doesn’t answer right away. Once he’s got them safely off the road, he stops the truck. He snaps the gearshift into park and pulls the handbrake, and leaves the engine running so they’ll still have heat.

 

“Sam,” he says, turning. “You’re sick. There is no way you’re fit to go out in your condition.”

 

“I just told you—”

 

“You’re not going to be operating at a hundred percent. You could get distracted, or make a mistake. And I—” Steve looks down at his hands suddenly, where they’re knotted up in his lap. “The mission doesn’t mean a damn thing to me if something happens to you, okay? I think we both know what it’s like to finish out a job alone.”

 

Sam blinks. He’s still pressing a napkin over the bottom half of his face, but his eyes tell everything: wide and thoughtful and a little sad, moving steadily back and forth. At last his shoulders finally sink, and he capitulates. “Okay.”

 

“Good,” Steve says softly.

 

Steve unfastens his seatbelt and leans back to retrieve his own raincoat from the backseat of the truck cabin. He lets the thin cloth unfurl to as much of its full length as it can in the small space, and then drapes it like a blanket over Sam.

 

“If you’re starting to get chills, this might help,” Steve says, leaning across and fixing it over Sam’s chest.

 

Sam appears startled by the gesture. But he doesn’t push the coat away. And when he looks up at Steve, his eyes are soft, and there’s a little smile tugging at his lips.  “Mother hen.” 

 

Steve reddens a little. “Get used to it.”

 

He finishes tucking the coat into place, where it will keep Sam warm (but not too warm). Once he's done, though, Steve can’t quite pull away. Even though he’s the supersoldier of the pair, he instinctively thinks of Sam as the strong one. Sam’s the one who survived losing his partner, and rebuilt himself, and learned to help others again. But, Steve realizes, Sam never really allows himself to need help. To be vulnerable like this, shivering with the beginning of chills and pulling Steve’s coat a little tighter over himself. 
 

It takes all of Steve’s willpower not to run a hand over Sam’s hair, place a kiss to his forehead. Their relationship isn’t quite there, yet. Maybe it will be, if Steve can figure out how to say something. But for now—

 

“Steve, can you—” Sam pushes at him. “hah'ISCHEWW!”

 

Sam turns his head, but the sneeze still comes on too fast for him to avoid spluttering messily all over Steve’s chest and arm.

 

“EHHH-KSSCH!” Sam manages to get the napkin up to his nose, almost-stifling the explosive force. “hiyyy-ISSHOO!... Oh, God. Did I, um, get you?”

 

“Yeah, a little,” Steve says, wiping at his shirt. “Don’t worry, I don’t think I can catch this.”

 

“Lucky you,” Sam groans.  “I’m so sorry, Steve.”

 

“Not your fault.” Steve says. He notices Sam’s fluttering eyelids and unsteady breath. Due for number four. “And bless you.”

 

“ihh…hh-ETTTSCH!” One last sneeze into a tightly clamped napkin, and then Sam collapses back against the seat. He pulls Steve’s coat up to his neck. “Ugh, I haven't had a cold like this in years...”

 

“Don’t worry,” Steve answers, patting Sam’s knee. He turns to put his seatbelt on and start the truck back up. “We’ll stop soon.”

 

“Okay,” Sam says, and it’s nice that he’s not bothering to fight Steve on it anymore. “But we better stop somewhere you can get me tomato soup.”

 

Steve chuckles, glancing left and right before he pulls back out onto the road. “Tomato soup it is.”

 

“And a decent heater.” Sam snuggles back into his seat. “My room was freezing last night. I don’t think that helped.”

 

“Got it,” Steve says. “Warm room, lots of blankets.”

 

“And decent cable TV. None of this ‘eight channels’ mess.”

 

Steve tucks away a smile.  “Well if I see the Ritz-Carlton, I’ll be sure to pull over.”

 

Sam laughs. “Oh, that’s how it is?”

 

“That’s how it is.”

 

==end== 

[Arc Reactor]

I loved this! Sam doesn't get enough recognition, he's so underrated but I love him. And aww pining Steve is absolutely adorable. 

[fufufufu]

Thank you!! I adore Sam as well and I wanted to feature him. Thanks for reading!

[Snowball]

When Sam gets Steve with his sneeze spray ... AHHH *melts* This is amazing

[fufufufu]

Thank you!!

[AngelEyes]

This is great. I can totally see Steve being a mother-hen. LOL

[fufufufu]

That is 100000% my head canon on Steve and I am sticking to it  Thanks!

[jensdw]

First of all, 

This is very cute and so perfect

I love how caring Steve is.

 

Lovely story! 

[fufufufu]

Oh thank you so much!  Steve is indeed precious lol. Glad you enjoyed!

[Rook]

 I CAN'T OH MY BLESS  *incomprehensible noise* 

[fufufufu]

Hahaha thank you for reading!!

[beatlelover22]

Ahhh God, this is so sweet!! Any chance you'd be willing to write a sneezy Steve story?

[fufufufu]

Ha, thanks!  I actually did write a sneezy Steve story a while ago, here: