Stucky's daughter

21

In the dead of night, the creak of the door jolted me from my slumber. The digital clock displayed a cruel hour—3 a.m. Standing before me was Peter, his presence both unexpected and welcome. "Heyyyy, how are you?" he murmured, a hint of guilt tainting his words. "Sorry for waking you up... I couldn't sleep."

Meeting his gaze, I gently lowered the breathing aid, my voice soft and laden with concern. "Do you want to sleep here? I can't sleep either..." A smile played on his lips as he accepted the invitation, and we found solace in each other's embrace. Within moments, exhaustion swept over us like a tender lullaby, ushering us into a peaceful slumber.

At 8 a.m., the gentle rays of morning pierced through the curtains, illuminating the room. Stirring from my sleep, I became aware of my fathers entering the room, their eyes widening at the sight of Peter and me entwined in a loving embrace. I greeted them with a smile, mustering whatever strength I had left. Peter roused from his sleep as well, rising from the bed.

With a playful grin, I directed my gaze towards him and said, "Morning, dummy." Laughter danced in his eyes as he replied, "Morning." However, my respite was short-lived as my fathers reminded me of an impending check-up with Bruce, concerned for my well-being.

Though I didn't feel entirely well, I hesitated to burden them with my discomfort. Nevertheless, I reluctantly obeyed their request. Adjusting the mask, I dressed and accompanied my fathers to Bruce's lab, my steps weighed down by a deep weariness. As I sat before him, Bruce took my temperature, his eyebrows furrowing as he read the results aloud. "39.3—you have a fever, little one. Is there something that ails you?"

Shaking my head, I bit the inside of my mouth, an unconscious habit born of anxiety. Bucky, ever attentive, noticed my self-inflicted distress. He gently cradled my face in his hands and whispered, "Stop it, doll." His words resonated within me, a plea to be kinder to myself. I glanced at Bucky, then at Bruce, my silence revealing more than words ever could.

Unyielding in their pursuit of the truth, Steve spoke up, his voice tinged with concern. "I know something is hurting you. What is it?" I sighed heavily, my voice trembling as I confessed, "My stomach..."

Bruce's expression turned grave, a mix of empathy and clinical concern. "Please lie down and roll up your shirt," he instructed gently. A wave of unease washed over me, but Bucky implored me not to be so hard on myself. After a brief internal struggle, I acquiesced, my discomfort growing as I bared my vulnerable midriff.

As Bruce examined my stomach, his brows furrowed in worry. "Alright, little one. Could I know your weight and height?" I confessed my ignorance, prompting him to guide me onto the scale. Inaccurate measurements followed, and Bruce's solemn voice filled the room. "Weight: 37.5 kg. Height: 1.45 meters. You are too thin."

My gaze fell to the floor, shame enveloping me like a suffocating fog. My fathers, ever vigilant, interjected, suggesting that my frequent bouts of vomiting might be the cause. Bruce, however, disagreed, urging me to eat more and remain under their watchful care to prevent self-induced purging.

Concern etched across their faces, my fathers made a decision. "You should sleep in our room," Bucky declared. Steve nodded in agreement as I felt my strength wane further, my body betraying me in its weakened state.

As the day progressed, I found myself reclining on the couch, supported by Peter's presence. Weakness coursed through my veins, rendering me unable to partake in the simple joys of slumber. Sensing my restlessness, Tony approached, concern lacing his voice. "Uh, Y/n, Bruce said you should sleep..."

Regretfully, I admitted, "Sorry, but I can't sleep." Tony's furrowed brow revealed his confusion. "Why not?" he inquired, his voice tinged with worry. I mustered the courage to share my truth, the pain that seemed to consume every fiber of my being. "Everything hurts," I confessed, my voice laden with the weight of my suffering.

Tony, unwilling to accept defeat, vanished momentarily, returning with a small bottle of pills. I obediently swallowed them, hopeful that their effects would provide some respite. Soon after, Steve and Bucky joined us, their silent support a comforting presence. In their arms, I nestled against Bucky's chest, my head pressed close to his heart, hoping to find solace in its steady rhythm.

Exhaustion seeped into my bones, a welcomed numbness that dulled the edges of my pain. Eventually, sleep enveloped me, a fragile refuge in the storm of my existence. Bucky and Steve, guardians of my troubled soul, gently transferred me to the bed, the breathing aid remaining a lifeline in the darkness.

Hours passed, and with the ring of the doorbell, the silence shattered. Tony's exclamation filled the air, signaling the arrival of pizza. Though my stomach yearned for sustenance, weakness tethered me to the couch, an unyielding force. However, my fathers approached, guiding me to a nearby chair, their eyes filled with unwavering concern.

The room buzzed with life as they indulged in the feast before them. In a tender display of affection, they attempted to feed me, their gentle gestures an expression of love and devotion. Wanda's voice rang out, tinged with sadness and worry, "Please eat something... Look at you, we can see your ribs through your skin." I mustered a feeble protest, whispering, "But my stomach hurts, I can't."

Bruce's voice cut through the air, a mix of clinical expertise and compassion. "It hurts because you need to eat more." Peter, ever the compassionate soul, interjected, "Come on, we'll eat it together, and then we can watch 'Titanic' or something, okay?" The proposition hung in the air, stirring a flicker of hope within me. After careful consideration, I mustered a weak nod of agreement.

Side by side, we consumed four slices each, my stomach stretched to its limits. Overwhelmed by fullness, I longed to retreat to the sanctuary of my room. Yet, Steve's firm grip on my arm halted my retreat, his voice tinged with regret. "No, you will stay here. I'm sorry."

The weight of their concern bore down upon me, a reminder of the severity of my condition. In their loving embrace, I found solace, my weakened body unable to escape the watchful eyes of those who cared for me most