Maybe it was just a fever dream, but it felt so very real. He was back in Yorktown, the battle raged on. He could hear it, feel it, God he could smell it. It felt like days passed by. A British soldier waved a white flag.
His eyes fluttered, and a wave of nausea washed over him, a rush of fever heat mixed with a churning stomach. He tried his best to focus on whoever was talking to him- oh, it was the cafe Bucky, of course. Strange how this felt like the snap back to reality, rather than the other way around.
His stubbornness made him want to say yes, he was absolutely fine, but the other man wasn't stupid. He was clearly not fine, and he was scared he would just throw up all over his table if he denied it much longer.
He shook his head lightly. "Gonnabesick," he managed to tell him, before the heat rushed to his head again, and he slumped out of reality again.