Chapter Text
Bucky doesn’t get injured on their missions, or at least, not so badly that he can’t heal on his own.
This mission is different. Bucky is hit with a blade that slices through his uniform at the shoulder and cuts a deep gash into his skin that keeps dripping blood, long after it should have stopped. He doesn’t even make it into the target facility before Barton’s turning him around, arm around his back to support him back to the quinjet. Bucky hardly notices the touch, focusing instead on keeping his balance over the uneven ground.
“But the others,” Bucky mumbles, feeling a little fuzzy as he crashes into a seat in the cabin. It’s an unfamiliar sensation. Glancing down, he can see the dark stain of blood on his uniform. He blinks down at it, touching his shoulder gently, fingers coming away red and sticky.
“They’ll be fine.” Barton’s voice is clipped and serious, not a hint of his usual levity. He hesitates, hands inches from Bucky’s chest. “Can I?”
Bucky tries to shrug, but pain slices through him again and he winces. “Please,” he says through gritted teeth.
Barton makes short work of the buckles on Bucky’s uniform, and Bucky tries to help him get it off, but the pain is nearly blinding now and he feels like he may be sick. He hasn’t felt anything like this in years, decades even.
“Just stay still,” Barton says, finally getting the jacket off and cutting through Bucky’s sleeve with a short blade to get at his wound. Barton’s hands are sure and steady as he cleans the blood away with a cloth. “You’re going to have to go to medical. I’m not sure I can fix this.”
Bucky looks up at him, alarmed at the thought of strangers poking and prodding at him, and realizes that Barton is only inches from his face. His blue eyes are especially striking, and Bucky isn’t sure if it’s from the light or the blood loss.
“No. Please. Just take care of it.” Take care of me , is what he means, but he won’t say that.
Barton frowns and sighs, running a hand through his hair, and Bucky is sure he’s going to say no.
“You sure? I know you don’t really like to be touched.”
Bucky is in too much pain to feel weird about it, so he shrugs again, as best he can. “Please, Clint.” The name slips out before Bucky can stop it, and he feels naked, laid bare in an entirely different way.
Clint’s eyes flash with something Bucky can’t quite read and he sets to work, laying out his tools very methodically before he touches Bucky again.
“You ready?”
Bucky is starting to feel pretty dizzy now, so he nods as quickly as he can.
Clint frowns again, focusing on the cut. His hands are warm, the calluses on his fingers not as rough as Bucky would have expected.
“This will hurt,” he says, before spraying the wound with the antiseptic spray from the first aid kit in the jet. Bucky hardly notices the sting of it, focusing instead on the feeling of Clint’s hands on his shoulders, holding him together.
Clint stitches him up quickly, frowning at the needle as he drives it through Bucky’s skin over and over. He mutters to himself a few times, but soon enough, he sits back with a nod.
“Not the prettiest stitches, but at least you won’t bleed to death. Promise you’ll go to medical when we get back?” Clint says, eyes very serious when Bucky frowns at the idea. “There’s something going on with the wound. Please?”
Bucky finds himself nodding, despite himself. “Fine.”
“I’ll go with you, if you want,” Clint offers, and Bucky feels a little of his resistance ebb away. He can trust Clint. Clint squeezes Bucky’s good shoulder and seems about to say more, when the rest of the team piles into the jet, shouting at him to take off.
“We got them, but it was close. Let’s get out of here,” Romanoff says sharply, and Clint slides into the pilot seat to take them home.
Bucky expects Clint to forget about his promise when they arrive back at the Tower, but Clint holds out his hand to Bucky, who takes it readily, not even thinking about it. He likes the feeling of Clint holding his hand, especially when he keeps holding it as the medical staff does their work. He doesn’t say a word when Bucky squeezes his hand a little harder as the medical staff does their poking and prodding, just sits with him, humming a little tune under his breath that distracts Bucky just enough to keep him from bolting from the room.
They spray something on Bucky’s shoulder that burns sharply enough to bring tears to his eyes, but then he’s released, skin healing again already. He’s surprised that it was so simple, but he almost wishes it wasn’t when Clint drops his hand and smiles gently at him.
“See? Good as new,” he says, turning to go.
Bucky wants to stop him, but he can’t think of a good reason to ask him to stay, so he goes back to his room alone, arm stiff and still a little sore. He touches the now-healed skin, and he thinks of how gentle Clint was with him, how carefully he cleaned and bandaged Bucky’s wound. He can almost still feel Clint’s hand in his, squeezing it when he knew Bucky needed it. Bucky can’t remember the last time someone held his hand, or touched him in a way that wasn’t at best practical, and at worst punishing.
A soft knock at the door startles Bucky out of his thoughts. He shuffles to the door, not sure who would want to see him.
“Clint?” he says, surprised to see him, leaning against the doorframe. “You okay?”
“I came to ask you that,” Clint says with a grin.
“I’m fine now, thanks to you,” Bucky says, and he notices the flush of pink that rises in Clint’s cheeks. That’s interesting.
“I didn’t really do anything. Just a couple of crooked stitches, really.”
“Want to come in?” Bucky blurts, fully expecting Clint to say no, but he nods and follows Bucky into the dark room.
They sink onto the couch and Bucky flicks the TV on, relaxing into the cushions to watch a silly action movie that’s inordinately violent and completely unrealistic. Clint keeps making comments about how none of this would work like that, and Bucky hardly notices his arm, though it still throbs with pain every so often.
At some point, he must fall asleep, because he wakes up to find his head on Clint’s chest, Clint’s arm wrapped around him. Clint feels strong, his heartbeat steady under Bucky’s ear, and his breathing deep and slow, like he’s either sleeping or nearly there. Blinking hard, Bucky tries to force himself to move, but he’s comfortable and Clint doesn’t seem to mind.
“Go back to sleep, Bucky,” Clint murmurs, voice low and raspy.
Bucky does, feeling relaxed and secure for the first time in a long time. He’ll deal with what that means later.