Work Text:
“Clint?”
A small whimper escaped the figure on the filthy ground as it started to shift, the sound immediately drowned by the thudding of heavy boots as Bucky hurtled down the alleyway. It was probably painful, the way he landed on his knees with an audible crack, but he didn’t notice the discomfort any more than he did the damp seeping into his jeans.
For a moment, before Bucky was able to pull himself together, his hands fluttered above Clint’s prostrate body as if afraid to touch. Sometimes it took him a second to remember that his hands were able to do more than hurt these days. Bucky gently turned Clint over onto his back, provoking a groan, and made clucking noises as the battered visage was exposed.
“Oh, babe, what did you get yourself into?”
“You. You should see the other guy,” Clint said haltingly, words cautious around his split lip.
“Where is the other guy?” Bucky demanded.
“They ran off.” Clint seemed aggrieved. Probably miffed they hadn’t stayed to get a few more kicks in, the idiot, as if he had been going to catch a second wind and take out whatever group had ganged up on him. The feeling of affection mixed with exasperation that washed over him was a familiar one.
“Anything broken?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Oh, that’s reassuring. Can you stand up?”
“‘Course,” Clint said, but as Bucky hauled him to his feet, Clint couldn’t focus on the pitching ground spinning around him to get his legs steady. Clint’s weight dragged at Bucky, nearly knocking him off balance. He ignored Clint’s protests and swept him into a bridal carry.
Bucky carried Clint around the corner to their apartment building and asked, “What were you doing out here anyway?”
“Nuthin’. Was coming home,” Clint paused to get his nausea under control before he continued, “Tracksuit draculas got the jump on me. You know how it goes.”
And, sadly, Bucky did. Clint had a weird relationship with the local bratva. For the past year, since Bucky had moved in, it seemed like Ivan’s idiots were content to give Clint a good kicking once a month and otherwise ignore that they had lost their building and dog to him. Bucky wanted to share his displeasure with the arrangement in a conversation between his fist and Ivan’s face but Clint had told him not to disrupt the status quo. He seemed to feel like he was paying an acceptable tax to ensure the other residents didn’t get hassled.
Bucky was able to juggle Clint’s spindly limbs and get him in through the front door, and–thank god it was working for a change–into the elevator. As soon as they were inside the apartment Clint started squirming to get down.
“Christ, sweetheart, you’re going to make me drop you,” Bucky complained. In response Clint threw his arms around Bucky’s neck and batted his eyelashes, but not before Bucky noted the wince of pain at the movement.
“My big, strong, strapping hero?” Another hiccuping pause. “You would never drop me.”
“I will if you puke on me, serve you right if I did,” Bucky lied shamelessly as he gently laid Clint out on the couch. “Now, tell me where it hurts.”
“I’m fine,” Clint insisted in spite of all evidence to the contrary. Bucky surveyed the careful way Clint was cradling his ribs, the split lip and swelling left eye. The pallor of his face, the way his breaths were shallow. Clint didn’t hold out long under Bucky’s glare. “Okay, I think I might have a cracked rib or two.”
“Anything else?”
“You can see my face.” Bucky’s fingers were like butterfly wings, skirting above the injuries on Clint’s face before traveling under his shirt to press at his ribs. “Fuck!” Clint hissed out
“How’s your vision? Double? Blurry?”
“No, ‘s’fine. Room stopped spinning now you ain’t hauling me around.”
“I don’t think we need to go in,” Bucky said. “Ain’t like I’m not used to patching you up by now.”
“Does that mean you’re going to stop jabbing at me?” Clint asked, exhaustion settling heavily on him.
“Sure. Just as soon as I get you cleaned up.”
Clint was half asleep when Bucky came back from the bathroom with a bowl of hot water, bandages and clean clothes.
“I’m not gonna make you shower, but these clothes have got to go.” Bucky gently eased everything off of Clint’s unresisting form.
“You just wanted to get me naked,” Clint accused, voice thick with drowsiness.
“You forget to get dressed most mornings on your way to the kitchen. I have a harder time keeping you dressed.” Clint hummed noncommittally.
Bucky washed Clint with long strokes of the washcloth, the tender caresses making Clint’s heart swell. When Bucky finished with his body he helped Clint into a pair of sleep pants and then went to refresh the water.
Bucky daubed reverentially over Clint’s face, cleansing the blood and dirt. Clint’s eyes fluttered shut briefly, and seemed overly bright when they opened.
“Everything okay?” Bucky asked, voice soft.
“Just. Thanks for taking care of me.”
“Always, doll. I love you.”
“Love you too.”