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It starts when Bucky arrives at the Tower for movie night. Steve is waiting in the common area already, but instead of being armed with a supersized bowl of popcorn and a stack of DVDs, he’s wearing a frown and a concerned furrow in his brow.
“Clint’s being a pain,” he says, the second Bucky steps out of the elevator.
Bucky throws his jacket over the nearest chair and says, “could you be more specific?”
“He’s being a pain while he’s in pain,” Steve says, which isn’t really helpful. Bucky raises an eyebrow, and Steve sighs and continues, “his arm’s all messed up, but he keeps insisting he’s fine and he's refusing to let any of the medics near him. He might’ve hit his head or something, I don’t know, and Natasha’s not doing anything but threatening him with even more injuries if he doesn’t get himself together – “
Bucky says without thinking, “d’you think he’d let me stitch him up?”
Steve blinks, and Bucky walks over to him, pulls him down, and gives him a brief kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Technically this is my free time and I don’t like working when I don’t have to, but you can make it up to me.”
“And how would I do that?”
Bucky makes a mmm noise, like he’s considering. “I’ll think of something.”
By the time they get to the infirmary, it looks like a war zone. Natasha is trading furious insults with one of the medics, seemingly blaming him for not trying hard enough to tie Clint down. Bruce is nowhere in sight, there’s a shatter of broken glass on the floor that Tony is looking at as if it’s his dead child, Thor is calling for peace in his big booming voice, Sam, Pietro, and Rhodey are all trying to wrestle the bleeding, yelling archer to the examination table, and Wanda is looking like she very much does not want to be there.
“Are you an actual idiot?” Bucky says loudly. He doesn’t know why, but the sound of his voice has an odd silencing effect on the Avengers (something that he’s made use of several times since meeting them); everyone falls quiet and looks at him, the only noise in the room being Clint’s hoarse panting.
Natasha watches with raised brows as Bucky strides past, grabbing a pair of surgical gloves from a nearby tray. “For fuck’s sake, Clint. How long has that been bleeding?”
For a second, it doesn’t seem like Clint will reply. Then, “about three hours.”
Bucky sucks in a disapproving breath, and, to the shock of the assembled medical personnel and superheroes, Clint wilts in the grip of his teammates. “It doesn’t hurt,” he says, and his voice sounds almost comically small.
“You look like a horror movie version of Niagara Falls,” Bucky says shortly, and Clint droops even further, like a scolded puppy. “Did you hit your head when you were fighting?”
“No,” Clint says, then, sounding less sure, “maybe. I don’t think so.”
“Any dizziness? Nausea?” Bucky reaches for the injured arm, gently nudging Pietro’s hand off.
“No. I’m really fuckin’ thirsty, though.”
“Someone get a glass of water, please,” Bucky says to the quiet room, and there’s a pause before Wanda’s soft footsteps go to fetch it. Bucky touches the wound gently. “What caused this?”
“Samurai sword,” Clint says, as Sam, Rhodey, and Pietro all peel away from him slowly, as if making sure he’s not going to bolt. “Guy was crazy. Came at me swinging. No finesse. I’m almost ashamed he managed to get at me.”
“I’m ashamed you didn’t immediately let someone look at, clean, and bandage this,” Bucky snaps, and Clint looks like he wants to sink through the floor.
“M’sorry.”
“You would’ve been, if I wasn’t here. Thanks, Wanda.” He hands Clint the glass. “Drink slowly. You can have some more when we’re done.”
Sometime during Bucky stitching up the archer, the Stark Tower medics filter out, sensing that they’re not needed. By the time Bucky’s pinned the final dressing into place, only he, Clint, Natasha, and Steve remain in the infirmary – the rest of the team presumably having gone to pilfer Steve and Bucky’s movie night.
“Next time,” Bucky says, stripping off his gloves, “if I’m not here, you have to listen to the doctors, okay?”
Clint nods an affirmative, and lets Natasha slide an arm round his waist before they both disappear.
Steve helps him clean the equipment, saying quietly, “how did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Get Clint to listen.”
“I don’t know.” Bucky dries off his hands and then hooks his arms around Steve’s neck. “Must be my natural charm.”
Bucky eventually spots a pattern.
A week after the Clint incident, Natasha sidles up to him, muttering out of the corner of her mouth, “my shin keeps hurting.”
“Good to know,” Bucky says, popping another orange segment in his mouth.
She elbows him in the side and hisses, “it’s been sore for weeks. I’ve tried stretching it and massaging it and ignoring it. Is there anything......?”
Bucky inhales deeply. “I’ll take a look at it, if you want me to.”
Natasha looks a little relieved when, after a slightly awkward examination (Bucky still being mildly terrified of her), he simply prescribes a hot water bottle, some painkillers, and bed rest.
Three days after that, Rhodey complains about a toothache, and looks hopefully at Bucky before Bucky says grumpily, “I’m a hospital nurse, not a dentist.” Rhodey looks so crestfallen that Bucky passes him a box of pain medication and the phone number of his own dental surgeon, just to make him feel better.
Wanda eventually catches a cold from somewhere, followed shortly by her twin, and she becomes even quieter than usual, practically hanging off his arm in a display of odd, silent clinginess. Whenever Bucky sits down, they both latch on like super-powered octopuses with stuffy noses. When Wanda eventually stops sniffing and coughing, she detaches from him like nothing ever happened – Pietro, however, takes a little longer to get back to normal, and spends most of his time trailing around after Bucky like a lost, scarlet-nosed puppy.
After Sam’s broken ribs, Steve’s equally broken toes, and Clint’s arm injury – this time on the opposite arm – Bucky is starting to suspect something.
“Barnes, my main man! Help me. I’m dying.”
“What is it?” Bucky says, practically growling, slamming his newspaper – just picked up – back down.
Tony holds up his thumb. “I got a boo-boo.”
“What, you want me to kiss it better?” Bucky scoffs.
Tony makes a pleading motion with his free hand. “Oh, come on! We don’t trust anyone with our bumps and bruises in this place more than you. Help a guy out.”
Bucky concedes defeat, and instructs Tony to run the small cut under the tap, dry it off, swab it with rubbing alcohol, and put a band-aid over it. “And I’m not your damn personal nurse,” he grumbles when he’s finished.
Tony snorts.
“I’m not!” Bucky yells after him.
“Well, if you’re not our nurse,” Tony calls over his shoulder, “then you must be our mom or something.”
Bucky skids into Steve’s room. “Since when did I become a mom?”
Steve looks up at him, wide-eyed. “I’m sorry?”
“A mom!” Bucky feels like pulling his hair out. “Or a personal nurse, at least. And you guys aren’t even paying me, dear God.”
“Paying you for what?”
“For stitching all your asses up!” Bucky spits. “Haven’t you noticed? I’m like a fucking medical Drive-Thru for the Avengers now. ‘Got an ailment? Come see Mr Barnes at the window. List your complaints into the microphone, then drive around to pick up your treatment. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.’” He points at Steve with an accusing finger. “Even you were in on it! The least you could do was get Stark to pay me, God knows I need the money.”
“We trust you,” Steve says simply. “Even if some of us don’t say it out loud. And you’re good at your job.”
“At my job!” Bucky screeches. “As in, the paying job! At the hospital! Where I work! Not here, where I come after my shift is over, to play card games and watch shitty movies and spend time with my boyfriend – “
Steve is chewing his lip. “Does it really bother you that much?”
“Well, I – “
“I can tell them to stop, if you want.”
Bucky thinks.
He thinks about Clint possibly going batshit again in the future, without him there to prevent it. He thinks about Natasha and her uncharacteristic awkwardness when asking for help. He thinks about Rhodey’s disappointed face, the twins wrapped around him like sniffling children, Sam’s expression turning from apprehensive to relaxed when he turned from a Tower medic to Bucky.
Bucky says, grudgingly, “I’m still thinking about getting Stark to pay me.”
Two weeks later, Steve invites him to move in, with reassurances that no, it wasn’t because he would be faster to reach that way in case of an emergency, and that it was actually because Steve’s bed got lonely sometimes with just him in it.