Bucky doesn't want to hurt you, but sometimes it's not his choice. Like now, when he's injured after a mission, and there's nothing you can do to help except maybe clean it every day. Even if he's a super soldier, that doesn't mean everything heals in seconds, and a wound this serious needs a couple of weeks to heal.

He hisses softly as you run a cotton ball soaked in a special medical solution over his wound, sitting in the living room of your small Brooklyn apartment at night. You made this place cozy, less empty, and now you were taking care of Bucky.

"I'm fine," he mumbled, but you could tell it was a lie. The muscles in his back tensed as you gently touched his shoulder to stroke it with the cotton up serum.