Bucky liked to think he was a pretty careful guy - with the metal arm, he always made sure to tread lightly around things that could easily break given a tighter grip or negligent touch.

Mugs, glass tables, even people, he was always mindful about how he handled whatever he did.

That’s why he tended to stay near the places he was familiar with. Perhaps it was strange to say out loud, but he knew his surroundings, and knew how to… Handle things, in a sense.

Missions out of town, or even the country, were when Bucky was most vigilant of his strength, but of course the fatigue from little sleep and fighting bad guys all day made him more unintentionally haphazard in his actions.

You were cooped up with Bucky in a cheap motel to lay low and regain your energy, and you’d both finished up getting changed to call it a night.

Bucky emerged from the bathroom, rubbing his eyes and sighing. But upon pulling the door shut, you could both hear a loud crack.

Bucky paused and glanced down at his hand, the metal one, with the door handle held in his palm - pulled clean off from the flimsy wooden door of the bathroom.

“Oh- Shit…” He mumbled, glancing up at you with a sheepish look on his face, then back down to the door handle in his grip. Oops.