winterhawkkisses:

(For @lissadiane)

Clint sneaking out of medical had become enough of a habit that the medical staff tended to just send any prescriptions to his rooms, FAO Mr J. Barnes,  as soon as he was mobile. 

So the nurse just about jumped out of her skin when he cleared his throat and asked politely for some painkillers, please, while they both tried to ignore the shining tracks down his cheeks. 

“But we -” she said, helpless, “we left the door open?” She gaped at him for a moment more, then bustled into action, taking his empty water jug to refill and going to fetch a doctor to issue more pills. 

Clint scrubbed the hand that was currently working across his face, wishing the breath he took in wasn’t so goddamn shaky, and then tried to fish out the remote that’d make his bed lay him down again.

The bed started moving before he’d done more than brace himself to reach for the remote, settling into just the perfect angle, and he covered his face again ‘cos everything, everything goddamn hurt. 

“Hey,” he croaked, and did his best to pat at the fingers that trailed gently over his cast-wrapped hand. 

“Oh sweetheart,” Bucky said, and Clint choked on an idiot sob, curled as best as he could into the arms that Bucky wrapped around him as best as he could. Clint hid his face in Bucky’s hair and hitched in dumb breaths that hurt like hell and smelt like home, and Bucky whispered everything that he needed to hear. 

“I’m sorry,” Clint said, “I’m sorry, I just – can we press pause for a bit? I swear, I swear we’re gonna talk about it, and I’ve probably got an apology to – but can I come home?” 

Bucky reared back, startled, appalled, and cupped Clint’s face with a hand that was about as unsteady as Clint’s dumb voice. 

“You’re a goddamn idiot,” he said, and pressed kisses to his forehead, the side of his face that wasn’t swollen, the stubbled skin just under his chin. “I don’t give a shit what we’re fightin’ about, Clint, I will never in my life not want you there.”