Gently

26. Jigsaw

Clint had been warned that it was bad. He hadn't, in all honesty, expected this.

Bucky saw him enter the medical bay, and instantly angled himself away. He was lying on the bed, shirtless, pale-skinned and visibly sweating. Minor cuts and larger bruises dotted his torso, his trousers were ripped and dirt-streaked; in fact, the 'bad' wasn't obvious until Clint drew close enough to see his other side, and then it was all he could do not to stare. "Hey," he said, guiding Bucky's face back towards him. "You okay?"

Swallowing, Bucky gave a slight half-shrug. "For the moment," he mumbled, the barest of tremors in his voice.

"What happened?" Clint stroked his thumb over Bucky's cheek, hoping to ease his tension. Bucky still wouldn't meet his eyes, though.

"Place collapsed. I got stuck; my arm…" He trailed off, but it was easy to fill in the rest. Bucky's arm had been trapped – crushed, maybe – and had to be taken off. Running his gaze over what was left, Clint deduced that it was never meant to be removed. He also guessed it hurt. A lot.

"You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Bucky, you can have some painkillers if –"

"No, I don't need them."

"I think you do –"

"I don't want them, no drugs, Clint!"

"Okay, okay," Clint soothed, sneaking another glance at Bucky's shoulder. "But it looks painful, Buck." The metal was dented and scraped at the edge, wires and gears exposed and mangled in their own way. Some were still twitching, trying to move something that wasn't there and getting stuck with others that wouldn't budge. What drew Clint's eye more, though, was the flash of red a few inches from the opening. "And I don't like seeing you in pain."

"It's not so bad."

"Bullshit."

"It's metal, Clint, it's not like I can feel –"

"Fine!" he snapped. Bucky flinched, and Clint sighed, turning his attention to the rest of Bucky's injuries. "These been treated?" he asked quietly, ghosting his fingers over the nearest purple blemish.

Bucky took a slow breath in and out before admitting, "May need something for my ribs."

"I can arrange that in a minute," a new voice said, and Tony Stark strode in, tablet in hand. "Right now I wanna get a proper look at this, and you won't be half as helpful doped up on painkillers, Barnes."

"No painkillers," Bucky mumbled, but he kept his gaze fixed resolutely on the ceiling as Tony bent down to inspect his left shoulder.

"You can fix it?" Clint asked, hoping to bring something positive to the atmosphere.

Tony sniffed. "Yes." He pulled a light out of his pocket and shone it into the metalwork.

His answer unsettled Clint – it was far too short coming from him. "But…?"

With a sigh, Tony straightened. "It won't be easy," he said bluntly, "nor will it be quick, and likely painful." He gestured to the remaining metal covering Bucky's shoulder. "The thing was never meant to come off – it's wired in to you, practically welded to what was left of your muscles and nerves. The remainder of your arm is actually still in there, and it stops about here." With the edge of his hand he indicated to a point two inches from the end of the battered metal. "You're lucky, Barnes. Had I cut a little higher we'd be in a much more problematic situation. So, options: option number one is that I try to rebuild what's missing and stick it on the end of what you still have. It would function, though to what extent I can't say. Option number two is a little more tricky but would have the best outcome – we fly in some experts, see about removing the rest of the casing with as minimal damage as possible, then get you kitted out with a brand new model, as built by yours truly. I've already come up with a few designs, all of them fully detachable and independent of your musculature and nervous system. Theoretically."

One look at Bucky's face, and Clint knew this was all a little too much. "Can you give him some time to think about it?"

"Of course," Tony said, giving Bucky a genuine smile. "Take all the time you need, Robocop."

After Tony left, a nurse came in to tend to Bucky, and once she'd handed Clint a pack of heavy-duty painkillers the two of them went home. Clint hated seeing how unbalanced Bucky appeared without his arm, how self-conscious he suddenly became. It was like watching him come back from being the Winter Soldier all over again.

"Take the pills, Buck," he said later, watching him tense up as he tried to get comfortable on the bed. "Just one, at least. Please? It's co-codamol, you know the effects –"

"Okay." It was a terse response, but Clint took it, and had the pill and water ready for Bucky to take.

"Make a decision in the morning," he suggested once they were both settled. "It'll be easier then."

"Can't I make one now?" Bucky grumbled.

"You could, and I couldn't stop you, but I don't think this is something you should rush, you know? We're talking about an entire part of you, Bucky, and there are a lot of angles to consider."

"I know," he sighed, glancing down at the roughly covered remains. "I just don't like feeling… like this. You shouldn't have to…"

Repressing the urge to sigh, Clint leaned over him carefully to press a gentle kiss to the top of the shoulder plate, then another against the scarred seam and a third on Bucky's lips. "Remember the day I lost my aids and we hadn't been able to talk to one another? And I spent most of the day sulking because I felt like a freak? Broken?"

Bucky nodded, his hand drifting up to rest around Clint's side. The bare hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth. "You're not a freak."

"Neither are you." Clint grinned at him. "We're heroes."

"Yeah," he murmured in reluctant agreement. He blinked heavily, the drugs starting to kick in, and Clint dropped one more kiss to his forehead before settling back into bed.

"Also," he added, "I bet there's a little kid out there with a prosthetic arm who wants to be as cool as you when he or she grows up."

Without opening his eyes, Bucky replied sleepily, "Guess you're not my number one fan anymore."

Clint chuckled. "Guess not." If it made Bucky feel better, he could live with that.

AN: Prompt: "I was wondering if maybe you could make a chapter were Clint sees Bucky with out the arm because it malfunctions or gets broken to the point of coming off in a fight?"

No more prompts! At least, not for this. I have twenty-nine now, so the fic is (theoretically) complete! But please, don't let this stop you from prompting me for anything Winterhawk - or otherwise (just ask if you're not sure) - 'cause I'll happily do standalone pieces or smaller drabbles like the ones in Little Moments. Thanks to all who have prompted and contributed to this story, it wouldn't be much without you, and to everyone who's been patient and kept along with it: the end is nigh! D: