Bucky barely avoided tripping over the creaky fourth floor step, his boots barely clearing the landing. He sighed, and ignored Ms. Florence's angry titters at him, and stopped just outside his and Steve's apartment.
He hated it when his friend was sick, but not more than Steve himself did. If he knew him, he would be sulking quietly by the window, drawing the people outside in too-dull charcoal or trying to sneak out to help an old lady with her groceries.
He moved towards the door, but paused again. He heard...voices?
"No, Tony, please, I really don't think that we can get ahold of nuclear energy- Bruce, I promise I am not going to drop dead any minute, please stop examining me-"
"Hey, I think we should try to find the magical-explodey thing and then call Thor-"
"Great idea, Clint, why didn't we think of that? Now I just need some high grade plutonium or possibly gold and we can track the thing-"
"BRUCE! Stop hovering over Steve. I will stab you."
Those were voices. And they were all talking one over another, like a group of grumpy children. Bucky stepped into his apartment, sighing. Why did he ever have to make friends with someone like Steve? Because Bucky was a sucker, that's why.
The moment his foot crossed the threshold, in an uncharacteristic display of vigilance, Steve (and the three strangers in the room with him) froze and turned to him.
Almost immediately, the three strangers went into what was almost a defensive pose, before Steve elbowed them, one after another and not very softly.
They all, including Steve, looked very pointedly and very unsubtly at his left arm, which was dirty and maybe a little scratched up from working all day but otherwise normal. He shifted his arm a little bit, uncomfortably, and the strangers relaxed.
Why did no one believe him when he said it was Steve who always got him into these things?