you had burst into tears when steve rushed through your apartment door and you saw bucky weakly hanging onto his shoulders, all pale.
he was your big brother, and you had never seen him hurt like that. it was usually steve coming home with black eyes and broken noses.
thank god for steve.
you smile at him now, as he concentrates on dragging his sharpie across the curve of bucky's cast, near the shoulder.
"what are you doing?" you stage-whisper.
the side railing of bucky's hospital bed had been put down to accommodate you and steve doodling all over his newly-broken arm.
"making it look like he's a sick-ass cyborg," steve chuckles. "what's your drawing?"
"farm animals." you put the finishing touches on a small pig you drew on bucky's wrist. "y'know, like, barnes."
"fuck you both," bucky mumbles.
"really a shame that you never learned to appreciate good art," steve comments, coloring in his creation.
"this cast belongs in the MoMA."
"jesus, rogers, she's starting to talk like you."
steve grins at you proudly, ignoring him. "you should draw a cow."
"ooh, great idea."