[He breathes out, quietly, when he feels Art relaxing-- maybe hoping against all hope that he might actually leave it at that, might even mean those words... but no, he knows better, doesn't he? Remembers Art's quiet worry from back before they had to separate, the one that echoed his own and the fear to leave him behind.
Bucky shakes his head at the words, and responds, maybe not thinking quite as thoroughly of the words as he should,]
You're not! I swear to God, Art, you ain't hurtin' me, at least as long as you ain't punching my shoulder. [He indicates towards the hurt one, moves the hand that isn't running up and down his back still to grab Art's, to move it back on the shoulder, resting it there gently.]
See? Just fine. And 'sides, I was doin' patrol normally throughout the week an' even dancin' was all right-- you're worryin' for nothin', okay? [But his small smile and the softness in his eyes tells that he does appreciate it, or at least the sentiment behind it.]