Stucky One Shots

Aftermath

Steve was in the middle of making himself lunch when the doorbell rang. He wanders over and pulls the door open, then freezes, his grip tight on the door handle. Bucky was there. His Bucky.

"Buck?" He asks quietly, incredulously, staring at him. The brunette looked broken, that's how Steve would put it. His shoulders slumped and he was holding his right arm close to his too thin body. His hair was matted and tangled, hanging down to his shoulders, he was pale and there were large violet bags under his bluish grey eyes.

Bucky tried to straighten up the best he could, look more confident than he felt.

"What happened to you?"

Bucky opens his mouth to respond but closes it and merely shakes his head. He knew he needed help, and he knew that if Steve was still his Steve, he would help him. Just so he could get back on his feet. Steve ushers Bucky inside and closes the door behind him, his eyes never straying from him.

"Steve?" Bucky croaks, looking up at him.

"Yeah?"

"Uh, have any clothes I can borrow?" Bucky mumbles, glancing down at his clothes. His red shirt was torn and dirty, his sweater stunk and his jeans were covered in dirt and grime. Steve noticed a backpack and wondered what it could be.

"Of course. Do you need to shower? There's, uh, there's one upstairs to the left," Steve explains and the brunette nods a little and rubs his face. He looked so exhausted and the blonde felt a pang of pity for him.

"Thank you," Bucky mumbles quietly before soundlessly making his way upstairs. Steve was just... shocked. How long had he been looking for him, two years? And here he was. His Bucky was back, but he was hurting, and broken. Steve swallows before going back into the kitchen and resuming what he was doing. He figured Bucky needed food way more than he did at the moment.

Bucky sighs softly as the warm water washes over him, he felt better knowing he was clean on the outside, at least. Every time he closed his eyes he saw red, guns, heard shouting and screaming, Russian and English dialogue, and Steve was everywhere. Tiny, large, injured, sick, why was it all there? He was so confused, and he hated that.

He turns the tap off, then steps out and wraps a towel around his waist. He glances towards his backpack and relaxes a little. He would hate himself if he lost that backpack and the contents inside it.

Lunch was done shortly and Steve looked up when Bucky came down, in just a towel. His head was down and he refused to look up. Steve was taking in how thin he was, how pale, but he didn't make a comment. He walks over to his drying machine and pulls out a shirt and jeans that luckily had shrunk. He hoped they'd fit the smaller brunette.

"Thanks," Bucky sighs, taking the clothes and dissapearing upstairs to get dressed. He dries off quickly then dresses in the clothes, grateful they fit fairly well, snug against his thin body, and he wondered how they had ever fit Steve. He slings his bag over his shoulder and frowns at his right arm as it twinges painfully with the movement.

"I made lunch," Steve says as Bucky reemerges, his hair still wet. The brunette stays quiet for a moment, considering if he should eat something. He looks down at himself again and frowns a little before looking back up and giving Steve a small nod. The blonde nods back and Bucky takes a seat. He was hungrier than he thought he'd be.

Steve cleans up some of the lunch mess while Bucky eats. Steve's mind was whirling and there were so many things he wanted to ask, but he figured they weren't important at the moment. He glances at the backpack and Bucky follows his gaze then swallows thickly. No. He knew Steve was curious, he could see, but he wasn't ready. Those were for his eyes only.