Stucky One Shots

Drunk-Bucky, Pre-Serum Steve: In the '40's

Bucky staggers home and slams the door behind him, huffing out a breath. He looks down at the empty bottle in his hand and frowns before slamming it down on the table, it bursts and glass shatters everywhere. He growls something under his breath before picking up the pieces, the glass digs into his skin but he barely feels it.

"Buck?" Steve asks as he comes down the stairs, a frown on his face. His heart sank when he saw the glass everywhere, the look on Bucky's face. He looked mad, and well, he was.

Steve knew Bucky was an angry drunk so he always tried to keep an eye on him, watch his alcohol intake level. Usually he was really good, but after a particularly long, tiring day, sometimes the brunette just didn't care. He spent his money on it, sometimes money they needed to pay for the bills, food, other stuff.

"Bucky, what happened?" He tries asking, stepping closer and helping him pick up pieces of glass, carefully. The brunette doesn't answer, merely tosses the glass in their garbage can.

"Why's our life h***, Stevie?" Bucky grunts, rubbing his hands off on his pants.

"It's not," Steve frowns, guiding him to the couch. Bucky collapses down and runs a hand through his unruly brown hair, watching a spot on the floor.

"It's h*** and you know it," he grumbles, not looking up. "Know why, 'cause we have no money, we're poor and only one of us can work."

"I could work, Buck. You know I could."

Bucky laughs dryly, a sarcastic laugh that didn't sound right coming from the brunette. He gives Steve a measured glance before leaning his head on the back of the couch and closing his eyes.

"How? Too sick, too frail. Sorry, pal," he drawls and the blonde crosses his skeletal arms across his chest, an annoyed look on his face.

"You're just drunk," he dismisses, partly to remind himself that as well. Bucky could get mean without meaning to when he was drunk.

"Why the h*** should you care?"

"Because I care about you," Steve answers and Bucky cracks an eye open.

"If you really cared 'bout me you'd be able to watch your own *ss so I don't have to," he snorts and swings himself up. Steve stays quiet, feeling awfully vulnerable. Bucky was searching through their cupboards and found an old bottle of whiskey he'd stored away months ago.

Steve jumps up and grabs it away before the brunette can get a drink.

"You've had way too much," he says sternly. Bucky merely folds his arms lazily across his chest and studies him, he looked amused. Steve holds his chin up, he knew Bucky would be able to grab it away from him if he so wanted to.

"Like h*** I have. I ain't dead from alcohol poisoning yet. One more bottle should do the trick."

"You aren't killing yourself, Buck," Steve says evenly, though the very thought terrified him. He frowns up at the brunette, who rolls his eyes.

"What would it matter? I'm a terrible guy anyway, 'parently this proves it. You'd probably last a while without me," he shrugs and makes a grab for the bottle, but Steve swerves out of his reach.

"You're not a terrible guy. Stop talking like that," Steve frowns, watching him. Where was this all coming from? It had to be coming from somewhere, and that's what got Steve nervous.

"It's true, pal," Bucky mumbles before snatching the bottle away and pulling the lid off. Steve jumps to reach it but Bucky had a tight grip. He manages to get some into his mouth before Steve goes to grab it away again, and that's when he saw Bucky get mad.

"What the h***, Steve!"

"I'm not going to just sit here and let you do this to yourself!"

"You overreact way too much."

"You drink too much."

Bucky stops. He looks at Steve, his face determined and ready for anything to come his way, he looked at the half empty bottle in his hand and glared down at it. He lets it fall to the ground with a smash, sending glass and whiskey everywhere, grabbed his coat, and stormed out.

////

Steve half walked, half jogged the dark streets of Brooklyn, looking for his friend, praying he didn't do anything stupid. He wondered if maybe Bucky ever felt this way towards him when he went out and fought.

He stops and sighs when he sees him, his back pressed against the crumbling wall of a building. Steve walks over and sits beside him, he tucks his knees up to his chest.

Bucky doesn't move, just sits and stares at the ground. Was he that bad a friend? Did he really drink all the time? He hadn't really noticed.

"You're not a bad friend," Steve says quietly and Bucky seemed startled, was he talking out loud? "You just... need to find a new way to cope. I'm sorry I can't help... I'm useless, I already know that. Nobody's forcing you to hang around, you know."

"Steve-"

"C'mon. Let's get you home," Steve interrupts as he gets to his feet and brushes himself off. Bucky staggers to his feet and Steve leads the way.

////

Bucky looks down at the mess on the floor with a small frown, when had that happened? He grabs their broom and starts sweeping the glass away as Steve cleans up the whiskey. When he's done Bucky topples onto the couch and flops an arm over his forehead then sighs deeply. Before he knew it he was asleep and Steve was draping a blanket over him before heading off to bed himself.

////

"Did you mean that?" Steve asks first thing when he comes in the next morning, holding a glass of water and something his mother had gotten for headaches.

"What?" Bucky mumbles, looking up af him warily.

"Everything. Last night."

Bucky shakes his head slowly as he accepts the water and pill with a quiet 'thank you'.

"Said our life was h***, you were a terrible person and- and that you wanted alcohol poisoning," Steve pauses to take a breath. "You said I was too small, too frail, you wished I could watch my own *ss so you wouldn't have to..." he trails off when he sees Bucky's face pale.

"I did?" Bucky mumbles, looking down at his lap.

"You were very drunk. I'm surprised you still managed to string together comprehensible sentences."

"Oh," Bucky replies blankly, at a loss of words. Steve watches him. "I'm really sorry, Steve," he says truthfully.
"Don't be sorry, just don't do it anymore," Steve sighs before taking the empty glass and putting it in the washing bin.

"What else was said last night?"

Steve pauses, considering if he should lie or not. He had said he was useless, and he knew Bucky disagreed with that.

"Nothing, really. Lots of arguing, I was trying to convince you why you aren't a terrible person," he admits, which was true.

"Why would you do that?" Bucky asks before he can stop himself, and Steve turns to face him, gives him a look.

"Could you shut up about that? Geez, Buck," Steve sighs, running a hand through his tangled blonde hair, and Bucky looks back down again. "You say you're a terrible person but I don't see that. You're my best friend, alright, the only one I have, and I can't lose you because you think you aren't good enough. You saved my life, Buck," Steve explains and the brunette looks up at him.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, and he really was. "I'll work on it. Promise."

"Good," Steve nods and gives his friend a smile. Bucky smiles back and gets to his feet.

"Thanks."

"For?" Steve asks, tilting his head.

"Bein' you, pal," the brunette answers, shoving his shoulder lightly. Steve smiles but rolls his eyes.

"Not a problem, Buck."