Stucky One Shots

Anxiety and Fistfights

"Hey, what happened to you?" Bucky asks, raising an eyebrow. Steve says nothing and Bucky notices that something's different. Steve's knuckles were torn and bloody, and his face was generally beat up. What really got Bucky was the fact that he was shaking. Steve didn't shake often -- at least, not from fear, or exertion. He frowns and grabs his hand.

"Steve?"

Steve avoids his gaze and tries pulling away. Bucky holds him tighter. "Steve, look at me. Look at me," he demands, and Steve glances away, eyes glassy. He yanks himself out of Bucky's grasp and turns to retreat to his room.

"What's wrong? What happened?"

Steve ignores him, shaking as he fumbles with his doorknob. Bucky furrows his brows, worried, anxious. "Steve!"

Steve locks himself in his room and Bucky knocks repeatedly, worry eating away at him. "Steve, open the door!" His voice is tight. 

Steve paces around in his room, breathing too quickly. He runs his hand through his hair, trying not to panic. Bucky, yelling from the other side of the door, doesn't help matters much. He couldn't tell him.

"Steven Grant Rogers!" Bucky yells. Steve shakily lowers himself against the door, closing his eyes. He couldn't face him, couldn't find the words to argue with him. 

Steve takes a quivering breath and covers his mouth, closing his eyes tight. He forces himself to calm down.

Bucky gives up and sits against the door, resting his forearms on his knees. He leans his head back against the wood and swallows.

He listens to Steve fight for breath on the other side and rubs a hand over his face.

"Slow breaths." Bucky's voice is ragged, stress still evident in his tone. After a minute he hears Steve take his advice. He falls silent, questions whirling through his mind. He doesn't voice any, but allows Steve time to himself, thinking better than to continue yelling at him.

They sit there in silence. Steve keeps his breathing steady as he recalls what happened.

He had gotten into another fight, not uncommon. But this one stuck with him. They -- whoever they were -- seemed to target civilians. No matter what he did, Steve saved one, and lost one, saved one, lost one, there was so much screaming. Whatever he did, in the long run it didn't matter. It was a bloodbath, and he could never be prepared to see that much destruction that close. It reminded him how deadly his job was, and all the others it affected.

There had been one who had asked -- begged -- for his help while they lay dying, but he hadn't been able to do anything. He pounded the villains down, but, distracted, also took quite a beating.

The shock of seeing all that had finally set in as he'd made his way home, stood in the silence outside the front door, tried to mentally prepare himself to face Bucky after what he'd done. 

"Please, Steve," Bucky says in that same soft tone. "Whatever it is, I'm sure what you did can't be that bad."

Steve drops his face in his hands, holding his breath. It was hard to deal with, day by day. He doesn't open the door and instead listens to Bucky as the latter tries to get through to him.

////

Hours tick by and Bucky remains sitting there, hugging his knees to his chest.

"Steve?" he mutters again. While worried, there was really nothing he could do besides remind Steve that he was there for him. Steve swallows and doesn't move. He wasn't sure he'd be able to, even if he wanted. "Please open the door?"