Work Text:
“Steve.”
“What,” Steve grumbled.
“Can we get a dog?”
“What the fuck,” Steve said. “Jesus, Bucky, what time is it?”
“It’s not even midnight!” Bucky protested. He stared at the ceiling, barely able to make out the familiar cracks and whorls that made up in the wood in the darkness. “I know you weren’t asleep.”
“I was,” Steve said into his pillow.
“You were not. I know what your sleep-breathing sounds like.”
“Ugh,” Steve said. “And no. No dog.”
Bucky frowned. “Why not?”
“Dogs need food,” Steve mumbled. His voice became more muddled as he started to drift off into sleep. “Dog food costs money. We don’t have money.”
“We have money.”
“We have enough money for us,” Steve said. “Not for us plus a dog. And they need vaccinations. And vet appointments. Probably grooming. I don’t know.”
“You’ve never even had a dog.”
“Bucky,” Steve said. “I am going to sleep.”
Bucky sighed. “Fine.”
When Steve opened his eyes the next morning, Bucky had his face inches away from Steve’s.
“So, a dog,” Bucky said. Steve groaned and hit him with a pillow.
“Come on,” Bucky said. He leaned against the kitchen counter, neatly dodging as Steve grabbed the cereal box from the shelf behind him. “I’ll pay for it with my money. I’ll take it for walks. I’ll clean up after it. You won’t have to do anything.”
Steve rolled his eyes and opened the fridge. “Are we out of milk?”
Bucky glanced guilty at his cereal bowl from earlier that day, the remnants of the milk still sitting in it.
Steve groaned and shut the fridge door again, grabbing a loaf of bread instead. “We don’t have time for a dog, Buck. Not only do they need regular exercise, you can’t just leave them at home all day. We both work too much.”
“I can drop it off at my mom’s house while I’m at work,” Bucky said eagerly. “The kids will love it.”
Steve sighed again, setting a few pieces of bread into the toaster. “Bucky. We’re doing okay now, all right? Everything is stable and normal and as non-stressful as life can be. Can we just… not add something else into the mix? For a little while?”
Bucky made a face. “If I let this go for a while, when can I bring it up again?”
Steve thought about it. “A year.”
“Six months.”
The toast popped. Steve carefully pulled each piece of bread out and set it back on the plate. “Fine. We’ll revisit the topic of a dog in six months.”
Bucky rolled his eyes, but passed Steve the peanut butter jar as Steve reached for it.
In a strangely coincidental turn of events, Bucky ended up encountering a dog three weeks later.
He was walking to work, taking a shortcut through the park. He hopped over the fence of the bank’s back parking lot, taking the earphones out of his ears as he went.
There was a medium-sized dog around the back of the building, eating something that looked suspiciously like roadkill enthusiastically. Bucky winced at the smell and sight of it. The dog looked up at Bucky warily as he came closer, baring its teeth slightly.
“Woah,” he said. “It’s okay, buddy. I’m not gonna take your meal.”
The dog stared at him, but eventually went back to its feast.
“Who are you talking to, Barnes?” his friend Amelia called from across the parking lot as she got out of her car.
“A dog!” he yelled back.
“Well stop talking to it and get inside, you’re doing my paperwork this morning. Remember?”
Bucky groaned as he jogged to catch up with her. “That was just a dumb bet. I didn’t think you’d actually make me do it.”
“Sucks to suck,” Amelia said happily. “I’ve got a hell of a lot of paperwork, too.”
Bucky made a face at her, and she grinned and darted inside the building.
The dog was still there when he left that evening. It had finished its meal by then, and was slumped pitifully in the shade of the building.
Bucky frowned. It was a hot day, and the sun was beating down mercilessly. He glanced at the water bottle in his hand, and then back at the dog. The dog looked at him.
Bucky sighed and walked a little closer. The dog bared its teeth again, but it looked too tired and sick to get up.
“Okay,” Bucky said gently. “I won’t come any closer, okay?”
He pulled the plastic bag that had held his lunch that morning out of his pocket and gently set it on the pavement, a few feet from the dog. He carefully rolled up the sides of the bag so that it made a sort of make-shift bowl. He unscrewed the lid of his water bottle, pouring most of it into the bag.
“All right,” he said, backing up again. “Go for it, buddy.”
The dog stared at him for a long moment, its nose twitching. It gradually got shakily to its feet and crept forward, keeping its eyes on Bucky. It started lapping at the water.
In what was probably record time, the water was gone and the dog was frantically licking the bottom of the bag.
“Oh, no, come on,” Bucky said. He moved forward again, wincing as the dog immediately backed up. He poured the rest of the bottle into the bag, smiling as the dog surged forward to drink the rest.
“Don’t you have a collar or something?” Bucky asked it softly. For obvious reasons, the dog did not reply.
When all that water was gone, the dog retreated back to the shade of the building. Bucky watched it go, and finally got back to his feet. He grabbed the plastic bag and tossed it into the dumpster behind the bank, glancing over his shoulder as he started the long walk home. The dog watched him go.
It was still there the next morning. Bucky slipped out during his break and fed it the other half of his sandwich, because the dog looked hungry and did Bucky really need all of that food anyway?
He gave it some more water that evening.
Bucky saw the dog off and on for the rest of the week. It was always there in the morning when he got to work, and when he left in the evening. It was sometimes there on his lunch break, and sometimes not.
“Hey,” Bucky said to it as he sat down on the pavement, leaning his back against the warm brick of the building. The dog moved closer, its tail wagging. “What do you want today, half of my sandwich or the cookie? Actually, no, you can’t have the cookie. Sorry, bud. It’s got chocolate chips. That’s bad for dogs.”
The dog stared at him, wagging its tail anyway.
Bucky held out half of his sandwich. To his surprise, the dog moved forward and gently took it from his hand. The dog ate it quickly, still within arm’s reach of Bucky.
Bucky frowned. This was the closest he’d been to the dog, and now he could see the scars that ran over the length of the dog’s back. There some on its face and snout, too.
“Maybe its best that you don’t have an owner anymore,” Bucky said softly. The dog looked up at him, its eyes calm.
It was definitely a mutt of some kind. It was a medium-size dog, with short brown-black hair. Bucky guessed that one of its parents had been a Labrador, and the other had been… something. Maybe another mutt.
The dog was waiting for him when Bucky left that evening. To Bucky’s surprise, though, the dog started trotting after him as he headed down the street.
Bucky turned to stare at it. “You coming home with me this evening?”
The dog stared back and wagged its tail. Bucky shrugged and kept walking.
The dog followed him all the way home, stopping at the end of Bucky’s driveway. Despite Bucky’s coaxing, it wouldn’t come any closer to the house.
Bucky finally sighed and went inside.
“Steve!” he called. “Remember that dog I told you about? The one outside the bank?”
“Yeah,” Steve said from the kitchen. “What about it?”
“It followed me home.”
Steve groaned. “Are you just saying that so I’ll agree to adopt it?”
“No!” Bucky protested as he kicked his shoes off. “Go look.”
Steve sighed and ducked around Bucky to look out of the front door. Sure enough, the dog was still sitting at the end of the driveway watching them.
“Told you,” Bucky said triumphantly. Steve sighed again and closed the door.
It started raining an hour later. Bucky plastered himself to the front window, staring out at the dog.
“He’s just sitting out there,” Bucky said sadly. “In the rain. By himself.”
“For god’s sake,” Steve muttered.
“He won’t come inside,” Bucky said. “We can’t just leave him out there.”
Steve groaned and grabbed his jacket. He ducked out into the rain, leaving Bucky leaning in the doorway waiting. He watched as Steve dragged out a bunch of old planks of wood and metal from the shed, creating a little shelter at the end of the driveway. Sure enough, the dog ducked inside it.
Steve stumbled back inside. “Happy?”
“Yep,” Bucky said.
The dog was there the next morning to follow him back to work.
Bucky’s morning was not going well. He’d woken up with a slight headache, and he’d made the mistake of mentioning it to Steve. Steve, of course, had insisted Bucky stay home from work and rest. Bucky had a ton of paperwork to get done, though, and he’d stubbornly refused to call in sick. This had led to an argument, which had led to Bucky storming out the door and slamming it behind him.
He’d made it to work and tossed his phone in his desk drawer. He lasted all of an hour before he pulled it out again and sent a text to Steve that simply said ‘sorry’.
Steve’s reply appeared on the screen instantly.
Im sorry too. Is your head feeling better?
Bucky winced and texted him back.
yeah im fine. I’ll see you tonight
As a matter of fact, his head was not feeling better. It had started as just a normal dull ache in his temples, but it was quickly turning into one of what Bucky had eloquently dubbed ‘The Bad Headaches.” Pain was starting to shoot across his skull like small bolts of lightning, and his vision had started to sparkle slightly on one side. He was beginning to lose feeling in his hands, and it was making the paperwork he was trying to focus on difficult.
It was barely even noon, and Bucky felt bad about leaving so early. He knew it was the right thing to do, though, before this got any worse. He carefully got up from his desk and started packing up, wincing as his stomach turned over. He braced himself on his desk and breathed in through his nose for a few minutes, trying desperately not to throw up in the middle of the office.
When his vision cleared a little, he made his way to the door.
“Hey,” he said as he paused in the doorway of Amelia’s office. He leaned against the doorframe, trying to make it look casual instead of like he was leaning on it for support. Which, of course, he was. “I’m not feeling that great, so I think I’m going to head home. Can you let Martin know?”
“Yeah, of course,” Amelia said. She glanced up from her computer screen. “Holy shit, Bucky. You look terrible.”
He tried to smile. “Well, that’s why I’m leaving.”
“Your face is a really weird colour,” Amelia said with a friend. “Do you want me to call you a cab or something?”
“No, no,” Bucky said hastily. “The fresh air will be good.”
“Okay,” Amelia said skeptically. “You’ve got your phone?”
He pulled it out of his pocket and waved it at her. “Good to go.”
Amelia narrowed her eyes at him, but he ducked out of the doorway before she could say anything else. He winced as he stepped outside and the bright sunlight hit his eyes, but the fresh air felt good against his skin.
He threw up behind the building, bracing his hand against the brick. He did feel a little better afterwards, and even the dizziness subsided a little as he started walking home.
The familiar sound of paws hitting the pavement sounded from behind him. Today, though, the dog trotted up next to Bucky instead of behind him. It nudged Bucky’s knee with its nose.
“Hey, it’s all right,” Bucky said to it. “I’m fine. Maybe you’ll actually come in the house today, okay?”
The dog stayed next to him as he walked.
Any benefit the fresh air might have had vanished as Bucky continued to walk. It had been a cool morning when he’d headed to work, but now the sun was blazing and his shirt was sticking to his skin. He had a feeling he was probably going to end up with heatstroke as well as his regular headache.
He’d finally given up and decided to call a cab when the world suddenly spun around him and his vision whited out completely.
Something was licking his hand.
Bucky groaned and forced his eyes open. He was lying on his stomach on the grass, which was actually a good thing. He’d passed out on the pavement a few times before, and that never ended well.
The dog was licking his hand frantically. When Bucky moved and tried to sit up, the dog darted forward and started licking his face instead.
Bucky managed to pull himself upright into a sitting position, bracing his hands against the grass as he tried to get the dizziness under control. The dog nudged Bucky’s arm with his nose.
As Bucky’s vision cleared, he noticed the man hovering a little to Bucky’s right. Admittedly, Bucky was still pretty groggy and disorientated, but he was pretty sure that Steve had punched that guy in a bar once for assaulting a girl.
The guy took a few steps away, then turned and walked back towards Bucky. Bucky sighed.
“What do you want,” Bucky said finally. “I don’t have my wallet, and I don’t have any cash on me.”
“Maybe not,’” the guy said warily. “But you’ve got a cell phone.”
“Yeah, and I need it,” Bucky said tiredly. “Fuck off.”
“I dunno,” the guy said. “You don’t look very good. Why don’t you just hand it over, all right?”
“No,” Bucky mumbled. The guy took a step towards Bucky anyway, and the dog shot forward to put itself between Bucky and the man.
The dog snarled, baring its teeth. Its hackles were up, and the sound it was making was definitely not friendly.
“Woah,” the guy said. “Call your dog off, dude.”
“No,” Bucky said again. “Come on, Fido. Attack.”
Bucky doubted the dog actually understood him, but it barked anyway. The man turned and ran.
Bucky laughed weakly. He reached out and ran his hand over the dog’s back. “Good work, bud.”
The dog sat down next to him again, its tail wagging.
Bucky pulled his phone out of his pocket and hit the emergency number he had programmed into it.
“Hey, Steve,” Bucky said when Steve answered.
“What’s wrong?” Steve asked immediately.
Bucky frowned. “Why… why do you always assume something’s wrong?”
“You’re slurring your words.”
“Oh,” Bucky said.
“Where are you?” Steve asked. It sounded like he was grabbing his keys, and then a door shut in the background.
Bucky managed to mumble the street name. He let the phone fall into the grass beside him.
He leaned against the dog as the pain continued to rip through his head. He closed his eyes against it.
When he opened them again, Steve was kneeling in front of him.
“Hey,” Steve said softly.
“Hey,” Bucky mumbled. “I’m… I’m sorry, I was gonna call a cab, I really was…”
“It’s okay,” Steve said hurriedly. “Let’s just go home, okay? It’s really hot out here.”
Steve reached out to help Bucky up, and the dog leapt between them again. Steve scrambled backward.
“No, no,” Bucky said. He stroked the dog’s fur as carefully as he could. “This is Steve, okay? He’s nice. It’s okay.”
After another moment of Bucky mumbling assurances, the dog allowed Steve to reach forward and help Bucky up. The inside of Steve’s car was blessedly cool compared to the hot air outside, and Bucky slumped down in the passenger’s seat.
The engine roared to life, and Bucky twitched.
“Where’d he go?” Bucky mumbled. “You can’t leave him, Steve, you can’t…”
“He’s in the backseat, Bucky,” Steve’s voice said. Sure enough, Bucky felt the dog enthusiastically licking his ear.
Bucky curled in on himself, cursing the town’s terrible road system as the car hit another pothole. He moaned out loud as his head was jarred, sending more pain flashing across his closed eyes.
“We’re almost home,” Steve said hurriedly. “Oh, shit. Dog, no, you can’t – come on, dog, you can’t climb into the front seat. Just stay there. Stay. Yes. Like that.”
The car finally, mercifully, stopped moving. Bucky winced as his car door opened, and Steve carefully pulled him out of the seat.
“I’m sorry,” Bucky said again as Steve unlocked the front door. “Were you… were you at work?”
“No, I had the day off today, remember? It’s all fine.”
“Still sorry,” Bucky mumbled as the door opened. He stumbled inside, the cool air a relief.
“It’s okay,” Steve said. Bucky somehow made it up the stairs and into the bedroom. He almost started to cry with relief as he climbed onto the bed. Steve was closing the heavy curtains they had over all the windows, and the room was instantly thrown into almost complete darkness.
“Thank fuck,” Bucky said into his pillow. He immediately, thankfully sank into sleep.
When he opened his eyes again, it was to the sound of breathing that was definitely not Steve’s breathing. Bucky frowned and rolled over, coming face to face with the dog.
The dog opened one eye and then thumped its tail against the bed. Bucky stared at it.
Bucky rolled out of bed and then stood up carefully. He felt fine, except for the typical residual pain in his head.
He made his way downstairs. It was dark outside now, and Steve was sitting on the couch with his laptop.
“Hey,” Steve said with a smile when he saw him. “Feeling better?”
“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Did you give the dog a bath?”
Steve sighed. “Yes. It wanted to sleep on the bed with you, but it was filthy.”
Bucky raised his eyebrows. “So you gave it a bath. And let it inside the house.”
“Yes,” Steve said with a scowl. “I couldn’t say no to it. It looked so sad, and it was trying so hard to follow you.”
Bucky grinned. “So… what are we going to name it?”
Steve groaned.