Summary: After years of struggling to overcome his seemingly endless list of addictions, Steve Rogers has been clean & sober for one year. In an effort to remain clean, to prove to himself that he can overcome his demons, he takes on the responsibility of becoming a sponsor. It’s wrong for a sponsor to feel a personal attachment to the ones they are sponsoring, but apparently Steve didn’t get that memo.
Bucky Barnes’ downfall was cocaine, he couldn’t keep his nose clean if his life depended on it. After overdosing for the third time, a judge ordered him to ‘get clean, or go to jail.’ Narcotics Anonymous wasn’t really Bucky’s thing, that was until he saw the blonde haired, blue eyed God that was going to be his sponsor.
Will Steve be able to separate his feelings from the addiction? Can Bucky overcome his primal urges and keep things professional?
Word Count: 1,671
Warnings for series: Illicit & casual drug use, explicit language, alcohol abuse, explicit sexual language, male receiving anal sex, male receiving oral sex, explicit sexual content, heavy angst, possibly more to come
Author’s Note: This is going to be strictly a Stucky fic. There will be no reader involved. I wouldn’t be writing this without the unwavering support of @captain-rogers-beard & @climbthatmooselikeatree I love you. GIF credit
My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.
Steve was standing by the steps, finishing his cigarette before the meeting, greeting the members of Narcotics Anonymous as they entered the building. It was a big night for him; one year clean and sober, three hundred and sixty-five days since he crashed his motorcycle into a hundred year old oak. He had been high on ecstacy, a birthday present from his fling of the week.
He hadn’t remembered much about it, the accident, only that one of the EMT’s had made a comment about Steve being “A lucky son of a bitch.” Despite the fact that his bike was a wrangled mess, Steve suffered a concussion, cuts on his neck that required stitches, a broken wrist, and a dislocated kneecap. The disappointment on his mother’s face had been enough incentive to get help.
Had it been easy? Fuck no. Steve had been addicted to one thing or another ever since he could remember. He smoked weed in high school, but that wasn’t what set him on the treacherous path of addiction. No, that came during his freshman year in college when his achilles tendon ruptured during a football game. The surgeon repaired it easily enough, but the prescribed vicodin took away the pain a little too well. It was all downhill from there.
Noticing the time on his watch, Steve took one last drag from his cigarette before stubbing it out and tossing it into the bin as he walked up the steps. The room was filled with low conversations, friends catching up on what had transpired since the week before, several people complaining about the shitty coffee, and a handful of others taking their seats at the sight of Steve.
Standing at the other end of the room, Steve cleared his throat. “Thanks for coming, everyone.” Several people gave smiles and waved while everyone that had been standing took their seats, apologizing softly.
“I see some new faces with us tonight,” Steve smiled. “Welcome to Narcotics Anonymous. If you’re feeling up to it, share your story with us. We’re here to help.”
One of the new arrivals, a man with chestnut hair and piercing blue eyes, gave a half-smile and leaned back in his chair, draping one arm over the back of the chair next to him. Swallowing thickly, Steve forced himself to continue.
“For the newest members, my name is Steve, and I’m an addict,” he introduced himself, nodding once when “Hi, Steve,” was said.
He shoved a hand into his pocket and tugged out the shiny coin. “It’s been one year since the accident and, while the path to today,” he flipped the coin in the air, catching it a moment later, “has been rocky, to say the least, the unwavering support I’ve received has been amazing. I wouldn’t be standing here if it weren’t for you. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.”
Applause and cheers filled the room for a minute, making Steve blush at the attention. Even though he did a great job of hiding it, he hated speaking in front of people. To have the attention solely on him made his stomach churn, made his old habits flare, the need to snort a line of coke or swallow several pills growing, making the back of his neck itch and his hand shake.
“Enough about me,” he chuckled, shoving his shaking hand into his pocket. “Who would like to speak first tonight?”
Sam stood up from his seat and shook Steve’s hand before standing where Steve had been. “Hi, everyone. My name is Sam, and I’m an addict. It’s been six months since I’ve taken a pill.”
Steve went to the back of the room and poured himself a cup of coffee. Leaning against the wall, one ankle crossed over the other, he listened carefully as everyone took their turn.
Sam went on to talk about how his mother’s birthday was coming up, and how it was hard for him because of her mental illness. Mrs. Wilson was bipolar, depressed, and wasn’t taking her medication. She lashed out at those around her, calling them vile names, and spewing profanities.
“She wants a big party,” he scoffed, scraping a hand over his face. “Demands that everyone be there. I told her to go to hell.”
“How does that make you feel?” Wanda asked timidly.
“Like I wanna swallow a bottle of oxy,” he admitted, his voice heavy. “But I won’t, I can’t. See, I found out that I’m gonna be a dad.”
Congratulations were said by everyone making Sam smile wide. “Thanks, guys. I uh, I wouldn’t be here to have something to look forward to if I hadn’t found this place.” With a curt nod and a blush coloring his cheeks, Sam took his seat.
Wanda took her turn, softly crying as she talked about her twin brother, Pietro, and how the anniversary of his death was coming up. “Two years,” she murmured, fiddling with one of the many thin-banded rings on her slim fingers. “It’s been two years and I miss him every minute of the day. I swear I can still hear him teasing me about stupid things.”
Clint was out of his seat and wrapping his arms around her, holding her tight, and doing his best to calm her down, a hand on the back of her head. “Come on, baby. You’re okay. I got you.” He pulled her from the front of the room and they took a seat in the front row.
“I’d like to go next, if that’s okay.” The brunette that Steve couldn’t take his eyes off stood up and shuffled his feet nervously, his head dipping, his hair falling around his face.
Everyone turned in their seats and welcomed him to the group.
“I uh, I’ve never done this,” he stammered, shifting on his feet. “My name is Bucky, and it’s been one week since I overdosed.”
Steve pushed away from the wall at that. “Hi, Bucky,” he greeted, the rest of the room echoing his sentiment.
Bucky looked at Steve over his shoulder and gave him a warm smile that made his eyes sparkle. Steve could see the bruises around his eyes, his shaking hands, and the sheen of sweat on his forehead that came from withdrawal.
“It wasn’t my first overdose,” he continued after clearing his throat. “I just… I wasn’t in a good place and I took too much. Didn’t realize that the oxy I was popping like candy was laced with ecstasy.”
“Oh no,” Wanda murmured, wiping tears from her face.
Bucky’s voice was thick and sad when he said, “My mom, she uh, she was the one that found me. Said she’d had enough of seeing me throw my life away because of some pills. To prove her point, she brought me to court and a judge ordered that I get clean or go to jail. I chose the lesser of two evils.”
People chuckled under their breath at the jab. “We’re here to help you in any way we can, Bucky.” It was Clint, offering his help, the help of the recovering, the one that had fallen off the wagon, the damaged.
“Thanks, guys,” Bucky murmured, scratching the back of his neck as he sat down, taking another look at Steve.
Steve swallowed heavily before turning away, walking to the front of the room and sitting in the front row. Everyone else took their turn, if they wanted to. Sometimes, not everyone spoke, just being there, surrounded by their friends, buried in the energy of love and support, it was all they needed.
It was two hours later when Steve stood in front of the room. “My sponsor has given me an assignment, of sorts. Now that I’ve been clean for a year, Tony suggested that I become a sponsor. I gave it a lot of thought and I’ve decided, what the hell? I’ll give it a shot.”
After closing the meeting, several people came up to Steve, giving their congratulations and a clap on the shoulder. While the group started to disperse slowly, drinking coffee, eating cookies, conversing quietly, Steve disappeared outside for a cigarette.
“Hi,” Bucky said, taking a long drag.
Steve stopped short, his foot hovering over the bottom step. “Hiya, Bucky. How are you holding up?” he asked, lighting a cigarette as he stood across from the attractive brunette, mirroring his stance.
Bucky shrugged. “I’m alive, so, good, I guess?”
“I get it,” Steve chuckled. “The first week is always the worst.”
“What’s your story?” Bucky inquired, eager to get the topic off of himself.
Steve didn’t try pushing Bucky to talk about anything he didn’t want to, not yet, it was too early in the process for that. So, Steve told Bucky everything about the night of the accident, not sparing any detail, well, the details he could remember.
“Looks like our moms are the ones holding the reins,” Bucky scoffed, rolling his eyes.
Steve readjusted his position, switching the way his feet were situated, which was making his previously-dislocated kneecap ache. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing, is it?”
“Depends on who you ask,” Bucky shot back, angrily flicking the ash from his cigarette.
“Rough childhood?” he asked softly.
“Army brat,” was all Bucky would say. “Look, I’m doing this whole sobriety thing for the first time, and I’m going to need a sponsor that isn’t afraid to put me in my spot when I need it. With everything you’ve been through, the pills, the accident, I was wondering if you’d want to take me on.”
Steve sucked in a deep breath of the Brooklyn crisp night air as his mind reeled. Should he really be doing that, taking on someone that made his heart pound, that gave him a ton of wicked ideas? But, Bucky needed help, and Steve had a feeling that he wouldn’t have asked if he hadn’t wanted to.
He stubbed out his cigarette and held out his hand for Bucky to shake. “You’ve got yourself a sponsor.”
TWO
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