This past weekend I lost my dog of thirteen years. He was my first and only dog, who we got as a puppy when I was about eleven years-old. He was a wonderful dog and did more for me than most people ever have. I've been having a very hard time dealing with losing him, so I decided to do something to help myself. And that's where this fic comes in; it's a bit of a way for me to remind myself of all the good memories of him I've accumulated over the years, instead of focusing on his passing.
So yes, I've written this for very selfish reasons. But hopefully it turns out alright all the same.
Most people believe that Steve was the first one to sit at Phil's bedside.
Most people would be wrong.
Steve is surprised to find that Phil Coulson is not, in fact, as dead as they've been lead to believe. He expects the room to be empty when they arrive, but as they stand crowded in the doorway, he finds himself surprised yet again. As they watch from just inside the room, the agent lies motionless in the bed before them but he is far from alone. A great, black dog lies curled at the end of the bed, watching them all with an intensity that gives them pause.
"Bucky!"
The exclamation had come from Pepper, who suddenly weaves through them and makes a beeline for the bed. Steve stares as the dog's tail wags and his ears flatten to his head as the woman nears. The hound lifts his graying muzzle and allows Pepper to pet him, clearly familiar with her.
"Bucky?" Steve echoes questioningly.
"Coulson's dog," Natasha says at his elbow before she and Clint edge past him and into the room.
From there, the rest of them follow.
"Hey ho, Buckaroo," Clint says, raising a hand in greeting as Steve settles in one of the open seats and Pepper shifts her attention to the agent. "Been keeping watch for us?"
Bucky rests his head on Phil's leg, watching Clint. Apparently that's a yes. The team fills in the spaces around the bed, watching the man lying in it as though at any moment he might awake. In reality, it's a question of whether or not he'll wake up at all. There's some sort of conversation going on around him, but his focus is centered on the steady rise and fall of Phil's chest. But he feels like he's being watched. When he lifts his gaze, he finds warm, chocolate eyes trained on him. He offers the dog a smile. He gets a tail wag in return. It's Steve's first meeting with Bucky the German Shepherd, but unbeknownst to him, it's far from his last.
Steve returns day after day, always to the same sight; Phil comatose in his bed and Bucky curled at his master's feet, ever vigilant. Sometimes one of the others is already there, sometimes they show up after he's been sitting for some time. But there are times when he and Bucky are alone.
There is a dog bed in the corner of the clean, white hospital room, but Steve's sure he's never seen Bucky in it. The food and water bowl are always full and, for a time, he wonders if perhaps the dog isn't eating. That fear is dispelled when, two weeks after Steve's daily visits have begun, he enters the room to the sight of Jasper Sitwell shaking an enormous bag of kibble over the empty bowl.
"I was starting to wonder if he wasn't eating," Steve says by way of greeting.
"The day Bucky passes up a full bowl of food is the day he's on his way out," Jasper proclaims with some amusement as he props the unwieldy bag of dog food against the wall.
Steve can't exactly disagree, what with the way the dog hops off the bed and trots over to his bowl, inhaling the offering at inhuman speeds. His ID tag clinks against his collar, catching both the sunlight filtering in through the windows as well as Steve's eye. The tag has a name and address on one side, but on the other it bears the unmistakable S.H.I.E.L.D. logo. He's curious if it's merely due to the fact that his owner is an agent or if there's more to be told on that subject, but decides it's a conversation for another time.
The bowl doesn't stay full very long and once Bucky has overseen the refilling of his bowl, he returns to the hospital bed and curls himself up at Phil's side. His eyes track Jasper's movements as the agent takes a seat beside Steve with a heavy sigh.
"So according to Director Fury," Jasper begins, removing his glasses, "you've been here every day."
Steve's fingers trace the rim of his shield, which lies propped against his chair. "I feel I owe it to him."
Jasper makes a noncommittal noise as he begins cleaning the lenses.
"Something you'd like to say?" Steve says, his tone defensive.
"He'll be pissed when he finds out, that's all," Jasper says with a shrug. "Flattered. But pissed."
Steve relaxes into his seat somewhat. "So you think he'll wake up, then."
"I don't know," Jasper admits, replacing his glasses once he's finished cleaning them. "I'm not a doctor. I can't say one way or another if he's getting better or worse. I don't know whether or not someone's will can be enough to bring them back from where he is right now, but if he has any say in it, then he'll come back."
Steve nods slowly at that. It's not the rallying answer he'd been hoping for, but he supposes he'd rather not be showered with hollow promises anyway. He tips his head towards Bucky.
"Well, I'm not the only one here every day," he points out.
"Bucky?" Jasper says with a slight grin. "You'd have to pry him off with a crowbar."
"About the name…"
"Probably a little awkward for you, yeah," Jasper says with a wince. "But it's not like we ever expected to find you and thaw you out. He probably wouldn't have named him that otherwise."
"It's not such a bad thing," Steve says. "He's loyal. Diligent. It's fitting."
He doesn't mention that the dog's crooked ear reminds him of the jaunty angle at which Bucky used to wear the hat to his service uniform. He knows he's just finding similarities because of the name and he can't quite decide if he's okay with that.
For his part, Bucky doesn't seem bothered by the conversation. He's shifted from watching Steve and Jasper to watching Phil. The dog's head rests in the agent's lap and if he's grown frustrated by his master's lack of response, he doesn't show it. The dog merely continues to sit patiently, watching Phil through soft brown eyes rimmed with graying fur. Bucky is an old dog; that much is plain to see, but apart from the gray fur, Steve can't say there's much to give that away.
After some time, Jasper announces his intent to leave and takes Bucky out to use the bathroom before he does so. The dog seems perfectly capable of finding his way back to the room on his own, because when he returns it's without any sign of the agent. But rather than resume his place upon Phil's bed, Bucky decides it's time to get to know the man who's been sharing his watch duties every day. He starts by sniffing Steve's shield.
For his part, Steve can't stop himself from grinning as the dog's nose twitches animatedly. Bucky's sniffing eventually travels to Steve's fingertips and up his hand. He chuckles at the feeling of a wet nose and soft puffs of air tickling his knuckles. Leaning forward in his seat, he holds his hand out further and, once he's certain Bucky is comfortable enough, reaches out to pet him.
Bucky tilts his head up, flattening his ears and licking his chops as Steve carefully runs a hand over the top of his head.
"You're pretty sure he'll wake up, though, aren't you?" Steve asks softly.
Bucky's response is to lay his head on Steve's thigh, his eyes gazing up at the soldier thoughtfully.
"Well, I hope you're right," Steve says. "I really do."
He sputters when the dog surges up, catching him off guard with a quick, slobbery kiss. He's wiping his face on the back of his hand when Bucky resumes his place at Phil's side, his mouth open and his tongue lolling out in such a fashion that Steve swears he's being grinned at.
"You're welcome," Steve says.
Content with that response, Bucky resumes his watch, as does Steve along with him. Loyal and diligent were the dog's two qualities that Steve had mentioned to Jasper, but now it seems he'll have to add another: sassy.