In The Dog House

A/N: What did Steve get up to during all that time Bucky was away at Basic? You know that old saying, "He's in the dog house?" Well, Steve's in one for a different reason...

Steve had suspected what it was going to be like once Bucky was gone for Basic Training.

He'd known things were going to be iffy the next time he really tangled with some disrespectful bum and his best friend wasn't around to 'mediate'.

He'd known he would still be expected to attend awkward Sunday dinners with Bucky's Ma' and sisters every week, where he would be forced to sit at the table with four females, two of which had barely reached their teens, and face the knowledge that he was still the weakest person in the room.

He'd known his jobs at the corner grocer's and selling papers would seem even less meaningful to him than it already was, and he was right.

Steve was trudging home one Friday evening after work, frustrated as all hell after reading the headlines about the war effort and the events overseas. He was mad enough to spit nails, and almost snapped when someone much taller than him suddenly stepped out in front of him and grabbed his thin shoulder.

"Hey, Stevie! Haven't seen you in months! You're lookin' good! Whatcha' been up to, guy?"

Steve looked up, swallowing back the protest that leaped to his tongue at being touched, and saw one of Bucky's old pals from the school standing before him. He blinked and smiled widely when he saw just who it was - the short, curly red-hair, crooked-tooth grin, and big blue cow-eyes with near-white lashes were very distinctive.

"Hey, Rooster Ross!" Steve excitedly greeted the other man, extending his hand for a shake - but the man grabbed him up in a bear hug, laughing loudly, and Steve rolled his eyes, patting his shoulder obligingly until he put him down.

"See you got nabbed," Steve commented when they stepped away from each other and he noticed the other man's army dress uniform. "I didn't even know you were gone!"

Rooster looked down at his fancy duds with a crooked smile on his ruddy-complexioned face, and shrugged. "Yeah, I already been to Basic and gone, kid. I been home on leave, and I'm back outta' here first thing Monday. Honolulu, can ya' believe it? Anyway, I just got back from Buck's house - went there lookin' for ya' guys, but his Ma' said his number got called."

Steve nodded. "Yeah, he writes his Ma' every once in awhile - apparently he has a gift for sharpshooting, and the Army's sending him off to England for special training after he gets out of Basic. He won't be back for another few months."

"Well, I'd congratulate him if he wasn't gettin' the bum's rush. But then, ain't we all?"

Steve lifted an eyebrow. "Not me, apparently. You're looking at the man with the most 4-F's in history. Long story." he added dismissively when the other man looked surprised.

"I bet. Listen, I was lookin' to grab a few drinks - tag along, will ya'? I know, I know - 'you don't drink', but come and talk to me, huh? You can catch me up on what's been goin' on around the borough - an' who Bucky's sister is datin' right now."

"Becca isn't dating anyone right now," Steve answered, sighing, only putting up a token protest when Rooster turned him around and started walking him back the way he'd come.

Rooster hooted happily. "That's exactly what I was hopin' to hear!"

"You do know Bucky would kill you if you asked his little sister out?" Steve told him bluntly.

"He can't kill me if he's outta' town, now can he? I've had a thing for her since school! I wonder if she'd wanna' hit Coney tomorrow? Do ya' know what she thinks about gingers…?"

"How's it goin', Roo-ster?"

Steve looked over at the sultry greeting when they walked through the doors of the bar. An extremely well-endowed blond in a black-seamed red dress waggled her fingers at them and smiled with full red lips.

"Buy a girl a drink?" she asked, nudging him with her arm. She then looked down at Steve, and her smile widened. "Maybe even...two?"

Steve swallowed, reaching up to nervously smooth back his hair while simultaneously trying to disregard the fact that he could see the lacey black edge of one garter peeking out of the side slit in her skirt.

Rooster shook his head, but gave the woman an easy smile and hurried Steve off to the crowded bar where they took seats. Rooster ordered for them before Steve could protest and then turned around on his stool to lean back and observe the crowd.

"That Mary Colecki, phew! She's mighty nice to look at, but I wouldn't wanna' marry her," he announced a moment later, shaking his head. He turned back around when two shots and a couple of beer mugs landed before them. He threw back his shot and chugged down half his beer before he took a breath.

"The blond? Why?"

Rooster cocked an eyebrow. "'Cause, she's one a 'dem gals likes to 'take frequent meetin's between the sheets', know what I mean?"

Steve was confused.

"I'll explain it if you down that shot, Granny-Dan."

Steve scowled at the old childhood taunt, but grabbed the tiny glass and threw its contents back. He coughed and sputtered, but signaled for the other man to continue.

Rooster scooted closer and stifled a laugh before putting his mouth near Steve's ear. "She's a nympho!" he hissed, his shoulders shaking with mirth. "A little too 'experienced', for my tastes, if you know what I mean."

Steve drew back in surprise, wondering if that meant what he thought it meant. He sat up straight and looked over his shoulder across the bar at the curvy blond. He could see that she had approached another couple of guys in uniform, and it wasn't long before the they were hurrying out the door, the smirking blond in tow.

Steve made a 'huh', face, and turned back to see Rooster shoving his beer mug at him.

"Hmph. She seems like a nice girl. Looks kinda' familiar. I wonder if Bucky knows her," he asked curiously, blinking, and Rooster choked on his beer.

"Oh, only in the biblical sense, pal," he sputtered, chuckling, and Steve shrugged. He was already too buzzed to even blush.

"Ugh, don't look now, but big, ugly trouble just walked in," Rooster announced, making a face. He jerked his head over his shoulder at a burly-looking guy who walked in with an arm hanging around a woman who was clearly a bit older than him.

"Who's that?" Steve asked, but frowned when he realized his words slurred slightly.

Rooster rolled his eyes. "Buddy Hodge - supervises down at the docks. You might know his kid brother, Gilmore?"

Steve wrinkled his nose. "Yeah - or at least his knuckles. And who're you calling 'kid'? That guy's got a good half-foot on his brother."

Rooster laughed. "Yeah, well, don't remind him. That guy is an utter dick. There was rumor goin' around a few years back, he might be a chicken-hawk - you know, one a 'dem sick fucks likes kids? Yeah. He's a rotten bastard. Heard the last fella' to tangle asses with him went to the hospital."

Steve felt a swell of anger and disgust.

"You know, he actually got a medical deferment from the draft," Rooster told Steve with a nudge.

"That guy?" Steve asked in disbelief, throwing a thumb at the short Neanderthal over his shoulder.

"Yup."

Steve was appalled, and the alcohol had already loosened his tongue. "What the hell for?! Having more muscle than balls?"

Rooster slapped the bar and almost fell off his stool laughing. "Oh, man, I wish Buck had been here to hear what just come outta' that pristine mouth of yours, Rogers!"

Steve sighed sadly, and licked his lips. "Me too, believe me - even though he would never let me forget it."

"Don't worry - I see 'im again, I'll be sure to pass it on," Rooster cackled, and ordered another round of beers.

Steve didn't even protest when a fresh mug appeared before him. He tipped it up with both hands.

"Anyway, nah, that guy got outta' it 'cause of 'psychological reasons'." Rooster snorted.

"I'd believe it," Steve mumbled, setting down his half-empty drink. "Ya - you can tell him an' Gilmore are related. They're both a couple a real jerks."

"Who's a jerk?" came a loud voice from behind Steve's head.

Rooster turned around on his stool again and winced. "How's it goin', Hodge?"

"Well, well, if it ain't Walter Ross. How'd a wimp like you survive Basic?"

Rooster made a face at the use of his true first name - he'd told Bucky and Steve in school that he hated it because he'd been named after his degenerate, lazy ass of a father, and he'd always gone by Rooster because of his red hair. Hodge wasn't winning any points with him for using it.

"Least he made it to Basic," Steve muttered loudly, and Rooster slapped a hand over his eyes as if to shut out the oncoming train wreck.

The compactly muscled man flicked his pale blue eyes over to Steve. "Who's this little boy? Doesn't even look old enough to drink," he chortled, and Steve's skin crawled. "You over here callin' me names, little boy?

Steve shrugged sloppily, hair falling into his eyes. "Jus' statin' facts," he said honestly, and Rooster simultaneously choked back a laugh and a groan beside him, pulling his hat off his head and hiding his face behind it.

"You jumped up little prick," Hodge snapped, stepping forward, "you think just cause you're drunk and weak I won't kick your ass?"

Steve clumsily slid off the stool, eyes narrowing. "I may be small, but I'm strong enough to handle myself - I'm no child," he said deliberately, and watched red flush crawl up the bully's neck.

"Let's take this outside, little boy, we'll see how tough you really are," Hodge snarled, pushing Steve's shoulder, and Steve reached up and slammed his hand back at him in disgust.

"Fine, let's go," Steve growled, and watched as Hodge turned and marched out the doors.

"Stevie, maybe we better take the back door, getcha' back home, huh?" Rooster said lightly from behind him, and Steve turned to look at him with a frown.

"I don't run from bullies, Rooster, especially ones like that. He needs to be taught a lesson."

Rooster groaned and covered his face with his hand. "My God, you're gonna' die and Bucky Barnes is gonna' kill me! He's gonna' hunt me down in Honolulu and test out his shiny new rifle on me; he's gonna' whack me in paradise before the Japanese ever even get the chance! You're gonna' go out there an' get killed, and I'm gonna' have to tell your best friend it was all my fault, I jus' had to take you out drinkin' - "

Steve rolled his eyes and walked out the door, leaving his over-dramatic friend to indulge in his self-pity.

"Finally, thought you pissed your pants and ran off, little boy," Hodge called out from the mouth of an alley between the bar and another building. A small crowd of about fifteen men and women from the bar had followed him outside and was watching with avid interest.

Steve walked over, more than a little unsteady on his feet, and began rolling up his sleeves.

"Quit callin' me 'little boy'," he warned loudly.

"Why should I?" Hodge snarled, taking a threatening step towards him.

Steve swayed a little, feeling a vague sense of nausea, and he tried to keep his next words from coming out of his mouth, but he couldn't because his mouth didn't seem to be attached to his brain anymore.

"Cause it makes me sick - especially since I hear you're a little too fond of innocent kids!"

The small crowd that had gathered to see to the spectacle of the scrawny five-four asthmatic fighting, all gaped at the boldly-spoken words.

Steve's brain was rapidly back-peddling, screaming at him to take it back, he was going to get murdered, there were some things you just didn't say in public - and then the lumpy idiot in front of him smiled - smiled - and sneered, "So what if I do? Huh? What are you gonna' do about it, little boy?"

Steve stared at the bully, outrage chasing away the dizziness and nausea of his overindulgence for a moment, and then he balled his hands into fists, gritting his teeth as he readied himself to take what was probably going to be the worst beating of his life. The monster was probably going to kill him, but not before Steve left his mark on the miserable bastard, he'd all but admitted to it, the evil -

Suddenly there were gasps and shouts, people ranting angrily all around them. Steve looked away, dazed for a moment, and Hodge socked him in the cheek so hard he fell straight over.

"You sick son-of-a-bitch!"

"Got a thing for little boys, do ya', you piece a shit?"

"Ain't the world got enough to worry about without freaks like you goin' after babies?"

Steve could barely move, but he saw movement in the alley mouth all around Buddy Hodge. The light wasn't great, and his eyesight was just as good, but he could see the crowd close in around the brawny man, hands rising and falling, and feet kicking. The bar patrons were exacting some good-old-fashioned vengeance on the stupidly self-professed pedophile, and Steve waited to feel guilty for causing the ruckus, but found that he just couldn't - the man just simply needed his ass good and kicked, and he was glad it would get done even if he was sorry it couldn't be by his own hand.

Steve got to his knees, then his feet, wavering. He took a few steps away to lean against a wall and throw-up in a trash-can, and immediately felt better. He wiped his face with his handkerchief, and felt a hand on his elbow. He glanced up to see Rooster staring down at him with a huge grin.

"Geez, I buy you one shot, and a beer and a half later you're startin' riots! You're a fun guy, Stevie! We should go out drinkin' more often!"

Steve pressed his knuckles to his rapidly swelling cheek and smiled through a pained wince. He was about to suggest they head home, but several of the men from the bar crowd gathered around and actually congratulated Steve on calling out and standing up to Hodge. They insisted on buying him a drink, and ignored his protests, hoisting him up onto their shoulders and carrying him back into the bright and noisy bar.

Hodge was nowhere to be seen.

At nine a.m. on Saturday morning, Becca Barnes calmly entered her house from the back yard where she'd gone to feed their dog, Pork Chop, and walked into the kitchen. Her mother was there, busy ironing clothes.

"Ma', have you been out back today?" she asked calmly.

Winifred Barnes looked up. "Not yet, why?"

"Well, I think Rooster Ross must have walked Steve home last night."

The older woman set aside her iron and frowned. "What does that have to do with our backyard? Steven lives two blocks from here."

Becca nodded, "I know, that's why it was so odd to see Rooster Ross in a dress uniform asleep in the potato patch."

"What?!" Winifred exclaimed. "But what about Steven?"

"He's as fine as he could be, with a hangover the size of the one I think he's gonna' have, anyway."

Winifred gasped, putting her hands over her mouth. "Steven's in the yard? Wait, Steven got drunk?!"

"Completely smashed," Becca confirmed. "According to Rooster - who left pretty quickly after I woke him up by the way, I think he was too embarrassed to hang around - our little Stevie had quite the adventure last night."

"Oh, my gosh! How many bones are broken this time?"

"He's okay, Ma', just got his cheek busted up a little."

"Thank goodness for small miracles. Where is he now?"

"Oh, I thought it best to just let him sleep off as much of it as he can," Becca commented blithely, "he looks perfectly peaceful - but Pork Chop isn't too happy."

"Why ever not?"

"Because sometime last night Steve threw up in his fur and passed out in his dog-house."

A/N: Is it stupid to laugh at your own jokes? Probably… :) Rooster Ross is an OC loosely based off my dear old Dad when he was young. He and drunk Steve were a lot of fun to write. Dad actually did pass out once, completely blitzed, in a dog-house in my uncle's back yard after a party. Nobody could find him 'til the next day. Buddy Hodge isn't a real character, and neither is Mary Colecki and Pork Chop the dog. Anyway, hope it was a good read. Comments welcome!