Okay, so I got this prompt off of tumblr which lead to this little one-shot. Short and sweet. My roommate suggested I post it on here. Woot. I have some other drabbles on tumblr that i may post eventually. We'll see. Anyways, enjoy this one anyways :)
Bucky stood outside on the porch, watching the occasional car rumble on by. The sounds of the city somewhat muffled by the other buildings surrounding them. It was pretty cold out that day so he didn't linger long before slipping back inside. It wasn't much better inside and Bucky frowned, Steve would catch his death if he didn't get the place heated. Although it didn't really matter anymore, since Steve would be moving in with him and his family in the next few days.
Hanging his over coat up, he contemplated removing his shoes. If Mrs. Rogers was still alive she'd have him thrown out for not taking them off but the floor was bound to be stupid cold. Steve had removed his own shoes and left them at the door. In the end he took his shoes off and placed them on the shoe rack. He was right about the floors being cold.
Bucky took a few steps away from the door and stopped in his tracks. His hand flew up to his face and he covered both his mouth and his nose, attempting to protect his senses from the barrage of different smells, not one of them very pleasant.
"Steve?!" he called out.
"In the kitchen," came the strained reply.
Bucky forced himself to take his hand away from his face and took a calming breath. Good God it smelt terrible. This would be the best thing about Steve moving in with him. The poor guy wouldn't have to cook for himself. Bucky doubted he'd ever get any better at it. The little punk could burn water, which was a definite draw back since pretty much everything he ate was cooked in water.
Bucky remembered Mrs. Rogers trying to teach him the first time around. Her hair had been frazzled and her face was red. Poor Steve looked like he was ready to have an asthma attack and Mr. Rogers looked like he had just witnessed a murder. If the mess that was left in the pot hadn't been so disturbing Bucky might have found the whole situation rather funny.
"You should have waited for me, Steve," he said, walking towards the kitchen. "I could have helped you make something we can actually eat."
"Ha, ha," Steve grumbled.
Bucky grinned and walked closer to the kitchen but as he got closer his surroundings seemed to waver. Bucky blinked and kept walking.
What the? he thought.
"Steve?" he called out again.
"Yeah?" his voice sounded different. Deeper. Older.
As Bucky drew ever closer to the kitchen the items around him seemed to shimmer and change. He felt panic rising in his chest but he pushed it away. Steve was in the kitchen.
"Get to the kitchen and everything will be fine," he whispered.
He turned into the kitchen and turned to were Steve should have been but there was window there instead with sunlight streaming through it. Hadn't it been snowing when he was outside just a moment ago? He put his arm up to shield his face. It was cold and metallic. He pulled his arm away from his face and stared at it for a long moment. When he looked up again he found himself pulled back into the present. It was 2014 and he was standing in Steve's new kitchen the awful smell disappeared and was replaced with the smell of chicken and vegetables. Nothing smelt burnt anymore. Steve was standing with his back to him, broad and tall. Not the sickly twig he used to be.
"Are…are you cooking?" Bucky asked as he walked up to stand beside him. He watched as Steve pushed vegetables around a frying pan while simultaneously flipping chicken over in another pan.
"I am," Steve said. He glanced at Bucky and saw the baffled look on his face. "You doing okay?"
"Yeah…" replied Bucky hesitantly. "You've gotten a lot better at cooking," he remarked slowly, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the food.
Steve stared at him for a long time, long enough for the vegetables to start burning. Bucky took the spoon from him.
"Or maybe not," he mumbled, stirring the vegetables around himself.
Steve shook himself and stabbed at the chicken, not sure what else to say. Bucky so rarely had any memories surface that he was often caught off guard by proclamations of any. After a few minutes he glanced up and saw Bucky smirking at something.
"What? he asked.
Bucky shook his head, "Your mother would probably be crying tears of joy if she saw you now. We won't even have to throw away any of the pots or pans this time."
Steve couldn't help the smile too. "I don't think she would be able to be in the kitchen. The stress of me even being near a stove would be more than she could handle."
Bucky laughed. A genuine laugh that made his shoulders shake. "Yeah. I guess that's true." He looked up at Steve. "I think the vegetables are done."
Hope you liked it. Reviews would be appreciate. Let me know if you like the way it's written. Or if you want me to post some more of my drabbles. I may change the status on this one or I may just make a new story set. Let me know. That'd be hella cool.