Steve exhaled shakily, blinking away tears beginning to form. His heart felt as if it was broken into shards, circulating around his body bringing him pain from head to toe. The blonde looked at the empty driveway from the front steps of the old house, the tables they set up and placed items on them were gone. The yard sale had been extremely successful with most of the things being sold within two hours. The papers were being finalized on the house where Steve grew up in.
And it still felt like Steve had lost his mother yesterday. She too, like the items and tables, was gone.
There wasn't a dramatic phone call at three am or a knock at the door notifying him. It was months of hospital visits, unsuccessful medicines, ups and downs, and weeks of doctors saying this was it. Sarah Rogers last final days until Steve witnessed her last breath. He felt a hand on his shoulder from behind.
"Nice out here isn't it? " Sam said. As of late the weather had been disgustingly beautiful. The birds were chirping, the sun shining. Steve hated it. He wanted the skys to be filled with gray. He wanted at least ten inches rain to pound on his roof so loudly the neighbors can't hear him crying in the middle of the night and he wanted the wind to blow so strongly that he would be unable to open his door. So people don't come over to give him casseroles in glass dishes he was going to have to return at some point. But the occasional apple pie in a disposable pan was not bad. So people don't put cards in his mailbox. So he could be alone.
"Yeah." He looked at his hands, studying the fold lines of the palm. "Did everything sell?"
"Everything except a vase."
Steve wipped another tear away. "Thanks, Sam. For everything."
"Hey, man. You don't gotta thank me. I can clean up the rest. You go home, pet cap, watch some shitty sad movies, whatever. Just alow yourself to grieve." Steve stood and saw the round red vase with streaks of black, a round narrow opening on top in his hands. Sam passed it over to his bestfriend and offered a meaningful smile.
The drive back to Steve's home was quiet. Only the occasional sniffle broke it.
"Hi bubba." Steve greeted his husky, Cap. The dog hopped on him, paws on his thighs, mouth open and long tongue hanging out. "Miss me?" He barked. For the first time in weeks, Steve smiled genuinely. But the brief pause of happiness in Steve's small world was brought back to its regularly scheduled program of storm clouds and tears.
The vase slipped out of Steve's strong arms when Cap's nails pushed on it. Smooth glassed turned into shards. It clattered against the hard-wood floor so Cap skittered away. The Blonde's full bottom lip quivered before countless crocodile tears gushed down his red cheeks. Wanting everything to go soundless and dark, he cupped his ears and clenched his eyes tight-shut before sliding down to the floor. The colorful mess next to him.
Bucky scratched behind his ear, feeling a little awkward. He wasn't good with crying people. Is anybody, really? He decided to leave the stanger alone and to stretch his legs and back. 100 plus years in a funkin' vase sure could put a kink in anybody's neck.
The brunette noticed the piles of empty glass dishes in the sink and on the kitchen counter. Man, this guy sure likes his casseroles.
"Who the fuck are you?!" Steve screeched. There was a very pale man dressed in all black standing in the middle of his kitchen.
"I'm Bucky. That's who the fuck I am." He didn't face him, still counting the dishes. sixteen, seventeen, eighteen...
"Why are you in my apartment!?"
Holy cow. This guy has 27 casserole dishes. "You missed my little transformation? " Bucky faced him. Pleasantly pleased with his handsome face, jaw bones peppered with auburn colored stubble. "My ashes forming into all this." He gestured to himself. He received no response. "No? Well that's a shame. It's pretty cool."
"Are you.... a ghost?"
"No. I'm a vampire. " Bucky smirked, fingers sliding through his dark brown hair.
Steve furrowed his eyebrows together. "Like Twilight? "
Bucky's cool, calm, collected, adittude diminished. "Man, fuck Twilight. I don't do werewolves. They're assholes that piss on everything. "
"How do I believe you?"
"I just magically came out of a vase and you want more? I've been caught by other people and they had an actual heartattack. Here, if you don't believe me, feel my pulse." Bucky lifted his sleeve up an inch, letting him have access to his radial artery.
Doubtfully, Steve pressed his middle and index finger on the inside of his wrist, finding no beat under the cold skin. "Holy Fuck!
"You're a vampire!"
"I told you so, punk."
"And your were in my mother's vase?"
"Technically, I was in your mother's urn. Nice driving by the way. Probably half of my body is in your passenger seat. Those stop signs are not a suggestion, sir."
"So you were in a vase?"
"My body was in a vase. My spirt. Wild and free. Like the dude from A Christmas Carol."
"That's the guy."
"...so. You are a ghost. "
"No. I'm a vampire. "
"You suck blood. Don't you?" Steve paled.
"No. Not human anyway. I eat regular food too. Mr.Casserole-Fetish."
Steve breathed a sigh of relief. "Can you go out in the sun? "
"No. I have a sun allergy. "
"If I stabbed you with a wooden stake, would it kill you?"
"Who wouldn't that kill?"
"Why do you wear all black?"
"I think I look sexy in black. Don't you? "
"I think so too." Steve smiled awkwardly. "I'm Steve, also."
"Good to meet ya Steve. Sargent Bucky Barnes, at your service. " Bucky yawned, closing his sentence. "Well I'm bushed, Steve-O. Lead me to my room and I'll be out of your hair till mornin',"
"Well... when you invite a vampire into your home, it means they can come and go as they wish. Wikipedia' it."
The artist rolled his eyes and trailed down the hallway to the guest bedroom, Bucky in tow. "This is your bed. Feel free not to suck my blood in the middle of the night. "
"'already told you. I don't suck human blood, it's fatty."
"Goodnight, Bucky." Steve started down the hallway to his own room.
"What? No good night Kiss? That cold, Steven."
"Goodnight, Bucky." He repeated.
A few rays of morning light peeked through Steve's bedroom curtains. The thick lump in his throat was making deep, calming breaths hard to take. The blonde pressed his lips together and began to snivel. Strong, toned arms clutched the pillow and brought it too his chest. He couldn't believe his mother was gone. He would never hear her voice again, or feel her aged hands brush against his cheek.
Just months ago Sam and Sharon teased him, labeling Steve the world's biggest mama's boy. He proudly wore the title, now and even then. He once dated girl for months, feeling like she was the one. Only for him to introduce her to his mother and be told the blonde nurse didn't feel like she was perfect for him. Needless to say, he ended the relationship very quickly after that.
Heart physically hurting, he wipped the salty tears and snot off of his red face with a tissue.
Bucky swung his hips to a cheerful beat inside his head. He hopped this Steve guy likes pancakes.
Because he made a shit-ton.
Five plates had ungodly sized stacks of flap-jacks on them. One plain, one with chocolate chips, other blueberries, fourth with pieces of bacon, and last with slices of strawberries in them. Bucky daydreamed of the blonde. Imaging the muscles under his tight shirt. The brunette licked his lips while the memory of seeing Steve's perfect, bubbly ass strutting away poped in his mind.
Speaking of the devil, he heard the pitter patter of feet until Steve slumped out of the hallway, into the kitchen.
"Morning sunshine, sleep well?" Bucky asked, flipping a bacon pancake.
"No." Steve answered. Mechanically pressing the buttons on his coffee machine and watching the sweet, sweet life source fill his mug. "Not at all."
"How come?" The vampire squirted a smiley face with whipped cream on a stack of three pancakes then served them to Steve.
"What am I? Five." Steve saw his breakfast, a bacon mustache at the center.
Bucky put a hand on his hip. "You're never too old to have smiley face pancakes, Steven." Mouth agape, the muscular blonde searched his brain for anything to say. But Bucky's sea blue eyes with darker blue rims around them made it impossible to think. They were the eyes his mother had and it re-broke Steve's heart. Only a few tears fell free before a river broke. For such a good looking guy, he sure was an ugly crier. Awkwardly and slowly, Bucky walked over to Steve. Wrapping his arms around his sobbing torso and pulling the man into his figure. "It's alright, Steve. " Bucky tried to comfort him. "Can I ask why you're crying?"
"My mom died." He blubbered wetly into Bucky's chest. "She's gone, Bucky."
Fingers played with the hairs on the nape of Steve's neck. "Did you like the movie Halloweentown growing up?"
"Yeah?" He was confused at the random question.
"What if I told you I can take you there?" Bucky bit his lip.