Work Text:
He has a faint memory of his mother helping him put on another pair of mittens. He was wearing three layers of coats, which made movement difficult. A thick scarf was wrapped around his chin and a large hat was firmly pulled on his head and over his ears. You would never guess that in that downy fluffball there was a thin, tiny little boy named Steve Rogers.
A motherly peck landed on his head and a warm squeeze quickly followed. Then a little push that said, Go play. He waddled slowly over to the door and pushed it open. He lifted up his fuzzy hands to protect his eyes from the whiteness that whooshed in along with the biting cold.
There was a short pause as his eyes adjusted to the brightness, and then he rushed out. And promptly fell flat on his face. It was a soft landing, thankfully. The struggle to right himself was worthy of a medal of honor. As soon as he made his way down the porch steps, he paused again, the snow almost to his waist, planning his snowy conquests. He never stood a chance.
A strong force drove into his side, tackling him to the ground. Powder flew up into the air as his best friend in the whole world landed on top of him. Bucky stood up and watched Steve struggle to stand, like an up-ended turtle. Steve’s wriggling only succeeded in making him look like a giant snowball. He gave up after a few tries and closed his eyes, relaxing.
Are you okay? Steve opened them again to see the peevish face of his best friend. Steve rolled on to his stomach and pushed himself up, wondering why he hadn’t thought of doing that before. A snowball hit the back of his head. A direct hit, commander! Steve turned around and saw his friend poised with another snowball, prepared to fire. Stance perfect, the Winter Soldier stood.