Stucky Halloween: 2020

The Fae

Steve had never met the Fae and that was perfectly okay by him.

Raised by an Irish grandmother and mother, he knew all too well the stories of their trickery and ill-news. The banshee, he remembered, was a harbinger of doom -- hear her cry, and you die, as his grandmother so elegantly put it. Since a child he had been terrified of tales of drowning, of lost children in the woods, and monsters.

So Steve was never a big fan.

////

He was walking alone at night when it happened. "C'mere, boy," he called Champ, his pitbull, who'd run into the forest where he lived. Steve pulled his light jacket tighter around himself. "Don't make me go in there after you," he groaned.

Of course, Champ barked from inside the woods and Steve regretted everything that had led him to that moment. He entered the forest.

The next hour he was sprinting out of the forest after coming face to face with a Dullahan. A Dullahan of all things, here, his home, in his backyard. Steve was going to die. Champ ran at his side, panting, excited from the game.

Steve backed out of the woods and tried to fathom what he'd seen. It all happened so quickly, a blur; he'd heard hoofprints, saw the flash of a rider, and the sound of someone urging the horse onward.

"Go home, boy," he breathed, brushing Champ back home. Barking once, Champ took off, and Steve felt rooted to the spot as the horse rider stepped swiftly out of the woods.

////

Bucky Barnes swung himself to the ground, patted Iriene's neck and strode over. "I, uh," he began with a small and embarrassed smile, "wanted to explain."

"Okay," Steve said stupidly, frozen in place, even as Bucky stopped in front of him, closer than he thought he would. The pale scar across his neck was stark white against his skin.

"Okay, so I'm a... headless horseman." He smiled shyly. "Obviously."

"Dullahan," Steve responded without thinking. "You're... "

"Oh, you're Irish?" Bucky grinned fondly. "I love that!"

"You're real," Steve breathed. His head was spinning. Bucky cocked his head to the side as he studied him.

"You okay? Need some water?"

"How are y-- " Steve moved to lean against a tree, folding his arms as he stared stupidly at him. "Is it true?"

Bucky scratched his cheek. "I don't use a spine for a whip, for one. Um, I don't have a mouldy head. I'm not gonna kill you," he added, gesturing vaguely at him.

Steve swallowed. "Why?"

"You know how golden things kill us?" Bucky eyed him. "Or... y'know, repel us."  He grinned. "Maybe something about you."

Steve looked at him dubiously. "So you aren't going to kill me?"

"'Course not," he said. "Long story short, I'm sorry I scared you."

Steve finally offered a quick smile. "Thanks for not killing me."

And that was the start of a weird but good friendship.

////

"Why'm I helping you?" Steve hissed, and Bucky grinned sheepishly.

"I'm devilishly handsome?"

"One way to put it," Steve murmured as he grabbed his hand and ran down the street in the dark. Bucky tried to hide his laughter at the situation. Steve yanked him into an alley and stopped to catch his breath. Bucky watched him, amused, briefly checking to see if they'd been followed or not.

"So now what?" Bucky murmured as he looked down at him. Steve frowned, eyebrows knit, worried. He looked up at him, eyes flickering to his lips.

"Well, we should get you somewhere out of the open... " Hiding an undead person with a slit throat and a massive ghastly horse proved easier than Steve would've assumed. Bucky was seen generally as a goth emo kid with a huge grin and a large horse -- not far from the truth at all.

"Yeah," Bucky murmured his agreement, studying him. Steve gave him a look, raised his eyebrow. "Thank you."

Steve smiled softly. "Yeah, yeah. No problem, Buck."

His chest warmed. After all those years nobody had ever given him a nickname; he liked it.

////

"What does she eat, anyway? Human souls?" Steve was walking alongside Champ and Ireine, Bucky leading her further into the woods so they could frolic without getting glances.

"Ha ha," Bucky said sarcastically. "No, she eats oats. I try to give her a normal life, if I can." He paused to think. "Sometimes rotten apples, you know."

"Ah." Steve lightly stroked her dark neck and Bucky grinned at the sight. It was a dark but calm day, warm wind brushing through the trees, and Steve for once felt at peace.

"So... do you regret it? Being friends with me, I mean?" Bucky was rubbing the scar on his neck subconsciously. That was something Steve had picked up on; he did that when he was anxious.

"Undead or not you're still a good friend," he said. "I told you I'd be there for you."

Bucky smiled gratefully. "Thank you, Steve."

////

Aaah okay, this was late! I tried writing it last minute because life and it was like 12:00 so it was already too late but I'll get this one up and the next, and make sure I'm prepared for the day after that!