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Mrs. Donnellan who’d lived across the hall always had a story, an explanation for when something went missing, misfortune appeared, or a sudden windfall came to the residents in their little slice of Brooklyn. Stories from the ‘homeland’ doled out in place of bedtime stories when she looked after him while his mother was at work. The dangers of fairy rings along roads and of deep bodies of water housing herds of Kelpie. Forests filled with banshee, ghosts, and a unnumbered amount of faerie folk who would whisk a person away at the slightest provocation.
Steve often wondered why such stories were so important. The closest thing to a fairy ring he’d ever seen was some weeds growing in the crack between the pavement and a manhole cover over on Rockaway, and he was pretty sure the lake in central park didn’t have man eating horse monsters in it.
But the stories were told as if these were real dangers, worries far greater than rum-running gangsters that hung out on street corners and basement doorways, to the loss of more and more work. More deadly than the hunger that gripped so many, or the diseases that had claimed his own mother and yet somehow left him behind.
Weak fingers gripped the edges of the sink as Steve looked at himself in the mirror, eyes rimmed in red from tears he had tried to keep in as sorrow and memories sought to overwhelm him. Finding himself wondering just what spirit or story Mrs. Donnellan would have had for all this. Tired blue eyes closed and chapped lips flowed around old words from the land his parents were from, but he had never seen. Words he’d never understood, but the old woman had said more than once in a seemingly quiet prayer. Memories of nights waiting for his mother to come home…Steve choked on a small sob and his slender shoulders shook.
“Now tears shouldn’t be heralding my appearance. Not unless they are tears of joy,” came a voice that wasn’t Steve’s. His head snapped up ready to turn around and see who had broken into the flat but as he caught sight of the mirror, the mirror that should have only held his own surprised expression, also held the visage of a dark haired young man next to it. A cocky grin spread across the stranger's lips and dark eyes seemed to look right into him.
“Fuckin’ hell!” Steve swore and almost slipped on the bathroom tiles as he scrambled back from the sink and looked over his shoulder. Seeing just the door of the bathroom before swinging back to the mirror. Surely he was just overly tired or maybe getting sick again. But no the mirror still held the dark haired man. “W..Who the hell are you?!” Steve said, his voice a raspy sound as he felt like his grip on reality was slipping.
“Who the hell am I?! You're the one who called for me. Well, called for one of my kind.” The man in the mirror shrugged and was back to grinning. “But you might as well have called for me. Now what is it ya’ need?” came the self assured words with a Brooklyn lit. Steve just continued to stare and after a moment he brought a hand up to rub at his tired eyes. He was totally losing it.
“Not real, I...I just gotta rest.” Steve groaned even as he felt his weak heart trying to speed up, for that feeling of ‘wrong’ settling into the pit of his stomach. He opened his eyes once more and the man was still there, a small frown settled upon his lips and those once dark eyes now holding a faint crimson glow.
“You call me here and then insult me?! You don’t know who ya’ dealing with pal.” Those words had the hairs on Steve’s neck sticking up. While Steve was usually up for a fight, he knew this wasn’t the time for it. That all of this felt unreal and he was pretty sure his grasp on sanity was quickly slipping between his fingers. Steve turned and fled the bathroom to the indignant cries of the...person...in the mirror. He closed his eyes tight once he got to his room, his vision swimming a bit and he was soon falling into his own bed. Having only the coordination and energy to get his shoes off before blackness dragged him away.
The morning found Steve waking to the smell of cooking eggs and sausage. Smells that had been missing from his flat for some time. He must have been dreaming it, but as consciousness had him sitting up and opening his eyes to the bright light of morning, he knew it was no dream. He stretched stiff limbs and forced himself to move. Still dressed in the clothes from the night before, he carefully moved through the flat, unsure of just what he was going to find. His heart clenching with a hope what was impossible. But as he rounded the hall into the small kitchen he caught sight of a man standing at the stove, a white undershirt stretched across his strong shoulders and dark brown pants that looked well worn and too large to be Steve’s own.
“Finally awake? Good timing. Sit down an’ tuck in.” It was the same voice from the night before and the man at the stove turned to look over his shoulder. It was the same features he’d seen in the mirror, but where in the eyes he’d seen darkness and crimson before, now shone a clear and steely blue.
“What...who...who the hell are you?! What are you doing here?!” Steve said, his body rigid and his mind a riot.
“You called me, and since you ran off without telling me what it was you called me for, I thought it would be best to stick around. You can call me Bucky by the way.” Steve was again gifted with a sure fire grin.
“I..I didn’t call anyone and this…” Steve sputtered a moment and he felt himself a little weak in the knees. “I’m going mad. This can’t be real. And if you are real, you broke in here! E..Either way, get the hell out!” Steve shouted, dragging up courage from who knew where. “I’ll make you sorry!” he warned.
The dark haired man, Bucky, turned about, putting his hands up in surrender, even as he eyed the skinny blond.
“Alright, alright….I’ll go for now. But we ain’t done just yet, pal. Eat the breakfast at least. I can tell you’ve not been eating. It isn’t good for you...” The cocky grin melted into a displeased frown. “But this isn’t the last of it!” he said and in the blink of an eye the kitchen was empty. Steve sagged against the doorway as he was left alone in the kitchen. He’d finally cracked or was so sick he was hallucinating. Again.
He pushed away and moved to the tiny table in the corner, swallowing as the food looked real enough, as did the two place settings.
-----
Steve was becoming more and more convinced the world had somehow gone mad, or he was. Bucky had appeared again while he’d been on his way to his job. Appearing out of thin air, walking in step next to him as if it was the most reasonable thing in the world. Asking Steve just where he was off too, and had he thought about what it was he needed. Bucky had boasted of having many talents, but that mind reading wasn’t one of them. Steve had told him off again and much like the episode in the kitchen, in just a blink afterwards, the man was gone.
That seemed to set the tone for what was to come. Bucky appeared at seeming random and with no reason Steve could truly fathom save his own slipping sanity. He appeared in his flat, on the street, and even at his work! Each time the questions were asked. ‘What do you want?’ ‘Why did you call me?’
They always went without answers or with outright denials. Every time Steve told him to leave he would disappear for a time. Leaving Steve to doubt his being before reappearing.
The pattern continued for a month and though it was troubling that such a delusion was going on for so long, Steve found it an odd comfort. It was nice to have someone to talk to. The question of his wants had started to quiet. Bucky asked about his work and the mundane things that went on in Steve’s life. Though recently Bucky had been the only thing between work and home, even if Bucky was far from mundane.
Winter had started to set in and with it came cold winds and even colder rains. It also meant the dreaded colds that left Steve gasping for rattling breaths, and aches that had him curled up and unable to move. He’d forced himself to work the past two days even as the coughs started and each morning it seemed his joints grew more and more stiff. He had a deadline to meet and rent coming due. He couldn’t afford to miss work and he really couldn’t afford to lose his job. Bucky, his seemingly imaginary friend, had been absent those two days and while Steve found himself a little sad, he knew it was a better sign.
He was getting over whatever issue it was..grief..he’d told himself before. He stumbled into his flat as more great coughs heaved his slender frame and he stumbled off toward his room. He just...he needed to lay down, to try and return warmth to his being. He fell into the small bed and let the claws of exhaustion and sickness pull him into darkness.
Steve came up from the dark as he felt a cool cloth upon his brow and the world slowly melted into reality.
“Ma?” he choked out, his throat scratchy and sore. His body overheated and weak.
“Sorry, can’t say yes to that...don’t even think about calling me Da’ either,” came the deep voice Steve had come to recognize. Though it spoke quietly.
“B..Bucky?” Steve rasped and his own blue gaze finally focused to see the strong figure sitting upon the edge of his bed with a damp cloth in hand. Surely this wasn’t real, he was sick and caught in a fever dream.
“Right in one go. Here...drink this,” Bucky murmured and Steve felt a glass brought to his lips. Carefully he sipped at the water within. The liquid soothed his throat for only the briefest of moments. “You called me and yet you’ve not given me why. Telling me to you haven’t called upon me. You have not asked what favour you wished, and here you are, sick and weak. I can’t say I understand it.” Bucky sighed and Steve felt the cool cloth return to his brow.
“Because you're not real...Not really.” Steve got out, the cloth easing him a moment and letting him settle. To fall into the feelings and memories of times before. Of his mother caring for him into the night. Of old Mrs. Donnellan with her stories to distract him from his aches and coughs. “I just...you're a symptom of my loneliness,” he sighed and he closed his eyes; heaviness seeping through to his very bones. “If I give into you, I’ll go mad. Lost on the road. Ready to let even a fae lead me away into the darkness.” Steve murmured before slipping back into the darkness of sleep.
Steve was unsure of how long he slept. Having vague impressions of cool cloths and even cooler water passing his lips. There was the soft light of morning making its way through the windows, and though his body was weak and continued to ache, the fever had passed.
“Wish it, and it's yours. You could have your health returned and a life you’ve drawn for others on paper. But it has to be an exchange. You can offer me so many different things. Just...Just don’t offer me a first born. I dunno what to do with a baby,” came the quick words and a uneasy joke.
Steve would turn his head and his eyes settled on the brunette in the chair set next to the bed. He was hunched forward, his head hung as strong arms braced on even stronger legs. That face tipped up and crimson eyes settled upon him, the stormy steel lost. Steve knew he should be afraid, should know he had lost his marbles completely. But he just felt at ease with knowing and tiredness that gripped him almost soul deep.
“I dunno what to do with a baby either...so yeah. Ain’t gonna say a thing like that,” he sighed, watching the man...creature...Bucky. Steve didn’t look away from that unnatural gaze, instead facing it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Make a deal with the devil is it? Is that what this is?” Steve asked gently.
“Ain’t a devil...least not the kind they teach you about at Sunday service. I just... am something else. Waiting to lead you off the path, but...it wouldn’t be so bad.” Bucky gave a small lopsided smile. “You're a stubborn one. More than any man I’ve encountered. But please, ask me. Tell me what it is you want and it's yours.” Bucky said, imploring the blond with quiet words to fulfill the contract started weeks before.
Steve watched those handsome features, trying to see any deception. Of the inherent ‘evil’ he’d been warned about. But he only could see worry, sadness, and maybe hope. Steve might have laughed, and then been angry, for even a creature that was known to be uncaring, had some kind of pity for him. But he just felt too tired for it.
“Just what I’ve always wanted. Just to have someone care about me. To not leave me behind even if it seems like I am weak and sickly. Don’t think that's something you could give me.” Steve said with a weak smile. “But you’ve been here, and it's been nice. Didn’t know a ‘devil’ could be so nice. Or is this part of the temptation thing?” Steve tried to laugh, but it turned into coughs. Bucky sat up then, a concerned look upon his face before Steve’s coughs subsided and he settled once more. “Was good to have someone care.”
“I can do it.” Bucky said, voice strong and determined. Those bright crimson eyes holding hope and an offer. An offer that had Steve's weak heart feeling...joyful anticipation. “Tell me what you want and what you give me in payment.”
Steve stilled his breath a moment, reflecting on the being sitting at his bedside. At the past and what could be in his future. How mad and reckless this could be and yet…
“I want someone to care about me, to never leave my side. To look forward to each day the future holds.” Steve said in an almost whispered tone. His sky blue gaze never wavering from the crimson one that watched him just as intently. “And I offer up my heart in return.”
Bucky smiled, a true and perfect smile as he leaned forward. “And so the bargain is struck.” The words themselves struck Steve like a physical blow. “I’m with you now…..till the end of the line.”
Steve was sure he felt lips brush his brow.
And then Steve was falling, his eyes fluttering and blackness seeping in. He was floating and yet he knew he was no longer alone.
-----
“T..that da’ best y..you got!” the small skinny blond boy spat even as he swayed. Fists up and knees scraped. Blue eyes bright as the clear skies on an august afternoon.
“Yo’ gonna get it now runt,” grinned the boy almost three times his size. Ready to let meaty fists fly, but the blows never came. The bully howled as he was hit in the jaw and sent sprawling.
“How ‘bout you tussle with someone your own size!” came the voice of another boy. Lips pulled up into smirk and his chin up defiantly. The bully scrambled, hissing this wasn’t the last of this to the tiny blond.
“I was taking care of ‘em,” the blond kid huffed, his breath coming in a wheeze.
“Sure ya’ were,” the brunette boy laughed and came over to offer his hand. “Names James Barnes...you can call me Bucky.” The blond frowned at the offered hand, but relaxed and took it.
“Steve...Steve Rogers.”
~Fin~