Chapter Five
Tony nodded, "Nice," and moved to another table. "There's a couch and a TV over there." He gestured towards the back of the room.
Bucky tugged his shirt over his head and pulled it over his armless side before finagling his way into the other sleeve. Steve didn't offer to help, which was a point to him. Bucky extremely disliked it when people assumed he couldn't do ordinary things. Of course he'd figured out how to get dressed. It wasn't easy, dammit, but he could do it.
A wave of depression hit him. Yeah, he could get dressed. Whoop dee doo. Was he pathetic enough to celebrate the fact that he could put on clothes? Bucky scowled at the whispers in his head that stole his thought's voices and masqueraded as truths. He was pathetic. He wasn't worth the effort Steve and Tony were putting into him. He had tried repeatedly to kill himself. He was shit. He was fucking shit, and he didn't deserve this. He slumped onto the couch, eyes stinging, and scoffed inwardly. Yeah, now was he gonna cry? Was he gonna cry like the loser he was?
"What is it?" Steve whispered, sitting next to him. Bucky shrugged. Steve didn't need to know how much of a mess he was. Steve narrowed his eyes. "What is it? I'm gonna ask until you're honest with me." From the stubborn look on his face, he meant it. Bucky eyed his demon companion. The guy had made him stay alive. If anyone deserved to hear Bucky's crap, it was this idiot.
"Why did you bring me here? I don't deserve this." Bucky mumbled, pressing his eyes shut tightly.
"Why?" Steve asked.
"Because - I don't know. I'm stupid and - suicidal and worthless and shitty." Bucky growled, picking a few of the words running strong through his head.
"In your opinion." Steve pointed out immediately. "I think you're determined, severely depressed, and strong but tired. It's okay to be depressed and tired and lonely. That doesn't mean you're bad or worthless. It just means you need someone covering your six, like everybody else. You need a break from everything you're holding up. So let's get you a break. This arm might make stuff easier." Steve didn't know what all Bucky was. He didn't get it.
"But I don't deserve it." Bucky repeated desperately.
"You do deserve it. You're exhausted, and something's gotta get better. You deserve an easier load after everything you've carried. If you can't believe yourself telling you that, believe me. I'll say it every day if I need to." Steve's eyes were ruby again, fierce and bright.
Bucky shrugged, but something stirred in him, listening painfully hard. Nobody had bothered before. They'd just said he was wrong about himself and babbled on about his service. Gee, thanks. That's always helpful to hear. But Steve meant what he was saying. He sat there and looked Bucky in the eyes and meant it so earnestly Bucky couldn't help but listen a little. He didn't know if he believed it, but he listened to Steve.
Steve. The name was so incongruous. It sounded like a generic posterboy, not a hella strange demon.
"Do you want to have heat and touch sensors in your arm?" Tony hollered, interrupting.
"Sensors that will allow you to feel anything your flesh arm does." Steve explained when Bucky squinted. "You wouldn't have to use hot pads with your pots and pans if you don't get the heat sensor. I'd recommend the touch sensors, though. Handy for uh, feeling ... things." Was Steve blushing? Bucky looked at his hand. He wasn't anything special. What could make a demon blush? Suddenly, Steve's expression changed to serious.
"One moment. I'm being summoned. I'll be ba-" he vanished.
"So how do you two know each other?" Tony asked, somewhat sarcastically. Bucky gave him a baleful glance.
"He's kept me alive for a month."
"Ah." Tony peeked at him. "You don't seem to happy about that, pal."
"Don't call me pal." Bucky snapped.
"Geez, fine." Tony snipped right back. "So you didn't sell your soul to him?"
"What?"
"He's a demon. He can legally take someone's soul. Legit. I met him in college when I was drunk and playing with a Ouji or something like that. Stupidest thing I've done that hasn't gotten me into severe trouble. I'm lucky Steve answered. He's a good guy."
"He's a demon." Bucky said, feeling as if he shouldn't have to point this out.
"Stop thinking of him as just a demon." Tony advised. "Think of him as a very powerful friend. Like me."
"Did you just compare yourself to Steve?" Bucky asked, amused despite himself. Tony grinned and shrugged.
"What? We can both do things ordinary mortals can't. We're both awesome. We're both here for the money and the women - or the men, in Steve's case." Tony peeked at Bucky again. His expression made Tony warn: "Don't be an asshole. Yeah, Steve's gay. No, that shouldn't be a big deal."
Bucky kept his confused thoughts - involving Grant and types and fierce attractive blondes - to himself. Well, at least he understood maybe why Steve had blushed.
"Hey, have you ridden a motorcycle before?" Tony asked randomly. "You look like a biker with your long hair and half beard thing." Bucky scowled. "Yep, and that exact expression. Totally a biker, am I right?"
"I'm missing some essential equipment for biking." Bucky grumbled. Yes, Tony was right. Like he'd admit he had his old bike in his garage still, though.
"Not for long," Tony gestured with his tools. "Steve bikes crazy good. I'd pay to see you two street race. And I'm a billionaire, in case you didn't know.
Bucky rolled his eyes. Street racing Steve. Great idea. He would likely end up soulless and smashed into the pavement. He had a sudden mental image of Steve in racing leathers, though, and smiled a little. Now that he wouldn't mind seeing. Maybe it would be worth the smashed/soulless part.