Generally speaking, Tuesdays at one-thirty in the afternoon were not when most felt the call to Faith. Confession was offered on Fridays and Sundays, giving the Lord’s flock ample time to build up a list of sins during the week to beg forgiveness of and a second chance just in case you and your freshly cleansed soul decided to cut a little too loose after the last Hail Mary and Our Father dripped from your lips.
Forgive me father, it’s been two days since my last confession. Friday night was lit and I slept with my best friend’s boyfriend….
No, on Tuesdays St. James’ in Brooklyn was generally quiet. A handful of tourists maybe passing through to take pictures of the pretty stained windows, the gilt, and the architecture. Only those truly in a crisis of faith wandered in at such odd times, seeking the answers they so desperately needed.
Steve sits alone in one of the glossy dark pews, feeling more lost than he ever had in his supremely unnatural life. Staring up at the golden cross that hovered piously over the ambo, the thoughts that had been plaguing his troubled mind ever since that fateful –or cursed –day when Bucky had sold his soul to Darcy.
Who was a demon.
Darcy, Doctor Foster’s odd assistant who was soft and socially awkward and knitted the Hulk socks and ate mini marshmallows by the handful and had failed the mandatory self-defense class with the lowest score they’d everseen was a God damned demon.
In the literal sense, not the figurative.
The scene they’d opened the store room door to after the deal had been done and the screams had choked and gurgled to silence was straight out of a slasher flick. Only alien colored. Toxic orange goo was splashed liberally across the cramped bunk room. It was hard to tell how many of the gray monsters there had actually been as they’d been rent apart and scattered. The floor was covered in carcasses. A gray arm hung limply from the slowly rotating ceiling fan. A leg was sticking foot up out of a garbage can. Heads had been squished, jaws ripped from skulls, torsos split in half. Entrails hung like badly draped accent pieces. It had been a massacre. And standing at the center of it all, not a speck of space blood on her, was a very normal, very bored looking Darcy, tap-tapping away on her phone.
“Holy shit,” Bucky had whispered in awe-filled shock.
To that she’d blandly replied, “No take-backsies,” never lifting her eyes from the screen.
When the team they’d sent the S.O.S. for had arrived, at first they hadn’t believed it. Taken it for some joke. Hell, Steve had been there and he sort of didn’t believe it. They’d been half convinced by Jane’s adamant assurances delivered with dead serious-seriousness, and let it go with some eye rolls and good natured ribbing. Darcy the Demon took care of it, sure. Later, while the team was sitting around the large dining table (Steve as far from her as he could get) for the evening meal, Sam asked “Demon Seed” to pass the asparagus and a conveniently just returned from Norway Thor had remarked in surprise, “Ah, I see Darcy has finally told you.”
That had gotten everyone’s attention, and with the would-be god’s tale on how he’d become aware (like calls to like demi-god blah blah, special whatsit and so forth) the team had been more than convinced of Darcy’s otherworldliness and proceeded to walk on eggshells around her.
But within days, when the only dubious thing she’d done was change out their standard coffee beans for a cinnamon roasted holiday blend, everybody went back to treating her like nothing had changed. Except it had. Everything had changed. Demons were real. Hell was real. And yeah, he’d always had the Faith but when definitive proof was shoved right under your nose…it put things into perspective. He couldn’t understand how nobody had a problem with an evil being, whose entire existence hinged on causing strife and discord, living with them under the same roof. Sure, they dealt with Tony on a regular basis so they’re kind of already conditioned, and Loki, who was debatably demonic, was an irregular-regular visitor to the compound, and yeah –he’d fought some things that technically fit into the demon category, but that was different.
None of them had wormed their way into a friendship with Earth’s mightiest heroes. None of them made him (well, to be fair, everyone) pancake sandwiches after rough missions. Or stocked the jet with Gatorade and protein bars. Or knew every fucking code to all their shit. She’d lured them all into a false sense of security. Probably just bidding her time to strike. She had been his friend –sort of, as close as you could get to being friends when one was part of a pretty exclusive super hero team and the other the ride or die bestie of an astrophysicist –before this whole demon business came about, and the fact that she had kept such a monumental secret from him –from all of them –was just eating him alive. Demons were bad. Bader than bad they were pure Evil with a capital ‘E’. Worse than HYDRA. They’d had a wolf prowling amongst their flock and hadn’t even noticed.
How anyone could just ignore that boggled his mind. How nobody saw how she was manipulating them dumbfounded him. How Bucky could have no problem with her owning his immortal soul, when he’d grown up in the same Church as him, fucking flat out astounded him. Ever since their return Steve found himself on high alert every time Darcy was in the same room. He found himself going out of his way to pass by the science lab just to glance through the windows. Tony had rolled his eyes when he suggested FRIDAY pay extra attention to Darcy. Natasha hadn’t seen the need to devise a failsafe should Darcy turn on them and start taking souls. He didn’t even know where to begin with Buck. His friend seemed perfectly normal. Seemed. Other than spending more time with Darcy, Bucky acted like that day neve happened and kept to his regular schedule and pattern of behavior. Steve had covertly observed and charted it just to make sure using stock surveillance footage FRIDAY kept on the servers.
Steve was at a loss. He couldn’t go on, living on pins and needles, watching and waiting for Darcy to snap and let her true colors show. He needed a sign, some guidance from a higher power on what he should do.
“So this is where you’ve been hanging out.”
Steve snaps his head to the side, eyes widening in disbelieving shock at the sight of Darcy, the she-demon herself, bundled up for the cold weather seated in the pew next to him staring contemplatively up at the cross.
“What are you doing here?” He hisses, scandalized and expecting her to burst into righteous flames or to start melting like the wicked witch of the west at any moment, “This is a house of the Lord!”
Darcy finally turns to him, a bemused look on her face, “Is it?” she asks, her dancing eyes shifting to focus on something over his shoulder, the slight smirk curling her lips gaining a sharp edge, “Hey Padre, long time no see.”
Whipping around Steve watches Father O’Malley, a balding, slightly paunchy man who’d been the shepherd of St. James’ flock for thirty-plus years freeze mid-glide down the aisle, face going a sickly gray in recognition as his eyes land on Darcy.
“Oh fuck,” the man of the cloth breaths in terror then spins on his heel and hustles back the way he’d came like the dogs of hell were chasing after him, robes gathered in his aged hands.
Steve swivels back to her, a look of appalled shock on his face, “No,” he whimpers, his tone half begging for it not to be true.
“We go way back,” Darcy says simply, shrugging unapologetically, “There was a thing with some stuff back in ’62–“
“PSHUUBTDA!” He interrupts flailing his hands wildly and making incomprehensible noises at her.
She blinks in surprise, “….are you having a stroke? Because I’m gonna level with you dude, I have no idea how to handle that.” He settles back down scowling at her, ignoring the curious looks the tourists send his way. A bum taking shelter in the warm church sniffles mid-snore from his pew at the back of the room, “I don’t need to know just exactly how you tricked a priest into giving up his soul Darcy!” he whisper shouts.
A frown wrinkles between her brows, drawing attention to the fact that she didn’t have one single age line on her youthful face, “Is that what you think I do?”
“Isn’t it?” he asks her sullenly, shoulders slumping.
Darcy shoots him an exasperated look, slouches down and kicks her heels up to rest on the pew in front of them. He gives her a dirty look which she completely ignores, “Look Steve, I don’t ‘trick’, or steal or mislead anyone into making a deal with me. That’s not how this works–“
“You keep saying that–“
“—And you keep not listening. If you’d shut that beautiful pie-eater for ten seconds, maybe you’d actually hear me.” She glares and he gives her a sullen look, but keeps his mouth closed, “I make deals with humans. I give them their heart’s desire and payment comes in soul form. Sorry, no Visa, Mastercard or American Express accepted, which sort of sucks because seriously? If swipe to pay was an option I’d be rolling in souls. And business isn’t slow you know? I don’t twist anybody’s arm to get them. Because, believe it or not, I don’t need to. Do you know how much actual effort I have to put in to get someone to give it up? Surprisingly little. Which is sort of sad when you think about it. As long as I’ve existed –which has been a really long fucking time, like I’m literally older than dirt –there have been humans willing to make soul deals. Your species is greedy and self-serving. People come to me. All I have to do is wait,” she starts ticking off fingers, “Fame and Fortune. Power. The downfall of an enemy. Personal happiness. Those are the standard wishes. Very few people ask for anything that benefits someone else, or society. ”
“But you don’t have to make deals,” he says adamantly, “You could just –tell everyone who wants something from you no.”
She rolls her eyes, “And you could just walk by an old lady getting mugged, but we both know that’s not going to happen, because saving people is what you do. Can I turn people away? Sure. But I’d be turning away people asking for my help.”
Steve felt anger heat his chest at her words. Is she fucking serious? “Don’t you dare sit there and compare what we do. You can spin taking desperate peoples souls into fucking a humanitarian act, Darcy.”
The brunette shrugs unapologetically, completely undaunted by his anger, “Then think of this as a genetic impulse I can’t exactly say no to. Like bird migrations and fish spawning. I am what I am, Steve.”
She cannot be serious, “Well isn’t that a convenient excuse,” he sneers, “Sorry guys, even though we’re friends, demon here, so instead of just getting rid of the aliens trying to kill us one of you is gonna have to cough up a soul because, hey, I am what I am. I’d hate to see how you treat people you don’t think are your friends, Darce,” he spits at her in disgust.
Darcy flinches at that accusation, a look of hurt crosses her face and Steve feels a twinge of remorse at having caused it, “You and I both know I didn’t ask for anything in that room-” she defends.
“No, you just took advantage of the situation.”
“Look,” she growls, obviously getting frustrated with him, thunking her feet back down to the floor and turning to face him head on, “Bucky made a choice Steve, he’s a grown ass man. If somebody really wants their soul back, than they can buy it back with a favor and I’ll give it back once they’ve done it-“
Steve felt hope fill his chest. Bucky could be saved! “So why don’t you just ask him to –I don’t know, grab something from the top shelf and give it-“
“He doesn’t want it back, Steve.”
That freezes him mid-sentence. That couldn’t be right.
“What?” he asks, dumbfounded.
“I offered to give it back,” she tells him calmly, her light eyes full of sincerity, “He said ‘no thanks, Darce’ and then asked me out to dinner.” At that she looks as puzzled as he feels, “I mean I totally understand the lure of this,” here she gestures to her body, “but yeah, I’m sortof with you on this.”
“Why would he say no?”
She shrugs, “The fuck if I know, reading minds isn’t exactly my jam. He’s your best friend. Listen Steve,” she waves her hand in the air in a ‘moving on’ gesture, “we’re gonna have to figure out where we stand. Me being what I am doesn’t sit right with you, I get that, it’s a totally reasonable response. You’re one-hundred-percent entitled to feel the way you do. I respect that. But,” she says, “I am not going to apologize for being me. I am not,” she says firmly, “going to disappear anytime soon. I work with Jane. I live at the Avenger’s clubhouse, and am friends with the same people you are. This isn’t a ‘me or you’ sitch. We’re grown-ups, and you don’t have to like me, but you’re gonna have to learn to deal. ‘Cuz I’m not going to leave a room every time you walk in and get all twitchy. Before I leave this spot,” she pats the pew, “we need to get to a place of understanding.” She leans back, “Take your time. I’ve got eternity.”
Steve feels what little hope he had and a good portion of his anger drain out of him. Slumping wearily back into the pew he stares up at the cross. Well shit. Bucky didn’t want his soul back. Did that make the situation better? Not really. Darcy was still a demon. She still was an evil being. Unapologetically. Even if she was a naturally evil being it didn’t change that fact. Did it make him feel better? Sort of. Made him less angry at the woman (? Demoness? He’s not sure about the PC term here.) sitting next to him and more pissed off at his jerk of a best pal.
Asked her out to dinner. Christ Bucky.
They sat there like that, for how long he doesn’t know, in a comfortable silence occasionally broken by the sound of the homeless man snuffling in his sleep, as Steve ran her words through his mind a few more times.
“I think,” he finally says, “I’m more mad about you keeping it a secret than anything,” he rolls his head to look at her, “We’re friends, aren’t we?” he fights to keep the hurt whine out of his voice.
Darcy sighs and glances heavenward as if asking for strength (can demons do that, he wonders) “Duh. Can we not do this and say we did? I am not qualified for this. Or really anything on my resume but hey, lying worked out for Victor Lustig. Me not telling you I’m from hell has nothing to do with us being friends, alright? People tend to get a little weird when they find out. Then they think they can trade their soul for anything and I’ll just give them stupid tasks to get it back, and I am so totally not into buying back an already used product, you know? Then the resentment sets in and next thing you know I’m waking up in the middle of the night with some Craiglist quack sprinkling what I hope is holy water on me chanting what I’m pretty sure was a Doors song in reverse while my naked roomie sacrifices a chicken over a pile of my stuff to try and banish me.”
Steve stares unblinking at her, unable to find the proper response that statement warranted, “…your roommate sacrificed a chicken naked?”
“Tip of the iceberg,” she says, tone weary, “Are we gravy? Yaw or naw?”
Steve felt the corner of his mouth tick up, “Yeah, were good.”
“Great. Good. Awesome. Praise Yeezus. Now can we please go home? My ass fell asleep like fifteen minutes ago,” Standing up she stretches then extends one small hand out to help him up, an innocent smile bowing her lips.
For a heartbeat, all he does is stare at that hand. The same one that Bucky had shook. Then he looks at her mellowly cheerful face and takes it, letting her pull him to his feet with a strength he knows she keeps firmly leashed, and, with a last glance at the cross above the ambo, leads the way down the long aisle and out the heavy doors.
They walk down the street towards his bike in the crisp air. Steve is actively not contemplating about just how she got here when a thought hits him,“You wouldn’t really have let the aliens kill us if Bucky had turned you down, right?” he stares down in askance at her as she thinks about it, then scrunches her nose and says,
“Meh.”