Luck is a funny thing. Steve Rogers did not consider himself lucky. He was always getting sick, he was poor, his parents were both dead. He couldn’t get a job. He was short and skinny. He was always getting beaten up. In fact, he had been heard to say that he had no luck at all.
His Guardian would disagree. His Guardian would in fact say the exact opposite, especially since said Guardian was constantly arranging for excess luck to be channelled into Steve’s life, just to keep the headstrong idiot alive.
“I swear, Buck,” Steve said, as he sat on the edge of the hospital bed. “I have the worst luck in the world.”
“Stevie. You rolled the car three times. You were going at fifty. You had to crawl out through the sunroof. And you don’t have a scratch on you. I call that pretty fuckin’ lucky.”
“You know how long I saved up to get that damn scrap heap.” He sighed, looking down at his feet. He was filthy, covered in mud and glass, and he half-heartedly tried to brush the dirt off his clothes. “And I need it to get to work.”
“It’s fine. You can catch the damn bus. Or I’ll drive you. It’s not that big of a deal, Steve. What happened anyway?”
“A dog ran into the road. I swerved to avoid it and…” he shrugged, then winced.
“Stop moving! I’m still half convinced you’ve broken something and you haven’t noticed.”
“Look, can we just go? I really am fine. Even the doctor said so. They just want to check to be sure. Besides, do you know how much all these tests will cost?”
“You can use the money from the car insurance.” Bucky replied, arms folded across his chest.
“Yeah Steve,” the Guardian said, knowing he wouldn’t be heard. “Stop worrying about the money. I’ll think of something. If I have to, I’ll borrow some of Bucky’s luck. He’s got enough charm to get by on. He doesn’t need luck.”
“I still don’t get how you made it out of there without a scratch,” Bucky continued, shaking his head. “I drove past the wreck on my way out here. I thought for sure I was coming to see a corpse.”
“Me neither. When the car flipped, I thought it was gone.” But he remembered a man with a glowing blue chest throwing appearing in the passenger seat and throwing himself across the car, wrapping around Steve, holding him back against the chair. The blue light shone out around them like a shield, keeping the crumpling car from crushing in on top of him.
The same man who was leaning against the corner of the room, talking about luck.
Maybe he had hit his head after all.