From Edge to Edge
A Supernatural Avengers AU
Inspired by a GLORIOUS Tumblr prompt
A/N: FUCK IT I LOVE IT! THIS PROMPT BROUGHT ME LIFE!
Disclaimer: Don't own, don't gain. Simply to entertain.
From Edge to Edge
Chapter 1: Across the Road
Winter, 1997
Crunch! Crunch! Crunch! The icy footsteps echoed in the darkness of a flickering flashlight clamped in the frozen palms of a seven year old skinny boy, sickly enough that the blind could see it and the deaf could hear his end approaching. The boy was dressed in what could only be described as rags and well cared for hand-me-downs. His only bar against the bitter hungry wind was a worn through man's coat with a patch at both elbows and a hole in the left pocket. Nothing remarkable. Nothing anyone would care about looking twice at. Nothing that would be a surprise if he suddenly keeled over and died of nothing but a sharp shadow and a clever breeze.
Steve used this to his advantage. It was something that was needed to achieve the end goal anyways. And it was something he was grateful for every day of his life afterwards.
Steve always remembered that night clearly, always would. It was cold, the coldest night possible in mid December with the snow drifting down in swollen balls of cottony ice. It would be a wonder if Steve didn't die before he arrived at his destination, never mind that he knew he was dying afterwards.
Arrive he did. Two bus changes, three dollars from a sympathetic runaway and a small fainting spell across the way of a kind bag lady later, his footsteps halted at a gravel rough road smoothed down by decades of heavy trucks and hitchhikers and people who just didn't know how to read a map. At the end of this road was an intersection.
"The crossroads…" They were the first words to be uttered in exactly three hours and forty-four minutes by Steve, his voice dry and hurting from the winter that sucked out the very life out of a person's body. That didn't matter though.
Steve continued to the very center of the crossroads, his weak flashlight providing the only sliver of comfort of light, as even the moon had hidden itself away from Steve behind lonely black and gray clouds. Steve couldn't blame it. He'd hide away from such a sight too if given the choice.
In the other hand was a small wooden box, it's only inhabitants a small group of tin soldiers, a lock of golden blonde hair, a bag of herbs that the hoodoo man from E3 said would do the trick and a picture of Steve on one of his good days, the one his Mama liked so much. His pinched cheeks were a healthy pink that day instead of their usual marble pallor, his hair swept back from his broad forehead and not sweat soaked from fever. He was smiling up into the camera, truthfully happy and drawing the angry cat that lived with Mrs. Rivers down the hall. It was honestly the only picture he had that his mother kept in her purse. All the other ones of his siblings and his father and his Mama's parents were already long taken down and buried somewhere in a silk lined picture album at the bottom of a pine box in storage. Steve hoped that if there was a God out there, that he would cover their eyes from what he was about to do.
Steve knelt down in the hard dirt and used a flat rock to pry the earth open enough to place the box, body and heart and soul that it contained, into the space and buried it before he could change his mind. Steve stood back from the spot and trembled as he worked up the courage to look around the crossroads for his results. The hoodoo man hadn't said if magic words needed to be spoken or if he had to cut his wrist like in those scary movies he wasn't allowed to watch, but the rock had cut his hand a little bit around the inside of his knuckles, maybe that would be enough –
"Aw, how cute." Steve whipped his head around (bad idea, his world went physically spinning) but righted himself just in time to see a man just standing there. At the southern corner of the crossroads was a truly harsh looking man, handsome in his dark features and five days stubble and notably expensive suit, the kind that the men that his mother sometimes went out with always wore. "A little boy wants to know what it takes to make a deal with a demon."
Steve didn't need to know, because the hoodoo man from E3 told him. No, that's not what kept his mouth shut, so much as the black abyss that were the man's (demon's!) eyes. Not an inch of humanity was in that creature, Steve could tell, but he looked smart enough to talk to.
"I – I already k-k-know!" Steve shouted as he stammered and then recoiled at the volume, shocked by his own rudeness. Certainly the man was a demon, but that didn't call for bad manners (his mother raised him better than that after all). "I'm sorry," Steve looked at the rubber boots on his feet in shame, the sizes too big but the rips small enough not to matter, "It was rude of me to yell."
For a moment there was only silence. Then, what could only be described as a raucous laughter that made it's way up from the belly to shock itself into life came from the man and Steve just couldn't look away when he saw that the man was holding his gut like he was just stabbed, but he couldn't have been because Steve was right there and Steve certainly didn't see anything, but what could have made the man – no demon! – want to just bend over and clutch at his stomach because he really couldn't be laughing could he? Did demons laugh? The hoodoo man didn't say if a demon laughing at you was part of the deal, but if it was then Steve passed he guessed but he was getting really nervous now and things weren't going as planned, he just wanted to make his deal and get it over with, just why did this always have to happen to him –
"Whoa, whoa there buddy!" The man/demon managed to giggle out between wheezy breaths (whoa, demons breathed? Did that mean that they were still alive then, when they – you know – Steve didn't really want to think about it). "Don't go freaking out on me now! It's okay, I never – Father of Satan, I just can't remember the last time that someone actually apologized to me. And for something that didn't even matter? Tainted blood, that was something I wasn't expecting!"
"It does matter though," Steve argued, his brow furrowed and his hunched shoulders stubborn, "My Mama always said that you should always be polite to people because you never know."
There was a pause. "Never know what?" the demon asked, like he didn't care but Steve could just tell that he was curious.
"I don't know," Steve answered truthfully, shuffling his feet to try and get some feeling back into them and the cold making it difficult, "She never said. She always just said to be polite because you never know."
The demon chuckled low this time, and Steve got the feeling that he just couldn't believe what he was hearing. That was just what Steve thought though, so he really couldn't say.
"Alright then little boy," the demon said after a moment, all serious and business and nothing like he was before. Steve could see the shift from the scarred carelessness to the icy monster that he was supposed to be and Steve couldn't help but miss the man he was from before. "Just what is it that you want from a demon so badly that you would come here, in the middle of the night, on the winter solstice, just before a blizzard was set to explode around here? You have an early death wish, kid?"
Steve gulped down a trickle of saliva caught in his desert throat, coughing in discomfort and nearly hacking up a lung in his efforts. When he finally calmed down the demon was just watching from his station at the southern corner, bored and uncaring.
"I," Steve took a few harsh breaths from the frigid air, the oxygen feeling like knives and daggers in his aching body, "I want my Mama to live and be healthy! No more sickness and she's not tired from her work when she gets home and she lives a long and healthy and happy life."
There's another pause in the conversation, the only sounds puncturing the silent night Steve's rasping gasps and the wind as it howled and moaned in the darkness, sometimes pulling at the flakes in Steve's hair and sometimes clinging to the gaps in Steve's clothing to stab at his bare skin. He didn't notice it, not entirely, because his body was going numb at the vital points and was sleeping or dead everywhere else.
He didn't expect to see the morning.
"So you didn't come here wishing you were a healthy big boy, not popular or able to beat up the other kids?" Steve lifted his head from where it was falling towards his chest, a jerk towards the demon, completely devoid of snow and the wind Steve noticed. The demon's eyes were still black from edge to edge, still soulless and inhuman and entirely empty of life, but the lips and the brow told Steve that he was confused, baffled by the thoughts of saving another. All Steve could do was smile weakly and offer his only explanation, because he didn't have time to think up a lie or have the idea that the demon would care.
"I'm always sick and getting into fights and I've never had any friends that weren't lonely too," Steve tried to say through chattering teeth, but ended up some garbled language that he wasn't even sure was invented. The demon seemed to understand anyways, and nodded for Steve to continue. "I don't do anything that Mama can't do better without me, and ever since The Car Crash, she's never been the same. She only looks at me like I'm some bird with broken wings, the kind that you find in the park and try and make it fly again by feeding it peanut butter and acorns but the wing's broken still anyways. I don't want to be that bird and I don't want my Mama to have to take care of me because she knows I'm going to die. I've known everyday that yesterday was probably my last day and I'm always wondering why I'm still here. I don't need to be, but Mama needs to be. She's big and grown up and can do things and people listen to her. People need Mama and Mama don't need me."
The silence that followed was nothing short of absolutely deafening, the wind still and gone and the shadows the only things in motion. Steve waited for the demon to speak again, but even the snow would not dare touch him right then and Steve couldn't help but notice that the white icy fluff was going around him, like if it touched him then it died. One lone flake though, one stupid and courageous snow flake dared to defy the order of the others and sailed carelessly into the face of the demon. It landed on his sharp cheekbones, and did the most amazing thing of melting on contact, a single drip down like a river cutting through a canyon of rock and thin trees.
In that half a second from the flake melting to Steve realizing what he thought it looked like, the demon disappeared. Steve blinked again, trying to understand where he went and what he did wrong before a voice interrupted his thoughts directly behind him. "You do know that that's the most idiotic wish in the world, right?"
Steve whipped around, an embarrassing squeak escaping from his mouth as he came face-to-belly with the demon. He took a step back in fright, his foot catching on a slick patch of smooth ice and his body was free falling and oh god he was going to hit his head and die before he could make the deal and then everything would have been for nothing and his Mama would never get better and doctors would never tell her that the tests for that terrible disease were wrong and just, he couldn't die now!
Steve squeezed his eyes shut, ready for the final impact when instead he was jerked half-way from the ground and up into something almost uncomfortably warm after being in the arctic air for so long and soft and smelled like a fireplace and an incense shop all at once. But Steve didn't feel the need to choke or hack or sneeze like he usually would and it was just…nice.
Steve resisted the immediate urge to burrow into the odd comfortable embrace of a demon that saved him from dying because he probably needed to make sure that Steve died after signing whatever he needed to sign for his immortal soul, but Steve couldn't find it in himself to care much when he knew he was not long for life anyways. He was going to die, why not have a little bit of comfort before he passed? So without much, or rather anymore thought, Steve brought his arms around and hugged as much of the demon as he could, which wasn't much really what with little arms and all.
In that moment, in that one long moment where Steve just hugged a demon and a demon saved a little boy that was dying from a sudden death, they both came to very large, very important, and very instant realizations:
Oh. He has a heartbeat.
He's so tiny. He could break if the wind wanted to shove him down.
They didn't part for another minute, both slightly in awe of the other and of the fact that there wasn't a surge of lightning to smite them where they stood. Then, by Steve taking the courage to look up into black eyes that were empty from edge to edge, he asked the demon. "Mister, what's your name? I'm Steve."
The demon felt something break in him a little bit by the statement, something he wasn't sure he had anymore. He said, in as steady a voice as he could, "I'm Buchanan."
Steve smiled, and the demon could feel that mythical and mysterious part that he thought he no longer had squeeze. "Buchanan is a funny name," he said, "but I like it. It's the same name that my grandpa said was his best friend's name."
Buchanan could once again feel the contraction of that heinous human piece of him, but he couldn't bring himself to care at the moment. "Funny. My best friend was named Steve."
The little Steve-that-wasn't-Buchanan's-Steve nodded sagely. "There are a lot of boys named Steve at my school," he said, using all seven years of his life experiences to state that fact, "Well, when I go to school anyways. But they all like to be called Steven, or Spike, or Saurus. I once knew a Steve who only liked to be called Betty, but he was she and I always had to fight for her because she said that girls don't fight, even when they were born boys."
Buchanan could only stare at Steve, before he blurted out, "You fought other boys? You're age?"
"Of course! If I fought younger boys then it wouldn't be fair because they've never been in as many fights as me. The older boys are fair game though, because they should know better than to pick on girls and people who are smaller and weaker than them."
Buchanan didn't stop the chuckle from escaping his throat in time. He held the little boy just a little bit tighter as he spoke quietly under his breath, "You're just a little stick of fire and stupid goodness aren't you?"
Steve grinned, showing off a gap in his front teeth. Recognizing the fond tone as a compliment, he replied with a happy, "Yep!"
Buchanan held Steve in his arms just a little bit longer, before he tore himself away and nearly went right back to holding the little boy when he whimpered from the heat being taken away. Buchanan had to stay strong though like a mountain, tough as a raging blizzard, as soulless as the beast he was, or else this transaction would never be completed.
The demon knelt down in front of the shivering little boy, looked directly into the baby blue of the innocent young, and said, "You're a strong boy, Steve. Stronger than any man or woman I've met before, and a lot of them were willing to give up a lot less for what they wanted. For you, I'll make you a special deal, but you must never say it to anyone else in the entire world. You can never speak about it to another person, you can't try to remove it, and you can't ever reveal to anything that I made you this deal. Okay?"
Steve's nearly invisible blond brows furrowed in either seriousness or the cold, mostly likely a combination of the two. "What is it?"
Buchanan sucked in a deep breath before he spoke. "I will give you what you want; your mother's happiness, health, and energy. But I will also give you ten years with your soul, to do with as you please. But the day that the ten years are up I'm going to come and get you personally, and I'll take your soul with me to Hell. I won't send the harpies or the hell hounds, just me. Will that be alright with you?"
No, it wasn't alright, it couldn't be alright! Steve was just a kid for Satan's sake, his mom should be the one there with a filthy demon not a kid who was still in his innocence and idealism. Buchanan felt like the sack of shit that he was, but it was the best deal he had to offer. Ten years, a personal escort downstairs instead of those mangy maggot infested mutts or those flying birdy bitches, and one extra gift that he wanted to keep as a surprise.
Buchanan could feel that part of him breaking again when little Steve didn't even hesitate in saying, "Okay! But you should probably know that I'm going with you tonight because it's too cold for me to live to tomorrow."
And for Buchanan, that was the straw that broke the demon's back.
Buchanan, gently so gently because he couldn't stand the thought of this little kid breaking before he really had to, brought Steve back to him. He wrapped his whole body around that little tiny boy, protecting him from the wind and the cold and darkness with his own coat, warmth and sinking blackness. Steve, either because he didn't understand or because he understood exactly, nestled into the demon's arms and placed his head onto Buchanan's shoulder. He took one enormous breath, the biggest that his weak lungs could take, and realxed into the smell of a homey fireplace and a soothing magic incense shop.
"Then the deal is struck," Buchanan said in a voice far shakier than he would have liked. He leaned his head back, and when Steve looked up at him, kissed his clammy forehead with a tenderness not befitting a creature of hatred and death. He pulled back from Steve, who only looked sad and resigned.
If demon's could cry, Buchanan was sure he would be balling. Because for a moment, he thought he saw a very old friend in those very young eyes.
"Buchanan," Steve finally spoke up when he felt, Buchanan shaking, his head down and away from Steve with his expression hidden in the dark night and Steve's flashlight just didn't have the power or angle to see anything, "are you alright?"
Buchanan let out a sound that was probably supposed to be a laugh and ended up sounding like a sob instead. "I'm just fine Steve." He took a deep breath and gave a little fake smile to him, his black eyes sucking away any of the humanity that was in it but the kindness was still there. "I'm just fine."
Steve didn't believe him, but then again most adults lied when they were asked that question so it was probably just a thing he would never understand. "Alright. Do you want to go now, or do you need to wait until I die?"
Buchanan froze at the question. He would guess that Steve had absolutely no idea what was going to happen to him when Buchanan had to take him down to Hell. It was the only explanation as to why he wasn't panicking.
"I know I'm probably going to be tortured for the rest of eternity," Steve said, interrupting whatever good thoughts Buchanan might have hoped for, "and I know that I'm probably going to be used as the Devil's whipping boy and a demon's dog toy, but that's okay. Mama's going to be well off without me, so I don't have any regrets. But, if it's alright with you, can I just sit down with you and sleep? I haven't slept in a long time and I'm getting kind of tired and you smell really nice and you're really warm."
Now that was a request that Buchanan could work with. "Okay."
So in the middle of two deserted streets, one intersecting the other, both gravel made and time worn, sat one demon smack dab in the middle with a little boy more bones than human dressed in cared for rags in his lap with the demon's coat open and around him, the demon holding the boy close to his chest to protect him from the enemies Winter and Wind. Steve fell into sleep almost immediately, and it amazed Buchanan to no end that such a small and pure thing made of light and innocence could possibly stand to be in the presence of a twisted and terrible thing as a demon but there he was, burrowing his head under Buchanan's chin and into his neck. He could hear and feel a deep inhale of breath, and then a contented sigh as he felt that tiny being go lax and dreaming only seconds after.
I can't do it. Not yet. In another ten years, when he's sinned and is a cruel human being. That's when he'll be ready to take. Not like this, where the happiest he can think of being is dead. He wouldn't even be worth it now, not even a decade's worth of entertainment for Alistair. No, I'll wait. And then I'll lead him down.
Winter, 1997, the next morning
Steve woke up, more well rested and energetic than he could ever remember being. Outside the wind was thrashing against the windows to get in, bombarding the glass with small hail pellets that bounced off with the sounds of tings! and pings! A large icicle was hanging in front of his window when he rolled over to look, and in it was the most remarkable thing.
You have ten years, it said in a straight and basic script in the ice, don't waste them.
Steve could only grin, and his face hurt with the force of it but it didn't matter one bit. He could hear a sweet humming in the kitchen and he could smell the beginnings of bacon and eggs, that rare treat that came with special occasions.
Steve hopped out of his lumpy bed and nearly tripped over his old boots lying beside the bed but righted himself in time to prevent that.
Steve halted his progress to the door, stunned. He always fell on his face when he tripped, it was nearly a law of the universe that he do so!
But it didn't happen!
Steve looked back to the icicle that hung in his window, then towards the direction of the humming and cooking. Steve might have been seven years old, but he wasn't stupid. The easy breathing, the energy, the happy mother and the fact that he had all ten fingers and toes still? There was only one explanation.
Steve grinned and spoke to the icicle, not knowing if the demon was listening or not and most definitely unconcerned if he looked a little unhinged with talking to a piece of frozen water. "Thank you, Buchanan!"
"Steve, who are you talking to?" Angela Rogers peaked her head in to her son's room, her body still recovering from illness but her eyes and skin bright with energy and life. "You're not talking to Mr. Bottlebee through the walls again are you? I told you that you can talk to him to the face like a normal – oof!" Steve ran to his mother and wrapped every part of him around her slender middle, not willing to let go for even a second. Angela just stared at her son in bewilderment, but for only a moment. After, she gently wrapped her arms around her boy, tight enough to know that she knew exactly how he felt. A miraculous thing like being able to get out of bed after being bed ridden for a week was wonderful, and the fact that her young son understood that was even more so.
Then, a small detail was introduced to her. Angela sniffed her son, who curiously looked up at her when she sniffed him again. "Steve, why so you smell like a fireplace and an incense shop?"
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