A/N: Yo! Buttons here with another installment of From Edge to Edge, which has become the longest fanfiction I've ever written as of last chapter. Not gonna lie, this has been some fabulous therapy for me and a great tool for me to get back into the swing of things. So, without further ado, here you go!

P.S. Sorry this came late but I just started some fast track college courses and its like having two classes in half the time so I'll be a bit busier, not to mention my lovely mother is being, well, herself so updates may become a bit spottier. Nevertheless, THIS SHALL BE FINISHED OF THIS I VOW TO YOU ALL. I'M WITH THIS FIC TILL THE END OF THE LINE!

P.P.S. This chapter fought me every step of the way. I kid you not. I love Angela, she's a sneaky woman, but Buchanan and her just…BLEGH. Also, it was supposed to be shorter. Oops. I guess this chapter just counts as some minor exposition and filler until you get to the end. I got Crowley in this chapter.

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't gain. Simply to entertain.

Chapter 4: Mistaken (?) Receptions

Summer, 2009, the next morning

Steve always believed, from the bottom of his heart, that his mother would never meet a demon. Not because he didn't believe it couldn't be done, more like he believed that his mother was so perfect that it just wouldn't be done. Some unknown rule of the universe declared that Angela Rogers would never meet a demon, in Steve's mind at least, and thus far she hadn't. It was just mere coincidence that a demon was sleeping beside her son the day after a family friend died.

Not that Mama Rogers knew Buchanan was a demon. Just that a strange and rather scraggly looking man was sleeping quite cozily underneath her son that did not leave room for much doubt as to the state of their relationship (she believed).

Angela glanced at the clock that hung above the door frame to the bathroom and saw that it was nearly one in the afternoon. She then looked back to the couch, nearly jumping out of her skin when she saw the unmistakable gleam of blue that came from the open eyes of the man on the couch. She didn't make any noise, just waved in what she hoped was a friendly way (it was stilted, awkward, obviously uncomfortable) and quietly disappeared into her room, to deposit a duffel bag of clothes and personal items. It wasn't even a minute later that she went back out into the living room and contemplating if she could make brunch quietly when she saw a stirring on the couch.

"Good morning, Steve," Angela said to her son whose first actions seemed to include stretching his arms around the man tighter in an attempt to stay together while still getting his muscles going. The man (handsome she thought, although there was something wrong in the way he seemed to look straight into her with soul sucking eyes) glanced down at Steve with eyes soft around the corners but tight around the mouth.

Oh. That's wonderful. And sad. Angela knew that look immediately and resolved to talk to her boy as soon as possible about it.

As soon as the thought crossed her mind, Steve looked up at her with tired eyes, a glassy spark that didn't go away entirely in the night. He rasped out, "Hi Mom.

"Hello, my Steve," Angela felt a soft smile on her lips as she watched her son look up at the man with something like awe and she couldn't help but feel elated and uncomfortable all at once. Who was this man that had her son's devotion who she knew nothing about? Wasn't he just a little bit too old? "What would you and your friend like for breakfast this morning?"

Angela saw some form of silent communication pass between Steve and the strange older man, before Steve turned to his mother finally, "I think there's eggs and bacon in the fridge? Can we have some of that please?"

Angela only nodded as she went into the kitchen, her mind whirring in fifteen different directions and only one way to actually get any of it sorted. "Twenty minutes until then, Steve. Before you go shower though," she looked pointedly at her son, who hadn't moved an inch from his position wrapped around the man who had adopted a carefully blank look, "perhaps you'd like to introduce me to this man?"

Steve didn't answer at all. "My name is Buchanan, ma'am," the strange man said who also seemed quite content in Steve and he's position. "I've known Steve for a while now. He might have mentioned me?" From the knowing look that came into his sharp blue eyes her face must have shown what she knew. "Yup, I'm that Buchanan. It's nice to meet you, Mama Steve. Although, I wish we could have been…acquainted under different circumstances."

For some reason Steve sent Buchanan an appalled look (oh now that was interesting, Angela was definitely tucking away that bit of information away to be considered for later) but Buchanan seemed to be staunchly ignoring the look in favor of smiling charmingly at Angela.

"Well, it's nice to finally meet you Mr. Buchanan, I'm Angela," she moved closer towards the kitchen on light feet, but kept the two on the couch in her sights, "and Steve – wash up now honey, unless you want a cold." Steve actually looked like he wanted to argue for half a second (and this is what Angela viewed with a motherly "finally!") before he did as he was told, getting up with a dissatisfied groan and wobbly feet. Angela didn't miss the way that Steve's arms tightened around Buchanan for a second before sending Buchanan an unreadable look (which was also something new to her Steve, as he'd been easy to read since the day he was born) to finally toddle off towards the bathroom.

Once the door to the bathroom was heard to close with its customary click and squeak, Angela finally turned her attentions towards Buchanan. He seemed oddly lost, shut down from the outside forces of her looks and the way the sun flickered through the window to land on his skin. Nothing fazed him because he refused to acknowledge the way anything was real. Now, Angela would be the first to admit she was born at night but it certainly wasn't last night.

"Buchanan?" Said man jolted at the sound of his name and turned towards her, eyes wide from being pulled from whatever head-space he occupied. Well, Angela would have none of that lonely thinking in her home. "Why don't you come help with the settings and things? I'm sure it'll help get your blood flowing for the day."

And because things were strange sometimes, especially in bad times, Buchanan followed Angela into the kitchen without a word or any other acknowledgement. He didn't even need to stretch when he picked himself off the couch from where 175 pound Steve had been sleeping on him, just rolled off cool as could be with eyes far warier. What her son saw in this man, she was about to find out.

When Angela saw the man start going through her cabinets with some stiff familiarity she knew that he had been to their apartment more than once. The fact that Steve had never introduced them was then something of an anomaly as Angela had met all of Steve's friends. Buchanan…he was different.

"So how did you and Steve meet, Buchanan?" Angela inquired, when supplies had been set out and only moments away from being tossed into a heating pan.

Buchanan didn't stop his setting of the table, but he did stiffen slightly. "We've known each other for a long time," he said to the table, "but we only see each other off and on because my job takes me to different places all the time."

"Oh? And what do you do?"

This time there was an stilted pause, the only sounds disrupting it being the snap of cooking bacon and the shower running where the soft murmurs of Steve's singing voice could be heard. Angela was about to retract her question when finally the man said to the cup he was placing down, "I work as a contractor. I fix problems for people and they pay the price I set. Nothing glamorous, just something that's kept me busy for years." He let out a bitter chuckle, "Once you're in the business, you're in till they suck you dry. The company owns my soul."

"It sounds like hell to work for them." Angela had meant it has a sort of off hand joke but Buchanan just threw his head back and laughed and laughed and laughed until he finally had to pull a chair out and plop himself in. Otherwise he'd probably have been on the floor rolling and clutching the stitches in his sides. Angela could only watch and hope that the bacon didn't burn while she was watching because the sight was both beautiful and sad.

Angela knew what a laugh sounded like when the person hadn't done it in a while.

"How did you know?" Buchanan managed to calm down enough to wheeze out something, his grin surprised and not all at once, "Just, you and Steve both surprise me. Maybe it's just something you taught him, huh?"

Angela only shrugged with a generous smile. "My boy is a lot like me, I'm afraid to say. He's going to be terrible at math for the rest of his life and never remember a single historical date from history class and I have no one to blame but genetics. What do you think, Buchanan? What kind of quirks did you have in school?"

There it was again, the shuttered look with the charming smile that set Angela's flags up. "I was never much for studying," he said, "that was more my friend's department than mine, although you'd never know because of all the trouble he got up to when he was anywhere near another human being."

"Were you much of a troublemaker, too?"

Now his smile showed genuine fondness, even if his eyes were downcast. "I was more of a troublemaker by proxy because of him. He would always go around and beat up on the bullies that picked on the little guys, always the one to throw the first punch if you so much as looked at a girl with a sleazy eye. Tiny little guy thought he was this huge hulking figure that thought he could save the world if he worked hard enough."

It was Angela's turn to chuckle now. "That sounds just like my Steve with a stronger temper. Always up to fighting for the underdog. It was Mr. Bottlebee who taught him to fight with a value in mind, actually." Her small happiness fizzled out at the thought of her valued friend and Buchanan could nearly see the ache take hold of her body. She continued to cook on autopilot but Buchanan knew immediately that the food would be bland and tasteless. "If it wasn't for him I don't think Steve would have ever known what it was like to have a male figure around. It's good that Bill's around now but I just didn't find him soon enough to really matter to Steve. I don't know what I'm going to say to him now. Mr. Bottlebee was like the father and grandfather and friend and mentor that Steve never had anywhere else. What do I say to my Steve now?"

Buchanan was silent in the kitchen chair. He could only see Angela's back, but one didn't need eyes to see the slight hunch and tight shoulders, the rigid spine and the heavy weight that appeared to be soaking into her very bones. It was that moment when he thought of Peggy, all those years ago, when she was trying to keep herself together after learning that Steve, Buchanan's Steve, had been shot. They both couldn't stand to ask for advice, knowing that their business was then the business of another person's. Buchanan could only imagine how vulnerable Angela really was, because he had to face the truth. She didn't know him but was asking for help.

"I think," Buchanan didn't know what he was saying but he had heard it in her tone, oh hell he was going to say something offensive and tasteless and then he would never get the tiny real smile from Angela or Steve (because he would follow his mother to the ends of the world without a word) again and for some reason that was really important to him and he didn't know why and he really should have just kept his mouth shut but for some reason it happened to open on its own and oh devil he was going to make such a huge fucking mistake and he should really stop panicking because Steve's Mom was bound to pick up on it –

"Buchanan?" There was her concern and it tore Buchanan to shreds. He was a demon. She was a human. She taught the pure hearted Steve to be who he was practically by herself. Concern for a demon. What a joke. What a hell-fucking joke. Because she needed some help and she was still helping a demon first (not that she knew but it was the principle of the matter).

"Oh, sorry Ms. Rogers," Buchanan sent out his most dazzlingly smile but it only preceded to make Angela's brow furrow and her mouth turn down in worry (the exact same as her son Buchanan noted). "I guess I just needed a second to figure out what to say without sounding like an idiot. But, I suppose, if you really wanted to show that you're there for him then you just be there."

That sounds so fucking lame, Buchanan spat in his head to himself. She's already lived through the tragedies of her entire family dying she doesn't need – OH.

Buchanan whipped Clinton Barton's head towards Angela at the stove, eyes wide in respect as she only smiled sweetly to him. She knew she was caught and didn't give a rat's ass. Buchanan, master crossroads demon with wiley wits could only be in awe at how a nearly fifty year old woman had played him like a fool.

"Well played, Ms. Rogers," Buchanan said. "You were trying to figure out if I was a threat. Those acting skills are amazing, you are wasted as a secretary." Angela could only let out a sly chuckle, something that Buchanan kind of hoped Steve had inherited because otherwise Steve was denser towards his mother than any human had a right to be.

"Don't be so sure," Angela continued to cook while the smirk still danced on her thin lips (Steve must have gotten his from his father then – wait why did Buchanan notice that?) and she only sent her guest a sideways glance. "Who knows – I might be a Broadway actress in reality and you would never have known the difference. 62' was a fabulous year for actors to be born I hear."

Buchanan was half way to believing her when Angela's entire countenance shifted into something unrecognizable as the sweet lady only a moment ago. Her back straightened to something that the military would be proud of, her cute poodle apron and her thin fuzzy slippers doing nothing to stop the intimidation the tiny woman suddenly had. Buchanan nearly wanted to shrink into the chair but feared that the mother bear would eat him alive if he so much as twitched an eyeball wrong.

"My son is a wonderful young man," she said seriously. "He's sweet, kind, and more loyal than anything ever created on God's green earth. And he hasn't been hurt yet because of it, but it's only a matter of time and you're just the suspect to do it."

Buchanan felt his mouth turn into the desert. "Ma'am, I assure you that I'd never hurt Steve on purpose."

"See, I don't quite believe that." Angela turned off the stove to stare down Buchanan straight in his empty eyes, and that he was sitting down as she was standing level with his eyes did nothing to deter the fact that she was scaring the ever living shit out of him. Angela Rogers, five feet and four inches scared the living shit out of him at the moment and Buchanan was demon enough to admit it. "You say that you meet up with Steve every so often because your job takes you to different places, but I remember Steve talking about you when he was seventeen. Then, you work for people who make you feel like you work in Hell. Your eyes are empty, but you have affections for my boy and you know he doesn't understand them. You get up and walk around my home like you been here before but Steve always introduces me to his friends. You don't want to meet me. So that just leads to one conclusion."

Buchanan could feel the cold sweat the prickled up at the back of his neck, his eyes never leaving the woman for a second as she took the few steps forward to lean down and glare with sharp eyes that could undoubtedly see into his soulless husk, could no doubt rip him apart with her bare fingernails if it meant protecting her son. For that moment, the steady eyes and the dead center glare turned from sky blue to English brown and Buchanan could only see Peggy staring him down and interrogating him.

"What have you done, Barnes?"

"Nothing that didn't need to be done."

"He was dead. I saw his corpse with my own two eyes!"

"What does it matter, Peggy? You get your perfect world back, you get the best soldier you'll ever find again and I get someone to watch my back. What's the problem?"

"The problem is that he's supposed to be dead!"

"How is that a problem?! How is any of that a problem?"

"Because it's not right, Barnes. He should be resting in God's great gardens –"

"'God'? If there was a God, then he would never had let Steve die. If there was a God, then I wouldn't've done what I did to make sure that a good man didn't die."

"But he did die! He is dead, Barnes, Steve is supposed to be dead! You can't always fix things Sergeant, and what you've done has upset everything in this encampment for your own grief and respite. What about all those other men who've lost someone? Will they all sell their souls too so that they can die on a schedule? What happens then to the men that they saved – will the Devil taint them or will they try and sell their souls too so that their brothers will live again? It's a vicious cycle, Barnes. You shouldn't have done this."

"I don't care about all the other men and women in the world! Steve is the only thing that's keeping me here at all and if I have to die and burn in Hell for what I've done then I will go gladly because it was the right thing to do!"

"…You can't tell Steve."

"I wasn't planning on it. He'd throw a fit and get himself sick again if he knew."

"…So that's it then? You'll just burn in hell because you can't stand the thought of your own grief?"

"Yes."

"…You are by far the stupidest, most insane and possibly suicidal person I've ever met. But you're also the bravest, and that counts for more than anything else."

"Thank you, Peggy."

"Oh do shut up and get back to the barracks. And leave quietly, I don't want anyone talking inconsiderately just because we talked in my tent."

"Yes ma'am!"

"You are, aren't you?"

The deadly tone of voice brought Buchanan back to the present so quickly he would swear later that he got whiplash. "I'm sorry?"

"I said, you're part of the mafia."

Buchanan could once again believe that Steve was her son. So, in as calm a voice as he could get without sounding patronizing he said to her, "I am not part of the mafia."

Angela only glared down at him some more before sighing in relief and going back to the stove to fiddle with the knobs and start the gas up again. "That's good, because Steve does not need to be hanging around those types of people. Especially without Mr. Bottlebee to show him who to fight for and who to avoid." Now, she looked sightly sheepish as she finished up an omeltte and it with some bacon strips on a plate in front of Buchanan. "I'm sorry about the whole interrogation thing. It's just, Steve can be a little bit naïve sometimes and, well, it'll back fire on him more times than it won't. He just speaks so fondly of you, I couldn't bear it if you turned out terrible."

Buchanan picked up a crispy piece of bacon between two fingers, "That's fine. I figured that everyone I came across who knew Steve would give me some type of threatening speech."

"Oh? Who got to you before me?"

"It was Sam, wasn't it?" Buchanan and Angela whipped their heads towards the doorway that separated the kitchen and the living room, a damp towel on his head and a miffed scowl on his face. "I love you Mom, but you and Sam can get a little over protective sometimes. Buchanan's not going to hurt me."

Buchanan had to physically suppress the full body twitch that he could feel coming up from his borrowed boots. He wouldn't be the one to hurt Steve, not unless he really had to, but he sure as the place he came from wouldn't be the one saving him.

"You introduced your beau to Sam before your own mother?" Angela had the gall to actually looked indignant despite sending her son into embarrassing sputters and Buchanan's body into a heated mess (oh wow, a blush, he was blushing, he blushed like a schoolgirl, ah crap), "Honestly Stevie, you don't know how much that hurts me."

"Mom no!"

Angela just giggled like someone half her age and looked even younger than that as she patted her son's cheek before quickly giving it an affectionate peck. "I know my Steve, I was just playing with you is all."

Steve was just teenager enough to roll his eyes before returning his mother's kiss onto her own cheek. "Jeez Mom, I thought I told you I wouldn't be dating for a while. And Buchanan is just a friend. Not any weird boyfriend feelings here."

"As it should be until you're out of college." Angela stepped out of the kitchen, throwing over her shoulder before leaving, "Finish cooking breakfast Steve, I'm going to take a quick shower. Buchanan, no high tailing it out of here until I get to eat with you."

Buchanan didn't stop the chuckle that escaped his lips in time to hide it from Steve, who simply smiled kindly and said, "Do you want to eat before we go? I feel like we should since it's kind of my go-to phrase with you."

Buchanan's mood immediately sobered, but he still kept his grin up. "That'd be fine, Steve."

As Steve busied himself with cooking again Buchanan took the initiative and nibbled at his bacon and omelette. In the process he realized a few things:

1) Bacon was the closest thing to heaven he'd ever get, which he was totally fine with

2) Steve didn't wear an apron while cooking, which Buchanan was also totally fine with (a T-shirt too old to have grown properly with its wearer was nicely stretched to give an appreicative view)

3) Steve's skills far surpasses even his mother's (according to the rule of bacon cooking) which Buchanan was very, very, very totally okay with

"You look like you're enjoying yourself over there," Steve smiled with a glance over his shoulder, the small mountain of bacon he had been cooking quickly dwindling under the attentions of the crossroads demon.

Indeed he had been. "Bacon is so fucking awesome, I can't believe that I haven't eaten any in so fucking long," Buchanan said around the meat. "And by the way, you're fucking made of cooking magic or something because everything you cook tastes like it was sent from the Big Man Upstairs himself and that's not a compliment that I throw around easily. I'm serious, stop laughing at me!"

Steve just looked bashful then. "Thanks. And uh, thanks again for, you know. Being there for me. Last night. I know I made your job a hundred times harder than it needs to be, I just, I couldn't –"

"Stop right there." Steve, startled into silence, dropped a slightly crispier than intended piece of bacon back into the pan. Neither man nor crossroads demon made a move to help it. Buchanan stood up, crossed the small kitchen in only a few steps and placed himself firmly in the blond's sights. "You don't have to apologize for a damn thing."

"But I-"

"No butts, Rogers," Buchanan growled out, using his demonic undertones for seriousness. Noticing that the apartment would probably be put on fire if Steve kept loosing his attention, the demon waved his hand, causing the knobs to turn all the way off. Ignoring his charges amazed features, Buchanan barreled forward. "I know what its like to lose someone who was near and dear to you. I know what it was like to want to just bury myself under the floor until the ache stopped hurting and I know that's what you're probably thinking right now. I also know that sometimes humans hurt so much that now, right after they've lost somebody, that they don't mind leaving for Hell without a fuss. Well let me tell you something Steve – I'm not taking you today."

"What?" Steve looked genuinely confused, slightly put off and plenty of (actually) miffed. "You don't think that I can take it? Because I can. I made a deal with you, Buchanan, I made that deal fair and square. Just because you think that I can't handle a little stress is-"

"You were questioned for your father figure's murder." Ah, there was the full body flinch that Buchanan was waiting for. "Just because you were ready to be taken to the pit doesn't mean that you're any good to me now. You're so," the demon waved a hand around in a vaguely irritating way, "emotional. I can't deal with you like this, sorry. Don't give me that kicked puppy look, this was your way of escaping having to deal with all this heart felt crap that I like to avoid."

Steve looked pale. Very pale, looked unsteady, kinda was wobbly on his feet but that made it real easy for Buchanan to pull out one of the kitchen chairs and push Steve into it. "No Buchanan, you don't understand," Steve looked up and into Buchanan's black eyes, the orbs that only he could see, pleaded to the person that he might have been once upon a time, "I – I don't know if I can deal with this kind of thing again. Not having a father around, not having someone to tell me things that I need to know – I don't know that I can do it."

"So you're just going to leave out of cowardice?" Buchanan could feel the anger bubble up inside his shell, and his hands reacted without his permission, grabbing onto Steve's broadening shoulders a little too close to his neck. "You're choosing to go with me now – out of cowardice?"

"I don't remember any of them."

Buchanan blinked. "What?"

Steve took a shaken breath. "When I was four, there was a car accident. Everyone, all of my family, they were in there too. My brothers and sisters and aunts and cousins and my grandparents, we were all part of this massive seventy car pile up on the interstate. I never knew what happened or how it was caused, I just knew that one day I woke up scared and in a place I'd never been before. They told me it was amnesia and that's why I can't remember anything about the crash and I believe them on that. It's just that I couldn't remember anything about anyone even before that! Not my family, not the time or place, not even my own mother. Everything was blank and terrifying and I felt like I had been dropped off in the middle of a foreign country and I didn't know any of the languages or customs."

There was a tense lull that Buchanan eventually punctuated with a, "What?"

Steve's eyes were red rimmed and shiny again like they were last night, tearing up but refusing to cry. He ran a trembling hand through his hair and continued without an iota of the steadiness he had before. "Buchanan. What if I forget Mr. Bottlebee because it would be too painful to remember him? What if what happened with my family and everything before the crash happens again? I need Mr. Bottlebee's memory to be a good person, I need him inside my head telling me what to do when I'm about to do something stupid and uncalled for."

Buchanan sighed and didn't stop the hand that reached up to run borrowed fingers though golden strands. Steve pushed up into the touch but the demon ignored that. "Then the answer is simple you dumb punk. You just make sure you hold onto him."

"How am I supposed to do that? I couldn't even hold onto my own father!"

"You do something, everyday, that reminds you of them. Say a phrase, sing a song," the unoccupied hand slipped into the jacket pocket and the fingers skimmed over a sketchbook page, "draw a picture, whatever you want. If you do that everyday for as long as you need to, you'll remember your old guy."

Steve wiped his eyes with the heels of his hands but didn't dare move his head lest the demon move his hand from his hair. They stayed like that for a moment, Steve with his head down and staring at his hands in his lap while Buchanan ran his hand through his hair with one and felt the edges of the folded up sketch with the other.

"Thank you, Buchanan."

The demon's hand jerked to a stop and he could feel his eyes widen. "No problem."

"No, I mean it," Buchanan dropped his hand as Steve looked up, "this, the whole advice thing. Thank you."

Buchanan was a fairly practical and realistic demon, he knew that he was strong and that he didn't embarrass easily and that the last time he had felt any true emotion of a smiliar magnitude was probably 1954. But that moment, the seconds shared between he and Steve were truly…he didn't have a word for it. It made him feel light and bouncy and at the same time real and important and not too little amount of heated affection.

Affection. When was the last time I felt that towards anybody? Buchanan couldn't look away from honest blues that just swallowed up every single thing that the demon thought and then let him happily sink into their warmth with a personal invitation. Steve, my Steve. This Steve is just the same as my Steve.

He can't be.

Buchanan saw Steve's grateful features droop into sadness and resignation. "Buchanan? Do you have to go again?"

The demon couldn't help the tiny smile he had and tried to cover it up with a little knuckle nudge against Steve's cheekbone. "Yeah. You're not ready yet today either. I'm come for you another day." Buchanan stepped back a few steps and was half a second away from teleporting before he quipped out, "Tell your mom not to be too mad at me for leaving early!"

And the crossroads demon teleported into the ether with the sound of a startled laugh echoing behind him.

o~o~O~o~o

"You really shouldn't have done that."

Buchanan only glanced over his shoulder to where a sturdy looking shade occupied the shadows. He didn't stop wiping his red stained hands on the torn rags of a once black T-shirt. "And why's that? Demons are supposed to kill humans on occasion. It's part of our nature, Mister Crowley."

"Now, that is true," the shade stepped out of the darkness and into the meager alley light, revealing a wide shouldered Armani clad figure with a sharp stubble that put an older face to the smooth, oily Irish accent, "but that's exactly the reason I'm coming to speak with you, Buchanan."

Buchanan finished removing what blood he could get from his hands and threw down the rags to the remains at his feet. "I'm not sure what you mean, sir."

"I think that you do." Crowley circled around him slowly, ever the shark waiting for the right moment, "And I think it has something to do with that little pet you keep forgetting to introduce me to."

Buchanan felt the body turn into solid stone with nothing but a stream of ice for blood and veins. "Sir?"

"Stop playing dumb with me, boy," the King of the Crossroads growled and advanced right up into Buchanan's personal space. "I know when you're lying, remember? I made you, I can tell exactly when you're being an idiot and so far that only happens when you're with your big blond retriever. A handsome face to be sure, but is he really the one you want to lose the wager to?"

Buchanan felt his teeth grinding and his shoulders tense up so much that it could have been used as a spring board. "What are you saying, Mr. Crowley? That I can't close the deal on him? Because he's already sold, we can take him any time we need."

"That's exactly my point," the Irish demon stepped back and sauntered over to the body's arms a few good feet away from the torso. Nudging them with an expensively clad foot Crowley said slowly, "You can take his soul any time you wish. In fact, he's a bit overdue, wouldn't you say?"

"His soul isn't ready for the pit yet," Buchanan said hastily. He cursed himself blind in his mind as kicked one of the leg bits up and into the dumpster, the lid clanging down with a loud and satisfying crash. The rest of the body needed to be put in there too, since it was the only fitting resting place for the murderer of a harmless old man and the only father figure of a certain someone. "He would've just cracked in a day. Alistair would've been done with him in no time, and I think we can all agree that Alistair needs all the entertainment that he can get. Right, Mr. Crowley?"

Buchanan looked up from the blood puddle to see his boss giving him a thorough look. When he finally spoke, the measured smoothness of his tone almost hid the nature of his words, "I think you have a point, Buchanan. And that point is that Alistair needs to keep his dirty mitts busy unless he wants to start toying with other demons again for his amusement. Naturally, he'd work his way up from grunts to couriers and so forth until he finally hit crossroads contractor. But why waste such a lot of valuable manual labor when I can just give him one of our prizes?

Buchanan interjected sharply, "What are you saying?"

"What I'm saying is that, if you don't get your act together then I'm feeding you to that pig," Crowley finally showed some emotion, a red face and a spitting anger. "Do you know how embarrassing it is to have one of my finest employees mooning after some kid from the projects? To know that one of the purest souls that we've come across in decades is being waited on because you have a little crush? Get your act together or I will give you to Alistair myself after I've had cut your skin to pieces and fed you your fingers and toes. The next time you see that boy you will take his soul down into the pits. Anything less than a spectacular performance and I will make sure that Alistair knows that you'll be standing in for your little pet golden retriever. Do we have an understanding?"

Buchanan almost couldn't move, "But Mr. Crowley –"

"I said do we have an understanding, Buchanan? Or will I just take this insubordination as permanent mutiny and throw you overboard myself?"

Buchanan tried to swallow but his throat wouldn't have any of that, making him cough nervously. Goddamnit, he was caught out now? Already? Usually it would have taken another two or three years until he was found out.

"Say something Buchanan," Crowley demanded.

"Fine," the younger demon said flatly. He didn't make eye contact at his boss, but from the reflection in the blood he looked appeased. "Next time I see Steve…I'll take his soul."

"Good boy," and with a final smirk the King of the Crossroads disappeared, leaving a blessed Crowley shaped hole in the alley way where Buchanan just stood there. Didn't move, hardly breathed, tried to stop his existence for a precious few seconds that didn't come. The only thing that he wanted to do, right then, was keep his hand in the jacket pocket and clasp the sketchbook page in his fingers and not even look at it, just hold it and know that it was there and that Steve drew it. Steve drew him had actually thought about Buchanan.

Because the next time he saw Steve…would have to be the last time. And that knowledge hurt Bucky more than he thought it could ever do.

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I'M SO SORRY THIS IS SO LATE MY SCHEDULE AND MY CLASSES AND MY FAMILY DRAMA AND JUST AUGH I'M SO SORRY!

If you would be so kind though, if you don't mind, I would greatly appreciate some feedback of any kind…