A/N: Sup. Life's been…life. Sorry about the late update, but this chapter actually had some walls up before I decided that painting on them would be the best thing and then this happened. For those not in the Supernatural fandom – meh, you'll be fine. For those who are in the SPN fandom – they came, the saw, they didn't kick its ass but they did help.

P.S. Doubly sorry for the last chapter. I'm not sure where that came from to be honest.

P.P.S. Life is hard sometimes.

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

Warnings: Underage drinking, some violence, some creative cursing

Chapter 6: Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

Summer, 2011

"Tony, really, you need to stop –"

"Nope, you are going to take this phone and like it because I spent so much of my precious time and energy making it for you. You're going to hurt the cripple's feelings, Steve, c'mon, take the phone."

Steve sighed and picked up the touch screen phone with some more simplistic buttons so that he could work it from Tony's open palm. Steve turned the sleek device in his hand and couldn't help but think that it would have to go with all the other little devices and gifts that he's collected from Tony over the months because he couldn't really do anything with the things that Tony created. They were nice gifts, don't get him wrong, but they were just too darn complicated for Steve to work with.

After that one Night they had together…well, Steve didn't need an apology but Tony had just felt awful about it, had apologized and everything the second he saw Steve show up at the hospital when Steve had come to check up on his friend. Since then, gifts had started to appear in Steve's hands like the phone, things that Steve hadn't really thought about before The Night but could only shake his head and sigh about whenever they turned up afterwards. Tony felt guilty, Steve felt guilty about making Tony feel guilty…it was just a mess but after three months of Steve's convincing, he'd managed to get Tony to understand that he hadn't done anything wrong (really, honestly, Steve would do anything for the people he cared about).

Tony never believed him, but they didn't talk about it anymore. They were still good friends after all, since six shared college classes and a bit of loneliness will push anybody together. It was just…a little tenser than usual.

Steve looked into Tony's hopeful eyes and gave him a small, grateful smile. "Thank you for the phone, Tony," he said, tucking the phone into his jeans pocket, "I'm sure it's much better than the one you gave me last month."

"Is Tony giving you another phone?" Pepper, wonderfully coordinated and level headed as always, walked into the spacious and plainly decorated hospital room with a tray of food, presumably from the hospital kitchens. Since his parents death, Tony had gotten a bit more paranoid, and after the attack of that insane man, well, nobody blamed him if he only trusted Pepper and Steve to bring him things.

That man though, Steve knew as soon as he saw the description that Bucky had gone after Tony like he had asked him not to, but clearly being a demon didn't help with any stubbornness. To spare the man trouble, Steve hadn't said anything and even if he did he was fairly sure that no one was going to believe that Steve didn't own his soul anymore.

"Yes I did in fact," Tony announced proudly, clearing his contraband mechanic equipment that he did…stuff with (Steve didn't know exactly except that the hospital didn't like it and that it made the machines that kept Tony' heart beating dirtier faster). "Do you want one, honey?"

Pepper just rolled her eyes at the equipment and set the tray of food down in the space provided. "Why not. It'll keep you busy until you need another project. It's better than having you down at the office again."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, dear," Tony said as he punched a hole through his juice carton, "clearly all those files needed to be digitalized anyways and a good Samaritan did it for you in only a few nights."

"A better Samaritan would be worried about his girlfriend's sleeping patterns when his heart can barely function on its own," the red head said gently, placing a tender hand on Tony's cheek to emphasize her point. Tony only turned his attention away from the juice and nuzzled into her palm, kissing it gently and murmuring something sweet and not at all like the Tony from a year ago.

Taking his cue to leave, Steve took up his jacket and slipped it on. "I'll leave you to your lunch then," he grinned at his friends to show that there were no hard feelings and waved away at the two of them when offered to stay. "I think I'll go try that new diner a few blocks from here instead of good ol' nutritional cardboard, I'm sure you understand."

Steve left with his grin intact at the squawk of indignity at getting better food that quickly evolved into a good natured tennis match of arguing between the fairly new couple. After everything the two had been through with Bucky's attack and Tony's parents death, it was about time the two of them realized that they needed each other the way no other person could provide. Steve was happy for them, really.

It was something good and beautiful to look at from something terrible, and that was something that Steve would never regret happening. No matter what it meant for him.

It was about three blocks walking from the hospital that Steve finally noticed that someone was following him. It wasn't the accidental 'oh, we're going the same way but went on the same path at different times' following but more like the 'they're stalking me with intent since every time I've stopped to make sure that they're not following me they stop at the same time too'. The person, a woman with fiery red hair and the slinky walk of someone with plenty of confidence, oozed fierceness and…and what was that? Some unidentifiable emotion that Steve couldn't place.

She had to be Bucky. Or, at least, someone from Bucky's background.

Taking the turn into an alleyway that was empty and settled plainly in front of a cemetery, Steve simply waited for the inevitable. Bucky liked to show up about six months after his last appearance and it was about the time frame that fit. He leaned up against the cool brick wall, watching the alley opening on the street where the warm early summer weather was eased off with the late spring breezes, playing with people's hair and teasing the ends of their clothes. It didn't take long for the woman to appear.

Bucky sure knew how to pick'em, that was for sure. She was small and beautiful but her body appeared to be coiled in tightly, like she was expecting to be hit or captured. Steve got up from the wall and stood in the middle of the alley, waiting. The red haired woman didn't smile, didn't relax, didn't even try to joke like Bucky would. She did, however, eye him up and down as she drew closer, evaluating him and judging him. Those eyes though, soulless and black and empty definitely marked her as a demon. Just not Steve's demon.

Okay then, not Bucky.

She stopped only a few feet from him. Steve took the first move and stood up straighter, "Can I help you?"

"Are you Steve?" she asked immediately and the first thing that Steve thought of was that she reminded him of a snake. Smooth, low tones, a predator air and the caution of a rattler. Steve stood his ground against her, and nodded once.

"As you can probably tell, I'm a demon," she continued in that same tone, like she was only a step away from killing him without remorse (not quite true – she was three steps away). "Buchanan sent me."

"Bucky?" Steve suddenly relaxed and tensed all in one odd moment, like his body was relieved to know that his friend was okay but at the same time bringing discretion to the forefront. Bucky sending a demon instead of talking to him personally? There was something very wrong about that. "Bucky sent you? He didn't send you to collect me did he, because he promised that he would take me down himself."

"He let you call him Bucky?" the woman seemed appalled at the news, scrunching her nose and eyebrows, "Are you serious?"

"Um, yes?"

The red haired woman only rolled her eyes and said something in another language that sounded suspiciously insulting. She then looked Steve straight in the eye and said in the same tone, "You're both idiots and you deserve each other. Here." From absolutely nowhere that Steve could fathom, she pulled out an old box and stalked forward to shove it into Steve's stomach.

Steve let out an oof! of surprise and reflexively clutched the box closer to him. He glanced down at the box and stilled. "What did – why the – How the hell – why?"

"I told you that you're both idiots," the woman had taken a few steps back again and gestured towards the box, "that's you're proof on why. No if you'll excuse me, I have a job to do." The woman turned to stride away, but Steve could only reach out a hand from where his feet were glued to the pavement to beg, "Wait! Please!"

The woman halted in her tracks and turned to face him, eyes narrowing. "What."

"Where is he? He's not – is he in trouble? Is he alright? Where did he go? It's not because of me, is it? Because he's not taken my soul down yet?"

It might have been his imagination, but Steve could have sworn that the woman's eyes softened just a bit. "He's being detained," she explained, the factual sound in her voice off putting and mechanic, like she was reciting off of a script card. "He asked me to give that to you just before it happened. I owed him one, and that was what he asked. Stupid. And before you ask again, yes. It is because of you. He was stupid and fell for you Steve, he fell hard."

A squirmy feeling exploded in the blond's stomach and he didn't know what to do with it except ask the red haired woman, "He…he fell? For me? Like, as in, in love?"

The woman did not hesitate to roll her eyes again. "Love is for children and mortals. What I'm talking about is a form of protective instinct. It can arise in demons from time to time, whenever they've been around the humans for too long. I guess Buchanan must've taken a shine to you."

Steve was starting to feel light headed and his legs were beginning to lose their strength. "You don't mean that he's," Steve tried to steady out his voice but it still was too breathy and shaky to pass, "he's being punished. He can't have – he shouldn't be punished because of me! I'll go right now and he can-"

"It doesn't work that way, Steve," the woman snapped and faced him with all her supernatural deadliness, "You can't just switch places with him whenever you feel like it. I'd trade you for him in a second but the rules say that only the demon that contracted you can use forces to bring you down. No one else except the Crossroads King Crowley and he can only do that if he has your sacrifice, which you have right there in your hands."

"Then take it!" Steve's feet finally listened to him and he stumbled forward with the box outstretched to give it to the woman, "Let me trade places with him, it's only fair. He's too kind to just get punished for saving my sorry ass."

The woman took a few steps back but continued in her harshness, adding ice to her voice, "No. He wanted you to live and was willing to trade places with you in Hell just so you could do it. I'm not going to let you just throw that all away."

Steve's heart stopped. It legitimately, honestly, entirely stopped as soon as the words hit him. "He took my place? He's being…tortured and oh my god. He took my place." Steve stumbled back until his back hit the grainy brick wall but it no longer felt cool or warm or anything. Just hardly there at all, even as he slid down it to the dirty ground. "He shouldn't have to do that."

"No, he shouldn't have," the woman marched over until she was kneeling in front of Steve who was pretty sure was seconds away from an asthma attack, "But he did it anyways. Because for whatever reason, he liked you Steve. He liked you a lot. Now don't you dare waste what a precious gift he gave you. Do everything right in your life and maybe you'll have earned what it was that he gave you. But do not ever come near a demon with your soul again, or so help me I will burn you where you stand. Do we understand each other?"

Steve didn't even need the threat. He just nodded and felt his airways begin to close up, forcing his air to be thin and constricted. Even then he forced out, "But he doesn't deserve that!" At the end of his rope, Steve scrambled through his jacket pocket until he uncovered a plain inhaler and sucked in that life saving medication. The woman was still there, watching as Steve gasped for air. Steve looked her dead in the eye with nothing short of determination and she almost had to lean back from the shear force of it. "Who are you?" he panted when he could spare the air, "What's your name?"

Taken aback was the only expression she had, even if it was just widening eyes and raised eyebrows. "Natasha," she said with only a half a second's hesitation.

"Natasha," Steve's voice was nothing but earnest and the demon could almost feel herself bending for the human when he said, "Tell me how I can save Bucky."

Natasha scoffed and whirled away gracefully to stand above Steve like he was both an idiot and a savior. "You want to help Buchanan? Look at that box and don't let his sacrifice be in vain." Before Steve could beg for her help, she disappeared, just like Bucky could. One second she was there and a half a second later she was gone like she'd never been there at all.

And Steve, well. Steve could only just sit there in a sort of stunned stillness, like the one thing that he really wanted was right before him and was snatched away at the last second. In hindsight, it kind of was in an odd, realization smacking him in the face sort of way.

Bucky cared about Steve, for whatever reason. And Steve knew that he'd always had a little crush on Bucky, even back when he was just Buchanan. The reason why had never really bothered him, since he figured that it was because Buchanan had been unnecessarily kind towards him and saved him and his mother. But Buchanan towards Steve…just why?

Steve looked down at the box he continued to clutch in his hands with a sort of dazed expression and could only think, Mr. Bottlebee will know what to do. He got up, wobbling where he stood, and was nearly out of the alley before it hit him that Mr. Bottlebee was dead. Buchanan was there to help with the pain. But he still needed his mentor and went to the next best thing.

The grave.

All things considered, it was a nice graveyard, very clean and old with worn down headstones that had been shaved down by the years right next to some that were gleaming in their newness. Mr. Bottlebee's was only a small headstone, since in his will it said that he didn't want anything fancy. Just his name, his birth date and his death date and one quote that he always said to Steve.

Steve read it aloud as he knelt beside the grave, "If you're going to do anything, do the thing that you will not regret. That's the key to a satisfying life."

Steve leaned up against the headstone for support as he stared at the box in his hands in both wonderment and apprehension. It hadn't changed at all since he was a little boy those thirteen years ago. It was still a plain wooden box with the nick in the side where something of somewhat happened that Steve just couldn't remember. He could almost hear Mr. Bottlebee in the after life to just get a move on, the faster you do it the sooner you'll know it, and he'd never been able to fight against Mr. Bottlebee's direct orders. He opened the lid.

Inside was a lock of lanky blond hair lighter than it was now. Ten tin soldiers were all lain in a neat little row when he could remember tossing them in as a panicked child. A photograph, a little more work around the edges was placed at the bottom. Herbs tied in twine were above the soldiers but inside was more than just old memories.

Steve's fingers trembled as they picked up a plain vanilla envelope on paper older than Steve had seen before, faintly yellowed and aged smelling. The ink though, Steve could see by the darkness that the ink was new. It said, in neat straight handwriting STEVE.

He only hesitated for a moment before gingerly opening the envelope to see paper of a similar make to the envelope inside. The handwriting was the same neatness, but more careful while at the same time more liberal in its length. He had been writing something well thought out, but he had to do it in a hurry. Steve only unfolded the papers delicately, like they would crumble in his hands if he didn't treat them as such.

Dear Steve,

I hope that this letter finds you well, and that you are safe from Natasha's fury. I know she can come off as a little rough around the edges, and she is, but she means well so don't take what she says too seriously.

I need you to know something. It's the whole reason that I did this actually –

No no no nononononononoNONONO! This couldn't be – it can't be Bucky's note. Demon's lived forever, they don't leave notes.

Steve could feel his airways constricting again and dug out his inhaler for a few pumps. He couldn't even look at the letter, just Mr. Bottlebee's headstone.

"He can't just," Steve flapped the hand that let go of the papers uselessly, "he can't. I don' know, just, why? He shouldn'tve – oh goddamnit Mr. Bottlebee I wish you were here. I really, really, wish you were here." Steve leaned more heavily on the sun warmed headstone for support. It took another minute before Steve got up the courage to continue reading the letter.

I need you to know something. It's the whole reason that I did this actually, so feel free to call me crazy after you've read the whole thing, got it? Okay, so here it goes.

You are too wonderful for this world.

Crazy, right? We've been in each other's company for a consecutive 24 hours and it feels like I've known you my whole life. I think that it's because you remind me of someone I loved very much a long time ago. You might remember that my best friend's name was Steve, from that time we first met at the crossroads? Probably not, you were only a little kid back then, but I remember that night like it was yesterday.

Steve did too. He would always remember that night, but what was Bucky getting at?

I remember this little tiny child that you were, all skin and bones and more dead than alive. I couldn't believe it when I first saw you – I actually thought that you were a ghost trying to contact me! It hadn't been the first time, so I played along.

And then you were real. That tiny ball of light, you were real. Your soul was just so bright, I couldn't believe that you were alive! And then when you asked to sleep, I guess I just had a soft spot for that light. It hasn't changed since that day, every time I see you it's just that same pure soul, like all you did was grow into it.

But I guess, that's only part of the point. I guess just – this is still hard for me to talk about even in letter form, okay? Just bear with me on this.

What I'm trying to say is, is that you are like the Steve that I lost way back when. It's like you're my Steve, my best friend Steve, like some kind of reincarnation or rebirth or some hippy shit like that. You don't understand how happy that made me when I realized this! It was like my best friend had come back from the grave so that we could have a few stolen moments together after everything was said and done. It was seriously, a dream come true. Sure you weren't the exact same, I knew that from the start. But you just looked so like him and had the same eyes and had that exacted same damned stubbornness. I didn't stand a chance.

But it was all so confusing too.

I'm a demon. Demon's need to be doing their job or they go on the rack, that simple. But every time I saw you, I just couldn't help myself. I couldn't just couldn't take you down to the pits. It was like my instincts were telling me to go left and right at the same time at a North-South direction. It just didn't make any sense! I needed to take you down, but at the same time I just couldn't.

Then, came every time I saw you, I just kept finding another excuse not to take you with me. You were too young, you were too miserable, you wanted to go down, whatever. But I think one of the biggest reason's I never took you down was because of something really simple that you don't even think is that big of a deal.

You remembered my name!

No one before had ever bothered to learn it. Hell, you kept feeding me like the wonderful idiot that you are because you were being polite. Angela raised you right, that's for sure. But you have the kindness that my Steve had, before he died. He was the only one to remember my name back then, too.

It lifted off from there. Every time I saw you grow up a little bit more made me like you more. I guess it was when you cried on me that I might have loved you the first time. The second time I mean, although the first time I did realize that you were important and special. Don't expect sappy feelings Steve, I'm no poet.

But, I guess you deserve a run down of who I was before all the supernatural devil demon hocus pocus. I left some photos with you, but here's what I used to be:

I used to be a sniper in the Second World War. Picking off Nazis, saving the day from the shadows, all that jazz. I was good at my job, always had been and always will be. But my best friend Steve, well, he was the same as you were, all fire made of sticks and the temper of a match. I tried to make sure that he stayed in Brooklyn where we both grew up, but being the idiot that he was he followed me. (Oh yeah, I grew up with Steve in Brooklyn like you. Weird, right?)

Anyways, to make a long story short, during D-Day we were both shot. It was months of pain for my Steve and his girl Peggy, who was this British dame that loved Steve almost as much as I did. He loved her back just as much, but I like to think that he still lo liked me better. We both watched as Steve slowly got better, then worse, then better, and then worse again until he wasn't getting any better. On December 17th, 1944, at the age of nineteen, my Steve died. I was right there beside him when he passed. Peggy was off doing her spy thing, but I was there for the very end.

The nurse there, she held me and told me that she could make it all better. I believed her enough where I didn't care that I would sell my soul to the Devil for Steve. If I had to go back and do it all over again, I would do it again without a second thought. It brought Steve back to me, and I still don't regret it to this damn day.

To make another long story short, Steve got the girl, Peggy got her man, and I got to be best man at their wedding and godfather to their two kids that they had while I was still around. Life was good.

Once my ten years were up I went kicking and screaming like a wild dog because I just couldn't leave them behind. I think I loved Steve.

No that's not right. I know I loved Steve. Don't get me wrong, I loved Peggy and the kids too, but I loved Steve with everything I had. I didn't tell him that and I only said goodbye an hour before, but it still didn't feel like enough of a goodbye.

Then I got to say goodbye to you. I was going to bring you down to Hell you know, every time I saw you. I couldn't though. I didn't want to say goodbye again.

And then we had that last goodbye. You might not have known it, but I did. And this time, I get to say goodbye like I should've back then.

Steve Rogers I love you. Goodbye. Do something good with your life and don't be a hero and come after me. Don't even try it, I know you'll think about it.

I don't regret this decision anymore than I did the one before. I love you, Steve, because you are good. You are selfless and you are light. Live the good life.

Sincerely Yours, Forever,

James Buchanan "Bucky" Barnes

Steve's eyes were blurry at the end. Everything kind of just, fell apart.

He cried. He bawled, he heaved out sobs, he did whatever form of crying that a human being is capable of. People who came to visit their own loved ones in the cemetery gave him a wide berth, assuming as people were wont to assume. It was a hot, humid afternoon before Steve finally just stopped. No particular reason, he could've kept crying some more but that wouldn't have helped anything. It wouldn't bring Bucky back.

Steve carefully folded up the letter and placed it back into the envelope and back into the box before finally facing the photos, all of them black and white.

The first was of two soldiers with their arms around each other while facing the camera, both of them filthy with dirt and sweat. One was clearly Bucky, an amazing grin stretched across his face that Steve had never seen before. He was looking down at a smaller man that really did look like a walking skeleton, skin stretched too thin and bones too prominent. But he was laughing at something that Bucky had said, turning away like he was embarrassed at finding something so hysterical.

The second looked a few years after the first, with a beautiful woman on the skinny one's arm smiling like she didn't do it often and the skinny man held onto her hand like it was made of something precious. Bucky stood on the skinny man's other side, one hand on his shoulder and smile that didn't quite reach all the way.

The third was of a small family with children with the skinny man and the woman in front of a house in the city somewhere. The man and woman stood next to each other and looked into the camera with grins and triumph, for what Steve could not say. Bucky was there too, cross legged on the ground with a little boy and a little girl in his arms with their tiny arms thrown around his neck, gripping on for dear life. They appeared to be giggling and squealing, massive grins threatening to engulf their little faces. Bucky's face though, it was nothing short of breath taking in his happiness, head thrown back in laughter.

The fourth one was of two teenage youths which Steve could recognize as the skinny man from the other pictures and a young Bucky, dapper and dressed to go out. Bucky's arm was thrown out to draw his friend closer with a glowing grin that Steve never had the chance to get acquainted with. The skinny man was smiling shyly, his twig of an arm wrapping around Bucky's waist since he couldn't reach any higher. Where they went later in the evening Steve didn't know, but Bucky's excitement was almost palpable through to the future while the skinny man's was almost resigned.

And then the last one. The last one was the most worn out on the edges, the most thumbed over and the most cared for of all of the photographs. It was the oldest looking, two young boys who couldn't have been more than twelve or thirteen. They were clinging onto each other to keep themselves upright in their laughter, hair blown five different ways and clothes ripped in some places and patched up in others, scraped knees easily visible from their shorts. The dark haired one had to be Bucky, a mischievous glint to his eye that Steve was familiar with. The skinny one hardly came up to Bucky's shoulder, but his beaming face was just as bright, even though Steve could tell that he looked a little green. Probably from that Coney Island ride in the back, the Cyclone. Steve didn't know why he knew, but he could just tell that the skinny one had just thrown up everywhere when Bucky had wanted a picture to commemorate their time together.

Steve looked over the photos again and again and again until he couldn't even see the differences anymore between them from lack of light. Steve looked up and saw the that the sky had grown dark and the full moon that had been supposed to appear that night was blocked out by smoky clouds and misty perspiration. He quickly stowed the pictures in the box and the box under his jacket as the first drops of rain began to fall.

Steve ran all the way to a shifty bar he knew was only a few blocks away from the cemetery, his hair dripping wet and down his back in icy rivulets that Steve couldn't quite feel. The people already inside didn't even spare him a glance, just kept their eyes to whatever they were doing or were talking to. Steve in return didn't pay them any mind and immediately sat down at the end of the bar, where the bartender only glanced at him and murmured "On the house," under her breath before sliding a large glass of something potent smelling before returning to wiping down the counter and polishing glasses.

Steve could only mutter a vague thank-you before throwing back a small swig of whatever was in the glass. The fire hit him like a freight train and he almost gagged on the power of the alcohol but forced it down anyways. Alcohol was supposed to help in situations where you found out that someone close who loved you was never going to see you again, right? That's why people used something so terrible, why they would drink glass after glass of a liquid that tastes disgusting and then go driving afterwards to crash into another driver who would then swivel away into more cars, ones containing children and parents and grandparents. Leaving only two of them to survive.

Steve took another, more cautious swig of the alcohol.

The box was in front of him now, he couldn't say when he did that. He popped the lid back and picked up the little bundle of herbs that had rummaged their way to the top. Steve took a long breath of the dried plants, and it sent prickles of heat back into his eyes when he realized that they smelled like Buchanan. Like Bucky.

Steve didn't hesitate for another swig.

"You really shouldn't be downing something like that when you're that depressed." Steve could finally feel the fuzzy warm feeling of the alcohol finally kicking in when he heard a gravely voice. He turned and the room turned a little bit with him, but that didn't stop his eyes from landing on a beautiful man, gruff in his demeanor and plaid clothes and a bit scruffy everywhere, but he was just so beautiful, Steve couldn't really believe it.

"Are you an angel?" Steve must've been more drunk than he thought, because those were the first words out of his mouth. They came out perfectly clear though, so Steve was either a precise sort of drunk or completely wasted and didn't know it yet. It was his first drink at a bar, he couldn't know if that was how he was going to react or not.

The man only snorted out a short laugh that could've been flattered or vaguely offended, Steve didn't really know. "Nah kid, I'm as human as they come. But you look like you might need a hand there."

"Maybe." Steve looked at the glass and to his horror and humiliation it wasn't even half empty. "I think I just need to forget."

"I hear ya," the man settled into the seat next to Steve and took a sip of the beer he was nursing, "We all need a break from reality sometimes."

"I don't want to be alone right now," and wow, Steve must be one of those honest drunks because he certainly wouldn't have said that to a stranger if he was sober. "I'm sorry, you probably have your own problems –"

"Yep," the man popped out the 'p' as he took another sip of his drink. He didn't look at Steve as he said, "but you look like you're even more lost than I am and sometimes it makes me feel better knowing that I'm not the only person in the whole world having problems." Steve let out a scoff but didn't deny the feeling. Solidarity in misery, that's how most people operated. The man looked at Steve again and said, "I'm Dean."

"I'm Steve," and Steve took a small sip of the alcohol and was properly prepared for the burn that wasn't as severe that go around. "It's just – crazy things happened and I can't fix them now and now I'll never be able to fix them."

"Why's that?"

"Because he and she and they both told me not to try and fix anything! They want me safe, or at least he does, I'm pretty sure that she couldn't care less. I mean, just, demons they think they know everything just because they've been around longer than just a mere mortal –"

"Whoa hold up," Dean held up a finger and looked him dead in the eye, all seriousness, "did you just say demons? We're not just talking cranky people here kind of demons?"

"No," Steve mumbled and looked into his glass and wow the liquid was clear who knew that something so innocent looking packed such a punch, "Real life black-eyed soulless jerks. I want to save my Bucky and they won't let me, say that they did all that for my sake and that I should be grateful. Well fuck them both, I'm going to save him anyways!"

Steve made for downing another swig but was stopped halfway there by a strong callused hand. "Whoa there Steve, let's talk about this some. You want to rescue something called a bucky from demons, let's emphasize the word demons for a second, and you think that you can do that. Really."

"Not a what, a who," Steve said earnestly, looking into Dean's green, oh wow very green, eyes, "Bucky is my demon, the one I promised my soul to a really long time ago and he kept coming back to take it and I kept trying to give it to him but he never took it! And then I get today where I found out he switched places with me in Hell and told me not go save him but I'm going to, screw what he said because he gave me this amazing love letter that's not quite a love letter and you know what I really like him too so I'm gonna go an' get him and –"

"Easy, easy there big guy," Dean placed a firm hand on Steve's shoulder and Steve could have sworn that his eyes widened a bit at the contact. Why were people always surprised when they found out he had muscle? "Because you hide it under all your clothes," Dean answered.

"Dang it, I'm talking my thoughts aren't I?"

"It happens when you're drunk," Dean smirked and took a sip of his own drink. "But that's not the point. So let me get this straight – you sold your soul to a demon named Bucky, Bucky fell for your all American good looks and decided to trade places with you in Hell and left you a love note and a standing order not to go after him."

"Yeah, pretty much."

Dean was silent and just watched him, disbelief and some other emotion struggling to make itself known on his handsome face. "That is…maybe almost as weird as some of the stuff I've been through."

"Yeah, like what?"

"For starters my angel is now a god and I have to save him from himself or else the whole world might explode like a Wiley Coyote cartoon."

Steve watched Dean gulp down a generous amount of alcohol and order another beer from the bartender. "That's rough buddy."

"Yeah, no kidding. But that's not the point." Dean was serious again, "You have to decide whether a demon is worth your time, which they aren't let me tell ya, or you can move on with your second chance at life and hope it works out for you this time."

Steve looked down at the herbs still clutched in his hands and glanced up at Dean from the corner of his eyes, "Like it did for you?"

Dean's new beer already had an impressive dent in it, but he still looked sober as ever as he answered, "No. No, I just hopped right back into the life I left behind."

"Why?"

"Because it's the only thing I know how to do, to make me…to make me feel like I'm worth something." Those green eyes widened to the size of saucers and he looked down at his beer, to Steve's waiting gaze, back to the beer. "Wow, you have some Jedi mind powers or something."

Steve gave him a small smile and looked at the open box, content on display but in such a way that nothing was really showing. "You talked to a total stranger and helped him decide something important. That automatically makes you worth something."

It was Dean's turn to look into his beer but Steve could swear that he saw a bit of pink growing on his cheekbones. "So you're gonna rescue a demon from Hell, huh."

"Yeah."

"How you gonna do that?"

"I dunno. I'll think of think of something. But I have to do something – Bucky's too important for that."

"The demon saved you, I get that you owe him. But why's he so damn important, besides all that?"

"I – I guess…I don't know really." Steve's eyes pleaded for Dean to understand something he didn't quite understand himself, "I just know that he means a lot to me, like he's everything that I want. And I don't know what that means."

Dean was silent for a moment, contemplating look on his face. Finally, he turned to Steve. "Can I kiss you?"

"What?"

"I mean it, it really puts things in perspective," Dean said, "The person you imagine kissing when you kiss a stranger is the person you want to be with. You don't have to, but it does help sometimes –"

"Yes." Steve was willing to try anything to sort out the confusion in his head, and something as simple as a kiss from a beautiful man wasn't exactly a hardship.

Dean didn't hesitate then, just leaned forward and whispered as he went, "Close your eyes and don't think about anything. The first face that sticks in your head is the one that you want here instead." Steve slid his eyes shut and let Dean kiss him.

It was warm, soft, unhurried. Nothing sexual, only sensual. But it still seemed wrong, like the lips weren't sharp enough and the smell was all wrong. Too much alcohol and gunsmoke and not enough

"Flowers," Steve said when he and Dean separated, although his eyes remained closed, "and fireplaces. It's," Steve's eyes snapped open when the face easily came to mind, the first one even after all those years of not seeing it, "Bucky."

"Then that's who you want," Dean said easily, a small smile coming to his face, "that's who you want when you're at the end of the line."

I'm with you, til the end of the line.

Everything came together then. It wasn't rushing back or slamming him in the head like a wrecking ball or like running into a door. It was just like everything slid into place easily, waiting at the back for their turn to show up and take their assigned seats. All those memories.

Brooklyn, when the war was on and everyone did everything they could to help.

Not having enough to eat but being satisfied with life anyways.

Sarah Rogers' death of consumption.

His and Peggy's first kiss.

Bucky getting hit by a truck only an hour after he last saw Steve.

The birth of his children Sarah, Carter, John, and Angela.

A car accident one cold night after a trip to a baseball game.

Growing up again.

It was all back.

"Steve?" Dean gripped onto the blond's shoulder, concern crossing his face, "Steve you okay? I know figuring out who you like is a little over loading but –" Dean's eyes shifted into something cautious. "What is it?"

"I know a lot more than I did when I first came into here, Dean," Steve smiled gently at the young man before him, easily in his thirties but still only a lost child. "Thank you so much for your help. I know what I need to do now."

Steve stood up steadily, confidently with years of being comfortable in his body instead of a slightly awkward young man that he had been. He collected up the box and tucked everything inside neatly, noting the look of confusion on his bar mate's face. "It's nothing to worry about, Dean," Steve said calmly, "There are just a few things that I remembered that I can do for Bucky now."

"What's that?"

Steve's smile, although sweet, was shadowed by the shear magnitude of fire, redemption and wrath beneath his blue, blue eyes. "Why, I'm going to Avenge him of course."

o~o~O~o~o

Okie doke, yeah, Chappie 6 yay! I really like comments and telling me what's right and wrong and what you guys liked about it…