Chapter Text
The back street was dark, save for a few dodgy street lamps, frantically blinking their life away. The earlier rain left the concrete sidewalk with splotches of puddles. Around the corner of the diminished street, there was a line of a few hipster underground clubs. Pulling his tattered jean jacket closer, Bucky passed a huddling gaggle of young women and men. By the iridescent blue glow of their dewy skin, it was obvious they were mer-people. They were waiting to enter some pretentious club, giggling at themselves for their wild night ahead.
“Amateurs…” he muttered haughtily. Bucky was so over those kinds of frivolous misadventures.
Since antiquity, mythical creatures existed and enjoyed terrorizing humanity. From sprites to devils, they tricked and tormented the human soul. Of course, not all of them were malicious; it was just that most benign ones were also incredibly timid and reclusive. No matter what type of creatures they were, however, they could not remain shrouded in mystery and become outdated features of tall tales forever. They had to evolve with the times, so to speak.
Bucky was one such mythical creature, or supernatural, as they were so labeled. He had adapted quite well to the modern society of mortals, actually. He learned to dress according to the latest trend, caught on slangs like nobody’s business, and even held a steady job.
His life wasn’t always such a picnic in the park, though. One such turbulence occurred during the Second World War. He was forced to enlist in the army, a Special Forces unit made only of mythical creatures. It didn’t seem coincidental that his unit consisted of the more evil sort of supernaturals: vampires, goblins, and banshees, among others. When they were gathered, they took a look around and knew exactly what their purpose was – reusable cannon fodder. Relationship between the humans and the supernatural still had been less than friendly back then, but they had been promised protection by law, if only they would serve.
Some slick devil himself must have struck a deal with the U.S. government, because new regulations for supernatural equality were indeed in place by the time Bucky was discharged. He was pleasantly surprised, as he had seriously doubted the sincerity of the government, a sentiment everyone in his unit had echoed.
So here he was, enjoying his comfortable and lawfully protected life as a supernatural, as adapted as anyone like him could be. Except, no one’s life, no matter how magical, could be ‘perfect.’ And Bucky’s small, tiny little snag in his mostly-carefree life was that he was absolutely abysmal at flirting and more direly, seducing. He frankly wouldn’t mind a celibate life, if it were up to him (also frankly, he was living one regardless); he was fully capable of keeping himself busy in his free time between Netflix and social media, thank you very much. It was just that he was none other than… an incubus.
Bucky could sustain himself on food, a literal ton of food, each day. Nonetheless, it was his instinct to at least attempt to find a partner. After all, that was just what he was supposed to do – an obligation embedded in his genetics, though weakened through generations of disuse and curbed by legal parameters. He had gone to his fair share of clubs and bars, flirting with some unsuspecting person; whether they were mortal or not, did not matter. He had to be the one seducing though, which was where he hit a bump, or rather, hundreds of them. But his army fellows did not call him “Plucky Bucky” without good reasons. He didn’t give up, though he skipped a few days in between – he could take rejection only so many times a week. He might be a demon, but he could be quite delicate for one.
Therefore, Bucky decided to adjust his tactics tonight. He wouldn’t go where he had so much competition, not only from other incubi, but also humans and other supernaturals looking for some naughty nighttime shenanigans. He would target those less desired by the competitors. He would find someone, still willing and able, but maybe a bit lower on the list of attractive partners. A niche. And just where was this niche? The hospital.
Bucky snuck into Sacred Shield Hospital just before the main entrance doors were locked for the night. He quickly bypassed the pediatric and geriatric divisions. Just because he was a somewhat desperate incubus, it didn’t mean he lacked morals and, more importantly, standards. The lights were partly dimmed in the hallways, nurses getting ready to change shifts and overnight visitors turning in for the day. He moved to the rehabilitation unit - swiftly, as he did not want any questions asked. He treaded gently in the corridor, peering into the windows for a viable subject. Most windows were dark, with the patients already retired. He passed some still lit windows, mentally categorizing most of the occupants as ‘last resorts’ and some as ‘yikes.’ So he was a little superficial, but he was a demon. In Bucky’s opinion, his standards were revolutionarily low and so deserved a break. As he neared the end of the corridor and prepared to reevaluate his ‘last resorts,’ he saw a softly lit room, with a single male patient reading a book. A single, attractive male patient.
Bucky hastily smoothed his plaid button-down shirt and made sure the collars of his jacket were neatly folded. He combed through his hair with his fingers and tucked the strands behind his ears. He had recently gotten them cut to just below the ears after going through a controversial man-bun phase. He checked his breath, blowing into his palm, then inspected his reflection on his phone’s camera. Cool blue eyes with little crinkles and full red lips gave him a nervous smile; he looked pretty good. He closed his eyes and murmured some words of encouragements to himself, then knocked.
“Come in?”
The answer came hesitantly, a good while after Bucky’s knock. The occupant seemed confused as to why a visitor would come at this time: too late to be a regular visitor, too early to be something truly sinister. Bucky cleared his throat and entered. Quietly closing the door behind him, he took his first real look at his mission.
The man had the clearest baby-blue eyes, accentuated by sweeping lashes. His dark blond hair was in the Ivy League style, but looked soft and free of pomade. His jaw, though, set so strongly, looked like freedom and justice themselves, ready to cut through any injustice. For some reason, he was in regular worn t-shirt and sweatpants, instead of the hospital gowns, but they did nothing to hide his well-defined muscles. He was sure to have washboard abs. Bucky ogled shamelessly at this man.
“Um, can I help you?”
Bucky stirred from his stupor. The man looked concerned. He probably thought Bucky was lost. And he was, just lost in something else. Bucky reminded himself of his original purpose and swallowed. He discreetly glanced at his palm, open next to his thigh.
“I, I just wanted to know… Did it hurt when you fell?” Bucky shakily drawled.
“Uh, what do you mean?” The man blinked, clearly baffled.
“From the sky, because you, um, you look like a…”
Shit, what was the last part? Bucky’s palms were sweaty from nerves and his notes were all smeared. He, this time, less than discreetly, glimpsed at his palm, frantically trying to decode the last word. A…N…G…
“An angle!”
Bucky cried gleefully, but he was met with silence and a frozen stare. Did he wait too long? Did he leave out something? He was kind of in a hurry when he wrote it down.
“I think you mean ‘angel’?” the man suggested dryly. By now, his expression had morphed from shock into pity. Bucky brought his hand up for a closer examination. Indeed, through the smudges, it was clearly ‘angel.’ What was he thinking?? He should have figured that out from context! As always, hindsight was 20/20. Bucky let out a distressed sigh and crumbled down. He had even liked this line, thought it was sweet. What better compliment than calling someone an angel? Even worse, this guy was aces, for someone bedridden. Hell, he’d be on the top of the regular list, but he was in a hospital, so who knew what kind of problems he had?
“Um, so,” the man cleared his throat, “Was that supposed to be an imitation of flirting?”
“What do you mean ‘imitation,’ pal? I’m giving it my best here! Even researching this crap!”
“Well, forgive me for belittling your efforts, really. It’s just… That was terrible. Even for me.”
Bucky groaned miserably. Why was he such a failure? So stupid. Another botched attempt. This time, from start to finish, a flawless catastrophe, if there ever was one. Wrong words, faulty delivery, weak presence; the whole nine-yards.
“So, are you a succubus or something?”
“I’m an incubus, know the fucking difference! It’s not that hard!”
“Geez, sorry. Calm down. I didn’t know you guys were so gender binary… Hey, are you crying?”
The answer was ‘yes.’ He was crying. He knew he shouldn’t be, especially in front of this douche-canoe, but he couldn’t help it. Time after time, he had failed, but he had been unfazed and soldiered on. He was still adjusting, that was all. And he did have a lot of competition and his flirting technique was probably a bit behind the times. It also did not help that he had a murder strut that freaked out most people, even if his face was alluring. So he had made efforts to improve: tamed his glare, waited to be accosted first, studied up pick-up lines, and dressed to the nines. And yet, he had screwed up royally. Again. At a hospital, with a sickly person, no less.
Bucky was crushed. He knew he would recover in due time and try again, but he could no longer rein in the tears of frustration for the time being. Over his own soft devastated sobs, he heard the man abandon his bed and come toward him. The man lowered himself and gently laid a hand on Bucky’s shoulder.
“Hey, hey… I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I upset you. I didn’t mean to, promise.”
Bucky gave him no answer, but the man rubbed circles in his shoulder. For a douche-canoe, he was strangely very comforting. And Bucky knew he shouldn’t have lashed out at the man, since he had no real heat behind his words. He was simply fed up with himself.
“’M sorry… I just…”
“Shhh, it’s okay. Do you… wanna talk about it?”
Normally, Bucky’s answer would be a definite ‘no.’ Being unable to flirt and seduce was sort of undermining the very core of his existence, it seemed, and he was too proud to admit it to anyone, including friends, if he possessed any. This random hospital guy, however, elicited a sense of trust with his caring eyes. Bucky was becoming weary of carrying the weight of his little defect for centuries on, too. He probably wouldn’t see this guy again anyways…
“I guess…?”
“Glad to hear it. I’m Steve, what’s your name?”
“Bucky.”
“Is that a common name for an incubus…?” Steve narrowed his eyes. Bucky rolled his.
“It’s short for Buchanan, full name’s James Buchanan. It’s the name of the first person I tempted.”
“I didn’t mean any judgment. Wait a second, the 15th president of America, James Buchanan??”
“Very good!” enthused Bucky, dripping with sarcasm.
“You… You know, with him?? And… Did you, uh, with any other president??”
“Relax. No, I didn’t sleep with any of them. He was the only one lonely enough for me to even think about a temptation, but he declined. Had a secret lover or something. But incubi usually ‘borrow’ the name of the first person we tempt.”
“Oh okay… Then how old does that make you?”
“I don’t know my exact birth year, but probably around 200 years old. I usually say 25 to mortals though. How old are you?”
Steve tensed at the question, making Bucky wonder if he had broken another social etiquette. Instead of reprimanding Bucky, though, Steve made himself more comfortable on the floor and made eye contact with him in a crooked smile before he answered.
“I’m a little younger than you – almost 100.”
Steve chuckled, but Bucky gaped at Steve with disbelief. This guy was a supernatural? What the hell was he doing in a hospital?
“So, did you have trouble with your flirtation technique all 200 years, or…?”
“Shut up. I have my reasons.”
“Yeah, that’s why we’re talking. What are they?” Then Steve immediately added, “If you don’t mind me asking.”
Usually, Bucky barely admitted it to himself, making excuses or doing pseudo-psychoanalysis to justify it. But the feeling of trust hadn’t faded; in fact, it only grew stronger, and he felt himself on the brink of baring his soul to this weirdly supportive, smart-mouthed guy.
“Well, I guess I wasn’t talented in the first place. We always try to seduce someone kind of powerful first, it gives us confidence, see? And usually, they fall for it, because they’re egotistic dickheads. Love to show off. Like I said, though, I fa… Didn’t succeed.”
“So it’s a performance thing?”
“Maybe? But he let me down nicely and I didn’t think much of it. Had a few good tries afterwards, nothing to boast or anything. For your info, most incubi get new partners almost every day.”
“How did you survive? Isn’t it crucial for your existence?” Bucky shook his head.
“No, not really. It’s in our nature, yes, but we can eat food instead, just lots of it. So most of us go for the sex, it’s easier. It just… wasn’t for me. So I stole food for a while until I got caught.”
And Bucky had to stop there for a second. Thinking about it still gave him flashes of anger. He had been a fairly young incubus when he was arrested and identified as such by the authorities. Unfortunately, that was when supernatural persecution had been fervent, the Americans conducting their own little inquisition against the supernatural. He had stayed in custody for a few weeks and then was shipped to a Russian internment camp with other allegedly malevolent supernaturals, for decades of icy and miserable imprisonment.
“Shit…” commented Steve after Bucky managed to relay this to him.
“Yeah, no one knew about it except for high-ranking officials in both countries. We were probably the first prototype of a gulag!”
“Are you proud of that??” Steve asked, incredulously.
“No, of course not. Just saying,” Bucky shrugged.
Bucky continued to explain that he fought in the Second World War, so that his kind could get pardoned and have regulations to protect them. The supernatural would have strict prohibitions regarding human safety, but in return, they were to be free from persecution and were allowed to coexist with humans.
“Wow. I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Steve said with a genuinely pained expression.
“It’s not just me, a lot of us did,” Bucky shrugged again. It all had happened a long time ago.
“Still. It obviously affects you, even now.”
In some ways, it was entirely too true. They remained silent as Steve worked to soak in the information. Bucky had calmed down by then, but his legs were asleep.
“Do you mind if we move to your bed?”
“Are you seducing me?” Steve waggled his eyebrows.
“No! Not anymore…’Cause you’re an ass-hat! My legs are numb.”
Steve playfully gave Bucky the shifty eyes, but conceded and helped Bucky up. His legs were wobbly. It made him walk to the bed like a newborn deer, which made Steve snigger, earning himself a slap. Steve settled back where he was on his pillow before Bucky barged in and Bucky sat at the foot of the bed, gingerly massaging his legs.
“So, Steve. What’s an immortal like you doing in a freakin’ hospital?”
“I thought you might ask,” Steve smiled, knowingly.
“Well, I poured my heart out to you, it’s only fair I get some dirt on you back.”
“What you told me isn’t dirt on you, Bucky.”
“Whatever.” Bucky hoped he wasn’t blushing as hard as he felt like he was.
“First of all, I spent a lot of time here as a kid, because I was sick all the time, back in the 20’s. And that’s in the 1900s, gramps.”
“Yeah, yeah. Why were you sick? What are you anyways, the god of counseling?”
“I’m flattered, but no. And I was sick, because I wasn’t an immortal then. Yet. Apparently, I had to pass a test to become one.”
“And what test was that?”
“Self-sacrifice.”
Steve had been born as a skinny and sickly mortal, living with his widowed mom in a little Brooklyn apartment. She had been a nurse at Sacred Shield and Steve had spent much of his childhood at the hospital, both to be with his mom and to be treated for his illnesses. Steve counted off all his ailments and Bucky had to stop him, since he didn’t even know what half of those was. Then one day when Steve was 20, his mom had almost been run over by a taxi, had he not pushed her out of the way and got hit instead.
“I should have died, but I guess that made me pass the test.”
“And this promotion fixed all of your problems and made you beefy?”
Steve cracked up at this and answered, “No, it was a coincidence.”
To help him, a doctor suggested giving Steve a new serum he had developed for rapid recovery and genetic enhancements. There was only one dosage, as it hadn’t been fully tested, but Steve’s state seemed too critical to not give it a chance. He would have survived anyways, having fulfilled his self-sacrifice requirement, but the doctors weren’t aware and the formula gave him a bigger, stronger body, which he couldn’t complain about. It came in handy for his duties as a supernatural, too.
“So, you still haven’t told me what you are,” Bucky gave Steve a cheeky grin. Steve smiled back, but with a bit of wonder in his eyes.
“You know, I think it’s fate that you chose that pick-up line.”
“Don’t remind me of that,” groaned Bucky, “but why?”
“Because I’m a guardian angel.”
A guardian angel… Bucky both internally and externally winced and buried his face in his hands. The subsided mortification from moments prior was returning with renewed vigor. He had tried to flirt with an angel, by calling him a fucking angel. Or angle, rather, which he was equally not proud about. Steve laughed merrily and clapped Bucky on the shoulder. He seemed to be overly enjoying himself in Bucky’s humiliation.
“Come on, man, it’s no big deal? You didn’t know. And honestly, it doesn’t matter that I’m an angel. That line wasn’t gonna fly with anyone.”
“Fuck. You.”
“Wouldn’t you like to,” said Steve with a sly smirk.
“Oh my fucking god. I thought angels were supposed to be nice??”
“I guess you could say I’ve got some sharp… angles.”
Bucky’s face exploded scarlet as he lunged for Steve’s pillow to whack him vehemently. This fucker had somehow gotten Bucky embarrassed in myriad of ways in record time. Despite being pummeled, albeit with a cushy pillow, Steve laughed himself to oblivion. Eyes clamped shut and face beet red, he gave half-hearted attempts with his arm to block Bucky. Steve was way too smug about his pun and Bucky was still embarrassed about this whole ordeal, but laughter, especially Steve’s, was infectious. He eased up on his vengeance and joined Steve in laughing, dropping the pillow to his lap.
“You’re a fucking menace.”
“I’m, I’m sorry. I know we’ve just met and I’m usually not like that, I swear… But you are just so ridiculous I couldn’t help it,” managed Steve between poorly concealed hiccups.
“Me?? Pal, you are the one in a hospital, even though you are fucking immortal!”
Steve’s laughter gradually diminished until he was breathing evenly again. Bucky was sometimes slow with reading the room, but he noticed pretty quickly this time that the air had changed. Bucky tensed; he was still mortified beyond words, but he had actually been having fun. He had felt better after divulging his story to someone else and, truth be told, Steve was easy to talk to. Bucky became afraid that he’d made everything sour.
“Right, forgot to tell you that, didn’t I?” He answered with that crooked grin of his.
“Steve, you don’t have to if you don’t want to-“
“No, it’s alright. So, after becoming a guardian angel, my first charge was my mom. We never knew beforehand, by the way. Just kind of happened. When she died not too long after, I was heartbroken, to say the least. It kind of, broke me, and I was literally out of commission for a while. Sacred Shield let me stay here, in honor of my mom, so I could recuperate. Couldn’t pay rent anyways,” Steve chuckled. “Obviously, I can’t be physically ill, but mentally, I was… Not okay. I felt like I’d lost everything. But you know, I couldn’t mope forever. I was asked to work as part of a military unit, too, actually, and I met my next charge there, Peggy.”
Steve smiled fondly with her name and Bucky knew Steve had loved her dearly, too. A tiny hint of jealousy blossomed in Bucky at Steve for having had someone who inspired a smile like that.
“She was an amazing woman, really. Sharp as a tack, tough as nails. Sorry, I’m being very cliché,” Steve snickered, “she was part of the organization I worked for, it’s sort of a proximity thing, so I naturally became her guardian angel.”
“Sounds like you were more than her guardian angel,” Bucky implied chastely.
“Nah. We did love each other, but it would have never worked out, you know? Me being immortal and all. We always kept our distance. She got married to a nice fellow, lived happily, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way,” he said, resolute. “I was her guardian angel, after all. She died last year though, and I’m sure you can now guess why I’m back here,” Steve smiled sheepishly.
Bucky did understand. Romantic feelings aside, it would be hard to lose someone after years of having loved and cared for them. Of course, Bucky only understood the abstract concept of that, never having had such an experience.
As they stayed still, Bucky took a look around Steve’s room, to distract himself from the vicarious pain. It was a decent single person room, compliant with the customary hospital décor. A generic hospital bed, table set with two chairs, and a side table were all the furniture present in the room, but the blankets seemed cozier, friendlier, and the table had books and sketchpads that must belong to Steve. The hospital staff must have understood and cared about Steve enough to allow him a room of his own all these years.
“Well Bucky, it’s quite late now. I’m sorry I took up your precious business hours.”
“Yeah right,” Bucky snorted. “I intruded your resting time, I’d say we’re even.”
“No harm done, then,” Steve replied kindly.
For all the talking they had done, they shifted in their places awkwardly, avoiding each other’s gaze. A moment of silence passed where neither of them knew what to do next. Bucky made to move when Steve got off his bed and went to the stack of books on the table. Behind it, he grabbed a bag of cookies and fished one out to offer to Bucky.
“You must be hungry. Want one? These are triple chocolate chips. Probably would give you diabetes, if you were mortal.”
“Thanks,” Bucky gladly accepted the cookie. He was hungry. His dinner of a whole 12-inch pizza was hours ago. He took a bite as Steve grabbed one for himself. Steve was not exaggerating about the amount of sugar, but Bucky had a sweet tooth and polished off the rest of the cookie with little decorum.
“Thanks, man. It was delicious. But, um, I should probably go…”
“Oh, right. You know how to get out?”
“Yeah, dad, it’s not my first rodeo,” Bucky scoffed.
“Please, you’re no son of mine,” Steve countered with a teasing skeptical look. “Well, it was nice meeting you, Bucky.”
“You, too, Steve. Thanks for listening to me.”
“Same to you. And hey, try a different angle with the flirting next time, alright?”
“Oh shut it, fuckin’ punk.”
Bucky flipped him off and left a giggling Steve behind the door. He was about to completely shut it before he thought of something and stuck his head back in.
“Hey Steve?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I have another cookie?”
Steve beamed and tossed him the whole bag.