The Unholy War

20

You brought out a blanket and pillow for Bucky after Sam left. He was going to find out more information on how to keep you and his demon companion safe. Bucky looked down at you, small warm smile creeped across his face.
"So.. I guess goodnight?" You said, feeling slightly awkward.
"Good night, beautiful." He whispered leaning down to give you a kiss on the cheek.
You smiled, before turning away from him to return to your room. Bucky sat down on the couch, looking over at the metal arm on the table. He grabbed it with his good hand, pulling it up to where it connected with his shoulder. He closed his eyes tight, metal and cables started to reconnected, pulling the arm back to his shoulder. The metal glowing red as plates reconnected, metal reforming.
When he opened his eyes he looked over, seeing it connected back where it once had been. He clenched the metal fist, the whirring and clicking of plates were the only sound in the apartment. He sighed heavily, Bucky reached down with both hands and untied his boots. He looked around your small tiny apartment, an odd feeling of peace washed over him.
He knew something within him had changed, the feeling of peace and acceptance something he hadn't felt in so long he had forgotten what they were like. His loyalty lay in you, and only you. It was the demons defining trait, his loyalty. He laid back on the couch, tucking his good hand behind his head and stared up at the beige ceiling.
He shifted and rolled to his stomach, allowing his wings to materialize. He stretched them out, looking over at the remind of his fall. The look on your face, it wasn't one of horror or shame, it was in awe of his wings. He smiled to himself, reaching out with his good hand, sliding a finger down the feathers. For once he didn't feel shame, he felt pride in them. Something at the top of the wing where the joint bent, and the skin was smooth, void of all feathers, caught his eye.
Bucky shifted again, pulling his wing closer to his body, he saw the skin was raised and slight bumped up. He pushed down on the skin, splitting it lightly. A small white feather broke through the skin with ease, confusing him further. He was regrowing his feathers, something that shouldn't be happening.
*
     Loki crept down, slowly and quietly farther down in the depths of hell. What Fury didn't know wouldn't hurt him, Loki had found passage to the underworld long ago. The demons he came across ignored him, they couldn't smell his angelic presence on him. He walked down to the holding cells of fire, Steve was chained from each limb. Flames licking up his body, burning him in a fire that couldn't be stopped.
     "Oh how the mighty have fallen." Loki stated, looking around.
     "What are you doing here?" Steve spoke through clenched teeth refusing to cry out in pain.
     "I bring glad tidings." He smirked, walking before the cell.
     "And what... would that be." He growled back, glaring at him.
     "There is a way out of here, back up to earth. The unfortunate part is I can't help you." Loki pace next to the cell. "Wouldn't want to ruin my reputation."
    "How.. did you.." Steve took a deep breath in as pain seared it's way up his spine. "Get here."
   "There are many place in heaven and hell that can't be seen by the gate keeper." Loki paused, looking back at him. "You think this is the first time I've been down here?"
    "You play both sides?" Steve stared at him in disbelief. "How?"
    "Shocked? Cause I still have my grace?" Loki smirked. "True, angels shouldn't be able to walk through the fires of hell with their grace intact. Unless that said angel doesn't believe they are doing any wrong. Just as a demon can waltz right into heaven as long as they believe they are doing the right thing."
   Loki looked around, as Steve tried to move, trying desperately to get away from the flames that engulfed him.
     "Did you know it is possible, for the fallen to get their grace back?" Loki grinned, leaning toward the bars.
      "How?" Steve clenched his teeth.
      "By saving a mortal soul, rather then condemning it!"
*
     You woke the next morning to your alarm, reaching over you turned it off. You picked up your phone and dialed the number to the diner, you told Allyson that you weren't going to be back. Some family in another state was having an emergency and you needed to be there for them. Slowly you crawled out of bed and left the confines of your room.
You walked down the hall and stepped out into the living room. Bucky was laid chest down on the couch, his wings resting on his back, folded perfectly. Quietly you walked over and knelt down on the floor next to him, his lips were slightly parted as he breathed softly.
The bruise covering his eye was such a dark purple it was almost black, his lips swollen from the cut on it. It broke your heart to see him as messed up as he was, you cautiously placed a hand on his wing. Tenderly you ran your hand down the feathers amazed at how soft they felt beneath your finger tips. A slow smile spread across Bucky's face as he slept on the couch. Who knew demons could sleep.
You smile to yourself as you gently brought your hand and placed it a the apex of the bend. Tenderly tracing the tips of your finger down the edge of the wing. As you did the bumps along the scarred skin pulled open, the tips of new crisp white feathers peaking through in their wake. You looked down at Bucky's face, his eyes fluttered open. Those piercing blues met yours, he smiled up at you.
"Morning beautiful." He said in gravelly voice.
"Morning handsome." You smiled down at him, still running your hand across the scarred cover skin. The tips of new feathers peaking out in the process.
"Feels weird." He spoke softly, not moving, letting you gently caress his wings. "Someone touching them like that. Nobody ever has."
"Why, they're beautiful." You respond transfixed by them. "You have new feathers coming in it looks like."
"I know, it itches, watch out." He chuckled, you moved back a bit as Bucky stretched them straight out behind him, you watched on in a amazement as the tips of the wings hit the ceiling. He brought them back against his back before sitting up. "They shouldn't be growing, haven't in a couple millennia."
"Why not?" You asked, sitting back on your heels in front of him.
"When your first cast down to hell you're tussled up, bound by your each wrist so your arms are outstretched, so are your ankles. No room to move, Hell Fire licks it's way up your body never charring you but always burning you." He told you, looking at the floor. "When an angel is cast down it happens to them as well, except the Unholy Fire, which burns hotter, courses down your wings. It's a pain I wouldn't wish on anyone."
"So why haven't they  come back before?" You asked.
"As an angel your wings are a part of your grace that heaven can't take. So when the Unholy Fire makes contact it recks them, permanently. The more scarring you see on someone's wings tells you how long they were in the pit. I was down there for thousands of years before I swore my obedience." His voice lowered with shame. He sighed heavily, his eyes raised to meet yours. "All I've ever known was pain when they were touched, it felt nice having you touch them the way you did."