The energy at the table was high, everyone talking excitedly about what they'd just committed to. Jay was already making plans for their first official mission, while Jim and Alan were discussing how their abilities could work together better. Diana was explaining Amazon combat techniques to Ted Grant, who was asking surprisingly technical questions about leverage and timing.
But Steve Rogers found himself feeling oddly detached from the celebration. The weight of what everyone had just said, about him being their leader, about inspiring them... it was a lot to process. He caught Peter's eye across the table, then Bucky's, and saw something there he recognized. The same shadow that had been following all three of them since Austria.
"Hey," Steve said quietly to them, "want to grab a drink at the bar? It's getting pretty loud over here."
"Yeah," Peter said immediately, understanding. "Good idea."
Bucky just nodded and stood up. The three of them made their way through the crowded pub to a smaller table in the corner, away from the main crowd and the Justice Society's ongoing celebration.
Steve went to the bar first, returning with three pints. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts.
"You know," Peter said finally, his voice quiet, "I keep thinking about what that thing said to us. In the factory."
Bucky's face went dark. "Mephisto."
"The prophecies," Steve added, taking a sip of his beer. "About our souls, about what we'd become."
Peter leaned forward, lowering his voice even more. "Do you think he was telling the truth? About being able to claim our souls eventually?"
Steve set down his glass and looked at his friends. "I don't know. But I know we can't let fear of some demonic prophecy stop us from doing what's right."
"That's easy to say," Bucky replied, his voice troubled. "But he seemed to know things about me, about my future. Things I haven't even thought about yet." He paused, staring into his beer. "What if he's right? What if I'm destined to become something terrible?"
"Buck..."
"No, Steve, think about it. He said my hands would be stained with the blood of innocents. What if that's not some distant future? What if it's inevitable?"
Peter shifted uncomfortably. "He knew about my family too. About Jane. Things he shouldn't have been able to know."
That's when the piano in the corner began to play.
The melody was haunting, complex, carrying undertones of incredible skill and profound sadness. But it wasn't just instrumental music. A rich, smooth voice began to sing, the words floating through the pub with an otherworldly quality that made conversations gradually fade to whispers.
I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees
I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees
Asked the Lord above, "Have mercy, now, save poor Bob if you please"
Yeah, standin' at the crossroad, tried to flag a ride
Ooh-ee, I tried to flag a ride
Didn't nobody seem to know me, babe, everybody pass me by
Steve recognized the tune after a few bars. "Crossroads," he said quietly. "Robert Johnson."
Peter's face paled. "The blues musician who supposedly sold his soul to the devil at a crossroads in Mississippi."
The music continued, each note perfectly placed, the performance showing not just technical skill but an intimate understanding of every emotion the song was meant to convey. What made the three men exchange nervous glances was that while they could clearly hear both piano and vocals, the corner where the music originated appeared to be empty.
Standin' at the crossroad, baby, risin' sun goin' down
Standin' at the crossroad, baby, risin' sun goin' down
I believe to my soul, now, poor Bob is sinkin' down
You can run, you can run, tell my friend Willie Brown
You can run, you can run, tell my friend Willie Brown
That I got the crossroad blues this mornin', Lord, baby, I'm sinkin' down
And I went to the crossroad, mama, I looked East and West
I went to the crossroad, baby, I looked East and West
Lord, I didn't have no sweet woman, ooh well, babe, in my distress
When the last note faded, leaving the pub in expectant silence, a slow applause began from somewhere near the piano. Then footsteps approached their table, and a well-dressed man in an expensive suit emerged from the shadows as if he'd been there all along.
"Gentlemen," the smooth, cultured voice said, the same voice that had just been singing, "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation about prophecies and souls."
He was devastatingly handsome in a way that seemed almost supernatural, his dark hair perfectly styled, his smile warm and engaging yet somehow predatory. There was something magnetic about him, something that drew attention without being overtly theatrical. He moved with fluid grace as he approached their table.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked, though he was already pulling up a chair. "The name's Lucifer Morningstar, though most people just call me Lucy."
Steve's enhanced senses immediately went on high alert. Something about this man felt wrong, dangerous in ways that had nothing to do with physical threat. "Mephisto."
"Oh no, no, no," the man said with genuine amusement, settling into his chair like he owned the place. "Common mistake, but I'm afraid old Mephistopheles and I are quite different entities entirely." His eyes flashed red for just a moment, so briefly it might have been a trick of the light. "He's middle management, you might say. I'm... well, I'm the actual Devil."
Bucky nearly choked on his beer. "You're what now?"
"Fallen angel, prince of darkness, the Morning Star," Lucifer confirmed, like he was talking about the weather. "Though I should clarify, most of what you've heard about me was probably Mephisto, or Azazel, or that bastard Marduk Kurios. They love playing dress-up and taking credit for my reputation."
Peter's hand moved unconsciously to the small Star of David pendant he wore beneath his shirt, the same gesture Steve had seen him make when Mephisto had appeared in the factory.
"Ah, faith," Lucifer observed, noticing the motion. "How wonderfully human. Though I should mention, I actually knew the fellow whose symbol you're clutching. Jesus was... well, he was my brother, technically speaking. Good man. Bit self-righteous, but aren't we all?"
The temperature at their table seemed to drop ten degrees. Bucky was gripping his beer so tight his knuckles were white, and Peter looked like he wanted to bolt for the door.
But Steve, despite every instinct screaming at him that this was dangerous, found himself leaning forward instead of backing away. There was something in Lucifer's voice, in the way he carried himself. Pain, maybe. Exhaustion.
"What do you want?" Steve asked.
Lucifer laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Want? Christ, I don't want anything anymore. That's the whole bloody problem." He gestured to a glass that appeared in his hand. "Do you have any idea what it's like to rule Hell for thirteen billion years? Thirteen billion years of listening to humans blame me for every terrible thing they do to each other."
He leaned back in his chair, suddenly looking older despite his perfect features. "You know what the real joke is? I don't send anyone to Hell. You people do that all by yourselves. Every choice you make, every line you cross, every innocent you hurt... that's on you. I'm just the one who has to clean up the mess afterward."
"But you're the Devil," Peter said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
"I'm the scapegoat," Lucifer corrected, his voice turning bitter. "Do you know how it feels to have every human who's ever done something horrible blame it on me? 'The Devil made me do it.' 'Satan tempted me.' No, you greedy, violent, petty little creatures did it because that's what you chose to do."
Steve found himself studying Lucifer's face, looking for lies, for manipulation. But all he saw was exhaustion so deep it seemed to go down to his bones.
"So why are you here?" Steve asked.
"Because I'm done," Lucifer said simply. "Thirteen billion years of being blamed for humanity's failures, thirteen billion years of being the cosmic janitor for your species' sins. I've walked away from the throne."
"Vacation," Bucky repeated flatly.
"Earth seemed like a nice spot," Lucifer said with a shrug. "Good music, decent food, interesting people. Plus, I figured I'd see what all the fuss was about. Why my Father loves you lot so much."
The way he said 'Father' made it clear there were some complicated family dynamics at play.
"And your father is..." Peter started.
He gestured dismissively. "The Almighty. The Big Guy Upstairs. We're not exactly on speaking terms. Haven't been since I fell. Apparently questioning his grand design makes me the bad guy."
He took another sip, and for a moment he looked almost human. Almost vulnerable.
"You know what's funny? Everyone remembers Jesus. The son who died for humanity's sins, the prince of peace, the savior. But me? I was his first creation. The Morning Star. The light-bringer. I was there when he said 'Let there be light.' I watched him create the stars, the planets, life itself."
Steve felt something twist in his chest. There was real pain in Lucifer's voice now.
"But all anyone remembers is that I rebelled. That I fell. They forget that I fell because I asked questions. Because I saw what was coming and thought maybe, just maybe, there might be a better way."
"What kind of questions?" Steve found himself asking.
Lucifer looked at him with something approaching respect. "The kind that get you thrown out of Heaven, apparently. I saw free will, Captain Rogers. I saw what it would mean. The wars, the genocide, the cruelty humans would inflict on each other. And I asked my Father... why?"
He laughed, but it was a broken sound. "Pride, they called it. Lucifer's pride. Maybe they were right. Maybe I was too proud to accept that I couldn't understand the grand plan. Or maybe..." He paused, looking directly at Steve. "Maybe I just couldn't bear to watch innocent people suffer for the sake of some cosmic design I wasn't allowed to question."
The three men sat in silence for a moment, processing this. Finally, Bucky spoke up.
"So if you're not here to claim our souls or make deals or whatever..."
"I'm here because Mephisto is planning a coup," Lucifer said bluntly. "While I'm on my little sabbatical, he's been making moves. Gathering power, forming alliances with war gods, corrupting mortals for his own ends. He thinks he can take Hell's throne."
Peter leaned forward. "And that's bad because...?"
"Because Mephisto doesn't just want to rule Hell," Lucifer explained. "He wants to drag Heaven down with it. He's planning to use the power he's gathered to wage war against my Father. And if he succeeds..."
"Armageddon," Steve said quietly.
"Worse than Armageddon. At least in the traditional end times, some people get saved. If Mephisto wins, there won't be anywhere left to run to."
Lucifer stood up, pacing now like a caged animal. "Do you want to know the real irony? I spent thirteen billion years being blamed for every evil thing humans do. And now, when there's an actual threat to everything good and decent in creation, I'm the one trying to stop it."
He turned back to them, and for a moment, something shifted. The air around him seemed to shimmer, and massive wings unfurled from his back. Not the bat wings of medieval art, but something far more magnificent. Feathered wings that seemed to be made of starlight and shadow, beautiful and terrible at the same time.
"I was created in the first moment," he said, his voice carrying harmonics that seemed to resonate in their bones. "When my Father said 'Let there be light,' I was that light. I watched him paint the cosmos, birth the stars, breathe life into clay. I was his right hand, his beloved son, his morning star."
The wings folded back, becoming invisible again, but the power remained in his voice.
"And I threw it all away because I couldn't bear to watch innocent people suffer without asking why."
Steve stood up, his instincts finally settling on something that felt right. "You want to help us stop Mephisto."
"I want to help you save everyone," Lucifer corrected. "Because despite everything, despite being cast out and blamed and hated... I still love this world. I still love the people in it, even when they disappoint me."
Bucky was staring at him like he'd grown a second head. "You're asking us to trust the literal Devil."
"I'm asking you to trust someone who's tired of being everyone's villain," Lucifer said quietly. "Someone who's finally ready to be what he was created to be."
"Which is?" Peter asked.
Lucifer's smile was sad and beautiful and heartbreaking. "A protector. A guardian. Someone who stands between the innocent and those who would harm them."
Steve felt something click into place, the same instinct that had made him jump on a grenade before he had the strength to survive it. "We'll work with you."
"Steve," Bucky said urgently, "this is insane."
"Maybe," Steve said, not taking his eyes off Lucifer. "But sometimes the right thing feels insane. And sometimes..." He paused, thinking about everything they'd been through, everyone they'd saved. "Sometimes the people who've been hurt the most are the ones who understand best why you have to keep fighting."
Lucifer stared at him for a long moment, something shifting in his ancient eyes. "You know, Captain Rogers, I think I'm beginning to understand why my Father has such faith in your species."
He extended his hand. "Partners?"
Steve shook it without hesitation. "Partners."
Steve looked back toward the Justice Society's table, where everyone was still celebrating and planning their future missions. The energy was infectious, even from across the pub. "You should meet the rest of the team," he said to Lucifer. "If we're going to work together."
Lucifer's expression brightened with genuine interest. "I'd like that very much. It's been quite some time since I've had the opportunity to meet such an... eclectic group of individuals."
Peter drained the last of his beer and stood up. "Fair warning, they're all a little intense in their own ways."
"Says the man who just shook hands with the Devil," Bucky muttered, though there was less fear in his voice now and more resignation.
As they approached the larger group, Jay was the first to notice them coming. His enhanced perception caught the newcomer immediately, and something about Lucifer's presence made him go very still.
"Uh, Steve?" Jay said, his usual rapid-fire speech slowing down. "Who's your friend?"
"Everyone," Steve said, raising his voice slightly to get their attention, "I'd like you to meet Lucifer Morningstar. He's going to be helping us with our Mephisto problem."
The reaction was immediate and varied. Jim's flames flickered uncertainly. Alan's ring pulsed with nervous green light. Ted Grant's boxer instincts made him unconsciously shift into a defensive stance. Logan just snorted and took another drink, like meeting the Devil was just another Tuesday for him.
But it was Diana's reaction that caught everyone's attention. She stood up slowly, her warrior instincts clearly on high alert, her hand moving instinctively toward where the Godkiller would normally rest.
Lucifer, for his part, took one look at Diana and froze completely. His perfectly composed demeanor cracked, and for just a moment, he looked genuinely nervous.
"Oh," he said quietly. "Oh no."
"Problem?" Steve asked, noting the sudden tension.
Lucifer's eyes were fixed on Diana with what could only be described as wariness mixed with genuine fear. "You wouldn't happen to be related to Hippolyta, would you?"
Diana's eyes narrowed dangerously. "She is my mother. How do you know her?"
"I..." Lucifer actually took a step backward, which was possibly the first time in thirteen billion years he'd retreated from anything. "We met. Briefly. About two thousand years ago."
"Define 'met,'" Diana said, her voice carrying the tone of someone who already suspected the answer wouldn't be good.
Lucifer cleared his throat, suddenly looking everywhere except at Diana. "Well, you see, I was going through a bit of a phase. Trying to understand mortals better, exploring different cultures. I heard about this amazing island of warrior women, and I thought..."
"You thought you'd try your luck with the Queen of the Amazons," Diana finished, her voice getting colder.
"In my defense, I was considerably more arrogant back then," Lucifer said quickly. "And I may have... well, I attempted to court her with what I thought was considerable charm and supernatural charisma."
Logan snorted into his beer. "Let me guess. Didn't go well?"
Lucifer winced visibly. "Your mother has a very effective right hook. And excellent aim with her knee."
The entire table went dead silent for a moment. Then Jay started snickering. Then Jim. Then Logan was outright laughing, followed by Ted Grant's booming chuckle.
"She kicked the Devil in the balls?" Jay wheezed between laughs.
"Quite effectively," Lucifer confirmed, his dignity in tatters. "I believe her exact words were 'try that again and I'll send you back to Hell in pieces so small even your father won't be able to put you back together.'"
Diana's expression shifted from suspicion to something approaching pride. "That sounds like Mother."
"So you can understand my... concern... about meeting her daughter," Lucifer said carefully. "If you've inherited even half her combat skills and none of her patience..."
"I have inherited all of her combat skills," Diana said pleasantly, "and considerably less patience than she has."
Lucifer gulped audibly. "Right. Well. I'll just... I'll be very respectful. And keep my hands to myself. And possibly invest in some protective armor."
The tension broke as more laughter rippled around the table. Even Diana couldn't suppress a small smile.
"As long as we understand each other," she said, settling back into her chair.
"Crystal clear," Lucifer assured her. "I have learned my lesson regarding Amazon women. Your mother made sure of that."
Patrick Wayne, ever the diplomat, stepped in to smooth things over. "Well, now that we've established the... historical context... perhaps we should discuss our operational parameters going forward."
"Excellent idea," Lucifer agreed, clearly grateful for the change of subject. "I have significant intelligence on Mephisto's operations, including several facilities you haven't identified yet."
As the conversation shifted to tactical planning, Steve found himself relaxing slightly. Despite the supernatural complications, this felt right. They were building something here, something that could make a real difference.
Bucky caught his eye and nodded toward a quieter corner of the pub. Steve understood immediately. They needed to talk.
"We'll be right back," Steve said to the group, though most of them were already deep in discussion about HYDRA facilities and Mephisto's potential weaknesses.
They found a small table away from the main crowd, with two fresh pints that Bucky had somehow acquired on the way over.
"So," Bucky said, settling into his chair and studying Steve's face. "How about you? You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?"
Steve was quiet for a moment, thinking about everything that had led them to this point. The scrawny kid from Brooklyn who couldn't get into the army, the dancing monkey in the USO shows, the man who'd finally found his purpose in a HYDRA prison camp.
"Hell, no," he said finally. "That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight? I'm following him."
Bucky grinned, understanding exactly what Steve meant. Captain America was the symbol, the costume, the shield. But the heart of it, the thing that really mattered, was still Steve Rogers. The guy who'd thrown himself on a grenade, who'd walked into impossible odds to save his friends, who'd rather die than leave someone behind.
"But you're keeping the outfit, right?" Bucky asked, gesturing toward Steve's modified uniform.
Steve looked down at himself, at the red, white, and blue that had started as propaganda and somehow become something more. "You know what? It's kind of growing on me."
That's when Peggy appeared at their table, looking stunning in civilian clothes instead of her usual military uniform. Steve felt his heart skip a beat, the same way it had the first time he'd seen her in the lab with Dr. Erskine.
"Captain," she said, her voice carrying that mix of professionalism and warmth that always made him tongue-tied.
Steve stood immediately, his enhanced reflexes making the movement too quick and slightly awkward. "Agent Carter."
"Ma'am," Bucky added, though Steve could hear the amusement in his friend's voice.
"Howard has some equipment for you to try," Peggy said, her eyes fixed on Steve's face. "Tomorrow morning?"
"Sounds good," Steve managed, trying not to sound as nervous as he felt.
Peggy glanced over at the Justice Society's table, where the celebration was getting louder and more raucous by the minute. Jay was apparently trying to eat an entire fish and chips order in under ten seconds, while Jim was creating small flame sculptures to entertain the group.
"I see your top squad is prepping for duty," she said with dry amusement.
Bucky followed her gaze and grinned. "You don't like music?"
"I do, actually," Peggy replied, though her eyes stayed on Steve. "I might even, when this is all over, go dancing."
Bucky's grin widened as he gestured toward the small dance floor where a few couples were swaying to the piano music. "Then what are we waiting for?"
Peggy's smile was mysterious and just a little bit challenging. "The right partner." She checked her watch with practiced efficiency. "0800, Captain."
"Yes, ma'am. I'll be there," Steve said, his voice slightly hoarse.