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"Hang on, shouldn’t I be…" Bucky trailed off as he patted himself down, running his hands over his body. It was naked, draped in a blanket, but right now he didn't care about naked. No, what he cared about was that it wasn’t broken, bloody, or battered, and while he didn’t object to that state of affairs he was very sure that was not how things should be. He looked at the scruffy blond guy crouching next to him and his guilty, hang-dog expression. "Shouldn’t I be dead?"
Blond and scruffy winced.
"I should be, right? Dead or next thing to it, with nurses and doctors swarming all over me and tubes and…" He trailed off again and narrowed his eyes. "I know you. Didn't I pay for your coffee?"
"Yeah. Thanks again for that. Name’s Clint."
"Clint." Bucky shoved himself upright, the blanket pooling in his lap, registering that he was sitting on a well-worn couch in what looked like a pretty average apartment, and he did not seem to be dead.
Or injured.
Or even lightly bruised.
"Okay, Clint. I did get hit by a car, right? I didn’t imagine that?" He couldn’t have imagined that, not the sounds, not the pain, not the feel of his bones folding in on themselves, splintering and tearing and—
A warm, strong hand gripped his arm, giving him a gentle shake. "Hey. James. Don’t go there. It doesn’t help. It never helps. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about. You’re okay now. And you’re going to be okay for the rest of your life. There’s just about nothing that can hurt you now."
Bucky just stared at him. "Bucky."
"What?"
"Call me Bucky. James is for people that didn’t…do whatever you did." He waited a beat. "What did you do?"
Clint sat back on his heels and scratched his chin, gazing up at the ceiling. "You know how all those self-help books and tapes and shit all tell you to believe in yourself?"
Bucky’s answering, "Yeah," was cautious.
"And you know how most people don't believe in werewolves?"
"That's because there's no such thing as—"
Clint tilted his head, half-smile edging towards apologetic, and his muddy blue eyes were shaded gold.
Bucky stared at him, then down at his hands, then fell back on the couch and laughed. Was it a little hysterical? Maybe. But since he was apparently a werewolf and also—more importantly, most importantly—not fucking dead when he absolutely should be dead, he figured he was allowed. "Believe in myself, holy shit. Did you practice that?"
Clint smiled and patted Bucky’s chest. "It’s gonna be fine, Bucky. You’re gonna be okay."
* * *
Surprisingly, Clint was right. It was strangely easy to adjust to being a werewolf. He was stronger, faster, had sharper senses, better awareness of the world around him, but it wasn’t hard. Clint’s whole attitude helped; he didn’t stress about it, just treated it as another thing that he could do, and his acceptance flowed through to Bucky.
Also surprisingly, the reason Clint had saved his life by changing him into a werewolf was because Bucky had bought him a coffee. Bucky had heard of people getting rewarded for doing good deeds, but that seemed way out of proportion.
Bucky had been getting coffee at Beaned in the Head, was waiting for his order, when Clint—not that he’d known it was Clint at the time—had started patting himself down with increasing desperation. The signs of a man who’d forgotten his wallet were universal, as were the signs of a man in desperate need of caffeine. Offering to pay had been automatic. Clint had thanked him profusely, taken his black coffee, and bolted out the door.
Apparently, it had made enough of an impression that Clint, faced with the wreck a texting driver had made of Bucky, had decided to save him. And bend the rules by doing so.
"We change people sometimes," Clint said as they made their way through the parkland that surrounded the alpha’s house.
Bucky was having very mixed feelings about anyone who called themselves an alpha. None of those feelings were good.
"There’s usually a discussion first. We only change certain kinds of people." Clint shrugged. "I’m not worried. If we’d done it the normal way, we’d have agreed on you."
"You barely know me."
Clint gave him a sideways look, sharp and assessing. In the week since he’d been changed Bucky had learned that under the scruffy, path of least resistance exterior was a knife-sharp brain. Clint just kept it sheathed most of the time. "I know enough."
"Is this about the coffee again?"
Clint just grinned and gestured at him to cross the street. Bucky rolled his eyes and they went to meet the alpha.
* * *
Despite Clint’s reassurance, Bucky was expecting a roided out asshole of a douche of a werewolf. Someone who’d push them around, maybe try and punish Clint for changing him without permission (and Bucky was prepared to fight if that happened). Someone who’d exert his dominance and force them to submit, too many encounters with self-proclaimed alpha males who were only human sending his imagination into overdrive.
He wasn’t expecting Sam. He wasn’t expecting Sam, who invited them in and drew Clint into a long hug that involved a lot of face to neck contact. When Clint introduced them, Sam’s body language was clearly offering Bucky the same, but despite the impulse urging him to accept, Bucky settled for a handshake, and Sam wrapped both hands around his.
He wasn’t expecting Sam to feed them both, the table practically groaning under the weight of the food, watching them eat with obvious satisfaction. Bucky was expecting an interrogation, remembering Clint saying that they only changed certain kinds of people. He wasn’t expecting to realise, bewildered, mid-question, that Sam wasn’t trying to decide if Bucky was acceptable; he was trying to make sure Bucky was okay. That Bucky was safe and housed and fed and had enough of an income and did he need anything?
Bucky shot Clint a confused look, but Clint, leaning in the doorway to the kitchen drying the dishes, only sent him a small, satisfied smile in response.
Sam was attentive and concerned and not even slightly angry that he’d had Bucky foisted on him. Bucky’s tension slowly disappeared, and he relaxed as Sam finished his questions and moved on to providing information.
No, the moon didn't control him, it couldn't make him shift into a wolf—and yes, he'd shift into an actual wolf, not some half-creature—but it was fun to run under the full moon. That was good, for a lot of reasons, but mostly because there were things he needed to learn before he could safely try shifting. And until he'd safely shifted, other werewolves were off limits, since being around too many of them could trigger a new wolf's shift.
There was more, a lot more, and some of it Clint had already told him.
Some of it he…really hadn’t.
"Wait." Bucky held up a hand as his tension came roaring back. "Just, hang on."
Sam stopped talking, brow furrowing slightly in concern. "Everything okay?"
"Maybe." He did some frowning of his own. "Actually, no. Absolutely not." Clint was laughing silently at him from the kitchen. "There’s vampires?"
"You don't need to worry about them. If we leave them alone, they'll leave us alone."
"That’s not even close to the problem. Vampires are real?"
Sam just looked at him, then reached forward to wrap a warm hand around his shoulder and Bucky had to fight the slightly humiliating urge to faceplant into his neck and snuggle. Right. Werewolf. Alpha. That’s a thing to know about myself.
"Clint," Sam said over his shoulder. "You didn’t tell Bucky about the vampires?"
Clint shrugged. "I thought it'd be better coming from you."
Sam sighed. "This is why we don’t go around randomly changing people."
"It wasn’t random," Clint replied. "He was dying."
Sam’s hand tightened. "Good point." He turned back to Bucky. "Vampires are real. Just like werewolves." Bucky opened his mouth. "No, far as we know, nothing else is," he said, answering the question before Bucky could ask. "Just us and the vampires."
"And we stay away from the vampires," Clint said, coming out of the kitchen and plonking down on the couch next to Bucky with a rolled-up map in his hand. "No wandering into vampire territory." He set the map on the table and unrolled it.
Sam sat back. "I’ll send a copy to your phone, but this is the master. Vampire territory in red. Our territory in green." Sam’s house was at the centre of the area marked in green, but Bucky’s attention was fixed on the space in red. "Everywhere else is neutral territory. Neutral territory, we don't attack them, and they won't attack us, but it’s better to avoid them."
"What about on their territory?" Bucky asked.
"Never trespass on vampire territory, Bucky. Bucky. Look at me." Sam’s voice held a rumbling timbre that wasn’t quite a growl, not something his new wolfy instincts perceived as a threat, but it drew Bucky’s head up to meet his eyes. They were glimmering gold. "This is serious. We have a pact. No trespassing, no attacking. It's important. Tell me you understand."
He nodded slowly. "I understand."
* * *
Bucky hadn’t lied; he did understand. And he wouldn't betray Sam or Clint and try and sneak in—and maybe betray was dramatic and over-the-top, but it felt right to the new wolfy part of him. But there was somewhere important inside vampire territory. Somewhere he wasn’t willing to write off forever without at least trying to find a solution. There had to be something…
Bucky stared at the map on his phone, the red outline seeming to pulse in time with his heartbeat.
A werewolf couldn’t trespass on vampire territory, Sam had made that very clear...but it wasn’t trespassing if you were invited.
Right?
* * *
The border was completely unremarkable. The map’s lurid blood red line was, in real life, an ordinary city street. Most of the stores and all of the offices were closed, the streetlights rapidly brightening pools of light in the rising night, most people on their way elsewhere now that business hours were over.
Bucky hadn’t figured there’d be much point doing this while the sun was still up. He wasn’t actually sure there was much point doing it at all, regardless of the sun’s status, but he had to give it a shot. As long as he stayed on this side of the line—he pulled out his phone to check the GPS coordinates and make absolutely sure—what was the worst that could happen?
As the hours ticked past and the night grew theoretically darker—theoretically, since he could basically see in the dark now—he realised it was boredom. Boredom was the worst that could happen.
He sighed as he pushed off the wall he was leaning on, then almost jumped out of his skin at the pale figure staring at him from the other side of the border. Bucky hadn’t heard him, hadn’t smelled him, hadn’t known he was there, and the guy was just watching him, absolutely still.
He was short and slender and dressed like a college student, right down to the Chucks, but that unnatural stillness… The hair rose on the back of his neck, and Bucky knew he was looking at his first vampire.
Bucky slowly approached, stopping when the vampire tilted his head like a raptor tracking its prey.
"Are you aware, wolf—"
"You're making a joke," Bucky said, suddenly feeling a lot better about this whole thing.
The vampire blinked. Once. "No."
"Oh." Bucky’s shoulders slumped.
"As I was saying, are you aware that wolves aren’t allowed in our territory?"
"I know. But I’m not in your territory." The vampire’s eyes narrowed. "I’m not. I was careful not to cross the line. I know what happens if I trespass onto your side." He wasn't sure of the specifics, but he didn't need to be to know it was bad.
"Then why are you lurking at the border?"
He took a breath. "Okay, I don’t know how much sense this going to make, but there’s something in your territory I want. Somewhere, I mean. I'm not looking to steal anything. It’s important. I can’t get to it, because I'm a werewolf now and if I cross into your territory I'm trespassing. And that's not something I want to do."
The vampire’s eyebrows were briefly sceptical, but it was something else that had come with the wolf, a gut deep sense of place. He felt it at his apartment and he wouldn’t trespass on someone else's.
"But I was thinking," Bucky went on, "that if I had permission, it wouldn’t be trespassing."
The vampire blinked again and looked, for the first time, like a person. A surprised person. "Permission," he said carefully.
Bucky nodded.
"What’s this somewhere that’s so important?"
"A bookstore."
The surprise grew, his brow wrinkling in confusion, like he couldn’t figure Bucky out.
"Look." Bucky shifted his gaze to the ground, watching the toe of his boot drag across the cement. "I’ve been going there since I was a kid. When I was a kid it was the only place I could go. They’d let me stay there, let me keep books there that I couldn’t take home." He cut himself off before he said anything else. He'd already shared more than he wanted to. "It’s important, that’s all. And I don’t want to lose it because I got changed."
"How long have you been a wolf?"
The words were so gentle, Bucky jerked his head up in surprise, half-expecting to find someone else standing in front of him. But it was the same vampire. Just different. Less still. Still watching, but as gentle as his voice had been.
"A couple of weeks. I like it, at least so far, and it’s better than being dead," he said, then realised what he’d said, and who he’d said it to, and hastily added, "I mean better than being dead dead. There’s nothing wrong with being walking around dead."
Unexpectedly, the vampire smiled, warm and wide. "Yeah, it’s much better than being dead dead."
Blindsided by the smile, Bucky could only nod.
For long moments there was silence, then the vampire said. "You’re right, if you had permission, it wouldn’t be trespassing, but I don’t have the authority to give it to you. I can talk to the person who does."
"Would you?"
"There’s no guarantees, but I’ll ask if she'll see you."
Gift horses and mouths, but he had to ask. "Why?"
The vampire just smiled again. "Meet me back here next week, an hour past sunset," he said and turned to go.
"Hey," Bucky called. "Thank you! And I’m Bucky."
The vampire paused, then looked back. "Steve."
* * *
A week later, a week in which he'd started his werewolf lessons—and he'd never been happier to work from home and set his own hours—Bucky was back at the border of vampire territory, leaning on the wall, waiting for Steve.
He’d almost told Clint what he was planning, but in the end he'd decided not to. If it worked he wouldn’t be trespassing, which meant he wouldn’t be breaking any rules; if it didn’t, there’d be nothing to tell.
"Bucky."
He jerked, because Steve had snuck up on him again, watching silent and pale and amused from the vampire side of the border.
"Come on."
He hesitated, because self-justification aside, Sam’s warning was loud in his memory. "Are you sure?"
"I’m sure." Steve offered his hand. "I’m inviting you. That means you can’t be trespassing." He wiggled his fingers. "Trust me."
Bucky snorted. "Said the vampire."
"To the werewolf," Steve replied, and Bucky took his hand, braced himself for he didn’t even know what, and let Steve draw him across the invisible border and into vampire territory.
Absolutely nothing happened.
Steve, half-smiling, said, "Okay?"
"Peachy," he replied and tried to free his hand.
"Better not. Anyone who sees this," Steve lifted their joined hands, "will know you’re supposed to be here."
Which was how Bucky, newly-made werewolf, found himself walking hand in hand with a vampire through vampire territory.
It was surprisingly nice. Steve’s hand was cool, he easily matched his pace to Bucky’s, and their proximity filled Bucky’s nose with his scent: dry and strange, like iron and autumn, fallen leaves and the charred remains of bonfires after the fire had burned itself out.
"Are you sniffing me?" Steve asked.
Bucky straightened, facing carefully forward and keeping his nose to himself. "No."
Steve laughed softly. "You were, but it’s fine. I’m just surprised. Wolves aren’t usually a fan of how we smell."
Bucky glanced sideways at him. "You smell okay to me."
Steve flashed him a tiny grin with a hint of fang before he nodded. "We’re here." He tipped his head towards a park Bucky was more than familiar with. "I thought you’d be more comfortable outside."
"Yeah," he said, following Steve through the gates and down a path he could have walked with his eyes closed even before he’d become a werewolf. They slowed as they approached the fountain in the centre, the burble of water loud in the silence. They’d passed no one on their way in and even with his new abilities, Bucky couldn’t sense a single soul.
Which made it more than a little strange when Steve let go of his hand and said, "Bucky, this is Natasha. She’s agreed to hear your request."
Bucky turned, scanning the courtyard, the surrounding trees, stretching his senses to the limit, and when he'd spun full circle, about to ask Steve if this Natasha was invisible, there was a woman sitting on the edge of the fountain.
Because apparently vampires could teleport.
She was so obviously a vampire Bucky wondered how she walked down the street without being mobbed by goths, and she sat on the fountain’s edge like it was the throne of all creation. Bucky swallowed hard. He should have asked Steve what he was supposed to say. "Thank you for meeting with me. And for inviting me onto your territory for the meeting."
She inclined her head in a way Bucky could only label regal and studied him for several minutes in which he grew increasingly tense.
Her voice, when she finally spoke, was completely emotionless. "Are you aware—"
He knew it couldn't be, but hope makes fools of everyone, including uncomfortably awkward werewolves. "That's a joke, right?"
Steve covered his face with his hand.
Natasha just stared at him until Bucky said, "No, of course it wasn't. Sorry for interrupting."
"Are you aware," she went on, "that this is the first time in almost a hundred years that a wolf has been allowed into vampire territory?"
He looked at Steve, then back to Natasha. "No," he said slowly. "That wasn’t something I knew."
"He’s only just become a wolf," Steve said.
"And you want permission to enter our territory on a regular basis so you can go to a…bookstore."
"Gryphon's Used Books, yeah."
"Why?"
"Steve didn’t explain?"
She just gazed at him expectantly.
"Right." He gathered his thoughts, figuring there was no point repeating anything he’d said to Steve. "I was a kid who loved books, and it was full of books and people who understood about loving books. Back then it was the closest place I had to a home. I could always go there. And I kept going there through…everything. It’s important." He took a deep breath. "It would hurt me to lose it."
She just kept looking at him, as still and silent as the carvings in the fountain, then asked, "Does your alpha know you’re here?"
Bucky winced. "No."
There was another long silence, followed by, "I see." She and Steve exchanged a look, then she said, "I can’t allow a wolf to wander freely in vampire territory."
Bucky’s heart and hope crumpled in on themselves, but he nodded in acceptance. This had always been the longest of shots. It was amazing they’d let him even ask.
"However, if you were accompanied, it would be a different matter."
He’d barely had time to wrap his head around her words, when Steve said, "I’ll do it. If you give him permission to enter our territory to go to the bookstore, I don’t mind being the vampire that accompanies him."
"What?"
They ignored him.
"You’d be responsible for him. For his behaviour, for his actions. Any wrong he commits would be your wrong and any punishment it attracts would be your punishment."
Steve lifted an unconcerned shoulder. "That’s fine."
"What? No! That’s not fair. You can’t punish Steve for something I do. You can’t make him responsible if I do something wrong."
They both stared at him, the weight of their combined gaze too heavy, then Steve was suddenly standing in front of him, so close, too close, the feel of him overwhelming. "Bucky." He wrapped gentle fingers around Bucky’s chin, tilting his head down so they were eye to eye, and Bucky fought the urge to shiver. To maybe bare his throat and that was another exciting new thing to learn about himself. "Are you going to do something wrong? Turn wolf and savage people? Are you going to hurt anyone?"
The idea was nauseating. "Of course not."
Steve let him go, fingers sliding across his skin, and Bucky did shiver. "Then it’s nothing to worry about."
And that was apparently that. Bucky was officially permitted into vampire territory to go to the bookstore as long as Steve was with him.
He was quiet as Steve escorted him away from the park, a little overwhelmed by how fast that had happened—and by the sense-memory of Steve's fingers against his skin.
"Are you okay?"
Bucky nodded.
"Do you want to go now?"
"They're only open late on Fridays."
"Friday, then. Here." Steve stopped and offered his phone. "Put your number in and I'll text you mine."
Somehow that was the weirdest thing yet. "You have a phone."
"I have Twitter and a Netflix account, too," he said dryly. "If we don't adapt, we don't survive."
He took the phone, put his number in on autopilot. "How old are you?"
Steve plucked his phone out of Bucky's hands, deftly sent a text Bucky felt buzz in his pocket, and said, "That's not something we usually ask each other."
"Crap, sorry. I didn't know."
"No reason why you should." Steve shoved his phone in his pocket, then his hands, and rocked back on his heels. "I was born in 1918." He smiled slyly. "Not that old."
"Practically a baby," Bucky agreed faintly.
Steve laughed at him.
"Sure, fine, laugh at the freshly made werewolf," Bucky grumbled, and Steve nudged their shoulders together.
"You'll get used to it." They resumed walking, and Steve said, "If there's something you want to know, you can ask me. I'm not a wolf, but I've been around long enough I can probably answer your questions."
"The wolf who changed me and, uh, my alpha," he stumbled over the word, since he'd almost said Sam, but that probably wasn't formal enough, "have been teaching me. But thanks."
Steve was quiet for a moment before replying, "The offer's there if you need it."
* * *
Friday night, Bucky stepped into Gryphon's Used Books and the world disappeared in a wash of overwhelming smells. It was a cataclysm of scents, an assault on his senses that sent him staggering back into Steve. Shuddering and breathing heavily, he groped backwards, grabbed Steve's hand, and dragged it around to shove his nose against Steve's wrist.
Steve's scorched, fallen leaf and iron scent filled his nose, blocking the smell of the bookstore, and he breathed him in, slow and steady, his mind clearing as the world returned. It brought with it the unfortunate side effect of awareness. He was huddled back into Steve, absolutely zero space between their bodies, and he had basically wrapped Steve's arm around himself while he snuffled at his wrist.
"This time you are sniffing me." Steve seemed utterly unbothered by Bucky's completely inappropriate touching. His fingers twisted in Bucky's grip—not to get free, but to squeeze gently and his voice was soft as he asked, "What happened?"
Bucky lifted his head a little, letting the scent of the store—ageing paper and dust and ink, traces of leather from the oldest books, the chemical tang of the newest—mingle with the scent of Steve. It was better. Easier. "I guess my new status doesn't mix too great with this place."
"The smell was too much?"
"Yeah. I wasn't expecting that. I used to love the way it smelled in here."
Steve made a thoughtful noise. "The whole reason you wanted to keep coming here is because of what it means to you. You said it was the only place that felt like home."
It wasn't quite a question, but Bucky said, "Yeah," anyway, shifting uncomfortably against Steve. Steve curled the knuckles of the hand Bucky wasn't holding against his neck and Bucky relaxed into the pressure.
"Okay. You know that smell's tied to memory?"
Bucky nodded, leaning into Steve's touch while he breathed in Steve's scent.
"Then I doubt it was just the smell. My guess is how much stronger it is since you've changed, plus you talking to us about your past with this place," Steve rubbed his knuckles soothingly against Bucky's neck and Bucky had no idea why that was so good, but it was, "meant you got hit with a too-fast trip down memory lane."
It made sense. It made sense and fit how that had felt—completely overwhelming, not just his sense of smell but his ability to think. The whole world had disappeared. "That…sounds right."
"Want to try again?"
He slowly lifted his head away from Steve's arm, gradually increasing the ratio of bookstore scent to Steve scent until Steve's scent was only the faintest hint. It was still strong, still overpowering, but that was all. Not cataclysmic. Not overwhelming.
Steve patted his shoulder and eased away, slipping his fingers free, and Bucky fought the urge to chase after him. He didn't know if it was a new, wolfy urge, something he'd have had as plain old Bucky, or a combo of both.
He cleared his throat and led the way through the entrance tunnel—two towering shelves bolted to the floor and the walls, stacked haphazardly with books free for the taking—and gestured to the store. "Now that we've got that out of the way, welcome to Gryphon's Used Books."
Steve took his time looking around, some of the unnatural stillness from their first encounter slipping back into his stance while he took in the rows and rows of shelves, the wide staircase in the centre of the floor, books neatly shelved on either side, which led to the second floor. The second floor was where Bucky had spent most of his time: reading, studying, doing homework, or just existing in a place he knew he was safe. There were couches up there, and chairs and tables, tucked in among the rows of shelves.
"Bucky!" Iain, who'd taken over the store now that his dad had mostly retired, leaned on the counter and grinned at him. "I was starting to worry. We've never gone this long without seeing you."
"I know. Things got a little crazy." He ran his hand through his hair, feeling peace settle into his bones at being back.
"Well don't let it happen again." He wagged a teasing finger at Bucky and Bucky grinned. "In the meantime, who's your friend?"
Which was a fair question, since in all his years coming here he'd always come alone. "This is Steve. Steve, this is Iain. I've known him since I was a kid."
"Since he was a tiny little eleven-year-old."
"Okay, I wasn't tiny, and you were, what, fifteen?"
"Sixteen, thank you. Practically a grown up."
Bucky snorted.
"Ignore him. It's nice to meet you, Steve. Make yourself at home. Bucky can show you anything you need. Lord knows he spent enough time here."
A woman with an armful of books apologetically approached the counter, and Bucky stepped away as Iain greeted her. "Tell your dad hi for me?"
"Will do. It's good to see you, Bucky."
"You too." Bucky led Steve towards the stairs and up to the second floor. As they moved down the shelves, Bucky trailing his fingers over the books and breathing deep, taking in the mingled scents of the books and Steve, he could feel Steve watching him.
He paused to browse through the new arrivals in military history, because it was always interesting to see what people had lost interest in, and Steve shifted beside him. Deliberately, because even in the short time he'd known Steve, he'd learned stillness was his default.
"Can I ask…"
He glanced at Steve. "Go ahead."
"Why was this the only place that felt like home?"
"You know why," Bucky said, pulling out a book on infamous moments of World War Two and flipping through it. It didn't seem nearly thick enough. "They had shitty parents in 1918, same as they do now." He gently closed the book and slid it back onto the shelf, fingers lingering on the spine. "I grew up hard, my parents were garbage, but it doesn't matter."
"Doesn't it?"
There was nothing under the surface of Steve's question. No pity, no judgement, no lurking sharks of I know better than you how you should feel. It was just a question. It was what made Bucky turn and face him, propping a shoulder against the shelves. "Yeah, of course it matters." He shrugged. "Know what matters more? Me. This me, here and now, living this life, here and now. And I'm pretty happy with me. Still figuring out," he lowered his voice, "the whole wolf thing, but like you said, I'll get used to it."
Steve gazed at him, vampire-still, then smiled. "I'm pretty happy with you, too."
Bucky huffed and nudged him. "Come on, you can help me go through the SF. There's a couple of weeks' worth of new arrivals to check out."
* * *
Saturday morning, on his way to Clint's, Bucky stopped at Beaned in the Head. When he got to Clint's apartment, and a yawning Clint let him in, he had to clear a spot on the counter before he could put the coffees down. Clint's apartment was clean, but in a way that clearly embraced chaos.
"Bucky?"
He turned around to find Clint staring at him, nose wrinkled.
"Why do you smell like vampire?"
He froze, unsure how to react. "I smell like vampire?" It wasn't hard to sound surprised because he was. He'd showered, but they'd been in close contact—Bucky had practically wrapped himself in Steve before shoving his face into his skin—and maybe it was the kind of scent that lingered. And just because he couldn't smell it...
"You smell like vampire," Clint confirmed.
That would have been the perfect moment to explain. He didn't. "I must have run into one." It wasn't a lie. Not entirely. He didn't want to lie to Clint. Clint had saved his life, Clint was teaching him to understand his new self, and apart from all of that he liked Clint. But he was afraid to lose what he'd gained. Bucky was afraid and fear made him push away the clench of guilt as he added, "Would I recognise a vampire if I saw one?"
Something passed through Clint's eyes, shading them to almost-gold, then he smiled and held out a hand for his coffee. "I guess not. Never mind. Just let me know if anything seems weird."
"Weirder than what's already happened?" he asked dryly, and Clint laughed.
"Fair point."
* * *
A few weeks and as many visits to Gryphon's later, Steve was sitting on the second-floor couch that was half-hidden behind a row of shelves. Bucky didn't think Steve looked much like a vampire right now, relaxed as he read, loose sweater slipping to expose slim collarbones and too-pale skin. Or he wouldn't to a casual observer.
Bucky was not a casual observer. He was a werewolf with a vested interest.
He knew Steve wasn't breathing, knew Steve was cool as the air around them. He could smell the iron and autumn scent of him, see his stillness, no beating heart to lift his chest, no pulse to ripple his skin. The only movement was his hand turning the page.
"Are you going to stand there watching me for the rest of the night?" Steve didn't look up from his book.
"Maybe."
Something that might have been a smile ghosted across Steve's face, but it was so faint and so fast Bucky wasn't sure. "That seems like a good use of limited time."
Steve had a point. Gryphon's closed at nine and sunset was only going to get later as summer got closer. While Bucky contemplated the inevitable advance of the season, Steve set his book down and leaned over to unlace his shoes, setting then neatly beside the couch before he pulled his legs up and tucked his feet under him.
Bucky stared.
"I'm not puttin' my shoes on a couch, I don't care where it is. Were you raised in a barn?"
"No, a bookstore," he said, delighted when Steve rolled his eyes. He sank down to sit next to Steve. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure. I might not answer, but you can always ask."
He knew Steve meant it, and the casual honestly, the casual kindness, which seemed so automatic to Steve, tugged at him. He had to take a moment, and then he didn't even manage a question. "You read."
"Do I?" Steve asked, sounding so sincerely puzzled Bucky was impressed. "Or am I just looking at the pictures?"
Considering the book resting on the armrest next to Steve was a battered little hardcover on field tactics, Bucky doubted it had pictures. And he knew he was right about this. "No, I mean, you like reading. You like books. You like it here." He waved at the surrounding shelves.
After a moment, Steve dipped his head in agreement.
"So how come you've never been here before? I know I'm biased, but it's a good bookstore and it's pretty conveniently located."
"Because of who runs it."
"Come again?"
"Family owned, family run. We try and stay away from anywhere that's run by generations. Too much chance they'll notice." That we don't age, Steve didn't say, but Bucky got it. It made sense.
It also gave him a whole new question to ask. "How soon before you'll have to stop coming?"
"I figure ten, maybe fifteen years, but don't worry." He nudged Bucky with his sock-clad toes. "I have a plan."
"You have a plan?"
"I have a plan. Trust me."
"Said the…you."
"To the you." Steve grinned. "My turn for a question?"
"If it's about whether I have a plan, I don't."
"I figured."
"Hey!"
"I found you lurking on the border."
"I wasn't lurking, and anyway, it worked." Steve wiggled his hand back and forth, and Bucky scoffed. "What's your question?"
"How did you find this place?" Steve asked.
"The Hobbit."
"The Hobbit?"
"You know, the book by Tolkien?"
"I know The Hobbit, Bucky. I read it when it first came out."
"You read it when… Sure, why not. Do you still have it?"
"No, one of the doctors trying to keep me alive loaned it to me. He'd ordered it from England, thought I might enjoy it. Tolkien wasn't Tolkien back then, remember, he was just some guy. You couldn't just pick him up at the drugstore like a dime novel. It would've been pretty rude to steal it."
It felt like Steve had offered him a gift, neatly wrapped, and it was his choice whether to open it. "Just some guy, huh?"
The corner of Steve's mouth tipped up. "That didn't last."
"No. The Doc didn't manage it, did he?"
"Also no."
"That's why?" He lifted his hand to gesture at Steve, the motion taking in all of him, and for a moment Steve was nothing but a vampire, could be nothing but a vampire, silent and still, eyes as dark as sunken tides.
"Yes," he said, the stillness fading as he smiled, the blue brightening in his eyes. "You were right, it's a lot better than being dead dead. But we were talking about you and The Hobbit."
"See, that sounds like me and Bilbo were in some kind of relationship."
Steve waggled his eyebrows.
"I was eleven!"
He started laughing and Bucky poked him. "Stop that."
"Sorry, sorry."
"I should think so. Bilbo was an honourable hobbit." Steve's eyes gleamed, but he stayed silent. "No, I found a copy on the bus. It was beat all to shit, the pages were falling out, I had to hold it together with an elastic band. But I'd never read anything like it. It was like the whole world changed. Like suddenly anything was possible. I was, shit, I was desperate to read the rest of them, but the school librarian said I was too young to borrow them. I didn't have a card for the local library and there was no way I could afford to buy them new. I checked. But a woman at the bookstore saw me looking at them and told me about Gryphon's, said I could get copies for cheap, and," he shrugged, "she was right."
"Was it just Tolkien?"
"No. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love the guy, but he was just the start. There's so much more."
"Favourites?"
"Yeah, that's not a question I can answer. Unless the answer's it depends."
Steve's smile was understanding.
"I still have the copy I found. Can't read it, but I still have it."
Whatever Steve might have said in response was cut off by the sound of someone coming up the stairs. The guy seemed startled when he walked around a row of shelves to find Steve and Bucky watching him, running a nervous hand through greying black hair, but he rallied. "Uh, hey. Don't suppose you dudes know where the ethics section is? Or, like, general philosophy?"
"Go back down," Bucky said. "Head down the third row to the right of the stairs, it'll be about halfway to the back wall on your left. If you see physics or anything to do with black holes, you've gone too far."
The guy ducked his head. "Thanks, man. I didn't want to bother the dude at the counter, 'cause he looks pretty busy, but this place is a maze. Figured I had as much chance of hitting a minotaur as the right section."
"Minotaur only works on Wednesdays, so you should be safe."
"Excellent." With a quick grin, the guy trotted back down the stairs, and Bucky could hear him heading in the right direction.
"Do you know where everything is?" Steve asked curiously.
"Most of it. I don't think anything's been moved since Iain's grandad opened the place." It was easy to settle back into the couch, gazing up at the ceiling. Remembering. When he hadn't been able to scrounge up the cash, they'd let him do odd jobs to pay for his books. He hadn't figured out until much, much later that they'd never needed him to do the jobs, they'd just wanted him to have the books.
He didn't need to look at Steve to know he was picking up his book again—Field Tactics, and it made Bucky wonder who or what he was planning to be tactical against. He could hear Steve moving, feel him, sense him. If he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could track the ebb and flow of his scent in the air, swirled around by the slowly circulating air.
The smell of the store had settled into an olfactory white noise, ever-present instead of overwhelming, and he breathed it in, layered over with the iron and autumn of Steve and an earthy whiff of weed drifting from Philosophy guy's path.
There was something else.
His nose wrinkled and he tried to catch it. It was…
"Something wrong?"
He opened his eyes. Steve was eyeing him.
"No, there's just…" He stood up. "I just need to check something."
He walked around the floor, up and down the shelves, circling in on the scent, following the faint hints until he found himself in front of the magazine crates. He could hear customers downstairs, pulling books off shelves, flipping through the pages, could hear them talking, but all his attention was focussed here.
The magazine crates were cardboard boxes, each holding a different decade, and when he lifted a stack of the nineties, the smell hit him full force.
Fur. Musk. The sharp acrid scent of urine.
He tilted his head. Scrabbling. Tiny, rapid-fire heartbeats. He started pushing boxes away, the heartbeats getting faster, the scrabbling more frantic, the world disappearing into razor bright clarity as he chased the source, teeth bared.
Bucky came back to himself on all fours, head jammed into the now haphazardly scattered boxes, Steve's arm around his chest, mouth against his ear, saying his name.
He managed to get out, "You can let go," without dropping dead from embarrassment.
Steve did, moving back, and Bucky wiggled his way free, knowing how stupid he must look, grateful none of the boxes were spilled or damaged.
"There was mice," he said, cheeks hot as he sat up.
Steve crouched in front of him.
Bucky stared at Steve's socks. "I really needed to hunt them."
"You really did."
Bucky wasn't sure if Steve was agreeing that he'd really needed to or commenting that he really had, and didn't ask for clarification.
"I've never felt like that, since I changed." He lifted his gaze from Steve's socks and didn't even try to hide his worry. Was he suddenly going to start hunting things?
Steve tapped his fingers on the floor, a thoughtful, staccato rhythm. "Are mice bad for books?"
"They're not good."
"Have mice gotten into the store before?"
"Yeah, a couple of times."
"Then I think that's what happened."
"You think mice got in the store? I know that."
"No," Steve said, with a half-smile. "I think this is your territory and you wanted to protect it."
"By hunting mice?"
"By hunting mice."
It felt right. To the new wolfy part of him, it felt right, held that sense of place. Some part of him wanted to go back and finish the job of finding those mice, and while the old Bucky would happily have helped pay for an exterminator, he'd never had the urge to take a personal interest. "Is that going to be a problem?"
"What do you mean?"
"A wolf claiming territory inside your border."
Steve's expression softened and he touched Bucky's cheek, fleeting, the contact barely there, but the brush of Steve's fingers against his skin flashed through him. "You're not claiming territory. This is just how you feel. You can't help how you feel."
He nodded, because he trusted Steve, then sighed. "I'll get these boxes cleaned up then tell Iain about his new furry friends. You put your shoes back on. This carpet's older than me and it might be older than you. You should think about burning those socks."
Steve laughed and rose to his feet with a grace ballerinas would envy and pulled Bucky up after him.
* * *
"I think you're just about ready."
Bucky opened his eyes.
Sam was in front of him, their knees almost touching, as they sat cross-legged under the dappled shade of ancient trees. They'd been meditating, peaceful and silent, for long enough that the birds had resumed their lives around them, no longer watchful and worried by the wolves in their midst.
Clint wasn't far away, stretched out on a fall of boulders, basking in the sun. Keeping watch.
Possibly asleep.
"Yeah?"
Sam nodded.
The challenge, Sam had explained, wasn't shifting into a wolf. The challenge was changing back. The challenge was wanting to. The world was much simpler from the perspective of a wolf and, for some people, it made more sense to stay that way. The time they were spending now was meant to make sure Bucky knew himself as a wolf as well as he possibly could before he took that last, final step. To give him the best possible chance of wanting to return to the human world.
"What happens if I can't?" Bucky had privately asked Clint.
"Sam can force you, it's part of what he can do," he'd grimaced unhappily, "but learn, okay? That way he won't have to."
Neither of them had mentioned him smelling like vampire, not since that first time with Clint. He put it down to long showers and anti-bacterial soap and ignored the twinge of guilt.
Now he looked at Sam, who was watching him, waiting for his reaction, and he grinned. "When can we try? Now?"
"Glad you're eager, but we can't do it here."
Clint leapt off the boulders to saunter over and sprawl next to them. "Yeah, meditation we can get away with, but you can't explain away wolves with new age bullshit."
"Oh, I don't know." Sam leaned back on his hands, stretching out his back with a groan. "Load you two up with enough crystals, we could probably manage it."
Bucky laughed and Sam grinned at him.
"We have a place, out of the city, away from people. It's safe for a first shift." He glanced at Clint, who cleared his throat.
"Cause you know," Clint said, "that's important. You can tell us if you don't." He plucked a long strand of grass, weaving it between his fingers. "Feel safe, I mean. About anything. Your first shift or something else. If something's bugging you." He looked up, fixing Bucky with an intent gaze. "We'll listen."
Bucky glanced from Clint to Sam. "I will. But I feel good about this. I'm excited. Really." He turned to Sam. "I'll tell you if I start to worry about it."
"Okay, Bucky." Sam patted his shoulder, touch lingering as he searched his face—and Bucky felt the now-familiar urge to lean in and press close—then rose to his feet with the same kind of grace Bucky was used to seeing in Steve. "Okay. Let's head back to the car."
As they followed the trails out of the forest, Bucky couldn't shake the feeling that he'd missed something important.
* * *
CLOSED EARLY FOR PEST CONTROL
Bucky read the sign, taped over the opening hours on the door to Gryphon's, and didn't sigh. "Guess they're dealing with the mouse problem."
"Guess so."
"I have to go, don't I?"
"You're only allowed to be here to go to the bookstore and since it's closed… Yeah, you'll have to go." Steve didn't sound happy about it.
"I know." He was already turning away, starting to walk back the way they'd come, and Steve fell in beside him.
"Looks like I should have let you hunt the mice after all."
Bucky huffed a laugh. "Maybe not. What would I have done if I caught one?"
"True. And they're fightey little bastards. Probably would've taken a piece out of you."
"And that'd just be embarrassing."
"Werewolf taken down by a tiny mouse," Steve said mournfully. "You'd never live it down."
"Hey, you're the one who said they were fightey bastards!"
Steve grinned and Bucky bumped his shoulder into Steve's. He enjoyed being with Steve. He wanted to spend time with him somewhere else. He wondered, maybe… "Can I give you permission to be in wolf territory?"
"Only your alpha can do that," Steve said flatly.
"No, I don't mean," Bucky drew a large shape in the air with his hands, "not big wolf territory, I mean my territory. My apartment. Could I invite you over?"
Steve faltered, clearly surprised. "I don't think it's ever come up before."
"Could I?"
"I don't see why not. As long as it's not in," he made the same shape Bucky had, saying solemnly, "big wolf territory."
"Shut up," he grumbled, elbowing Steve, and Steve flashed him a grin with fang in it. "I'd have to invite you in anyway, wouldn’t I?"
"No. That only applies to humans."
"And I'm not human anymore," he said under his breath. Which he'd accepted, but it still threw him to hear it like that.
"Bucky?"
"It's nothing. Hey, since I'm not human, does that mean you can't eat me?"
Steve rolled his eyes and didn't answer.
"Can I ask," he started, then hesitated. He knew his feelings for Steve were rapidly spiralling out of control, and he knew he was letting them. Steve spoke to him, to the old human parts and the wolfy new, but Steve was a vampire and vampires drank blood. He wasn't worried, but he did wonder. "What you eat," he finished, trusting Steve to tell him if he didn't want to answer.
Steve eyed him. "What do you think I eat?"
"I'm not judging. I'm curious how it works."
Steve snorted and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I eat people, Bucky. You should be judging a little."
"Yeah, but you're not Hannibal. You're not chowing down on a handful of fingers."
"That's a great image," Steve said, sounding disgusted. "Thanks for that."
Bucky beamed. "No problem."
They crossed the road, making their way towards the border, dodged around a couple completely engrossed in the phone one had clutched in their hand, crossed another road, and then Steve said, "I don't hunt."
"What?"
"I don't hunt. To eat."
Bucky made a quiet, encouraging, questioning noise. It was complex as far as noises went, but Steve seemed to understand.
"We have a company. It pays people to give blood. They get paid well, we do our best to look after them, and that's how I eat. That's how most of us eat."
Bucky stared. "Do they know?"
"The company officially researches 'changes in environmental chemical markers across diverse populations'." He was clearly quoting something. "And it does do that, it's published research and everything, but people have their theories, and they include vampires." He laughed softly. "Since they also include youth treatments for the ultra-rich, stockpiling blood stores for secret Mars colonisation missions, and cloning, I'm not worried."
Bucky had never, not for one second, thought Steve was killing to eat, but this was not the alternative he'd expected. Not something so clinical. So modern.
But what was it Steve had said? "You adapt or you don't survive?"
"Exactly."
They reached the border and stopped. "Guess I'll see you next week?"
"Or I could walk you home."
"You think I'm going to get ambushed by mice on the way there?" he said, joking, but he was intently focussed on Steve because he did not want to leave him here at the border.
"You were my only plans for the evening." Steve lifted his chin, making Bucky think mice weren't the only fightey bastards in vampire territory. "Don't see why I should change them."
The sudden glimpse of incredibly human stubbornness made Bucky wonder if he was seeing Steve from before he'd been changed; it was endearing and appealing and since Steve was offering Bucky exactly what he wanted… "Then I guess you'd better walk me home."
He stepped over the border and Steve followed, the first time Bucky had ever been with him anywhere other than vampire territory. It shouldn't have felt any different, they'd literally stepped over a few feet of cement, but it did. It felt different. It was different. It was Steve choosing to go with him. It sent a shiver down his spine, and he didn't know whether to blame plain old Bucky or his new wolfy self.
Both of them, he decided, and led the way into the little park, a shortcut through to the next block, and out the other side. They passed a few people, cars and taxis whipping past, but they mostly had the night to themselves.
"Do you miss it?" Bucky asked after a while.
"Miss what?"
"Eating, uh, directly?"
Steve gave him a thoughtful look. "Imagine," he said, "that every meal you ate, every time you wanted a drink, someone fed it to you. They put the fork in your mouth. They held the mug or the glass to your lips and tipped it so you could drink. Every bite, every sip. Now imagine you don't know the person. They're not a lover, a friend, someone you trust. They're a stranger."
"Oh."
"Yeah. It's too intimate. Not every vampire feels that way, but I'm happier with packaged blood knowing the giver was properly compensated. And honestly, it was annoying always having to get someone else involved. Sometimes you just want to sit on the couch and have a snack."
It startled Bucky into laughter. "Annoying."
Steve just smiled.
When he'd gotten his laughter under control, he had to chase after control for a different reason. The moon had risen high enough to silver Steve in its light and the night breeze was ruffling through his hair, wreathing Bucky in his scent.
He turned away, suppressing a shiver, welcoming the sudden spill from an emptying theatre and the distraction as they manoeuvred through the chattering crowd.
They'd left them well behind when Steve said, "Do dogs still like you?"
"Do dogs still— What?" Bucky asked, startled into surprised laughter.
Steve shrugged one shoulder. "I've always wondered."
"Can't go wandering up to a random werewolf and just ask?"
"And I figured letting a dog go in the vicinity would be asking for trouble."
Bucky snickered. "Afraid I can't help you there. The shepherd on the corner hates me, but it hates everyone. The neighbour's cat still likes me, if that's any help."
"That's surprising."
"Not really. I bribe her with bacon."
Steve tipped his head back and laughed, full throated and gorgeous, and Bucky could only watch helplessly. This, he thought, is exactly how the cat must feel when presented with almost irresistible temptation.
It was theoretically a long walk to Bucky's place—he usually took the bus—but the distance didn't mean much to a werewolf or a vampire and for Bucky the time passed far too quickly. Too soon they were making their way through the scrubby city reserve that ran along the cement-lined canals and behind his building and which, technically, meant his apartment overlooked the water. The reserve was mostly brown grass and a few depressed-looking trees, and the shallow water filled the air with a deep, swampy smell that almost covered the musky whiff of the local coyotes.
They'd almost reached the path that led to his building when he stopped dead, smacked in the nose by a pair of familiar scents.
"Bucky? What's wrong?"
He could see them now, coming around the curve of the canals. "Remember when Natasha asked if my alpha knew I was there?"
Steve nodded, tense by his side as he watched the approaching figures.
"I never told him about you. I never told him about any of it. And now—" He gestured at Sam, who'd clearly seen him, clearly smelled him, clearly smelled them, who'd know Steve was a vampire. Clint would know Bucky had lied to him.
"That's your alpha?" Steve asked, eyes fixed on Sam.
"Yeah."
"I see." There was something strange in Steve's voice, but he didn't have time to figure it out because Sam and Clint were getting closer, their steps slowing, they were both looking at Steve.
"Shit," Bucky said under his breath and at Steve's concerned look, added, "I'm sure it'll be fine."
He probably would have been right, but he hadn't expected Steve to move like a nightmare, deliberately placing himself, still as death, between Bucky and Sam.
Clint stopped, whole body shocked, but Sam stilled. Not Steve's stillness. This was the stillness of a predator in waiting, and his eyes had the deep richness of burnished gold.
"The pact doesn't apply if I'm protecting someone else." Steve's words were quiet, not a threat but with the sense that they could get there. "And there's nothing in the pact that stops me from protecting one of your wolves from you."
"Protecting one of…" He trailed off, the gold fading from his eyes. "You think you're protecting Bucky from me."
"What? No. Steve. Steve!" He grabbed Steve and pulled him around. "Sam wouldn't hurt me."
"He's your alpha."
"Yes?" There was some fundamental disconnect happening that he didn't understand.
Steve's fingers were gentle on his cheek. "You can ask me for sanctuary. If I ask her to, Natasha will give you a place in our territory. He won't be able to enter."
Clint made a muffled sound that Bucky couldn’t quite work out, shock or surprise or maybe Steve had offended him. "No? I mean, thank you. That's nice?" He glanced helplessly at Sam, who was watching them both almost sadly, at Clint, whose eyes were almost bugging out of his head, then turned back to Steve. "I don't know what's happening here."
"I do," Sam said, sounding infinitely weary.
Bucky turned to face him, Steve's hand falling to rest on his shoulder.
"We were coming to see you because you kept smelling like vampire. You kept smelling a lot like vampire, and you half-lied to Clint about it and we were worried." Before Bucky could react with guilt or an explanation or anything, Sam turned to Steve. "I take it you're old enough to remember a fair few alphas back?"
"I am." It was clear from Steve's tone that they weren't fond memories.
"Then you know how bad they were." Sam walked over to lean on the railing of the canal, folding his arms over his chest as he met Bucky's eyes. "There's been werewolves in this city for close to a hundred years. I've been alpha for five. Alpha before me, she did the job for nine. Before her, three years was a record."
Sam stared up at the night sky, and his expression made something inside Bucky ache. He wanted to tell him he could stop, that he didn't have to explain, but Sam kept going, as inevitable as the dawn.
"Go back three or four alphas before her and they were," he shook his head, "bullies isn't bad enough. But go back before them and they were stone-cold rapists and murderers. They didn't last long, got killed off and replaced by a wolf just like them, because that's the wolves they were making."
Bucky felt sick. "That's why you're careful who you change," he said, and it took all his willpower not to look at Clint.
"Yes. We are never going back to what we used to be. Never. The alpha before me, I didn't kill her. She offered and I accepted. The power was a gift." Bucky could feel it rippling in the air, radiating out from Sam as he told Steve, fierce and low, "I'm not gonna hurt Bucky. I'd never hurt Bucky. I'd never hurt any of them. I'm supposed to keep them from getting hurt. That's what being their alpha means."
Bucky didn't try and resist the now familiar urge. He hit Sam hard enough to make him oof and pressed his nose into the crook of his neck, because the new wolfy part of him knew Sam was one of the world's safe places. It was what made him say, "I should have told you. About Steve. About going to the vampires."
"It's okay. You're new. You didn't know you could."
It was what made him admit, "I was scared I'd lose something important."
Sam gripped the back of his neck, gave him a little shake. "It's okay. Don't worry about it. I'm just glad you're safe."
"Yeah," Clint said, coming up behind him to ruffle Bucky's hair. "The whole vampire protection thing sounds pretty damn safe."
"Bucky's worth it," Steve said and Bucky twitched and straightened, stepping away from Sam, feeling equal parts embarrassed and content.
"Can we start this again?" Bucky asked, and when no one objected, he said, "Sam, this is Steve. He's a vampire and my friend."
Steve inclined his head like a vampire in a cheesy movie, then he smiled, genuine and more than a little embarrassed. "Hi."
"Steve, this is Sam, my alpha, and Clint, who made me into a werewolf because I paid for his coffee."
Clint started laughing. Sam groaned and gently swatted Clint before saying, "Good to meet you."
"And you." After a brief pause Steve added, "A coffee? Really?"
Clint just laughed again, Sam chuckled, and Bucky dropped his chin to his chest and sighed. He could feel Steve's eyes on him, and he glanced up to catch Steve's gaze shifting to Sam.
"Sam?" Steve waited until he had Sam's attention, then said, "I'm sorry. I decided I knew what you were because I knew what alphas used to be. I was wrong. I should have talked to Bucky. I should have talked to you before..."
"Getting all vampy?" Sam said wryly.
"Yeah. And I'm sorry."
Sam studied Steve, head tilted and eyes shading gold, then nodded once. "Accepted, but it wasn't like you didn't have a reason."
"But I didn't."
"You thought you did. And those alphas you remember, you'd've been right. I'm not holding a grudge because you thought you were protecting a wolf," Sam said. "But can I ask…sanctuary? Seriously?"
"If he'd needed it." The look Steve gave Bucky was so full of warmth he didn't know whether he wanted to hide or somehow try and climb inside it. "Bucky's already a regular in our territory. Sanctuary's not that big a step from there."
Bucky was pretty sure it was a big step, a big, huge, massive step, considering he was allowed in vampire territory for one reason only and only when Steve was with him, but he couldn't call Steve on it because Sam was giving him a look. A Bucky, you didn't look, a Bucky, I told you look, and he had to say, "You said wolves can't trespass in vampire territory. You never said anything about getting invited in so I…did."
Sam shifted his completely baffled gaze to Steve, whose smile slowly turned into a grin with more than a hint of fang. "Yeah, that's exactly how I felt when I found him lurking at the border."
"I wasn't lurking. I was waiting."
Sam shook his head. "You know what? It's late. Bucky, you're not in danger, and you didn't trespass and violate the pact, and I'm gonna want to hear how you managed that, but not tonight. Tonight, I'm going home and I'm not worrying about you. Or you," he said to Clint, who was perched on the canal railing looking deeply amused. "And I'd like to remind you that this is all your fault."
"I'm not sorry," Clint replied.
"Yeah, neither am I. Doesn't mean it's not your fault."
* * *
If someone had told Bucky six months ago that he'd be kneeling nude in a moonlit field, wrapped in a blanket, he'd…maybe have been willing to contemplate the possibility, but it would have involved a lot of questions, like:
Am I drunk?
Am I trying to win a bet?
Am I about to get laid?
Or, possibly, Is it all of the above?
It wouldn't have occurred to him to ask: Am I a werewolf about to try shifting into an actual wolf for the first time in front of my alpha and the vampire I have a secret, overwhelming crush on?
Which would have been a pity, because that last one was a hundred percent accurate.
It was a hay field, so the grass was long enough it covered his thighs, and the blanket concealed his nakedness. Back where I started, he couldn't help thinking, remembering waking up on Clint's couch, and had to smother a laugh.
Sam had told him most werewolves eventually stopped caring about nudity. "Not all of them, though, so don't worry about it. You don't want to try shifting in clothes, though."
"Nothing dumber than a wolf in pants," Clint had said.
"I don't know." Sam had rubbed his chin. "Wolf in a bra comes pretty close."
Steve was here because Bucky wanted him here, but he'd asked Sam first.
Sam had been surprised, then thoughtful, staring at nothing while Bucky listened to his heartbeat. "We're going to be in neutral territory, so there's no problem there, but this is." He'd shifted his gaze to Bucky. "Your first shift, you're going to be vulnerable. It might go badly." He'd held up a hand. "I don't think it will, but you can't ever know. Are you okay with him seeing that?"
Bucky had rubbed his knuckles on his jeans, avoiding Sam's eyes, but he hadn't been able to stop himself from smiling. "I'm okay with Steve seeing pretty much anything."
After a long moment, Sam had sat back. "Right," he'd said, clearly amused.
"Shut up," Bucky had grumbled and Sam had just laughed.
And so Steve was here, watching Bucky kneel naked in the grass. Sam was off to Bucky's side, a calm, reassuring presence. Sam's scent was mingling with the grass and the iron and autumn of Steve that he'd know anywhere, and Bucky closed his eyes and breathed. He was the wolf and the wolf was him and even with all the support in the world this right here was something he had to do alone.
He reached, touched, felt the wolf waiting, bright and eager, and let it wash over him.
It was painless, the ripple of fur and the roll of muscle and the blanket was dropping to the grass as he bounded to his feet, tongue lolling, and he yipped in glee because he was a wolf.
Sam whooped and Bucky bounced in place, then bounded over to Sam to dance around him, before bolting away, running around them, head stretched, ears flat, mouth wide, speed and power and the grass under his feet.
"Is he okay?" Steve asked.
"He's fine," Sam replied, making his way over to stand next to Steve. "It's when they run away that you have to worry." They turned to follow his progress. "But he's circling us. That means he knows who he is. He knows who we are. He's just got to get the crazies out of his system."
Bucky skidded to a stop and flipped his ears at Sam.
"I said what I said," Sam called.
With a huff, Bucky narrowed his eyes, laid back his ears, and bolted straight at Sam. Who had no choice but to hop out of the way. Bucky laughed at him, jaw dropped, and Sam shook his head. Pleased, he repeated the action, running at Steve, who scooped him straight up and flipped him upside down, cradling him like he was a lapdog.
"Crazies, huh?" Steve said.
Bucky just wriggled around until he could lick Steve's face.
"And that's why you get out of the way," Sam said.
Laughing, Steve set him on his feet and Bucky zoomed out and around the field, circling Steve and Sam again and again until he was dizzy with scent and sensation.
Eventually, he trotted over to sit at Sam's feet, leaning his head on Steve's hip. Sam dug his fingers into his ruff. "Ready to shift back?"
He shook his head.
"Okay. You let me know."
Steve rested a hand on his head and Bucky closed his eyes. He understood now what Sam had meant about the danger of not wanting to come back from the wolf. It made everything seem so simple. It wasn't even an illusion. As long as he stayed a wolf, it would be simple. He wondered how many wolves were out there in the wilderness who'd given up or lost themselves and become the wolf completely. There had to be some.
He sighed and buried his nose in Steve's stomach, felt Steve's fingers thread deeper in his fur, heard Sam's choked off laughter. He'd shift back soon, but for now he'd just enjoy the simplicity. And the tail, he thought, and whapped Sam's shins.
* * *
Gryphon's was quiet, apart from the crinkle of paper and screech of tape drifting up from the first floor as Iain wrapped orders to go out in tomorrow's mail.
Without looking up from his book, Steve dug his sock-clad toes further under Bucky's thigh.
"Why?" Bucky said with helpless fondness. They were sitting on what had become their couch on the second floor. Steve had bought a copy of Dracula, which was either hilarious or ridiculous, Bucky couldn't decide which, and he hadn't figured out if Steve's, "It's a classic, Bucky, and I've never read it. It's important to read the classics," had been sincere or if Steve was screwing with him. He hadn't yet ruled out both.
Steve shrugged and still didn't look up.
"I know your feet don't get cold."
He could see Steve fighting a grin.
The weeks since Bucky's first shift and successful shift back had been eventful. He'd finally met some of the other werewolves and he understood what Sam had meant. Being in a group with them made the wolf itch under his skin, made him want to shift and run and howl, but they understood and so far every werewolf he'd met was pretty great.
If a little weirded out by how much he smelled like vampire.
Bucky figured he was going to smell like vampire, or at least like one particular vampire, forever, given how much time he spent with him. Not that he minded. And it wasn't just bookstore time anymore.
Three nights after his first shift, Steve had appeared at the edge of werewolf territory—
"Lurking," Bucky had said.
"Waiting," Steve had countered, and they'd both grinned.
—with a formal message for Sam. He'd texted Bucky first, so he hadn't been waiting long, and the message had been addressed to Alpha Wilson. (Steve had also texted Bucky to get Sam's last name. Which Bucky had needed to text Sam to get. The message had not, when it arrived, been a complete surprise.)
The first message had been followed by more messages, then by a meeting between Natasha and Sam—just Natasha and Sam, on neutral territory—and no one knew what they'd talked about or how exactly it'd gone. He and Steve had made some educated guesses, though, given they were feeling out renegotiating the pact into something more like a mutual assistance treaty and Sam was pretty damn happy about how it was going.
Bucky was pretty damn happy to be seeing more of Steve.
Steve wiggled his toes where they were shoved under Bucky's thigh, then set his book down and turned completely to face him. His expression was serious, and he was vampire-still in a way Bucky hadn't seen in a long time.
"Steve?" he said, worried, the sounds drifting up from the first floor loud in the sudden silence.
Steve didn't reply right away, just kept looking at him for a few long moments. "Are you aware," he finally said, then paused expectantly.
It took Bucky a second, then he started to grin. "Did you actually make the joke?"
Steve flashed him a tiny, pleased smile, showing the quickest hint of fang.
"Finally! How did neither of you see that you were making a joke?"
"Can I finish?"
Bucky gestured at him. "Be my guest."
"Thank you. Are you aware—"
Bucky cracked up.
Steve shook his head, then leaned forward, fingers cool against his neck, thumbs brushing his jaw, and kissed him. Steve kissed him, but Bucky met him halfway, wrapping Steve in his arms and kissing him back, kissing him until he was as breathless as Steve, until he had to pull away. He didn't go far, burying his nose in Steve's hair to bask in his iron and autumn scent. "Steve?" he said, while his heart howled giddy joy. "Consider me aware."