Work Text:
The stranger who broke into Bucky and Steve's backwoods cabin had used a key. Then they'd sat in Bucky's spot on the couch and not re-folded Steve's ma's blanket when they left. They'd also used silverware, Bucky's favorite mug, and the coffee pot—which at least they'd cleaned and left drying in the drainboard.
"This is feeling very Goldilocks, isn't it?" Bucky told Steve quietly.
Vampiric senses honed to pick up the sound and scent of blood told Bucky the stranger was human, male, and young, with maybe a spice of magic. The unfamiliar heartbeat filtering down from their bedroom certainly wasn't Peggy's husband Daniel's, and only Peggy and Daniel knew about this place.
After being turned into a vampire and a werewolf, respectively, Bucky and Steve had enlisted Peggy's help, first to fake their own deaths in the eyes of Uncle Sam, then to "inherit" their cabin so they could continue living here undisturbed.
Until now, anyway.
Steve, silhouetted in the light of the open refrigerator, pulled out a styrofoam take-out box for Bucky to see, then gave it an experimental sniff. "Italian. Fresh. Real fresh." Then, even though it belonged to an intruder, he put it back in the fridge.
Bucky rolled his eyes.
Steve, whose darkvision was as immaculate as Bucky's, just huffed at him and closed the door. "It smells like he hasn't been here long. A day at most." He returned to Bucky's side at the foot of the wooden staircase.
Bucky bumped Steve's shoulder affectionately, then sighed. "Okay. Let's find out why this schmuck has a key to our house."
The schmuck was asleep and, in Bucky's low-voiced opinion, unfairly sexy. He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties, with dark brown hair, a pretty mouth, and his left hand clutching a prissy-looking, filigreed pistol.
"I'm just gonna—" Steve said, stepping over to the bed and whisking the pistol out of the stranger's hand.
The man woke instantly, rolled off the other side of the bed, and turned on the lamp from the floor. "Get the fuck out of my house!" he snarled, and stood up wielding a metal baseball bat.
It was like watching a frightened kitten puff up and hiss, hoping to scare someone off.
Bucky wanted to cuddle him. "Can we keep him?" Bucky asked only semi-facetiously.
Steve snorted but otherwise ignored him. "You wanna tell us why you have a key to our house?" Steve asked the human.
"This is my house. My aunt—" The human's lip trembled, and his eyes glistened before a deep breath got him back under control. "My aunt left me this house."
Bucky stilled, then reached for Steve's hand. "What happened to Peggy?"
The human's face crumpled with grief. The bat drooped, impotent, against his side.
"Oh, God," Steve murmured, pulling Bucky against him. "How? When did it happen?"
"Cancer," the human whispered. "Eight months ago. Stage four. It metastasized into her bones." He ran a hand down his face as if to master himself, or comfort himself, or both, then took a deep breath. "So, you're not here to kill me?"
"Oh, honey," Bucky said, still reeling and taking comfort from Steve's warmth, woodsy scent, and familiar heartbeat, "we don't even know who you are."
The young man looked surprised. "You don't?"
Steve pulled away just enough to set the gun back on the bed, a gesture of peace.
The human didn't need to know that Steve could just turn into a werewolf and rip out his throat, or that Bucky could leap the bed and throw him through the wall and down into the backyard faster than he could hope to grab the gun.
"We don't," Steve told him gently. "But Peggy was our friend, and it sounds like you're her family, so you're welcome here. C'mon, let's talk downstairs."
The discussion in their cozy, rustic living room over coffee and a vitamin shake clarified three things: Bucky and Steve had an arrangement with Peggy; her nephew Tony hadn't known that; and Tony had come here to hide because someone was trying to kill him.
That last point was of great concern.
"Why's someone trying to kill you, pretty boy?" Bucky asked.
The epithet lit up Tony's stunned face before he rallied. "Probably because I shut down the weapons division at SI. A lot of people don't like that."
After a silent conversation, consisting of Bucky's pleading expression and Steve's protective instincts scrawled all over his face, they turned to their intruder/landlord. "You're welcome to stay as long as you need," Steve told Tony.
Bucky tried to sound neutral rather than pleased when he said, "You probably saw there's no space to sleep in the other room upstairs. And if someone's trying to kill you, you're better off sleeping in our room than down here. I'll pull out the guest bed for you."
"Thanks for helping me," Tony said quietly.
"Peggy was our friend," Steve said. "When she trusted you with this house, she trusted you with us. We'll do everything we can to keep you safe."
Two nights later, 'everything' cashed itself in: Military types in a black SUV drove up during dinner, banged on the door, tried to flash a badge at Steve, and told him Tony was a fugitive.
One of the perks of being a werewolf—that Bucky didn't appreciate being on the receiving end of—was lie-detecting. So instead of feigning ignorance, which Bucky doubted would've worked anyway, Steve bluntly told the man, "You're lying."
While Steve distracted their newest uninvited guests, Bucky ordered Tony to hide, then snuck out the back door to get behind the goons. They carried far too many guns, and body armor would make things harder if they got into a fight, but at least they seemed like regular people. Steve didn't seem concerned, anyway.
The inevitable fight began when Liar Goon tried to shove his way past Steve and into the house—a move so idiotic, Bucky almost laughed.
Steve was immovable. He let the guy push for a moment, but when Liar Goon didn't back off, Steve caught him by the throat and hurled him into the SUV so hard he dented the side.
So Bucky dropped his fangs, let his body go hazy, and backed up his man.
The fight was over quickly, all four goons bleeding on the ground, when Bucky heard a gun go off in the house. Steve bounded back inside, oblivious to his bloody muzzle and claws staining the living room rug. Bucky ghosted through the wall right beside him.
The bad news: There was a fifth goon.
The good news: Tony had shot him.
The weird news: Tony's blood reeked of magic, his prissy pistol's filigree looked like burning embers, and the shot hadn't killed the goon—it was burning him up from the inside. In seconds, he was ash that blew into nothingness in the breeze from the open door.
"What the hell kind of gun is that?" Bucky asked incredulously.
Tony whirled around, saw a giant tawny wolf with bloody jowls and paws, and pointed the gun at Steve.
Bucky jumped in front of him, hands held out defensively. "It's just Steve," he told Tony. "Do not shoot him. Or me," he added, suddenly conscious of his own bloody mouth and hands, and the inhuman shape of his face.
"What are you?" Tony asked, not lowering the gun.
Bucky took a deep breath and retracted his fangs and claws. When his jaw returned to normal from its restructuring to allow him to open his mouth wide as a boa constrictor, he looked completely human again. "I'm the same guy I was when you met me," he said. "I'm not gonna hurt you. All me and Steve want is to keep you safe."
And do filthy things to you, Bucky's hindbrain added unhelpfully.
He heard painful shifting sounds behind him, and then Steve's naked arms wrapped around his waist. "You're okay, Tony," Steve said, resting his chin on Bucky's shoulder. "It's just us. You know us."
Cautiously, Tony lowered the gun.
Bucky sighed with relief. Then he found a clean section on his bloody shirt, near the hem, and tried to wipe the blood off his mouth. "Okay," he said when his face was as good as it was going to get, "do you have any idea who these guys are?"
Tony looked dazed. His eyes were fixed on Bucky's blood-spattered shirt.
"Tony?" Bucky asked worriedly.
Tony flushed, and guilty eyes jerked up to meet Bucky's. "No clue," Tony rasped, then coughed to clear his throat.
"Is anyone still alive outside?" Bucky asked Steve.
Steve cocked his head, listening, then said, "One."
It took a year of fighting off assassins to get all the bad guys who'd hired them sent to prison. Well, the bad guys who weren't mysteriously ripped apart despite being inside locked houses, with the alarms still armed and security cameras showing no visitors.
By that point, Tony had long ago stopped using the fold-out mattress.
Now that it was finally safe for him to leave the cozy cabin and return to his jet-setting, high-end life, though, he was bouncing off the walls with anticipation, like Steve and Bucky's home wasn't enough anymore.
Bucky wanted to enjoy their last few days together, but it was hard to pretend Tony's eagerness to leave didn't hurt.
Except, the night after they found out Tony was safe, when they were all under the covers for bed, Tony told them, "You should home come with me." He was all but vibrating with excitement, like he'd found the solution to a problem Bucky hadn't realized they'd shared. "I checked. I can get you papers and identities—whatever you want. You can live in a city again. Or by the ocean. I have a house in Malibu. It's remote, lots of room to run around in—you'll love it."
Knowing Tony wanted to stay together, even if it wasn't here, eased the knot of hurt constricting Bucky's chest. He kissed Tony's shoulder and tugged him in tighter. "Could be fun," Bucky said, cautiously optimistic. "Steve?"
Steve looked pensive—though the lights were off, so Bucky doubted Tony could see his expression. "We'd be under a lot of scrutiny," Steve said regretfully.
"I'll protect you from that," Tony promised. "You've protected me here, but that out there is my wheelhouse. I'm not much against assassins, but media? Tech? Technomagic? I'm a fucking monster."
"Like us?" Bucky asked wryly.
"Ouch. No."
The smirk in Tony's voice told Bucky to wait for a punchline.
"Way cooler than that," Tony said.
Bucky groaned to hide his laughter and buried his nose against the nape of Tony's neck. Tony's fluffy hair tickled his face, but Bucky didn't mind. He loved being this close, loved the comforting smell of Tony's blood, the sound of his steady heartbeat. He especially loved that Tony wanted him this close. Tony had seen Bucky rip a man's throat out with his teeth. To then trust Bucky to be the big spoon, giving him easy access to his neck, meant Tony knew that he was safe in Bucky's arms.
Bucky felt overwhelmingly tender whenever he thought about that. He kissed Tony's neck reverently.
Steve's amused, "Okay, Mr. Cool," helpfully derailed Bucky's sentimental thought spiral before Bucky could embarrass himself.
Steve pulled the blankets up, tucked them around Tony and Bucky's shoulders, scooted closer, and wrapped his arm around them. "Time for us monsters to go to sleep."
"And then come home with me?" Tony asked.
Bucky knew that voice—and the big Bambi eyes that came with it. He couldn't say no when Tony did that. It was a miracle Tony hadn't figured that out yet.
Lucky for Bucky, he'd married a man who was a monster in more ways than one. Steve could say no, and made sure to do so whenever Bucky was about to give an ill-advised yes—like right now. "Aren't we already?" Steve asked Tony before Bucky could capitulate.
Tony poked him. "Mi casa es su casa," he said, "and I have muchas casas. Come home with me to Malibu."
"We'll need to think about it," Steve hedged, then kissed Tony softly and settled down on his pillow.
(Un)fortunately, Bucky was thinking about it, and all of his thoughts when Tony used that cajoling voice were, "Find a way to give Tony what he wants." And the idea of rejoining the world of the living was taking root in Bucky's imagination. Several minutes of dreamy thoughts later, he thwapped Steve's side with the hand on Tony's hip. "We're saying yes," he decided. "It'll be fun, Steve. You can doggy-paddle in the ocean while Tony sunbathes."
"And what will you be doing during all this?" Steve asked wryly.
"I'll be inside making you barbecue instead of outside turning into it."
Tony released a gratifying bark of laughter, then said, "Right," in his Official Project tone. "Once I've got my equipment again, I'll have to do something about your sun allergy."
Bucky couldn't help feeling hopeful. If anyone could find a solution, it was Tony. "Hear that, Steve? If we go with Tony, I might finally get to watch a sunset with you."
Steve's breath hitched. "Can you really do that?"
"Might take a few dozen iterations," Tony warned, "but eventually, yeah, I can work something up. People are the only problems I can't solve. But engineering? Design? That's just thinking and elbow grease. Easy peasy."
Steve huffed and laced his fingers through Bucky's across Tony's hip. "Guess we're going to Malibu," he said like they stood on the cusp of a brave new world.
Bucky didn't need darkvision to know all three of them were smiling.