Chapter Text
It wasn't quite that simple. The real world still existed, with leases and deadlines and bills to be paid.
Bucky talked to Natasha. He'd expected her to be instantly on board with the idea, since he went with the fewer black dogs meant less chance of them being turned into weapons, turned into fuel angle. He thought she'd be more sympathetic to that than his other reasons. He hadn't expected her to say, "That's not your job."
He ended up explaining all his reasons, why he'd thought of it in the first place, and she nodded in understanding. "If it's what you need to do," she said, "I'm not going to stand in your way. I'll help Sam build the spell and I'll teach you how to use it. But you have to be careful."
"I won't be alone," he reminded her. "I'll be with Steve."
"And I won't let anyone hurt him."
Bucky wasn't sure exactly what passed between Steve and Natasha, but something did, a moment of perfect understanding in which they looked way too similar for his comfort, before she said, "I believe you."
* * *
Once the spell was built, Bucky had to learn it—which was easier said than done. It wasn't complex, at least according to Natasha, but even after everything, something in him still rebelled at the idea of magic spells.
It was Clint who said, "You don't have to call it a spell," which made Bucky think that at some point in Clint's hard and fast introduction to magic his mind had run along similar lines, so Bucky didn't. Piece of magic worked for him.
It meant they spent a lot of time at Sam's house, since it was apparently set up better for this kind of thing. It also meant Steve spent a lot of time with Sam while Natasha was teaching him, working through the piece of magic step by step, and it made Bucky happy to see how well they were getting along.
Steve should have more than just him.
* * *
Some weeks in, the five of them were at the bar walking distance from Sam's place—even if to anyone else they looked like four—when Sam said, "You know, I've got a spare room down the back of the house."
"Yes?" Bucky said, mystified at the non-sequitur.
"Now that you can officially do your magic spell—" Natasha's voice had been quiet enough no one was going to overhear in the noise of the bar, but Bucky still groaned and put his head on the table.
"Don't call it that," he said while Steve and Clint laughed at him.
She went on, unperturbed, "—you're going to need a base of operations. If you're still going through with your plan. Are you?"
"Yes," he said, lifting his head, "unless Steve—"
"No, I haven't changed my mind."
"Then yeah," Bucky threaded his fingers through Steve's, "we are."
"Which means you'll be giving up your apartment," Sam said.
"Yes…and?"
"Sam's asking you to move in with him," Clint said, chasing the chunk of pineapple at the bottom of his glass with a straw. He speared it, popped it in his mouth, and grinned.
"Not when you put it like that, I'm not," Sam said, nose wrinkling. "What I am doing is kindly and generously, because I am a good person, offering to let you use my spare room as your permanent address." He tilted his head back and forth. "And you can store your shit in my garage if you want."
"Seriously?" He'd been planning to throw his stuff in storage and get a post office box for mail, but this would make everything a million times easier.
"Uh huh."
"Why?"
"Ever heard the expression don't look a gift horse in the mouth?"
"Yeah, but I'm ignoring it."
Sam heaved a sigh. "Because you're doing a good thing, half the garage is empty anyway, and it's not like you're going to be around to use the room." He grinned. "Besides, if I put up with you, I get to enjoy Steve's company. And Steve doesn't give me shit about old technology."
* * *
The morning was cool, the sky above a cloudless pale blue, trees dappling Sam’s yard with shadows.
Bucky's car was parked at the end of the driveway, packed up with everything he thought he'd need. They were planning to be away for no more than three weeks on this first trip, plotting a route that would take them to two cemeteries and one graveyard, both long abandoned.
Natasha looked at him seriously. "If you need help, call."
"I will." With the time she'd spent teaching him, with the stories Clint had told him—and he wasn't sure she knew about those—he understood a little bit better why she'd done what she had. It'd hurt, he still wasn't sure it had been the best choice, but he understood, and he didn't hold it against her. She was his friend, an unexpected and unusual one, but a good one for all that. "Thanks for," he raised his hands, let them fall, "for everything."
"But maybe not for breaking into your apartment?"
"Okay, maybe not for that," he said with a wry smile, half convinced she could read his mind.
Beside him, Steve huffed.
"You'll watch out for him?" she said to Steve.
"I'd say with my life," Natasha's lips twitched, "but you know. It's a bit late for that."
"Still, I appreciate the sentiment."
There was another moment of perfect understanding between them, the same as before, and Bucky shook his head. "We'll be careful, and it's not like we're going to be doing anything dangerous."
"Why would you say something like that?" Clint groaned. "You might as well walk under a ladder while kicking a black cat."
"I don't think that's how it works," Bucky said.
"Oh yeah? How do you think I broke my toe?" He turned to Natasha just as she opened her mouth to speak, saying, "Remember? What can possibly go wrong now and then wham, broken toe."
"Yes, but that's you."
Bucky burst into laughter and Steve said, "I promise I'll keep Bucky from breaking any toes."
"See that you do." Clint pulled Bucky into a quick hug. "Be careful out there, man. Magic shit is weird, but I'm sure you'll be fine. Your boyfriend is just as weird."
Steve glared at him.
"No, come on, you're dead and you turn into a dog. I'm not saying you're not a great guy, but that's weird."
"I actually can't argue with that," Steve conceded after a bit.
"Me neither," Bucky added.
"There you go. Right twice in one conversation. I'm calling that a win."
"And that means you should probably get going before he puts his foot in his mouth," Sam said. "I'll walk you to the car."
Bucky watched fondly as Steve, visible only to them, phased through the car and settled in the passenger seat, then opened the driver's door and slid into the seat.
Sam leaned an elbow on the roof, the other propped on top of the door.
"Can I give you one last piece of advice?"
Sam's gaze was intent, pinning him in place. "Anything you can tell us would be great."
"These abandoned cemeteries you're going to? They aren't the only forgotten dead around. This country's built on them. Some of them'll have their own watchers, their own guardians. You run into any of those, you don't mess around. You show respect and you move on, or they'll have you and Steve for lunch."
A shiver ran down Bucky's spine. "We will."
"We won't forget," Steve said seriously.
Sam gave them a half-smile and straightened. "Then stop cluttering up my driveway. You're making the place look untidy. Keep us updated on how it goes, call if you need advice, and let me know before you get back."
"Can do," Bucky said.
Steve leaned over him to grin at Sam out the window. "Bye, Sam."
Sam stepped back and gave them a quick wave as Bucky started the car and pulled out of the driveway, the road unrolling ahead of them.
When they reached the highway, Steve shifted and put his head out the open window, tipping it back to sing out to the sky above, his song winding out and spiralling through the lines connecting black dog to black dog: we're here, we're here and we're coming.