bakerstreet | Alternate Universe

"I dunno." He replied, shaking his head, "I really don't. I wish I did, but whatever she and Slim got dosed with isn't venom, even if it was fresh it wouldn't alter my perceptions like that, vampires aren't, you know, toxic to each other." Except verbally and emotionally, but that was an entirely different problem.

Another heavy sigh, scrubbing a hand up over his face and through his hair, "I know I keep saying it, but he's supposed to be dead. I don't even know if he's trying to make better vampires anymore, maybe he moved on to something else and that's fucking terrifying." Partly because Steve didn't know how many other subjects there had been besides him, he only knew that he hadn't been the only one, and there was no telling if any of the others had sired anyone else, and how those fledges might differ from fledges of a traditionally sired vampire. There were too many variables and he didn't like it.

Scrunching up his face, Bucky closes the distance and kicks over a kitchen stool to sit in front of Steve. He’s always perching on something, always touching something. It’s more instinct than personality. This is his territory. He is spreading his scent. It also makes Steve taller when they talk like this, another instinctual nod of a former pack animal showing deference to a leader. Bucky leans forward, his hands on his knees.

“Can we back up like a dozen paces?” he asks, resisting the urge to bite at the inside of his lip in thought. “How did— So from my understanding, there’s a blood exchange that makes humans into vampires. The rest of us would just die from the same exchange. Is that guy a vampire? Because he smelled more like a corpse.”

The math isn’t mathing, but Bucky isn’t sure if it’s rude to just ask Steve how he came to be the way he was. All Bucky knows is he was an experiment. That there had been others like him. He’d just assumed the guy doing the experimenting was a vampire too.

“And there is no such thing in the human or fae world that has walking corpses, Steve.”

"He's not a vampire." He shook his head again, frustration rising again because he couldn't actually be sure of that, "At least not like any vampire I've ever heard of. But the transformation is... yeah, usually it's blood. That's the best way to make sure it actually takes, but it's the venom that actually causes the change."

He curled his lip just briefly, thumbing at the point of the fang that dropped down into place, just holding out the droplet there for Bucky to see, it was clear, barely pink like watered down blood, and while it was thicker than water, it wasn't quite as viscous as blood would be and he licked it away again a moment later, "So I wasn't bitten, I was just injected." Another head-shake, "I don't know if it was pure venom, but I doubt it, for one thing we don't actually produce a lot of it, and for another, undiluted it would probably kill a human instead of transforming them."

Or, more horrifyingly, would induce an immediate transformation, allowing them to be milked for maybe half again as much venom as had been used before they died, which was something he'd considered once or twice but tried not to think about, "So whatever he used was some kind of serum."

He worked his jaw for a moment, just turning over an equally horrifying possibility over in his mind, "If he was sick, cancer or something chronic, the experiment I was part of? It might have been finding out how to keep himself alive without actually transforming." He shook his head, "But that's... it's not how humans are supposed to work, you know? He'd still be dying just... forever."

This whole thing is fascinating. Old Cornelian had filled him in on a lot of lore. The mage really liked Bucky and had made it part of his personality to keep Bucky in the know about vampires once he had discovered who his part time employee hung around with. Bucky had never made much of a big deal about it. He had read the books the man recommended but they seemed more propaganda pieces. None of the pictures even looked like Steve.

And the venom? Well that’s new. He knew about it but he’d never seen it. On a human, that venom was supposed to induce pleasure, or at least acceptance. Eyebrows way up, Bucky had leaned in even that drop of venom was momentarily presented, oddly compelled to see if it really would kill him if he ingested it.

It’s like staring into the void. Or thinking about stepping in front of a train. Bucky doesn’t usually have those dark thoughts though. The wolf is going to be the death of him this cycle.

“Huh,” Bucky says, abruptly sitting back before he does anything else stupid. “It worked on you. It fixed you up. So it kind of makes sense that he would want to do it to himself. Jeez-us Steve. You’re not just forever dying are you?”

That minuscule amount definitely wouldn't kill him, probably wouldn't even make him sick, though it might numb his mouth for a while. Steve was also pretty sure the toxicity was exaggerated if only to keep vampires from trying to turn shapeshifters, or, more likely, to keep shapeshifters from trying to eat vampires, or to keep from being bitten themselves, but it wasn't like there was anyone he could really ask, so he kept those opinions to himself.

He shook his head at the question, "No, I transformed, I know that much. No heartbeat kind of gives that one away. He rubbed at his brow, "But if he's..." He shook his head again, "I don't know, on the cusp? In some kind of in-between? It shouldn't take much to either kill him or change him, but I don't like either option And I don't know for sure if that's what he's doing."

Talk about relief! The thought of poor Steve being incomplete, stuck in the middle, and in pain he never showed to him would have broken Bucky’s heart. Literally. He can deal with emotional turmoil, of wanting things he can never have, but knowing Steve lived (or unlived) each moment in agony would have been too much. The werewolf straightens out his right leg and knocks his foot against Steve’s ankle.

“Gotta confirm that you don’t smell rancid, but that might just be because you’re stuffing your socks with lavender or parsley or something.” Hey. He loves the smell of lavender and parsley. Very earthy. Very soapy. And both grow all around the cabin—

The werewolf groans.

“I know you don’t wanna leave, pal. And maybe the way I am this month, it might be better to stick around and pay your old friend a visit instead.” Killing isn’t something he likes to do.

But he’s done it. And he’ll do more of it. Whatever Steve needs.

He shook his head, "No, leaving's better. For both of us." He wasn't going to let Bucky be some kind of assassin for him, even if the doctor did deserve it. He was more concerned about the collateral damage that would result if they somehow managed to kill the man off without knowing what it was he was even doing.

A twitch of a smile, "And no, I'm not stuffing anything with lavender and parsley. For one thing you'd notice if that much lavender was missing." One of the few things that there was always an abundance of in the victory garden on the roof, if only because it attracted bees to help pollinate everything else.

He shifted his weight a little so that he could return that thump, "Besides that, fresh air will be good for the both of us, I think."

“You don’t have to breathe,” Bucky says with a grin, ignoring the tease about his nose. He takes his bloodhound attributes seriously anyway. One has to be good at many things to keep Steve safe, or so he tells himself, as if the vampire hadn’t been doing just fine on his own before they met up.

Bucky might have to ask a bit more about that in the future. Learning about Steve is his favorite pastime.

Back on his feet, Bucky washes up the spoon, sets it aside, and opens the wardrobe by the front door to yank out a rucksack. Steve is neat and clean. He folds his items like a gentleman. Bucky just crams.

“Want me to put any of your things in mine?” It’s a genuine question. It never quite occurs to him that Steve and wrinkles just don’t go together.

There was a small smile at that first comment, just shooting back: "Doesn't mean the fresh air won't be good for me, Buck." He pushed himself up from where he was leaning against the door frame as Bucky moved to wash up.

He shook his head at the question, "No, I got it." There was a moment's consideration before adding, "Should probably get the winter blanket out of the closet, though, in case the sun shades are fucked up again."

“It’s gonna smell like mothballs,” he warns, which is something Steve doesn’t need to worry himself over. Bucky is the only one that will suffer. “I’ll take it out tomorrow after I bring the truck around.” It will go in the back bed with their things.

Maybe he can lay it out on the grass once they get to the mountains? Bucky pauses in front of the wardrobe, lost in thought for a few moments.

Slowly, his head tilts to the left before he turns back around to Steve. “You going to be all right for a few days looking after me? Do you need me to pick anything else up tomorrow?”

"Hang it out on the fire escape for the day, sunlight and outside air will help." A shrug, "Help it smell more like city air than mothballs, anyway." Which wasn't necessarily better, but was a more familiar kind of smell anyway.

He did consider the question and the offer that went with it, finally just nodding, "I'll be alright, especially once we get out there, I know it's not deer season, but there's always something I can catch." Not one of the last-call drunks he normally went for, but he'd lived off of animals before just fine, "We'll be okay, Buck."

As Steve might have guessed, Paulie was not too thrilled to have his favor called on. Though not as big of an ask as what Bucky had done for him, his business relied on his trucks. Even the junkers. Contraband and illicit magical goods don’t move themselves after all. A few reminders and pointed looks, however, did get Bucky a truck. One that looked about ready to fall apart, but still a truck.

On the plus side, it did fit in the alley too.

While Steve slept, Bucky packs up. The blanket stretched out on the clothesline between fire escapes still smells, but it’s better than it had been. He wraps up a few sprigs of lavender in it and then uses it to add a little more cushion to the bench front seat. With the windows down, Bucky should be fine.

He does a few errands after that. He comments to people he meets about work he’d heard about. That he’ll be leaving for a week, maybe, and Steve would come with to see if he could shake a chest cold. People bought it. It’s not like most people knew about Steve, either. Who would believe there could be a vampire with a soul?

When Steve wakes up, he’ll find Bucky curled up on the floor by his door, napping the late afternoon away. The wolf’s sleep schedule is erratic. He’s almost learned to sleep standing up sometimes.

When Steve woke, it was as the sun was going down, more than halfway below the horizon, but not fully gone just yet, even that was because he knew they had to get moving as soon as possible, and if he could get dressed before the last sliver was gone, and they could get outside just as soon as it did, that would be an extra ten or fifteen minutes they could be making their way out of the city rather than waiting until the sun was fully down before he even got up.

He knew his moving around getting dressed was likely enough to alert Bucky that he was awake, but even still he knocked twice at the door, since he knew Bucky was close and probably right in front of it as he usually was and didn't want to give him a rude awakening via door to the head.

It’s not like it would have been the first time. Bucky is more of less awake by the time the knocks come. Steve can be silent when he wants to be, but the faint noises had been meant to rouse him. It’s why Bucky cares for the other so much. Steve is kind. He is mindful. And he cares for him too.

At the first knock, Bucky had already pulled himself up. The second and he’s scratching his scalp with both hands, stretching, his back arched at the feeling.

He’s been dreaming of blood again. Rabbits, he tells himself, but rabbits don’t have fingers. The violence is a lot. The sensory misdirection is well needed.

“Hey, pal. Just let me grab some bread and we can get going.” They’ll be right in the thick of traffic but it can’t be helped.

"Get dressed, I'll butter you a couple slices." Steve replied, patting Bucky's shoulder on the way past. He'd also make sure the perishables were out of the icebox, not that they generally had many of them to start with, and not like Bucky wouldn't have done so already, but, apparently, looking after Bucky over the full moon was going to start early.

As he moved to the kitchen, setting to buttering the last four slices off the loaf he asked: "You got my suitcase and the first aid kit already?" Provided Bucky's wolf didn't actually manage to slip the shackles they weren't likely to need the kit, at least not for anything more than minor abrasions as usual, but if it was going to be as bad as Bucky thought, it was possible he would as he had done before.

Where is his brain at? Bucky frowns as he watches Steve empty the icebox. He hadn’t thought to do that and it’s such a simple task. There really isn’t too much in there. Bucky is the only one that eats and outside of the essentials, he rarely keeps anything in.

Even so, the thought of coming home to rancid cheese is an unpleasant one.

“Got the first aid kit,” Bucky says, tugging a shirt over his head after giving it a sniff to make sure it isn’t offensive. “And your suitcase. And Paulie’s shittiest truck.”

"As long as Paulie's shittiest truck will still get us to the cabin, that's really all that matters. It can fall apart once we're up there, we'll kludge it back together again with bailing wire to get back if we have to, it's fine."

He slid those four slices of bread over to Bucky's side of the counter, "Eat, I'll go drop the scraps off with Mrs. Lawrence. If she doesn't need them, she'll know who will." It wasn't much that he'd pulled from the icebox, but it would still be enough to make someone else happy, able to save a little bit on groceries that week.

He paused then, arranging the items in a milk crate, blinking up at Bucky, "Wait, what did you tell her? If I'm supposed to be sick I shouldn't be dropping things off."

Mostly through a slice of bread already, Bucky shoves the rest of it into his mouth and chews as fast as he can. He’s getting more and more animalistic. The ride up to the cabin should be interesting. “Said I got some work. Just a week or two at one of the hotels. Something about maintenance. I wasn’t sure what exactly. And you’re coming up with me to do some painting. I uh, stopped by George’s and picked you up some charcoals. Don’t get ton excited. Just wanted you to have something to do that wasn’t looking out for me.”

Steve should be all right making the trip. No need for an illness narrative.

“Just remind me to bring back some of that taffy they’ve got up there.” He barely waits to get another few bites in of the next piece. “I’ll pass it around when we get back.”

He relaxed a little at the fact that he wasn't going to get them caught in a lie, smiling easily at the mention of charcoals, "Thanks Buck. I packed my pastels, but charcoals are always appreciated." Mostly because he ran through them more quickly than most anything else.

He picked up the crate, bracing it against his hip, "Back in two shakes." The smile tilted, amusement lighting his eyes, "Don't leave without me." He knew there was less than a zero percent chance of that happening, which was why he was comfortable teasing about it.

He was back in about five minutes, which likely meant he'd used a little bit of speed on the way back up the stairs, but it was one of those things he did when he knew no one would notice, and with most of their neighbors settling in to dinner -or already set out for night shift jobs- there was little enough chance of it being noticed.

"She says thanks, and to make sure we're being careful because of bears." He shook his head, "Don't think it's bear season, but I told her we'd be careful."

The two shakes comment has Bucky grinning and shaking his hips as Steve leaves. There’s butter smeared on his lips, two more slices of ‘breakfast’ to go, and a few more things to tend around the place before Steve returns. He expects him to be quick. There are always people around at twilight but Steve goes unnoticed in so many places that he can move quickly.

In fact, Bucky has only just finished his food when the vampire comes through the door again. At least he’s cleaned up, trying to keep the rats away. Crumbs have been tossed out of the window and cupboards have been checked for shelf stable items being tightly sealed.

“I’d protect you against bears,” is Bucky’s bold takeaway from everything Steve reports. That’s the moon talking again, making Bucky puff up.

That might be a sight to see, though neither creature would fair well in the outcome.

Steve seemed to consider for a moment before commenting: "I think I could take a bear, actually." He shook his head a moment later, "Don't want to tangle with one, not unless I really have to, but I think I could."

Mostly he knew that the upper limit of his strength hadn't been fully tested, and he actually feared the day that came to happen, because he'd always felt like that was one of the things he was better off not knowing. Knowing he was strong was enough, he didn't need to know exactly how strong.

He scratched the back of his neck, then, apparently shaking that off with: "We'll have to stop at the general store on the way in, make sure we've got supplies to get through the next few days." Which was to say: making sure they didn't have to go anywhere while Bucky was more easily riled, the wolf closer to the surface.

Bucky is going to be long in thought during the ride, mostly about Steve taking on a bear. The idea tickles him in a way he knows isn’t normal. This isn’t just a David and Goliath story. Small Steve against a hulking bear on two legs. No. It’s the blood that gets him. Blood he doesn’t want to think about right now.

So he agrees to the general store, hands over a wad of bills he’d collected during his rounds from the people that owed him for work tendered. They should be able to get quite a lot.

All of Bucky, unfortunately. He hates being a burden. But there is little he can do in this regard. He’ll need to eat. He’ll want to eat raw things. Steve could catch those for him, but it won’t be the same as hunting himself. And out of his cycle, it doesn’t agree with him as much as it does when his all teeth and claws.

“Come on. Get the maps ready.” Steve knows the way but Bucky can get quite argumentative when he thinks he’s right and often needs Steve to prove he isn’t.

Steve was perfectly happy to leave Bucky to his thoughts while they drove, mostly because he knew there was a good chance the actual driving would keep him from getting too tangled up in his own head, even this close to the moon.

More than that, he knew the signs of Bucky getting too deep in the tangle of his own thoughts and how to pull him out again. The grocery run had been quick enough -the general store wasn't that big and was mostly geared towards the folks who used the cabins for hunting or just getting away from the city for the weekend, which meant there were all the staples as well as whatever meat the hunters sold off as surplus so they wouldn't go over weight limits. It was a system that had been in place well before the two of them had started coming around, but it was one that worked out in their favor as often as not, because Mr. Henry didn't sell it at a mark-up from what he'd paid for it except on rare occasions.

With the supplies secured in the back, Steve had already been unfolding the smaller, more well-used map with their own path markers on it when Bucky mentioned it, smiling and rattling it a little to shake it out fully, "Way ahead of you, pal."

“Always showing off,” Bucky chirps, still in good spirits. Trying to leave the city certainly changes that, though. Aggressive posturing leads to aggressive driving and though Steve can’t get too hurt if they wreck, Bucky has to remind himself every time he gets the urge to cut someone off or swerve in their direction that they need the truck.

And being out in the open tomorrow night would be disastrous.

Luckily, there is sugar to be had at the supply stop and though the molasses candies are hard and unpleasant to chew on at first, the sensation of chewing alone is calming. So is the chatter between them. Steve’s distraction techniques are well honed.

With a grin, more relief than anything, Bucky turns off the main way and onto the back woods gravel paths towards their cabin. He only gets into one argument with Steve about their turns but even that is done with a shrug. He needs to bring some of these candies back for the next cycle.

No soon is the truck parked that the werewolf leans back into the seat and stretches out an arm to pull Steve in. “Man that smell! I’m going for a run, fifteen minutes tops.”

Even the argument about turns was easily run through with 'which one of us is the navigator here?' in a tone that was amused but with an edge of a warning under it, not that Steve would ever deliberately put Bucky under his sway unless it was an absolute emergency, sometimes the reminder that he could was enough, and more than that the reminder that Bucky had given him the job of making sure they were going in the right direction was better.

He laughed as Bucky reeled him in across the seat, more relaxed himself now than he had been when they were still making their way out of the city, just nodding at the statement, "You've got twenty before I come looking." Mostly because it would take him about that long to get everything unpacked and put away. They could both go through to make sure the water main was back on and there weren't any critters nesting in any of the drawers or cabinets once Bucky got back from his run.

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