#established winterhawk

Clint’s instantly on high alert. He puts his thumb to the ring on his middle finger, activating the sigils that give him access to his power stores. He walks through the kitchen, one hand in front of him. “...Babe?” 

There’s another crash, then, a quiet ‘shit’, a pause, then, “In here!” 

“In where?” Clint asks, concerned. 

“Basement!” 

Clint’s breath catches in his throat. Bucky shouldn’t know about the basement. It’s warded against sight and detection. Even Nat approved it, said her magic didn’t so much as itch when she came near it before he adapted the wards to recognize her. Fuck. “Don’t look in there,” he says hurriedly, sprinting for the stairs. “Everything in there is uh, a prop? It’s all, uh, parts of a play. Yeah, okay, you remember, I was a nerd in school, did ren fests and things and —” 

He reaches the door to the basement, winces at the broken wards as he passes — he should have felt them break — slams it open. “I mean, not that ren fests are just for nerds, or that being nerdy is a bad thing, it’s just —” 

His voice dies in his throat. 

Bucky’s standing in the center of the room, one hand extended to his side, where a red flame flickers, swirling bright crimson smoke into the air. The other stretches forward, fingers flexed upwards, palm flat towards a man that’s bound to a chair against the wall. 

Well, no, not a man — a vampire. 

Silver chains wrap around his ankles and wrists, keeping him tied to the chair. Three crucifixes make up the back of the chair, and thick ropes anchor him in place. A vat of holy water is suspended in midair above him, poised and ready to drench his unruly hair and ruin his leather motorcycle jacket. 

“Hey, Clint,” Bucky says. “Sorry, this was the closest warded and supplied place I could take him, and the silver in my car wasn’t holding up.” 

“The silver in your car?” Clint echoes weakly. He blinks, rubs at his eyes. Yeah, nope, that’s his totally human, totally non-magic boyfriend trapping a vampire with what looks like a pretty damn powerful purification spell in progress. 

The vampire jerks his head back, twisting his face so that he can spit the gag out of his mouth. It’s a pretty mouth, fangs aside. “Ren fests are totally for nerds,” he says. “I bet you both are regular attendees.” 

Bucky sighs. “Sorry, thought I had that tighter.” 

The vampire winks. “Looks like someone needs to practice on their knot work, though— ,” he flexes strong biceps against the ropes, then smirks, “— seems like you’ve got at least some practice tying people up.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You’re relentless, Todd. I cannot wait until this spell goes through and you’ve got your gods-damned soul back. Maybe then you’ll be a little less annoying.” 

He waves the hand that’s extended in front of him, and a flicker of red flies from the flame above his other palm, shooting towards the vamp. 

Before it arrives, the vampire chuckles. “Oh, sweetheart. As if having a soul is gonna make me keep my mouth closed.” The flicker of red yanks on the gag, pressing it through his lips, behind his teeth. His chuckles continue, and there’s a glow in his eyes that makes one hell of a promise. 

The red flicker flies back to rejoin the flame over Bucky’s palm. It’s an effortless display of strength: one spell cast in the middle of at least two others, the animation of two inanimate objects, multiple targets held in concentration at the same time. Gods, the level of focus required alone — Clint hasn’t seen anyone this strong since, well, himself. 

Holy shit, and Clint thought Bucky was attractive before? He shifts on his feet at the sudden discomfort in his jeans. He steps forward, letting the door to the basement swing closed. 

“But,” he says, mind still skipping like a broken record, “I’m supposed to be the witch in this relationship.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky says, “about that.” 

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