InsaneJournal

Who: Clint and Dylan (and wolf!Derek)
Where: The Woods
When: September 12, 2020
What: Clint takes care of the wolves; the wolves take care right back
Rating/Warnings: Low/None
Status: Completed via GDocs


Weeks of this fairy tale nonsense, and Clint was over it. Sure, he presented an unflappable insouciance on the net, but the cracks were there, and they were getting wider. His husband was a wolf, his husband's alpha was also a wolf, one of his best friends had been in a sleep-coma for almost a month, and people weren't acting like themselves.

After Eliot's random comment, and sitting with it for a few days, he'd finally bitten the bullet and made a last ditch attempt at kissing Bucky. Not that he thought it would actually work, but the hope that platonic love might be enough was there and made the failure sting all the worse. He spent the rest of the interminable day with a dark cloud hanging over his head, and avoided pretty much everyone. No one deserved being snapped at, even though most of them would understand. Nightfall was almost a relief. Almost.

With it came his new routine, one he'd established a week before.

He trudged out into the woods between the Facility and New Asgard and found a spot to drop off a couple of pounds of quality steak. Not the same one, never the same one. He set it out reverently, knowing it would be eaten eventually, but not expecting it to wind up in the bellies of his intended diners. The two wolves weren't the only predators in the forest—they were just currently the largest.

With that done, he trekked to the small clearing he'd found on the second night. It could have been magical, with the crescent moon just coming over the treetops, but all Clint felt was a wave of frustration. He flung his purple sleeping bag at the ground with a grunt.

It wasn't remotely satisfying, since all it did was bounce once and roll to a sad little stop. He huffed out a breath and shook his head. Being dramatic for a party of one was ridiculous. Clint got his little primitive and temporary campsite set up—which really just amounted to checking the ground for any new pinecones or walnuts before unpacking his sleeping bag and a pillow that was smelling less like Dylan with each passing day—and settled down to watch the stars before sleep finally dragged him under.

His aids were in a secure case in his pocket, but he wasn't really as worried about an attack or being caught unawares by anything as he probably should have been. Situational awareness was a practiced trait that Clint relied on more often than not. He'd be fine. Lonely, but fine.

An ache bloomed in his chest. He curled on to his side and shut his eyes, nowhere close to sleep but needing to shut the world out for a while.

Dylan’s sharp ears picked up the careful footsteps and he cocked his head, triangulating the noise as best he could from this distance. He’d heard them before, in another part of their wooded home, then shortly after they’d found the food. Delicious, mouthwatering, tender meat! Just laying in the grass waiting for them. They hadn’t needed to hunt it down or anything. After an impressive yawn, he got to his paws and stretched in a perfect downward dog— or downward wolf in this case, letting out a little huff toward his companion. They should investigate, he was hungry and the rest of the forest was still… boring!

Trotting over to the larger, darker, creature, he butted the wolf’s shoulder with his head, leaning into his side in an attempt to get him moving. Derek must have heard the footsteps too.

A low grumble echoed off the overhang they'd found sometime ago. Wolves didn't so much think in terms of days or hours or minutes, but there was an awareness of the passage of time and—in Derek's case—a deep ache of something forgotten. His ear twitched before he climbed upright and turned to snap his teeth in his packmate's direction. The dead-prey smell was growing familiar, but the animal part of his mind chafed at not being able to hunt it on his own. Didn't keep him from scenting the air, locating its direction, and taking off toward it, however.

He knew Dylan would follow. Just like he knew, after they'd eaten, it wouldn't be long before his beta was whining to explore the forest, to find the one who'd left this gift.

In a clearing some ways away, their benefactor's heart rate slowed and their breath evened out.

A snort followed the snap of his Alpha’s teeth and he dodged easily out of reach, then they were off, loping through the trees toward their bounty. It wasn’t a chase, but it was enough to stretch his legs before dinner. Cold meat wasn’t his favorite, but he made short work of the steaks Derek didn’t eat. When he was done, he snuffled the mossy floor, not seeking out more food, but the scent of the footsteps’ owner. It was familiar, not just from the other feeding ground, but something else. A whine built in his throat as he circled the area, finding the freshest scent and following it to the edge of the dell.

Listening hard, he pinpointed a stronger heartbeat than those usually heard in the trees, and a pang of something inexplicable to his wolfy mind twisted inside his body. Lifting his head, he gave a quiet half-howl, before looking back at his Alpha, clearly debating whether to stay or follow the intriguing scent and sound.

Derek may not have been in his right mind, but he had enough of his memories tucked away to know and be wary of the scent of the most dangerous predator in these woods. Yet he could neither deny nor ignore the pain in his beta's scent and that small noise of distress. He huffed out a sound of his own and nosed at the side of Dylan's neck before using his snout to push at it. His packmate would go, but Derek would be his shadow.

No one would hurt his beta. Not again.

Turning his head to nuzzle against Derek's in gratitude, Dylan bounded forward out of the dell, not really needing the nudge of encouragement. He knew his Alpha would follow, ever the protector, and concentrated on following that enticing scent through the trees. He almost tiptoed as he stepped into the clearing, lifting his head briefly to look up at the crescent moon, before focusing on the darker lump in the center of the open ground.

Approaching cautiously, he paused at the foot of the strange purple cocoon and gave the shiny material a cursory sniff. His tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth as he recognised the scent, a feeling of happiness putting a spring in his step as he circled the sleeping bag, snuffling softly at the blond tufts peeking out of the opening at the top. A little huff left him and he looked to his Alpha, ducking his head under the curious red gaze, before settling himself beside the sleeping human as close as he dared. (Which was very close indeed.)

Caught in the liminal space between sleep and the waking world, Clint had the freedom he needed free an arm and put it around the large warm body in front of him. His fingers curled into fur he knew would be dark gray if he could drag himself awake for long enough to confirm. A sense of Home and Right filled his mind. It only redoubled when another, larger form curved along his back. Not quite an archer sandwich, but close. Now he just felt Safe. And Pack.

Derek wouldn't stay the whole night. He would be gone by morning. His Betas were safe, but so many were missing. His Mate was missing. When it was still in the deep of night, he buried his head in his massive paws and made a mournful sound. He didn't know how to get back: lost. He was lost in the woods.

The first thing that Dylan registered was the dappled sunlight playing across the mossy floor of the clearing. The second was the chill in the air which felt a lot keener than it had just the previous day. The third was the slippery material against his back and the arm curved around his waist.

His non-wolfy waist.

A little grunt of confusion escaped him as he lifted himself onto his elbows to look around the circle of ground devoid of trees. Derek was gone. But his beautiful Mate was right there, nestled in his purple cocoon and sleeping peacefully. Their self-nominated wolf keeper, purveyor of delicious meats. He shifted closer to the sleeping bag, leaning his head on the corner of the soft bedding. "Thank you."

Unlike the wee hours before, the movement under his hands woke him up, but not completely. Instead of fur, familiar skin warmed Clint's palm. His fingers pressed in, then inched up. More skin. He felt breath on his cheek, the kind that came with spoken words he could feel more than hear. Clint cracked an eye open, and then blinked them both, wide and shining in wonder. His grin grew to match them. "There you are." A sigh shivered out of him. "Hey, baby."

In a small flurry of movement, he unzipped the side of his sleeping bag and unceremoniously pulled his husband inside, gathering him close. Clint nuzzled his nose and kissed the corner of his lips. "Welcome back, sweetheart. I missed you. Derek back, too?"

A noise of content slipped through his lips at the familiar touch and he watched at Clint woke, smiling just as brightly as his husband. "Hey, hon."

Dylan was scooped into the sleeping bag before he could make any move to assist and he chuckled as he nestled close. Pressing his forehead to Clint's for a moment just to breathe with him. "I missed you too, even stuck as a wolf, I knew something was wrong. I knew your scent. It was more enticing than the food."

He frowned then, and gave the tiniest shake of his head. "I can vaguely sense him, but it doesn't feel as though he's all there, so maybe that means he's still a wolf? Or maybe he's too far away?"

"Thanks for not eating me." Clint laughed, soft and quiet, his smile going crooked. Relief made him giddy, and a lightness filled his chest. He kind of wanted to live in this moment, but that was how Dyl always made him feel. "I'm always gonna find you, sweetheart. Don't matter what the multiverse throws at us."

Concern pulsed through him, even though Clint knew Derek was more than capable of taking care of himself. He still didn't much understand the pack bonds, but maybe it didn't actually matter much beyond what he could feel down to his bones. Funny enough, he couldn't have said when it even started. It was so gradual, and now he knew he'd feel it's loss like something had been carved out of him.

Losing Dylan, though? It would destroy him. He let out an involuntary sound and snaked his arms around his husband so he could pull him close. The only thing between them was Clint's own clothes, which was as good as they were going to get. One hand stayed at Dyl's back, the other went into his hair, cradling the back of his head. "We'll find him. Or Steve will. We're family now, yeah?"

"You are very welcome, and me too." His lips quirked in a little grin before the wave of concern from his love smothered it. He felt the same way; Derek was a born werewolf, capable and adaptable. But being changed against his will and living away from his own Mate would be taking its toll.

"Family. Pack. It's the same," Dylan sighed, closing his eyes for a moment as Clint held him close. "We'll bring him home."