A Gift From: inkvoices
Title: Out of the Long Night
A Gift For: caitis_musings
Rating: PG13
Warnings/Choose Not To Warn: vague mentions of a past war, implied past tough times for the strays Clint collects, polyamory (Clint/Nat/Bucky)
Summary/Prompt Used: ‘Clint having to explain the strays he seems to keep collecting’ and ‘AU where the local mystical shop also has the most magical café attached’.
Clint brings home so many strays that Natasha and Bucky could form a coven.
Author's Note: Happy holiday season Caiti!


Out of the Long Night

“We’re closing in ten minutes,” Natasha says firmly and finishes cashing up the till before looking up.

She means to ask if there’s anything that she can help their last minute customer to find - quickly, because she has better things to do on Longest Night than work late - but the words don’t make it out. Instead, she stands there with her mouth hanging open for an embarrassing length of time. Because the person stomping snow off of their boots on her shop’s entrance mat is Clint.

Natasha wants to be angry at him because she hasn’t seen him in months, but also she hasn’t seen him in months, so when he opens his arms she falls into them, laughing as he hugs her tight and lifts her up to spin her around. His quiver and the bow attached to it get in the way as she hugs him back and his neck is cold against her nose as she burrows into the gap above his coat collar, breathing him in.

“Where the hell have you been?” she demands when he finally puts her down.

Clint beams, hands settling on her waist like he can’t quite bring himself to let her go. “Oh, here and there.” He gives her a look that means she’ll get the story later.

Her familiar, Liho, takes the opportunity to butt her head against Clint’s leg in greeting and he obediently crouches down to scritch her between the ears. The damn cat purrs in appreciation.

“Traitor,” Natasha mutters, despite having practically butted her own head against Clint not a moment ago.

Liho flicks her tail in Natasha’s direction and then leaps up on top of a bookcase and disappears, probably to warn next door that Clint is home.

Clint’s hands end up back on Natasha’s hips again as he gets to his feet. He winks at her, then twists his head around, directing her attention to the teenage girl standing in his shadow. She’s wearing a worn denim jacket with a red hoodie underneath, which is in no way suitable for the weather, and too-large gloves on her hands that Natasha recognises as a pair that that Clint received as a gift last year.

“This,” he announces cheerfully, “is America Chavez.”

“Um, hi,” America says, tugging off her hood.

Natasha would like to be able to say that Clint disappearing for months on end only to return home with a teenager in tow is an unusual occurrence. However, three of the teenagers he brought home previously have formed an audience by the Yule candle display.

She catches Maya signing ‘ten dollars’ and Wanda hiding a smile behind her hand as Darcy mutters, “Damn it.”

“Language,” Natasha says, the shorthand reminder for ‘no swearing on the shop floor’ tripping off her tongue automatically, and Clint laughs. She should probably also scold them for gambling, but there are worse things that they could be doing.

“So,” Clint drawls, taking his hands off Natasha so he can sign at the same time, making sure Maya isn’t left out of the conversation. “America is amazing at portal travel and, I thought, you know how you’ve talking about expanding to deliveries? You should hire her. She’d be great at it!”

“Maybe.” Natasha raises an eyebrow. She doesn’t like being put on the spot like this, even though they both know that of course she’s going to take America in. There’s not really anywhere else that’s safe for her to go and the only way someone learns how to be ‘amazing’ at any kind of magic that young is desperation and constant practice, which doesn’t say much for where she came from.

“I’m good,” America says, taking a step forward. “And I’m a good worker.”

Clint translates into sign on her behalf, and for Natasha when she folds her arms and sighs.

“I appreciate the confidence,” Natasha says. “What I don’t appreciate is unnecessary risk.” The war’s been over for years, but, “There are still a lot of places that it’s dangerous for people like us to go.”

“Like us?” America blinks and looks past Natasha at the other girls. “Wait - are you all…?”

“Witches?” Darcy shrugs. “Yeah, we are. I’m a weather witch, Maya can copy any spell and kick ass, and Wanda does illusions.”

She signs the words after each sentence rather than at the same time, much slower than Clint, and in the wrong order - English instead of sign language. Clint and Natasha were the only ones who could sign before Clint brought Maya home, but everyone is improving.

“She could portal nearby instead of to actual addresses and take Pietro with her as back-up,” Wanda suggests quietly.

It’s not a bad idea. They give Pietro work in the shop and the cafe next door where they can, but it’s difficult when he doesn’t have any magic of his own. Male witches are rare and Peitro doesn’t have the gene, even though he’s Wanda’s twin. Natasha could make him responsible for organising and arranging the deliveries as well, which he could do on his own.

“Trial run,” Natasha says.

Clint beams again, Wanda makes an excited squeaking noise, and Maya waves her hands in the air. America’s smile falters slightly when Darcy darts over to give her a welcoming hug, but she gamely pats the other girl on the back.

“Okay.” Natasha taps Darcy’s shoulder to encourage her to let go, then says, “Can you give America a tour of the shop please, then show her the apartment while I’m locking up?”

They rent two of the apartments on the top floor floors of the building - the ground floor being occupied by several small businesses. The adults live in one and the other is for the various strays who haven’t found anywhere of their own yet. Darcy is currently the oldest staying in what she jokingly calls ‘the commune’. Maya is also still living upstairs, but Wanda and Peitro now live a few blocks away.

Natasha tries not to worry about how the rent is creeping up as the local area recovers, from the war and the years of neglect before that.

“Great,” Clint says, already opening the shop’s door and backing out. She thinks it’s because he knows that she gets irritable if there are other people around when she’s closing up for the day, but then he adds, “So I’ll just get Kate settled in and then I’ll see you upstairs later!”

“Wait, who’s Kate?” Natasha calls after him, but he’s already gone.

< - - - >

When Clints walks into the cafe next door Bucky, forewarned, is already placing a fresh cup of coffee onto one of the tables.

“Thanks,” Clint says, sliding onto a chair and wrapping his hands around the mug with a happy sigh.

“Lost your gloves?” Bucky says, wiping his own hands on his apron. He used to wear gloves all of the time himself, with the excuse that it was for ‘hygiene’, and for a while he used an illusion spell, but these days he doesn’t bother. Plenty of people lost worse than a limb in the war, and there are survivors who came out of it with worse souvenirs than a metal arm.

“Something like that.” He waves a hand at the teenage girl trailing behind him, snowflakes melting in her hair as she stares around at the bread charms hanging in the windows and the large gingerbread house displayed on the counter with all its magically moving parts. “Pull up a chair, Katie-Kate.”

“It’s just Kate,” she grumbles, doing as she’s told.

Bucky nods. “And what can I get for you, Kate?”

“A job, I think.” She gives him a sheepish smile. That, plus the BandAid above one eyebrow and the small cuts littering her face make her look like Clint, more so than any of the other strays he’s brought home before except maybe the dog.

“Ah.” Bucky sits down on the other side of the table, opposite them both.

Spotting a rare opportunity - Bucky actually sitting down during the work day, although technically he should be closing now - Alpine jumps onto his lap, probably getting flour in his fur but as he’s white it doesn’t show. Usually if Alpine wants contact during the day Bucky ends up with a cat on his shoulders, but this way it’s easy for Bucky to stroke him and Alpine clearly approves.

Bucky isn’t sure where Alpine’s sister has disappeared to; opposite in more ways than colour, Liho tends not to sit still for long.

Kate frowns at Alpine as Bucky strokes his back, slowly from head to tail the way he likes best.

“He’s yours,” she says. It isn’t a question and she doesn’t mean ‘your pet’.

Bucky looks over at Clint, who just sips his coffee innocently, before he nods.

Male witches are rare. Rarer still are people like Clint, who can recognise the difference between a familiar and a pet at first look; who can recognise a witch.

“And you’re a witch hunter,” Bucky replies.

Kate flinches. “Not a fan of the label, but yeah, sure.”

“Okay.” Bucky raises his eyebrows. “And are you any good at baking?”

She stares at him, obviously expecting a different kind of reaction, or at least more of a reaction, but Bucky is fairly shock-proof.

“Um, I can make coffee?” she offers. “I’ve worked as a barista before. Well, it was a student coffee shop and we didn’t have a fancy machine or anything, but I know, like, when milk’s off and stuff, and I’m a quick learner,” she rattles off, watching his face. “Or, if you don’t mind, maybe I could just hang out here sometimes when America’s working next door - ”

“America?” Bucky freezes for a moment, and Alpine rubs his face against Bucky’s wrist until the stroking resumes.

“My girlfriend,” Kate says, leaning forward a little and narrowing her eyes. “Would that be a problem?”

Bucky lets the corner of his mouth curl up into a small half smile. “I’m in a relationship with him,” he says, tilting his head towards Clint, “and with your girlfriend’s new boss.”

“Oh.” Kate blinks. “You - Okay, then.”

“Oh,” Bucky repeats, trying not to laugh. He turns to Clint, raising an eyebrow. “You found two this time?”

Clint shrugs. “Technically this one found me.”

Then Bucky does laugh, because of course Clint Barton was accosted by a teenage witch hunter with a witch girlfriend and ended up bringing them home.

“What’s so funny, boss-man?” Yelena says loudly as she comes out of the kitchen.

The others who were on the afternoon shift at the cafe have left to start getting things ready for a Yule celebration upstairs, but Yelena said she’d stay to help clean up and to keep practising her animation spells. She did a lot of the work on the gingerbread house, including making the pine leaves on the front door and the little Saint Nicholas who gets chased by a police officer across the roof.

She spots Clint and comes to a halt next to the table, planting her hands on her hips. “Why do we have customers when we are meant to be closed?”

“Pretty sure I don’t count,” Clint offers.

“You are drinking out of a cup we will have to wash,” Yelena tells him. “And sitting at a table we will have to clean. I hope at least you paid. And you,” she says to Kate. She frowns as she looks her up and down, then reaches out to poke Kate’s arm with one finger.

“Um, ow?” Kate pulls a face.

“You are too skinny,” Yelena declares. “You need meat on your bones. We have soup left, and bread.”

Yelena says that Bucky has gone soft in his old age, but that she’s happy to make up for it. Only she’s just as soft in her own way.

“Why don’t you take Kate out back to eat?” Bucky says. “And you can show her around, because she’s going to be working here for a bit.”

Yelena lights up, dragging Kate out of her chair and off to the kitchen. Kate shoots a panicked look at Clint, who just gives her his empty mug on her way past followed by a thumbs up.

“I’m not sure I can find much work for her at the moment to be honest,” Bucky says quietly after the door swings shut behind the two girls. “I can’t take shifts away from the others.”

“Yeah.” Clint props his elbows on the table. “Actually. You know when we were talking about Natsasha maybe expanding the shop, with deliveries?”

Bucky nods, curious.

“And I said maybe I should expand what I do too, kinda?”

Clint has never been able to let the war go, or rather he’s never been able to stop trying to make up for his part in it. Natasha is a little the same, in that she never turns away another witch who needs help, but Clint never turns down anyone and he actively goes looking for people to help. Sometimes he’s gone for days, sometimes weeks or months.

As much as he misses him when he’s away, Bucky understands, but when Natasha had talked about the possibilities of a delivery service and Bucky had joked that he could do take-out, Clint had said maybe he could ‘step up his game’ by teaching self-defence classes or archery, to help others learn how to help themselves.

“You’re thinking of staying,” Bucky says, trying not to get his hopes up.

“Yeah,” Clint says quietly. “I am. I… I missed you two. I missed being home.”

“And you didn’t before?” Bucky bites his lip at the look that puts on Clint’s face, but he has to ask, “What’s changed?”

Clint sighs, looking towards the kitchen door. “Kate came to me. So maybe other people might?” They’re both quiet for a moment, thinking of the ways the world might - could - change, then Clint shakes his head and meets Bucky’s eyes again with a grin. “Plus she’s great with a bow,” he says. “I kinda want to set up an archery range just to see what she could do with it.”

< - - - >

Later, Clint celebrates Yule with Nat, Bucky, a crowd of teenagers who show up at the second upstairs apartment - Clint is amazed they all manage to fit inside - and a bunch of the neighbours. Later, Clint takes Lucky for a walk and Kate tags along, and Clint doesn’t have the heart to split them up after so Lucky ends up going back with Kate to ‘the commune’ where he’ll probably be completely spoiled. Later, in the moonlight of the longest night of the year, Clint watches as Natasha shifts closer to Bucky in their bed to make room for him, because it’s been so long since he’s been in it with them that they’ve adjusted to fill his space.

“You promised you’d tell me where you went this time,” Natasha says, yawning, as Clint crawls in next to her.

The two of them curl up facing each other, like speech marks, sharing a pillow while Bucky lies on his stomach on Natasha’s other side, breathing softly and seemingly asleep already.

“Not out loud.” Clint laughs when she elbows him in the stomach - trying to be quiet so that he doesn’t wake Bucky - which turns into a yelp when she presses her cold feet against his legs to warm them up. “How about I tell you a different story?”

“I might let you get away with it,” Natasha informs him, “but only for tonight.”

Clint brushes her long hair back from her eyes and away from his face, inhaling the smell of her shampoo as he takes a deep breath.

“So, you remember that thing with the tracksuit mafia in the summer?”

Natasha opens one eye to glare at him. “Do I remember you bringing a fight home, along with Maya and a dog? Funnily enough, yes, yes I do.”

“Right,” Clint says quickly, trying to cut her off.

“Like we don’t have enough familiars in this building without adding a pet,” she continues, voice rising. “And like we could afford the damage - ”

On the other side of Natasha, Bucky raises a hand in the air and chimes in, voice sleep-rough, with, “I had to replace the cafe windows. And my best knives. And - ”

“Because Yelena used them as ammunition!” Clint complains.

“You bring them home,” Natasha says, “and you think you’re in no way responsible for anything that follows?”

“That - I mean,” Clint splutters. He gives up, rolling onto his back and almost falling off the edge of the bed. He closes his eyes and covers his face with his hands. “I’m trying to tell you that I have money. From bad people who won’t be needing it anymore. And I bought the building.”

It’s silent for a moment, then Clint feels Natasha sitting up next to him. He peels his hands off his face and cracks open his eyes to find her leaning over him with a blank expression.

“You did what now?”

“I bought the building,” Clint says again. It doesn’t sound any less weird the second time. “Look,” he tries to explain, “you were worrying about the rent, and I keep bringing kids home, and - ”

“And your solution was to buy the building,” Natasha says flatly. She turns to Bucky and pokes him in the ribs. “Do you have an opinion about this?”

Bucky bats her hand away gently and catches hold of her wrist as he turns over onto his side. “As one of the strays he brought home and as one of the people who lives in this building?”

“What?” Clint sits up as well and hooks his chin over Natasha’s shoulder so that he can see Bucky better, who smiles at them both. “I didn’t - you’re not a stray.” Clint’s not one to put labels on things, but ‘stray’ is not one he’d apply to someone he shares a bed with. “You’re - one of the people that I bring them home to.”

Natasha reaches her free hand behind her and finds Clint’s, lacing their fingers together.

“Not that it’s a bad thing,” she says softly, “to be rescued by Clint Barton.”

“Thank you,” Bucky says, holding Clint’s gaze. “For bringing me home. For bringing all of them home. For choosing to stay.”

Natasha’s breath catches and she squeezes Clint’s hand. “You’re going to stay?”

“Yeah.” Clint squeezes back, eyes still on Bucky, and swallows around the lump in his throat. “I think - I mean, I bought a building, so.”

“So,” Natasha echoes, breaking the tension with a little light and fond mockery, even as she holds on tight.

Clint wraps his other hand around her middle and ducks his head, turning the instinct to hide into a kiss to her shoulder. Bucky watches for a moment through heavy-lidded eyes, then tugs on Natasha’s wrist that he still has captive, reeling her in until she’s tucked up in his arms. Natasha pulls Clint with her and he goes willingly, eventually letting go of her hand only to reach across her waist and rest his on Bucky’s hip.

“You know,” Natasha mutters, as she settles down between them, “you’ve brought home enough witches now that we could form our own thirteen-strong coven.”

Clint’s brain stutters, memories of past propaganda and old drill sergeants telling him never to let witches gather their strength warring with how happy Natasha sounds about it and the pleased noise that Bucky makes. With the thought of a pile of teenagers, familiars, and one dog crammed into an apartment a floor up, warm and safe, and probably high on sugar.

“Well,” he whispers into the night. “Happy holidays I guess.”