"White and Black Wolfs"
The Call of the Wild
The Avengers’ training facility was a symphony of heavy thuds, the rhythmic whir of moving machinery, and the smell of ozone and sweat. For Caleb, it was usually the one place where he could let the wolf off the leash without fear of collateral damage. He moved across the padded floor like a blur of shadow, his long black hair tied back in a messy knot, his yellow eyes tracking the holographic targets with lethal precision.
He was a whirlwind of controlled violence, his movements fluid and predatory. He didn't use weapons; he didn't need them. His own body was a masterwork of evolution, capable of shattering bone and tearing through reinforced steel. He felt good. He felt fast. He felt—
"Looking sharp there, pup."
Caleb’s foot slipped. It was a marginal error, a fraction of an inch, but it was enough to send him stumbling forward. He caught himself with a handspring, landing in a low crouch, his heart hammering against his ribs. He didn't even need to look up to know who it was. The scent of sandalwood and cold vibranium was already filling his lungs.
Bucky was leaning against the doorway of the training sim, his arms crossed over his chest. He was wearing a tight black tactical shirt that left little to the imagination, and that insufferable, lopsided smirk was firmly in place.
"Don't call me that," Caleb growled, his voice vibrating with a low, tectonic rumble. He stood up slowly, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.
Bucky tilted his head, his blue eyes dancing with a mischief that was becoming increasingly common—and increasingly dangerous. "What? Pup? Why not? You’re the youngest one on the team, and let’s be honest, you’ve got that whole brooding-canine thing down to a science."
Caleb felt a flush of heat that had nothing to do with his workout. It started at the base of his neck and crawled up his dark skin. He hated how easily Bucky could get under his skin. Since that night in the kitchen, their relationship had transformed into a high-stakes game of chicken. They traded touches in the hallways, lingering looks over coffee, and late-night visits that usually ended with Caleb pinned against a wall, breathless.
But this was different. This was public—or as public as it got in a secure facility.
"I’m twenty-nine, Barnes. I’m not a child, and I’m certainly not a pet," Caleb snapped, stepping out of the simulation ring.
Bucky didn't move. He waited until Caleb was just a few feet away, close enough to feel the heat radiating off the werewolf’s body. "I don't know," Bucky mused, his voice dropping an octave. "You seemed pretty obedient the other night when I told you to stay."
Caleb’s breath hitched. He looked around frantically, but the gym was empty save for them. Still, the boldness of the remark made his ears burn. "That was... different. And you’re pushing your luck."
"Am I?" Bucky stepped forward, invading Caleb’s personal space with the practiced ease of a man who knew he was wanted. He reached out with his human hand, his fingers grazing the damp skin of Caleb’s bicep. "You get so tense when I do that. Your pulse jumps. I can see it in your neck."
Caleb stepped back, his temper flaring like a struck match. "It’s a physiological response to annoyance. Nothing more."
"Right. Annoyance," Bucky repeated, the smirk widening. "Well, I’ll leave you to your workout then, good boy. Try not to tear the equipment apart."
The words hit Caleb like a physical blow. *Good boy.* It was a patronizing, humiliating, and utterly infuriating term of endearment. His claws slipped out instinctively, the sharp points digging into his palms. He wanted to roar; he wanted to tackle Bucky into the mats and show him exactly how 'good' he could be.
Instead, he stood there, frozen, watching Bucky saunter away with a victorious swing in his step.
***
The mission in the outskirts of Sokovia was supposed to be a simple recon-and-retrieve. A rogue splinter cell of Hydra had uncovered an old research cache, and the Avengers were tasked with making sure whatever was inside didn't make it to the black market.
The forest was thick with pine and damp earth, a perfect playground for a werewolf. Caleb moved through the underbrush with silent intensity, his senses dialed to the maximum. He could hear the heartbeat of a rabbit three hundred yards away and the faint click of a safety being moved on a rifle near the warehouse.
"Target in sight," Caleb whispered into his comms. "Six guards at the perimeter. Two snipers on the roof."
"Copy that, Wolfie," Sam’s voice crackled in his ear. "Wait for Steve’s signal."
"I told you not to call me that," Caleb muttered, though his heart wasn't really in the protest.
"Quiet on the comms," Steve’s voice cut in, authoritative and calm. "Bucky, you take the east flank with Caleb. On my mark."
Caleb felt a presence at his shoulder. Bucky had moved up beside him, his vibranium arm painted a matte black to avoid reflection. He looked like a ghost of the war he had never truly left behind.
"Ready to go, pup?" Bucky whispered, so low the comms wouldn't pick it up.
Caleb gritted his teeth, his yellow eyes flashing. "If you say that one more time, I’m going to let them shoot you."
Bucky let out a soft, huffing laugh. "No, you won't. You like me too much."
"Mark!" Steve shouted.
Caleb didn't wait. He launched himself from the brush, a streak of black hair and raw power. He hit the first guard before the man could even raise his weapon, the impact sending the soldier flying twenty feet into a tree. Caleb didn't stop, pivoting on his heel to sweep the legs out from under a second guard, his claws shredding the man’s tactical vest.
He was a blur of teeth and fury, the wolf taking over, guided by a human intelligence that made him twice as dangerous. He felt the familiar rush of the hunt, the way the world slowed down until it was just a series of targets and trajectories.
A sniper on the roof took aim, the red laser dot dancing across Caleb’s chest. Before the trigger could be pulled, a silver flash streaked through the air. Bucky’s combat knife buried itself in the sniper’s shoulder, knocking him back.
Bucky was right behind Caleb, moving with a lethal, mechanical grace. They worked in a jagged, violent harmony—Caleb the hammer, Bucky the scalpel.
"Clear!" Caleb shouted, standing over the last of the perimeter guards. His chest was heaving, his skin flushed with the heat of the fight. He turned to see Bucky holstering his handgun, looking remarkably unruffled.
"Nice work," Bucky said, walking toward him. He paused, looking Caleb up and down. Caleb was covered in dirt, his shirt torn at the shoulder, his eyes still glowing a bright, predatory yellow. "See? I knew you were a good boy."
Caleb’s vision swam with red. He didn't think; he just acted. He lunged, his hand catching Bucky by the front of his tactical vest and slamming him back against the corrugated metal wall of the warehouse. The metal groaned under the force, a deep dent forming around Bucky’s head.
"Stop. Calling. Me. That," Caleb hissed, his face inches from Bucky’s. His fangs were elongated, his breath hot against Bucky’s skin.
Bucky didn't look afraid. If anything, he looked delighted. He didn't even try to use his metal arm to break the hold. Instead, he rested his human hand on Caleb’s hip, his thumb hooking into the waistband of Caleb’s trousers.
"Why?" Bucky challenged, his voice a low, dangerous purr. "Does it make you nervous, Caleb? Does it make you feel like you’re losing control?"
"It’s degrading," Caleb spat, though his grip on Bucky’s vest was trembling.
"Is it?" Bucky leaned in, his nose brushing against Caleb’s. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re vibrating. It looks like you want to bite me and kiss me at the same time. You’re such a well-trained soldier, aren't you? Always following orders. Always doing what’s expected."
Caleb’s growl was a physical thing, a vibration that shook both of them. "I am not your pet, Barnes."
"Then stop acting like one," Bucky whispered. "Stop waiting for permission. If you want to shut me up, shut me up."
Caleb didn't give him a choice. He crashed his mouth against Bucky’s, a kiss that was more of a collision. It was desperate and messy, fueled by adrenaline and the lingering high of the battle. Bucky groaned, his metal arm finally coming up to wrap around Caleb’s neck, pulling him even closer, until there wasn't a breath of air between them.
The sound of Sam’s wings overhead broke the moment.
"Uh, guys? Hate to interrupt the National Geographic special, but we’ve got a cache to secure," Sam’s voice came through the comms, sounding both amused and exasperated.
Caleb pulled back, his face a mask of shock and lingering heat. He let go of Bucky’s vest, stepping away and trying to smooth down his hair. Bucky just leaned against the dented wall, looking like the cat that had caught the canary—and then proceeded to eat it.
"We’re coming," Bucky said into his own comms, his eyes never leaving Caleb’s. He winked. "The pup just had a bit of a moment."
Caleb turned and stormed toward the warehouse entrance, his tail—if he’d had one in this form—practically twitching with rage. "I’m going to kill you, Barnes! I’m going to actually kill you!"
"I’d like to see you try, sweetheart!" Bucky called out, laughing as he followed him in.
***
The flight back to New York was quiet. The rest of the team was exhausted, nodding off in the seats of the Quinjet. Caleb sat in the back, staring out the window at the clouds, his mind a chaotic mess of yellow eyes and blue steel.
He felt a weight settle on the seat next to him. He didn't need to look.
"You’re still mad," Bucky noted, sounding entirely too pleased with himself.
"I’m contemplating the most efficient way to dispose of a super-soldier’s body," Caleb replied tonelessly.
Bucky chuckled. He reached out, his metal fingers cold as they brushed against Caleb’s hand. Caleb didn't pull away, which was a victory in itself. "Look, I’m sorry. Mostly. I just... I like seeing you like that."
Caleb finally turned to look at him. "Like what? Furious?"
"Alive," Bucky corrected, his expression softening into something more sincere. "When you first got here, you were so careful. You were trying so hard to be the perfect Avenger, the perfect teammate. You were holding everything in. I know what that’s like, Caleb. I know how heavy that mask gets."
Caleb looked down at their joined hands. The silver of the vibranium was a stark contrast to his own dark skin. "So you decided the best way to help was to treat me like a golden retriever?"
"I decided the best way to help was to provoke you until you stopped being 'the werewolf' and started being Caleb," Bucky said. He squeezed Caleb’s hand. "And yeah, the nicknames are fun. You have no idea how red your ears get."
Caleb sighed, the last of his anger draining away, replaced by a weary sort of affection. He was twenty-nine years old, a lethal predator, and a member of the world’s most elite fighting force—and he was being teased by a hundred-year-old assassin who probably still thought 'dames' was an appropriate term for women.
"If you call me 'pup' in front of Stark, I will actually maul you," Caleb warned.
"Fair enough," Bucky conceded. He leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes. "But in private? All bets are off."
Caleb rolled his eyes, but he shifted in his seat, leaning his shoulder against Bucky’s. The hum of the jet was a grounding vibration, and for the first time in days, the moon didn't feel like a weight on his soul.
"Go to sleep, Bucky," Caleb murmured.
"Only if you stay," Bucky replied, his voice drifting off.
Caleb watched him for a long moment. He watched the way Bucky’s features relaxed in sleep, the way the hard lines of the Winter Soldier softened into the boy from Brooklyn. He realized then that they weren't just two weapons trying to find a purpose. They were two people trying to find a way to be human again.
And if that involved a bit of teasing and some questionable nicknames, Caleb supposed he could live with it.
He leaned his head against Bucky’s, closing his own eyes. "I’m staying," he whispered.
The jet hurtled through the night sky, a sliver of silver in the dark. Inside, the wolf and the soldier finally found a moment of peace, tucked away in the quiet corners of a world that never stopped screaming. Caleb didn't feel like a pet, and he didn't feel like a monster. He just felt like a man who had finally found someone who wasn't afraid of the teeth.
Even if that person was a giant pain in the ass.
As he drifted off, he heard a faint, mumble from Bucky’s direction.
"Good boy..."
Caleb didn't growl. He just smiled into the darkness and tightened his grip on Bucky’s hand. He’d let him have this one. Just this once.