Summary: James “Bucky” Barnes comes from a highly esteemed lineage of vampire hunters. Being the newest generation’s hunter, he’s responsible for keeping the supernatural world a secret and ensuring the survival of humanity. After losing his arm in a hunt gone wrong, Bucky wants nothing to do with his preordained destiny.
Fighting alongside Bucky is his best friend and confidant, Steven Rogers, a priest with a direct line to the Vatican, and Bucky’s only saving grace. Can Steve talk some sense into his friend, convince him that the world needs him?
You’re damned, destined to spend the rest of your life sulking in the shadows, wallowing in your own self pity. Everything changes one night when you come face-to-face with Bucky Barnes. Will he save you or put you out of your misery?
Word Count: 1,753
Warnings for the series: Alternate universe, blood, gore, violence, language, possible smut, PTSD, nightmares, more to come as series continues
Author’s Note: The idea stemmed from this post by @itsstillnotwhatyouthink I hope I do it justice. Want a tag? Let me know. A huge shoutout to @captain-rogers-beard & @climbthatmooselikeatree for all of your invaluable help. I love you. GIF credit
My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.
They were on a private jet, the priest and the slayer, landing in Rome, less than twenty-four hours after the assassination of the Pope. It didn’t matter that Bucky didn’t want to go, he had to go, it was his duty. It was what his father would have done, and his father before him, and his before him. Their own personal feelings about religion aside, it was what the Barnes men did.
Steve had been somewhat of an emotional wreck after receiving the call from the Vatican, understandably so. The Catholic church was the foundation of who Steve was. So, to say that the Pope – not just the person, but the title in and of itself – was a hero to the young priest wouldn’t be very far from the truth. Steve strived to be like him in every way possible. Sure, he struggled at times, his humanity getting the better of him, but who didn’t?
A sleek car was waiting for them as the descended the stairs of the private jet, and leaning against the hood of the car, their arms crossed, one ankle crossed over the other was Natasha Romanov, her curled, shoulder-length crimson hair shifting in the breeze.
Bucky pulled in a ragged breath at the sight of his ex-fiance. “I didn’t expect her to be here,” he muttered loud enough for Steve to hear him.
“How long has it been?” Steve asked, looking over his shoulder.
“Eighteen months,” was Bucky’s thick answer.
“I can’t do this anymore, Buck,” Nat said through her tears, her chin quivering, a hand carding through her hair.
“Do what, huh?” Bucky snapped.
“This,” she shouted, her hand motioning at the space between them. “All we do is fight.”
Bucky rolled his eyes as he drained the whiskey from his glass. “Not always.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Nat scoffed. “I forgot about the times where you were too busy wallowing in your own self-deprecation to even talk to me.”
“Don’t,” he warned, the glass in his hand close to shattering. “What happened to me -”
“Was tragic,” she finished sadly, her eyes falling to the prototype prosthetic. “But you gotta take the hits and keep going, Buck.”
A bark of a laugh escaped the slayer. “Who fuckin’ said, that, huh? Because I don’t think that they meant getting your fuckin’ arm ripped off by a goddamn vampire!”
Fat tears rolled down Nat’s cheeks, which she swiped away angrily, her head shaking. “You’re right, you are. No one should have to go through that, but you knew what you were signing up for when you chose not to turn your back -”
“There was no choice,” Bucky roared, the glass rocketing across the room and into the wall. “I wasn’t asked if I wanted to be a slayer, Nat. They didn’t take my thoughts on the matter into consideration when crafting the prophecy thousands of years ago.”
“My point is -”
“I get your fuckin’ point,” Bucky chuckled sadly, his eyes stinging as tears formed.
She crossed the room and pressed her hand to his heart, sucking in a ragged breath at the hammering of it against her palm. “I love you, James.”
With his jaw clenched, his eyes fluttered closed and he dipped his head once. He didn’t open his eyes until the she had left the room, a cloud of gentle perfume trailing behind, closing the door behind her.
“I love you, too.”
“Seriously?” Steve wondered aloud. “I thought she stopped by earlier this year.”
Bucky huffed out a breath through his nose. “Why would she do that?”
Steve stopped walking across the tarmac and faced his friend. “Natasha was in the states, Buck, on official business. I… I thought you knew, man.”
“It doesn’t matter, Steve,” Bucky quasi-lied. “I’ve moved on.”
“You’re still a shitty liar,” Steve teased, giving his friend a playful wink.
Bucky laughed and rolled his eyes. “Language, Padre.”
“That’s not going away anytime soon,” Steve huffed in irritation.
Natasha straightened as the her old friends grew closer, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Steve, Bucky, it’s good to see you.”
“I wish it weren’t under these circumstances,” Steve sighed as he bent down to hug the ex-slayer.
“Same here,” Nat murmured, pressing a friendly kiss to his cheek.
Bucky’s lips were pulled into a tight line when Nat looked at him. “Sorry we didn’t get together when you visited last.”
Natasha sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, I really am. I wanted to stop by, see how you were doing, but… I don’t know, it just didn’t feel right.”
“I get it,” he said. “Still would have been nice to catch up.” Bucky gave her a quick hug, hoping to avoid remembering how amazing she smelled.
She sighed happily and returned the hug, but when she pulled back, she was all business. “The Archbishop is waiting.”
It’s smaller than I remember,” Bucky mused, his head tipped back, looking at the painted ceiling.
Steve couldn’t help but chuckle. “That’s because the last time you were here, you weren’t even a teenager. You’ve grown a lot since then.”
“It’s still fuckin’ beautiful.”
“Please refrain from using such vulgarity while here, Mr. Barnes,” Archbishop Strange said sternly.
Bucky whirled around and bent at the waist slightly. “My apologies, Your Excellency.” Steve followed suit and bowed before one of his mentors.
“Enough with the formalities, gentlemen,” he said as he closed the door behind him. “There are urgent matters we need to discuss.”
After following Archbishop Strange across the room, Bucky and Steve took a seat across from a dark red desk. There were files and papers spread across it, looking like chaos to the untrained eye, but to Bucky, he knew exactly what was going on.
“You’re putting together a task force,” Bucky announced, not wanting to waste any time.
Steve cut a glare at his friend. “Your Grace, I must apologize for Bucky, he’s never been one for manners.”
“Mr. Barnes is correct, that is exactly what we are doing. And please,” he gave a wave of his hand, “call me Stephen.”
“Stephen,” Bucky huffed, sitting on the edge of his seat, forearms on his knees, “I don’t know what your latest intel has, but I’m retired.”
Stephen took in the sight of Bucky before addressing him. “The Pope is dead,” he deadpanned, his hands clasping behind his back as he stood on the other side of the desk. “Assassinated in this very building, doing the very thing he loved, and all you can say is that you’re retired?”
“My condolences on your loss, but it is just that, your loss,” he glanced from the Archbishop to his friend, “not mine.”
“You must understand the importance in finding who… what is responsible for this atrocity,” Stephen insisted.
Bucky raised his left hand and looked at it, unable to help but admire the reflection of the sun on the black metal. “If anyone understands, it’s me, Your Grace. You’re going to have to find yourself another slayer.”
Stephen’s dark eyes flicked over to the young priest. “Is he always this stubborn?”
“You have no idea,” Steve snorted.
“If there’s nothing else,” Bucky groaned as he pushed out of the chair.
“You’re not here because I asked you to come,” Stephen’s words cut Bucky’s actions short. “You’re here because the Pope did.”
Bucky and Steve glanced at one another. “I don’t understand,” Steve murmured.
“If the Pope is dead, how could he ask me to come here?”
Stephen pulled out a picture from one of the files, and held it up for the men to see. “Like this.”
It was a high definition picture of the crime scene. Pope Francis’ broken body was lying in a large pool of his own blood, dark red and sticky to the touch. His fingertips were ruddy from writing a name on the wall, smearing it onto the paint with his own blood; Barnes.
“Shit,” Bucky murmured, scraping a hand over his face.
“Here’s what we have,” Nat started, handing the two men a file. “The Pope wasn’t this guy’s first kill, he’s much too organized for that.”
That got Bucky’s attention. “You said he,” he noticed.
“I did,” Natasha agreed solemnly, clicking a button on the small remote she had just picked up. “His name is Ronan.” A picture appeared on the wall of a man who had pale skin, murderous eyes, and black paint covering most of his face.
“The hell is his deal?” Bucky asked, his brows furrowed as he studied the picture.
Natasha pressed the button again, showcasing a slide show of one grisly murder scene after another. “He’s a radical, ferocious, a genocidal militarist that wasn’t too happy with the peace treaty Rome signed with Carthage. He viewed their people, and anyone who signed the treaty, as weak.”
“What’s his background?” was Steve’s question.
“Ronan was a sadistic, dogmatic member of the Romanian Army who held a strong authoritative position,” Natasha went on, clicking the button, showing pictures of Ronan through the years. “During the first Desert War, Ronan was part of Operation Kaman 99. It was at that time that he developed a deep-rooted hate and repulsion against Iran and its culture. It appeared that their citizens had killed his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather during previous conflicts.”
Bucky scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Shit happens, get on with your life, man.”
Natasha continued as if Bucky hadn’t uttered a word. “When the two empires signed a peace treaty to end the war, Ronan was disgusted and ashamed to the point that he fled the Roman Army. In order to pursue his personal conflict against Rome, Ronan went on a killing spree.”
“Would it be too much to hope that he’s human?” Bucky sighed, exhaustion washing over him. It was a pointless question, he wouldn’t be there, in Rome, at the request of the Pope himself, if Ronan was human.
“That’s where things get a little… fuzzy,” she admitted grimly. “Ronan went off the grid a handful of years back, emerging just recently, and going by the moniker, Ronan, the Accuser.”
Steve groaned low in his throat. “Well, that doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s the opposite of good, Padre,” Natasha sighed, clicking the button once again. It was the first time in a long time that Bucky had to look away. The scene was… well, it turned his stomach, made bile rise in the back of his throat, made his hands curl into fists.
“Okay,” he conceded, shaking his head. “I’m in. Just… take that shit down.”
FOUR
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