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: 1,218
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.
For five days, Bucky trained intensely until he couldn’t feel his shoulders, until his legs felt like rubber bands, until his heart felt as if it were going to pound out of his chest, until there was sweat pouring off of him, until he collapsed. When he wasn’t training, he, Nat, and Steve cashed in every favor, even going so far as to owe people favors; all in an attempt to get a lead on Ronan.
On the sixth day, Bucky was getting antsy, eager to kick someone’s ass, to rip Ronan’s throat out for the barbaric acts of inhumanity he had committed. It wasn’t until day seven that one of their contacts made good on their promise.
Bucky was rolling his eyes and pacing back and forth. “Steve, for the hundredth time,” he groaned. “You’re not coming with us.”
“Why not?” he demanded to know, his eyes flashing. “I’m trained just as much as you, Buck.”
“It would help to have another set of eyes with us,” Natasha added, earning her a glare from her ex.
“Uh uh,” Bucky huffed out. “You’re a man of the cloth, not one that enjoys bloodshed.”
Steve’s jaw clenched painfully. “That… monster killed Pope Francis, and he’s out there, doing God knows what to God knows who!”
Bucky pulled in a deep breath as he rounded the table and stood in front of his lifelong friend. “I get it, you’re pissed, you’re in mourning, and you want revenge, to kill the bastard that killed Francis. You just… you gotta trust me, man. This,” he motioned to himself, Nat, and the array of weapons on the table, “it ain’t for you.”
“What if he stayed back?” Nat suggested softly. “He can sit in the van, watch the monitors, be our eyes, in a sense.”
“I don’t like this,” Bucky repeated himself. “It’s one of the shadiest parts of town, and you want to bring a priest that’s never actually used his training?”
“Hey,” Steve protested loudly.
Bucky’s hands were in the air. “It’s close enough to the truth, man. You haven’t seen any action of that kind since high school graduation.”
“I can still fight,” he insisted, putting himself into a defensive position, hands curled into loose fists in front of his face, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a goddamn boxer.
Both Bucky and Nat chuckled, but it was Bucky that said, “At ease, padre. You can go, but you’re in the van. That’s it. If we need help, then, and only then, are you cleared to use your ‘fighting skills.’”
“Gee, thanks,” Steve scoffed.
“Come on, Stevie,” Bucky murmured, stepping closer to his friend. “You’re my best friend. Do you really think I want something bad to happen to you?”
Steve shook his head. “A’course not.”
“Okay, it’s settled, right?”
“I’ll stay in the van,” he finally conceded.
Bucky and Nat were dressed in black from their heads to their feet. Their tactical gear had been specially designed and made, moving like a second skin, which had impressed Bucky when he had first tried it on. In each of their hands was a black pistol, rosaries carved into the grips, each weapon having been blessed by the Archbishop himself.
“I don’t like this,” Bucky bit out, his eyes taking in their surroundings.
Their contact, Pietro Maximoff, Wanda’s brother, had informed Bucky that Ronan had been laying low, keeping off grid, in a small town, thirty-five miles from Rome; Allumiere. Ronan, along with his nieces, Nebula and Gamora, had driven the residents from their homes, sent them screaming to the next town over with horror stories of Ronan the Accuser.
Natasha felt as if something were crawling on the back of her neck. There wasn’t anything there, of course, but that didn’t stop her from reaching back and swiping her hand over her skin. “I don’t either, but this is the hand we’ve been dealt. We have no other choice but to go with it.”
Bucky held back his argument, that it didn’t just feel wrong, it felt like a trap. Natasha had always been stubborn, hard headed, quick tempered, and refused to back down when her mind had been made up. That was part of what he loved… had loved about her. Now, it just pissed him off.
Steve was in their ear a moment later. “I count three heat signatures in the building three blocks to the east.”
“Thanks, padre,” Bucky said, triple checking to make sure that his gun was locked, cocked, and loaded.
“Relax, Buck,” Natasha huffed in annoyance.
“Don’t tell me to relax, Nat,” he bit out.
Despite his heavy and thick frame, Bucky was light on his feet as he turned a corner, leading the way. Natasha was close behind, her back to his, keeping an eye out for anyone that was stupid enough to come up from behind. It felt as if it took longer than two minutes to walk three blocks, and by the time the duo found themselves at the back door, their fingers were itching to pull the trigger, to put a bullet between Ronan’s dark eyes.
Thankfully, the door opened without protest, making their entrance go unnoticed by anyone inside. They made their way through the large room, quickly checking the dark corners for any unwanted surprises. Bucky took his place on one side of the door frame while Natasha stood on the other, each of them peeking out, getting an idea of what, and who, was in the next room.
“Why are we still here, uncle?” someone asked, a woman, tall, lanky, and bald, her hands on her hips.
The man she was talking to, turned around with a flourish. “Because, Nebula,” he said, his tone heavy and unamused, “I’m waiting for him, and I’m not leaving until I’m bathing in his blood.”
“That’s a little… over the top, don’t you think, Ronan?” That question came from the opposite end of the room, another woman, dark green and purple colors swirling throughout her obsidian hair.
“Oh, Gamora,” Ronan chided. “You have plenty to learn, young one.”
“No,” she argued. “I have better things to be doing than sit here and wait for this supposed slayer to show up.”
Nebula nodded in agreement. “We’ve been here for a week,” she pointed out. “We’re bored.”
Ronan was in front of his niece in a flash, and it made Bucky swallow loudly. “I don’t care,” he sneered, his lip curling back to expose his teeth, teeth that looked anything but human. “Your father sent you here because you lack discipline and respect. You are careless and you seem determined to destroy every relationship you have.”
“Thanos is the one that -”
The back of Ronan’s hand across her face cut off her rant. “Do not talk back to me, child. You are a fool to think that I would ever care to hear what you have to say about my brother. I do not want to hear another word from you unless it is confirmation of an order. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Nebula ground out, murder in her eyes, hands balled into fists at her side.
“Good girl,” he praised sarcastically. “Now, on to the matter at hand. Please come out and join us, Mr. Barnes and guest. I’ve been expecting you.”
SIX
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