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It's entirely Sam's fault that Bucky's first thought on realizing he’s been captured by vampires is: well, these guys aren't part of the big three. His second thought is: if vampires have been a thing all this time and no one fucking told me, I'm going to be so pissed. What the fuck else is real? Fairies? Wolfmen? Goddamn Sasquatch??
Ugh, if he survives, Bucky is never going to live this down. In his defense, how the fuck was he supposed to fight against fog. Bucky had been minding his own business, headed back to his apartment after acquiring some late-night take out, and he’d had about a second to think, that’s weird, it wasn’t foggy out earlier and then, when the fog did not move in fog-like ways, well, that’s not fog, but it doesn’t smell like any kind of gas either and then the damned vampires had coalesced out of the fog and surrounded him before he could run.
“What the fuck are you?” he’d asked, baffled and pissed, and one of them had smiled, showing off some pretty gnarly and pointy teeth.
“We are vampires, of course.”
Then Bucky had felt the chill of fog behind him and a prick in his neck, and passed out, only to wake up on a plane.
At least the vampires are polite. No one has tortured him so far, or even sucked his blood, and whatever they’ve drugged him with, it’s honestly kind of pleasant once he wakes up properly. He feels floaty and hazy and not particularly interested in breaking his bonds, not that he has any escape options other than jumping out of the plane, and anyway, this plane is even nicer than Zemo’s plane. Like, sure, his hands and feet are bound at the wrists and ankles, but he’s on a really comfy leather seat, and they’ve given him some water.
Also, and most importantly, the vampires don't appear to be especially tech-savvy. While he can’t feel his phone in his pocket anymore, no one has noticed Bucky twist the tip of his vibranium pinky, one of his panic button options, and one no one ever thinks to look for or prevent because it involves a motion that’s not physically possible in a flesh and blood pinky, not without breaking it, and definitely not independently. God bless Shuri’s cleverness in coming up with that one. Anyway, if Bucky’s got even a scrap of luck left, Sam is already on his trail.
Though, fuck, it's not like Sam's gonna be prepared for vampires, what with them not being one of the big three and all. Bucky will have to gather what intel he can. Since they haven’t gagged him, he figures he might as well ask some woozy but totally reasonable questions.
“So…do you know Dracula?” he asks the vampire sitting across from him.
He doesn’t look much like a vampire at the moment, just an average white guy, apart from the eerie golden shade of his eyes.
“No,” says the vampire, lip curling slightly in what might be disgust, showing off the tip of a too-pointy canine.
“Do you, uh, want my blood?” Bucky asks. “A lot of people want my blood on account of how I’m a science experiment.”
The vampire blinks at him and frowns. “We do not want your blood.” Bucky tries and fails to place his accent. Dutch, maybe? Something European.
“Are you HYDRA?” asks Bucky.
There’s no ostentatious squid-related branding or gloating about recovering the asset, so he doesn’t think so, but he figures he should ask.
The vampire wrinkles his nose. “Ugh, no,” he says. “We aren’t Nazis.”
“What do you want with me then?”
“We will not harm you. My master will speak with you soon,” says the vampire, and oh, that doesn’t bode well. “Sleep now,” continues the vampire, and Bucky wants to protest, but vampires have magic powers or what the fuck ever, he guesses, because he does in fact sleep.
It’s honestly kind of the best night of sleep he’s had in a while, so he’s in a pretty good mood for someone who’s been captured by vampires when he wakes up to being gently pulled out of a plush SUV and into the courtyard of—a castle? Bucky tries to crane his head up and around to get a feel for where the hell he is, but all he sees are starry skies and a lot of gray stone before he’s inexorably guided inside. While he’s no longer tied up or woozy, the vampires’ grip on him might as well be vibranium. He makes a tentative attempt to break free, just to gauge what it would take to escape, and is not encouraged by the results. He could do it, he thinks, but it would hurt.
"Could we maybe talk about this?" tries Bucky, because it's what Sam would do, probably. "Do you have any demands, or am I in for yet another round of being experimented on or something? Because I'm not really into that. The third time is not the charm."
The vampires holding him are silent, and drag him down plushly carpeted, well-lit wide hallways into—what the fuck, is this a literal throne room?—where someone tall and pale and dark-haired is sprawled in the opulent seat at the other end of the room, at the far end of a long wooden table. The man looks familiar, and Bucky's about to start low-key panicking about this being more HYDRA bullshit, no matter what the vampire on the plane had said. Like, fuck, are HYDRA vampires now? Have they always been allied with vampires? He tries to make out what’s on the tapestries draped all over the walls, but then he gets closer and—
"Great Uncle Yakov?!" Bucky blurts out.
Because that man’s face is familiar—familiar as in family. They have the same damn dimple in their chin.
"James! It is wonderful to see you again!" says his surprisingly alive—undead? unalive?—great uncle, beaming in a way that shows off his pointy white canines.
Bucky distinctly recalls being eight years old and telling his mother that his visiting great uncle's teeth were weird. His mother, pale and nervous, had hushed him and told him to respect his great uncle, because he was very old and very wealthy and only visited the family once a generation. Which, in retrospect, was super weird. Also weird: maybe Bucky’s memory isn’t accurate, but with adult hindsight, Bucky realizes that Great Uncle Yakov hadn’t looked as old as a great uncle ought to have. He’d looked middle-aged at most, Bucky thinks. Off-putting pointy teeth and improbable youth aside, Great Uncle Yakov had been pretty nice. He’d kneeled down to get a look at Bucky in his Sunday best and had beamed at him in evident approval, taking Bucky’s chin in his cool hand.
“Ah, look at that chin!” he’d said. “The bloodline still runs true!”
Then he’d given Bucky a present of a set of classic books far too nice for a grubby Brooklyn kid, which had officially made him Bucky's favorite (only?) great uncle, and Bucky had told him so. Great Uncle Yakov had declared himself charmed and called him “a delightful young lad, and so fearless!” Again, in retrospect: weird. But as meetings with old, distant relatives had gone, it had seemed benign despite his mother’s nerves, and whatever help Uncle Yakov had given the Barnes family had been enough to see them through the worst of the Depression. They'd never been rich, but with Great Uncle Yakov's help, they'd managed to begin climbing up the ladder to the comfortable middle class.
Here and now, Great Uncle Yakov spreads his arms. "Come, come, let me see you, nephew! Ah, what a fine young man you've grown into!"
"I'm a hundred and nine years old," says Bucky faintly.
He eyes Great Uncle Yakov, who looks exactly the same as he had in 1925, only now he's not in a dapper if old-fashioned suit. No, now he’s wearing an awful lot more slinky black leather, and also possibly eyeliner? His hair is longer too, wavy and falling almost to his shoulders. Had his eyes been this nearly glowing shade of blue when Bucky was a kid?
"A babe in arms!" declares Great Uncle Yakov, still smiling. His Chernokov radiation blue eyes twinkle merrily. "Come give your favorite great uncle a hug!"
A vampire shoves him forward, and Bucky stumbles into his great uncle the vampire's arms. Sure. Whatever. This isn't the weirdest thing that's ever happened to him. Bucky has fought against aliens with a talking raccoon that was firing a machine gun. Nothing could ever be stranger than that. As always, the thought calms him down, or maybe it helps him dissociate, potato potahto.
"You're my only great uncle?" he says.
Hugging Great Uncle Yakov isn’t, strictly speaking, pleasant. There’s no living, human warmth in his embrace, and no heartbeat or breath that are audible to Bucky’s enhanced senses. All of Bucky’s instincts are telling him to stab this guy or snap his neck and flee, and he only barely manages to hold back a shudder.
Great Uncle Yakov laughs like Bucky has made an excellent joke, and slaps him on the back before releasing him from the hug.
"Adorable!" he declares. And then. He literally pinches Bucky's cheek. What the fuck. "Sit, sit, catch me up on the family news, James!"
A chair is shoved forward. Bucky sits in it. He takes a quick look around the large room and sees that vampires—he assumes they’re vampires—are beginning to file in and fill the space, taking seats at the long table. Most of them are dressed in dark colors, with dramatic dark makeup, and Bucky knows that means something, it’s a whole pop culture thing, but he can’t quite remember what—goths! That’s what they’re called! They’re dressed like they’re goths. He has no idea if this is a good sign or a bad one in a castle full of vampires.
"Well. A lot has happened,” says Bucky slowly. “I, uh, wasn’t really expecting to get kidnapped by vampires for one thing.”
Great Uncle Yakov’s expression takes on an exaggerated kind of concern. Bucky would take it as mockery, except all of his expressions are kind of exaggerated, actually.
“Oh dear, were my darling vampire children a touch over-enthusiastic? I told them to be discreet,” he says, leveling a stern frown at his minions.
One of them shrugs. “We were, no one saw us grab him!”
Great Uncle Yakov sighs and rolls his eyes before saying, in confiding tones, “They’re used to playing up the whole vampire thing, even the undead have to make a living in these times, you know.”
“Uh, what?”
Great Uncle Yakov makes a sweeping gesture that encompasses the whole castle. “If you’re going to make it as a vampire sect these days, you can’t just go around ravaging villages and eating hapless humans left and right! There are gods and superheroes all over the place, they’ll wipe out an entire sect like that!” says Great Uncle Yakov, snapping his fingers. “Why, I heard the entire Ekimmu sect was destroyed by that Blade fellow, and who can blame him! They were murdering humans quite messily!”
“So, uh, you don’t eat people…?”
“We are responsible vampires here, James, only sustainable human feedings for us! It’s quite lucrative, really: the one good thing that tedious fellow Dracula did for us was kick off a fashion for vampire fiction, and it turns out there are quite a few of you humans who have a, shall we say, fetish, for vampires, and who will pay handsomely for a bit of vampire ‘roleplay’,” says Great Uncle Yakov, making air quotes and winking ostentatiously.
Oh no. Does he mean sex stuff? Bucky doesn’t want to know if he means sex stuff.
“It’s a win-win situation!” continues Great Uncle Yakov, before making a moue of exaggerated distaste. “Even if we do, on occasion, have to bedazzle ourselves with glitter.”
Yeah, Bucky does not understand that reference and he’s not going to respond to it.
“That’s—that’s good,” he says instead.
“Now, enough about me! Tell me what you’ve been up to, James! I do try to check in with the family at least once a generation, stay connected to my human roots and such, but this past century has been so busy, you know how it goes.”
“Right, yeah, no. It’s, uh. It’s been a pretty…eventful century for me too,” Bucky says, and has to swallow down a fit of likely hysterical laughter at the understatement.
“Do tell!” says Great Uncle Yakov, widening his eyes.
This is, Bucky realizes, an excellent excuse to stall until Sam gets here. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he was taken other than that it hasn’t been days, so hopefully Sam is on his trail by now, and also, hopefully Sam is bringing a lot of holy water and garlic with him.
"It's gonna be a long story,” he says slowly.
"I have nothing but time!" Great Uncle Yakov assures him. “But oh, you must be famished! Michel, bring human food and drinks for my dear nephew!”
That his great uncle calls it “human food” does not seem encouraging.
"It's also pretty depressing," Bucky warns. "But okay..."
There’s something strange about telling his life story, and it’s only belatedly that Bucky realizes why. For a very long time, it hasn’t been his to tell, because he didn’t remember it enough to tell it. And now that he does, either people already know or someone else has told them, and either way, Bucky never has to say much. Or maybe more accurately, he never bothers to say much. This is probably why Sam says things like stop letting other people tell you who you are.
Anyway, it’s strange to lay it all out, and it’s—fuck, it’s hard. It’s really hard. Bucky’s instinct is to distill it all down to a few sentences: I went to war, I was a POW, Nazis experimented on me, I died but I didn’t die and HYDRA brainwashed and mindwiped me into an assassin for decades and froze me and sent me to kill my best friend which broke the brainwashing. But he’s trying to stall here, and taking breaks to eat and drink only takes up so much time. (The food is actually great, to his relief, though he’s not going to think too much about just why it’s such hearty fare.)
Anyway, if Bucky wants to give Sam as much time as possible to find him, then he needs to actually stretch the story of his life out, and that means he needs to give details without boring his vampire audience so much they decide to eat him or whatever.
So he does it. He tells his very depressing life story, and he lingers on the details: the horrors of the war, the terror and grinding misery of his time at Kreischberg and then the nightmare of being Zola’s lab rat. He lightens things up a bit with the story of his rescue and his time with the Howlies, including some of his funnier wartime anecdotes. It gets easier as he goes on, and it helps that Great Uncle Yakov is a surprisingly attentive, engaged listener.
For the sake of his ability to keep talking, he has to ignore how avidly the rest of the vampires are listening too.
He hits his first roadblock when he gets to his fall in the Alps, and everything that followed it. He’s never told anyone a single fucking detail about how HYDRA broke him. He doesn’t even remember all of it, but he remembers enough. Too much. He’s tempted to skip past it, to turn it into a couple sentences in the story of his life rather than the awful fucking black hole at the center of it that he’ll never fully escape—but he needs to stall. So he fucking talks about it, and he can’t even bring himself to look at Great Uncle Yakov as he does. He stares down at the table instead. Though hell, he supposes vampires of all people won’t be judging him for a stint as an assassin. He doesn’t know how the torture and brainwashing angle will land though.
He powers through all those frozen years, through Project Insight and his years on the run and the mess with Zemo and the Accords and reuniting with Steve and then his return to cryo in Wakanda and finally freeing himself from the trigger words, and by then, Great Uncle Yakov and his vampire minions are weeping tears of blood—gross—and Great Uncle Yakov is offering to make him a vampire.
"My dear nephew, you must let me sire you. Surely with your enhancements, you can become one of the greatest vampires in history, and then you can take bloody vengeance against all who have wronged you!” says Great Uncle Yakov, one hand gripping Bucky’s flesh hand, his other wiping at the bloody tears still streaming down his cheeks with a handkerchief. A vampire sitting near Bucky offers him a clean handkerchief too and Bucky wipes at his own eyes. “Your enemies will quail before you, the world will shake under the force of your righteous revenge, rivers of blood shall—"
Yeah, this isn’t the reaction Bucky had expected. He definitely hadn’t expected that it would make him feel…better? Lighter? Is this what support groups are like? Should he have been going to support groups all along? Are vampires just really good listeners or therapeutic or something?
Before Bucky can figure out how to politely turn down an offer of vampire vengeance and an eternal undead existence, someone kicks the door in at the other end of the room.
Oh thank fuck, Sam's here. He’s practically glowing in the doorway in his mostly white Captain America suit, wings spread like some kind of avenging angel, his shield at the ready. The sun isn’t shining behind him but it really feels like it should be.
Also he’s here with a black guy dressed all in black with a sword in his hand?
Bucky tries to think fast. Vampire minions are beginning to rise from their seats, hissing, as they head towards Sam and the other guy. Seems like they do not like uninvited guests. Does Sam know how to fight vampires? Does the guy with the sword? Who the fuck is the guy with the sword anyway, and why is he wearing sunglasses in a castle at night?
"Now who are these uninvited guests?" asks Great Uncle Yakov, standing, and he suddenly looks a lot less avuncular and a lot more vampiric.
Bucky maybe panics a little. "Oh, uh, Great Uncle Yakov, meet my husband! Sam Wilson! He's also Captain America!"
Across the room, Sam gapes, and Bucky widens his eyes and tries to convey please for the love of god follow my lead. He sure hopes vampires aren't homophobic. Or racist. Fuck, what has Bucky done, Great Uncle Yakov is probably ancient and who knows how regressive his opinions are—
Great Uncle Yakov's face returns to an approximation of uncle-like indulgence. "James, you did not say you were married!”
“Well, I, uh, just hadn’t gotten to that part of the story yet, and—”
“I thought he was gonna end up with the other guy, Steve,” mutters a nearby vampire to her neighbor as they both eye Sam speculatively.
Bucky just smiles politely at his dismayingly interested audience, and starts inching out of his seat.
“You needn’t fear that I’m so old-fashioned as to disapprove of such a match! Oh, if only I could have attended the nuptials!" says Great Uncle Yakov, then he winks, for some reason.
"Yeah, sorry, I didn't know you were still around! But, uh, we're married, wildly in love, it's made my whole shitty life worthwhile, so, I'm gonna have to pass on the vampire thing for now?" says Bucky.
Great Uncle Yakov wipes another bloody tear away and gasps. "So your heartbreakingly tragic life has been a triumphant romance all along, my brave nephew! A true happily ever after! Captain America, come here and meet your uncle-in-law!” Great Uncle Yakov squints at the guy with the sword. “And Blade, is that you? What are you doing here? I hope you don't intend on any beheadings while my dear nephew and his husband are visiting, otherwise I shall be very cross. We aren’t mindlessly ravening Huskie vampires, you know, we are civilized vampires here."
Sam elbows the guy with the sword and says, "Blade, who's that? This is, uh, my cousin Wesley!"
Bucky stifles a sigh. So Sam still sucks at undercover, good to know.
"Yeah, I'm...Wesley, " says Blade unconvincingly, sheathing his sword. Which he makes no attempt to explain. "Just...here to meet the in-laws," he continues through obviously gritted teeth.
Great Uncle Yakov does not seem convinced. “Hmm. If you say so, ‘Wesley,’” he says, then winks again. Blade heaves an audibly gusty sigh.
There seems to be some weird eye contact going on with his great uncle and Blade, actually, but by then Bucky is very distracted by the way Sam is striding confidently towards him. Bucky scrambles to meet him, intending to try to whisper some kind of tentative plan to him, only to be immediately derailed by Sam greeting him with a kiss. And it's not a keep-our-cover peck on the cheek, or an awkward and chaste press of the lips. No, Sam takes Bucky’s face in his hands and goes for it, a passionate leading man in a movie kind of kiss, and Bucky can barely keep up. Bucky might, in fact, actually be about to swoon.
When Sam pulls back, he murmurs, "Missed you, baby," and Bucky's strangled moan in response is entirely involuntary.
"You too, sweetheart," he says faintly.
Sam smiles at him, relief and worry and affection clear in his eyes, and Bucky clutches Sam close and leans in for another kiss, soft and gentle this time and absolutely not required by their improvised cover, but fuck it, Bucky has had a very weird day and night and he’ll take whatever comfort he can. Sam kisses back, wrapping his arms around Bucky, and oh, Bucky is fucked, and not because he's maybe still about to be turned into a vampire by his great uncle.
Someone—Blade—clears his throat, and Bucky and Sam both jump apart a little. Bucky risks a look at Great Uncle Yakov, but he’s just beaming at them, misty-eyed. Which honestly looks pretty alarming on a vampire.
“Come, sit down, I must know all about your love story! Especially after poor, dear James has told us all the truly harrowing and tragic tale of his life!” One of the vampire minions leans in to whisper something in Great Uncle Yakov’s ear. “Ah, of course, silly me. I was so enraptured and moved by James’ tale, I have lost track of time! It’s nearly dawn, so of course we must rest. Until tomorrow night! Michel, show them to their rooms!”
They’re shown to an opulent suite on the castle’s third floor, and Bucky’s pretty sure he’s never been in a boudoir, but this is definitely a boudoir. Or maybe a honeymoon suite, because there are fresh flowers and a bottle of champagne somehow. Do vampires drink champagne? Why does the castle even have a room like this?
Oh god, is this part of the whole vampire roleplay deal?
Michel bows them inside and says, “I hope your stay in our castle will be pleasant. We will all be asleep while the sun is in the sky, but feel free to avail yourself of the facilities. You may find food and beverages in the kitchenette.”
“Thanks!” says Sam. “But, uh, maybe we could just come back another time…?”
“That would displease Master Yakov greatly,” says Michel, all the courtesy in his voice going flat and dangerous, his eyes narrowing.
Bucky swallows hard and smiles. “Yeah, no, of course, we’ll stick around for a bit. I definitely wanna catch up with my uncle, thank you so much for the hospitality.”
This mollifies Michel, and he gestures at Blade. “Come, Mr…Wesley, was it?” he says. His demeanor is excruciatingly polite, and yet he manages to convey some disbelief anyway. “Your room is just down the hall.”
Bucky and Sam watch for long enough to make sure that Blade is in fact shown to a room a few doors down, then Bucky heaves the heavy wooden door of their suite shut and leans against it.
“Bucky, what the fuck!” hisses Sam.
“Yeah, I know, sorry about the pretending we’re married thing, I just couldn’t think of any other way to guarantee you wouldn’t get eaten! Great Uncle Yakov says they’re responsible vampires and that they don’t go around killing and eating people, but I wasn’t about to risk it, and I figured if you’re family too then he probably wouldn’t suck your blood—”
Sam stares incredulously at him and interrupts him to say, “Yeah, no, that is not the what the fuck aspect of this situation, Buck. That part is reserved for the literal, actual vampires, one of whom is your great uncle. You never thought to mention that?!”
“I didn’t know!” protests Bucky. “I met him once, when I was like eight years old! No one told me he was a vampire! No one told me vampires exist! Did you know vampires exist?!”
Sam shakes his head, a hint of wild hilarity in his wide eyes. “A vampire who wants to have a touching family reunion or whatever, no less,” he says, then, “And no, I did not know vampires exist! Jesus Christ, how is this our lives,” groans Sam.
“God, I don’t know,” says Bucky. “But, uh, thanks for coming to get me.”
“You sure you’re okay? They haven’t messed with you or anything? You look—”
Sam steps close and cups Bucky’s face in his hand, wiping a gentle thumb under his eye, where the evidence of tears must be lingering. Bucky goes still and breathless under his touch, there and gone for a fleeting moment.
“I’m fine, I promise,” says Bucky, with less steadiness than he’d hoped for. “It was a really nice kidnapping as kidnappings go.”
“Okay, it’s just—it looks like you’ve been crying, maybe,” says Sam with a concerned frown.
Bucky flushes. “Seriously, I’m fine,” he says. “Uncle Yakov asked me to catch him up on my life, and I wanted to stall, to give you time to get here, so…”
”So…” prompts Sam with a raised eyebrow.
”So my life is super depressing! It was, you know, emotional or whatever. Like a fucked up support group with an audience of vampires.”
Sam gets a funny look on his face, his expression flickering through disparate emotions: warm tenderness and amusement and sadness. “Did it…make you feel better at least?”
”Yeah, actually. Kind of,” Bucky admits, because, sure, he still feels kinda off-balance and shaky, but it’s like the shakiness after a long run or a difficult physical experience, equal parts exhaustion and relief and elation.
“Well then, at least we got a couple good things outta this whole insane experience,” says Sam.
“Uh, I’m not sure about that. Telling my life story also sort of backfired because now Great Uncle Yakov is offering to make me a vampire so I can go on a bloody rampage of revenge. Which I don’t wanna do, obviously.”
”Also your great uncle wants to know about our touching love story now,” Sam reminds him, and Bucky winces.
”That too,” he says, apologetic, and Sam sighs, but he’s smiling too, so Bucky figures it’s safe to ask, ”So who exactly is Cousin Wesley anyway?”
“He’s, uh, a half-vampire vampire hunter who goes by Blade,” says Sam, and now he’s the one who sounds apologetic, a yeah, I know how it sounds kind of look on his face. “He was on the trail of the vampires who went after you, actually, got suspicious when he saw new vampires in the city. He came and found me when he realized they’d nabbed you, and by then I’d gotten your signal, so we figured we’d team up to come get you.”
There’s a light knock at the door and a low voice says, “It’s me…’Wesley.’” Somehow the quotes around Wesley are audible. How are both Sam and this Blade guy both so bad at being undercover?
Bucky opens the door, and moves aside to let Blade in, but he shakes his head. “Sun’s up, I gotta get going,” he says. “I just wanted to come by and tell you two to sit tight, I’m gonna do some recon while the vamps are asleep.”
”Shouldn’t we try to make a break for it while we can?” Sam asks. “There’s gotta be a window I can fly out of or something.”
”I don’t wanna piss off my great uncle or have him kidnap me again!” protests Bucky.
“Is he for real your great uncle?” asks Blade.
”I don’t know how many greats are involved, but yeah, I’m pretty sure,” Bucky says. “Through my mom’s side. I met him when I was a kid, in the 1920s, and my ma said something about him visiting the family once a generation.”
Blade narrows his eerie golden eyes and hums. “It’s not common for vampires to maintain their mortal family ties, but this sect doesn’t exactly have a rep for being normal. No rep for being indiscriminate killers either though. I was just checking up on ‘em when I realized they’d grabbed you.”
”They said they ‘feed sustainably’ whatever that means. But my uncle also offered to turn me into a vampire, so…”
”Let me check things out. No point in fighting our way out if this is one of the sects that minds its own business or only feeds on other vampires,” says Blade, sounding somewhat grudging about it.
”Okay, thanks Blade,” says Sam, and Blade nods, then slips out, quiet and fast as a shadow.
Once Blade leaves, Sam heads for the enormous plush couch that’s in the sitting room area of the suite, and plops down on the deep red velvet cushions.
”So how are we gonna convince your vampire great uncle that we’re in love and that he shouldn’t turn any of us into vampires?” he asks.
Bucky joins Sam on the couch, and wow, okay, this is a couch. Bucky practically sinks into it.
”We come up with a cover story that’s as close to the truth as possible,” says Bucky, and braces himself for a teasing-but-maybe-not-really comment about how hard that’s going to be.
Instead, Sam smiles warmly and chuckles. “Well, that oughta be easier than that Smiling Tiger nonsense,” he says.
Bucky smiles back, relieved. “Maybe we’ll even get out of here without being chased by angry vampires.”
And with their friendship and partnership intact, hopefully.
Coming up with their cover story is easier than expected, and doesn’t actually end up involving many lies.
In fact, it’s all dismayingly close to the truth on Bucky’s end of things, because in the couple o years since he and Sam teamed up as coworkers and/or teammates, Bucky has maybe developed something that other people might call a crush, if guys who were over a century old could do such a thing, which Bucky contends they cannot.
It's fine. Sam doesn't have to know or find out. Bucky figures he’s in the clear, since their cover story is coming together pretty easily.
”Natasha always said the best cover stories are the ones that are closest to the truth,” says Sam. “So I figure we say we teamed up after the Blip and became friends, then fell in love. Simple, straightforward.”
“What, no love at first sight?” Bucky jokes, though it’s not entirely a joke, because that’d be the easiest story to sell.
No one really asks follow-up questions when lovestruck couples say it was love at first sight, they just coo about how romantic it all is, possibly while silently judging said couple for their hasty trip to the altar.
Sam’s expression goes strangely solemn and tentative. “You believe in that?”
“Nah,” says Bucky, shaking his head. “Just figured it’d be the easiest story to go with, since it doesn’t need a lot of detail.” Bucky pauses, then asks, “Do you?”
“No,” says Sam slowly. “But I do believe it can happen fast. Like a flip switching, you know? One minute everything’s normal, then the next, bam. You just know. Maybe not that you’re in love, but that you will be.”
Yeah, Bucky knows. Bucky knows way too damn well.
“Yup,” says Bucky, and hopes like hell Sam doesn't notice anything weird about his face or voice that might hint that what Sam has suggested is so close to the truth—at least on Bucky’s end of things—as to be indistinguishable from it. “You thinking of any moment in particular?”
Because Bucky has a moment: watching Sam in his new Cap suit, speaking up for what was right in the wake of Karli’s death. Bucky didn’t fall in love instantly then, but it was the start.
Sam’s posture on the couch stiffens for a moment, a subtle tension in his frame that most wouldn’t notice, but that Bucky definitely does, after having made himself a diligent student of the complexities of Sam Wilson’s body language.
“Yeah, I am,” says Sam. ”I’m thinking of that first cookout in Delacroix, after the Flagsmashers.”
Bucky’s not sure he sees the romance in that. It had been a fun party and all, but Bucky spent most of it entertaining various children with feats of strength and getting funny childhood dirt on Sam from Sarah.
“Really?”
“Of course. It was the first real time we spent together that wasn’t about the end of the world or a mission or fixing the boat or anything.” Sam pauses. “First time I saw you actually kinda relaxed and happy too.” Before Bucky can even react to this, Sam presses onward, saying, “I figure we can kinda skim over everything until the Blip…”
And then he proceeds to sketch out a version of their relationship that feels all too true in ways that Bucky has quietly and hopelessly longed for.
That they’d clashed and struggled in the wake of the Blip, that the shield’s legacy and their opinions about it had come between them, but they’d worked together to stop the Flagsmashers. That they’d become reluctant allies then teammates and finally friends and roommates, and then close friends. All of that is true. And then, that they’d realized somewhere along the way, they’d fallen in love.
It feels way too much like getting a glimpse at an alternate world, and a better one: one where Bucky was brave enough to make a move during one of his visits to Delacroix, one where Sam considered him more than a teammate and friend. What they have now is enough for Bucky, it is, but this imagined other version of them makes it harder to accept that. It makes it hard not to want, and Bucky generally tries very hard not to want much at all.
Bucky’s almost sole contribution to the cover is, “So we must’ve eloped, right? Otherwise it’s hard to sell that the press didn’t hear about it.”
Sam nods. “Recently too.”
“I’m, uh, not exactly an eloping in Atlantic City or Vegas kinda guy…” says Bucky, then fights not to flush, because that’s beside the point. This is a cover, a story, it just has to mostly hold together for long enough for them to get out of here.
Beside the point or not, Sam smiles, all fond affection. “I know,” he says. “You’re old-fashioned like that.”
“I’m a romantic,” Bucky corrects.
“Well alright then, that leaves eloping on a romantic and meaningful trip, or doing a courthouse kinda deal and then having a party in the yard down in Delacroix.”
Courthouse wedding and a party in Delacroix sound pretty great to Bucky, actually. Too easy to be caught in that lie though, given the lack of records and photos.
“Let’s say we eloped in Wakanda last month,” says Bucky. After Bucky’s period of devoutly apologetic exile, and a few possibly excessive amends in the form of rounding up some vibranium thieves, Bucky is no longer persona non grata there, so they’d gone for a checkup for Bucky and some gear upgrades for Sam. “That’ll explain why the press and everyone haven’t caught wind of it yet.”
“Good idea,” says Sam. “And, what, happily ever after since then?”
Bucky shrugs. “Sure, why not.”
“You think your uncle will buy it?”
“I think so, yeah. Don’t see why he wouldn’t. I’m just hoping he’ll let us go without turning either of us into a vampire. I’m not interested in being undead.”
“Because our fake marriage has made your whole shitty life worthwhile?” teases Sam.
At least, the words are teasing. The look in his eyes is soft and tender and maybe even a little bit sad.
Bucky should tease back, should brush the comment off, should deflect and change the subject. But he can’t. He’s still raw from sharing his life story, still aching and tender in unexpected places, and he hasn’t got it in him to lie or joke about this. His life has been shitty, and after so long struggling alone in the dark, after resigning himself to spending what was left of his too-long life in those dark shadows, Sam has been a shining, searing light, illuminating the possibility of a better life.
So he says, “You do help, you know. It’s—I’ve—things were so bad, for so long, and I was—but then you—it helps. You help. Fake marriage or not.”
He’s not making much sense, but Sam seems to understand anyway, because he pulls Bucky into a tight hug that Bucky happily, desperately, returns.
“I’m so fucking glad you didn’t get eaten by vampires,” says Sam in a choked voice, and Bucky laughs.
“Me too.”
Blade stops by to report that he hasn’t found anything alarming like a basement full of dead bodies or a dungeon full of enthralled humans, though he does seem mildly alarmed and also begrudgingly admiring of what he has found.
“Gotta give it to your great uncle, he’s a canny businessman,” says Blade. “This whole theme park for vampire-obsessed humans situation is a pretty great way to keep a sect fed and solvent, and everyone seems to come out of it happy.” Blade scowls. “Don’t feel great about it being a viable business model though. Are there really that many humans with a vampire fetish?”
“Don’t know, don’t care,” says Bucky.
“So, do you think we can get outta this alive and un-vamped?” asks Sam.
“If Barnes keeps leaning on the family angle, I don’t see why not,” says Blade with a shrug. “Worst case, I figure you can put your uncle off, Barnes. Say you want to live out a mortal life with Wilson here.”
“I can think of worse cases than that,” frets Bucky. “But yeah, okay.”
Blade moves to leave, and Sam says, “You sure we should split up like that?”
“Don’t wanna interrupt your couple time,” says Blade, with seeming seriousness, and when Sam crosses his arms with a glare, Blade adds, “We’re guests, no one here is gonna hurt us while we’re guests, as long as we’re good guests. Vampires are big on the rules of hospitality.”
“Wait, does that mean the vampires not being able to enter a place without an invitation is legit?” asks Sam.
“Pretty much.”
“For someone who’s a vampire hunter, you seem pretty chill about leaving them alone,” says Bucky, and Blade shrugs.
“If they’re not doing any real harm, don’t see the point in killing ‘em.”
“Fair enough,” says Sam. “Thanks again, man.”
“No problem,” says Blade, and slips out of the room.
“We should probably get some sleep during the day if we’re going to be up all night,” says Bucky. He can manage without for a while, but Sam should get a few hours while he can. “I can take the first watch, if you want.”
“Yeah, alright,” says Sam. “Not just yet though, I wanna look around some more and eat something first. And we should probably work on drilling our cover story.”
They poke around the suite, starting with the kitchen nook, which is very well-stocked. The fridge is full of prepared foods, though the combination of options is kind of strange to Bucky’s eye: some fancy, rich looking desserts like chocolate cakes and delicate petit fours, beautifully arranged fruit and cheese plates, and hearty meat-and-potatoes fare like shepherd’s pie and beef stew. It seems the vampire hosts generally want their guests to have plenty of energy for…whatever they get up to here.
Bucky doesn’t really want to think about it in too much detail.
“I’m pretty sure this coffee machine costs more than my truck,” says Sam as he presses a few buttons on the elaborate-looking machine.
“That’s a coffee machine?” Bucky looks at it more closely, and cannot for the life of him figure out how the contraption produces coffee. Sure it looks kind of like the espresso machines in cafes, but how on earth does it even produce plain coffee? “It looks like you need an advanced degree or, like, a pilot’s license to operate that.”
“I have a pilot’s license and I’m not sure I can operate this,” says Sam, sounding both disturbed and impressed. “Pretty sure I’ve flown planes that are easier to figure out than this thing. Wait, hang on, I think there’s a voice activation setting—” Sam sets a cup on the machine’s tray and pushes a button. “Machine, make me an americano.”
The machine dings with a cheery little ditty and says, “Americano in progress.” After a few seconds of mildly alarming hissing and bubbling noises, it begins to dispense coffee.
“Maybe this is worth however much it costs,” says Sam, awed.
Bucky rolls his eyes and keeps exploring. There are bowls of fresh fruit on the counters, along with covered baskets that, upon examination, reveal fresh pastries. Bucky immediately eats one of the chocolate croissants, and can’t quite help his ensuing, “Oh my god, this croissant is amazing.”
Sam opens what Bucky had assumed was a dishwasher or something and gasps. “There’s a wine fridge!” he says, excited. He pulls out a bottle and whistles. “Expensive tastes.”
The rest of the suite reveals a palatial bathroom with an enormous tub and shower, and a bedroom that looks what Bucky can only describe as sinfully luxurious, like every stereotype of decadent, expensive temptation: everything is draped in deep shades of red and purple in sumptuous fabrics, with modern lighting that nonetheless recreates the impression of candlelight, though there are candles burning too, and they seem to be the source of the aroma that Bucky’s nose mostly interprets as expensive. Thick curtains block the sunlight from outside, which should make it easier to sleep in here during the day.
Also, the bed is enormous. And it’s the only bed in the suite.
“Guess we’re sharing,” says Sam. “If you can even call it sharing when the bed is this big. I’m not even gonna be able to find you on the other side of the bed, damn.”
“There are whole apartments smaller than this bed, I’m pretty sure,” says Bucky with a wondering shake of his head, and then he turns to look around in the drawers and dressers.
The big armoire holds an assortment of robes ranging from the scanty negligee end of the scale to plush and warm bathrobes. The dresser has extra linens and blankets, and, wow, okay. A whole lot of…intimate things. His face goes hot and he slams the drawer closed.
“Oh my god,” says Sam, and when Bucky whips around to look at him, he sees that Sam has opened the other big armoire in the room, which is apparently full of— “So, they definitely do a lot of sexy roleplay here, holy shit.”
Bucky gets the impression of a whole lot of leather and straps and things before Sam gently closes the door.
“Yeah, there’s a lot of other, uh, things, in the dresser,” mumbles Bucky. To Bucky’s mortification, Sam is evidently curious enough to come around to his side of the room and look.
“Goddamn, this place is well-stocked,” he says. “You think your uncle gave us the honeymoon suite?”
“I don’t wanna talk about it,” says Bucky firmly. “Let’s just eat something and go over our cover some more, then you can get some sleep before sunset.”
Not that their cover needs much drilling, as close to the truth as it is. They go over it again anyway, and make some contingency plans for getting out of here that range from jump out a window and flee to fake an Avengers emergency and make their excuses for a hasty exit.
“We could fake the emergency tonight if you really wanna get out of here ASAP,” suggests Bucky, but Sam shakes his head.
“Nah, I figure we give it at least a couple days. Or nights. Weird as this whole situation is, this guy is your family, you know? He may be a vampire, and the kidnapping thing was not cool, but he hasn’t hurt any of us.”
Bucky gapes at Sam.
“What?” says Sam, defensive. “I’m serious! Vampire stuff aside, this might as well be like visiting any other older relative. Like, me and Sarah had to visit one of our great aunts out in Texas every year till she died, and it was boring as hell on that old ranch and I hate horses, but I still went out there for a long weekend every year when I wasn’t deployed. This is kinda like that.”
“If you say so,” says Bucky. “I just think this is kinda different than when I visited my grandparents on my dad’s side out in Indiana.”
“Helluva lot nicer for one thing,” says Sam, taking a sip of the fancy wine he poured out to drink with their lunch. Or breakfast. Or whatever the hell meal they’re considering this.
“The cake is very good,” Bucky concedes, like this chocolate cake hasn’t ruined him for all future chocolate cakes.
“The cake is amazing,” Sam corrects, then points his fork at Bucky. “And hey, there’s at least one seriously silver lining to your great uncle being a vampire!”
“Oh yeah? What is it?”
Sam grins, showing off the small gap between his front teeth that Bucky is, at this point, resigned to finding deeply charming. “You are officially not the weirdest person in your family anymore,” says Sam, looking very pleased with himself.
Bucky blinks at Sam for a second out of sheer surprise, and the only thing that’s more surprising is the laugh that Bucky can’t keep in.
He has laughed more with Sam in this past year or so than he has since—shit, since well before the war.
I love you, he does not say, but he thinks it pretty loud.
Instead, once his laughter has subsided, he says, “You know, that is actually a pretty great silver lining.”
Sam’s smile turns even warmer, and if Bucky isn’t imagining things, fonder.
“See? Things are looking up in your life, even if they are getting stranger. And hey, you told all the shitty parts of your story yesterday, nowhere to go but up from there.”
“And what, this is the happily ever after?” says Bucky, more wistfully than he’d intended.
If their current cover were real, it would be.
“Could be,” says Sam, his smile turning smaller but no less sincere-seeming. “You just gotta make it happen.”
That would involve making their cover story the truth, thinks Bucky. Maybe Bucky should risk it—Sam seeming so enthusiastic about their cover seems encouraging—but the happily ever after he has now is more than enough. He won’t risk it, at least not here, not yet. Bucky can keep a cover, but if Sam rejects him, he doesn’t think he’d be able to hide his heartbreak, and he does not want to find out what Great Uncle Yakov would do about that.
Dinner with Great Uncle Yakov that evening is a more intimate affair than it had been last night, and only slightly less nerve-wracking.
Bucky really doesn’t want to be caught in a lie; he’s pretty sure that counts as bad guest behavior, and who knows what Great Uncle Yakov will do then. Maybe just kick them out, maybe eat them, and Bucky doesn’t want to risk Sam’s safety if it’s the latter.
“We have other guests,” says Great Uncle Yakov, somewhat apologetically, as Michel shows them into a smaller and cozier dining room. “A bachelorette party, actually. We get a surprising lot of those! Good fun! The brides like a bit of danger before they are wed, you know?” Sam looks alarmed, and Bucky’s face is probably no better, while Blade glowers dangerously, so his great uncle rushes to assure them, “Safe and consensual danger, naturally!”
“Naturally,” says Bucky faintly, thinking about and then fervently repressing the memory of the various…implements he and Sam had found in the armoire and dresser.
While Great Uncle Yakov sits at the table with them, the only thing in front of him is a big, ornate goblet that Bucky is guessing contains blood. It’s enough to put him off his own delicious food if he thinks about it too much, so he doesn’t, and focuses on his own meal and some small talk.
“All the food here is amazing,” he says. “Those chocolate croissants were the best I’ve ever had.”
Sam nods in agreement. “Yeah, everything’s been so delicious, thanks.”
Great Uncle Yakov beams, and there’s no blood on his teeth, thank fuck for Bucky’s continued ability to get through this meal.
“Oh, I’m so pleased to hear that! You know, cooking and baking are Michel’s passion,” he says, gesturing towards where Michel is lurking nearby.
Not in a vampire way, just in a waiter kind of way, clearly ready to whisk their plates away for the next course or to pour more wine, though the man’s pallor and sharp suit do still add an ominous air to his service.
“Even though you can’t eat any of it?” says Blade, skeptical.
Michel sniffs huffily. “One must find rewarding pursuits in order to thrive in eternity,” he says. “And with my abilities, I can catch an echo, if you will, of my diners’ pleasure. It is almost as sustaining as actual blood.”
“Michel is so clever,” says Great Uncle Yakov with an air of indulgent pride. “And he is very correct about how one can thrive in an eternal life. So many vampires are lacking in creativity, in innovation! The hunting and the feeding and the violence, all so boring!” He waggles his head and waves a bored hand. “It makes us little better than the rabid, mindless vampires who were not turned correctly! If a vampire can find a new source of energy, a new occupation, eternal life is so much more richly savored!”
Bucky suspects there are some euphemisms there that are going over his head, but Blade looks more intrigued than concerned, so he decides not to worry about it too much.
“But you still drink blood,” says Blade, and Great Uncle Yakov waves a hand.
“Of course, of course, but not nearly as much! It is like those of you humans who are, ah, what’s the word—flexitarian! Or who eat sustainably.”
“Right,” says Sam. “That’s…good?”
“I like to think it keeps everyone happy!” says Great Uncle Yakov. “And causes much less trouble for me and people like your, ah, ‘Cousin Wesley’.”
Somehow, Bucky doesn’t think Blade’s cover has held up. But Great Uncle Yakov is sticking with the fiction for some reason, so Bucky figures it’s okay.
With the arrival of the second course—a pile of beautifully plated, delicious dumplings—Great Uncle Yakov insists on hearing Sam and Bucky’s ‘love story’, so they take turns relating the cover story over the rest of the meal. It goes smoothly, mostly, and when Sam and Bucky falter or clash or talk over each other, it mostly seems to come across as the charming disagreements of any couple.
Honestly, it’s not all that different from having dinner with Sarah and the boys. Only now Sam is holding his hand and occasionally giving him these soft, warm looks that Bucky doesn’t know what to do with other than flush helplessly. Which is probably helping to sell their cover, so that’s fine. If Bucky finds that he sometimes can’t quite look away from Sam’s shining eyes and the way they glimmer with hilarity and affection, well, that’s good for the cover too.
It helps that Great Uncle Yakov is an avid and expressive listener throughout, and by the time dessert comes around, he’s practically glowing with genuine happiness for them. Which means their cover remains secure, thank fuck.
“Oh, what a romance!” he says. “To think, you endured so much, James, and it brought you here and now to your true love!”
“You, uh, believe in that kind of thing?” says Bucky. “True love, I mean?”
Great Uncle Yakov’s face takes on a canny and sharp and, for a moment, ancient expression. Bucky wonders just how old he is, and how rude it would be to ask.
“True love becomes true when we make it so,” he says. “No higher power demands it, only our will. If there’s anything these past few rather…tumultuous decades have taught me, it’s that there’s precious little that’s immutable about the world. And yet, we can shape it, shape and remake ourselves. I have done so, and it seems you have too.”
“I, uh, guess so, yeah,” says Bucky.
His great uncle smiles softly at him for a moment, which is weird but nice, and then he turns to Sam.
“I understand you are something of an oenophile!”
“A what?” says Bucky, unsure if he should be horrified or not.
Sam rolls his eyes. “A wine lover, Buck,” he says, and shakes his head with exaggerated disappointment. “This guy has no appreciation for a nice glass of wine.”
“It all just tastes like fancy vinegar! Gimme a nice whisky any day.”
“Same,” says Blade.
“Well, I can accommodate all of you!” says Great Uncle Yakov. “One of the benefits of advanced age is a truly remarkable collection of fine wines and liquors, and I do so love to see people enjoy them!”
When Michel brings the booze out, Sam sips at his port with deep satisfaction, and yeah, okay, Bucky’s whisky is better even than Zemo’s booze.
“This is all very fancy,” Bucky murmurs to Sam while Blade and Great Uncle Yakov gossip about various vampires.
“You know what, maybe it was weird and terrifying at first, but now I am really enjoying that you have a rich as balls vampire great uncle,” Sam murmurs back, leaning in even closer to Bucky, his cheeks taking on a ruddy glow now from the alcohol.
Bucky can’t help it, he kisses Sam’s warm cheek. For the cover of course. Sam doesn’t react with surprise or disgust, just smiles happily at Bucky. So maybe he’s a little drunker than he seems. Bucky passes him a glass of water.
“Yeah, I’m coming around to liking the idea too,” says Bucky.
After drinks, Great Uncle Yakov and Michel give them a tour of the castle. It’s all very impressive and atmospheric—drafty, of course, can’t avoid that with a castle, says Great Uncle Yakov—while still being stuffed full of modern conveniences. The place is effectively a particularly nice bed and breakfast, and Great Uncle Yakov notes with pride that apart from the daytime staff, it’s entirely staffed by vampires, only about half of them having been turned by Yakov or his own minions—or rather, employees.
“A job here is much better than becoming a ravening blood-hungry beast,” says Great Uncle Yakov. “Really, some vampires are so irresponsible about turning others.”
“You seem pretty enlightened about this kinda thing,” says Blade.
“I simply wish to survive my undeath,” says Great Uncle Yakov. He grimaces and adds, “And I did not particularly enjoy my wild vampire youth.”
By the time the tour is over, it’s the small hours of the night, though still a few hours from dawn. Bucky’s wondering how the hell he can make his goodbyes and get them out of here when Great Uncle Yakov fixes him with a pleading, wistful look.
“Oh James, do say you can stay another night. There’s so much more I’d like to discuss with you!”
“Uh, if the something more is turning me into a vampire, I’m gonna have to, um, respectfully pass?”
“Same,” says Sam, and Blade nods too.
Great Uncle Yakov waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, of course, of course, probably best not to experiment with what would happen if someone with your enhancements became a vampire anyway. No, I just think we have more to speak of! And I do try to limit my visits to my dear descendants to once a generation.”
“Why’s that?” asks Bucky.
“I have had enemies among my own kind, in centuries past,” says Great Uncle Yakov, his voice heavy.
Sam silently mouths centuries while widening his eyes at Bucky. Bucky gives him back an, yeah, I know, what the fuck, how many centuries?? look back.
“I don’t like to draw anyone’s attention to my descendants, not when it could put them in danger,” continues Great Uncle Yakov, before a dark shadow crosses his expression. “It has in the past, and I have avenged those dear ones. But perhaps given your own abilities, and the company you keep…?” Great Uncle Yakov’s glance flickers towards Blade—yeah, Bucky’s guessing the ‘cousin Wesley’ cover is not holding up—and he gives Bucky an apprehensive look. “Do please stay another night, nephew.”
Part of Bucky thinks he should make their excuses and get the hell out of here. But, well…apart from the initial kidnapping, this has all been…pretty nice? Bucky hasn’t exactly got any other family left, not really: some grand nieces and nephews and cousins, who he hasn’t gotten in touch with, since an association with him seems like more trouble and danger than it’s worth. He’s generally assumed the best thing he can do for them is stay away. So he gets Great Uncle Yakov’s perspective, more than he’d have expected. And Sam’s right too: they’re the weirdos of their family. The monsters, even, maybe. The relative danger they bring to each other probably cancels itself out, more or less.
Somewhat pathetically though, it’s one simple fact that decides Bucky: Great Uncle Yakov seems so genuinely fond of him. The little kid inside of him, the one who’d been delighted by the gift of the books, the one who’d enjoyed being spoiled rotten by his grandparents, is urging him to stay.
You just want more chocolate cake and chocolate croissants, he tells that kid version of himself.
And what of it?
If this all ends in his great uncle turning him into a vampire or draining him of blood or something, it’s gonna be a real hit to Bucky’s streak of having a reasonably not-awful life.
Bucky looks at Sam, who shrugs, then nods encouragingly. “We can spare another day and night, if you want,” he says with a smile.
And then he pulls Bucky into a quick sideways embrace and kisses his temple.
For the cover of course. And Bucky leans in with a happy sigh for the cover too. They’re both just—so good at this cover. Which may or may not mean anything.
“Yeah, okay,” he says. “We’ll stay another night. Though, uh, we should probably be getting back to work after that.”
Great Uncle Yakov smiles and says, “Of course, of course! Now, I will leave you two to enjoy the honeymoon suite! I have some business to attend to.”
Of course it’s the honeymoon suite.
“Thanks,” says Sam faintly.
A horrifying but also horribly tempting thought occurs to Bucky when they get back to their room.
“Sam! You don’t think they’ll—notice—if we don’t use any of the—the—” He jerks his head in the general direction of the various alarmingly stocked drawers and armoire. “ —supplies, do you?”
Because on the one hand, Bucky does not have anywhere close to enough sexual experience to understand what to do with even half of those supplies, but on the other, he’s not sure he’d mind exploring them with Sam. Oh god, does Sam have enough experience? Bucky will have to consider that later. When he’s alone. Possibly in the shower.
Sam just laughs at him and reels him into a hug. “So what if they do? They’ll just assume we’re vanilla as hell. We are killing it at this cover, Buck.”
Bucky slumps in relief against Sam. “Yeah, we kinda are. We can keep it up for another day, easy.”
“Easy peasy,” confirms Sam, and lets Bucky go after one last squeeze.
The next night, Great Uncle Yakov pulls Bucky aside for a walk in the moonlit castle grounds while Sam and Blade hustle some vampires at pool and presumably enjoy the extensive liquor supplies.
“You know I’m not a traditionalist at all, James,” says his great uncle.
“That’s…good?” ventures Bucky.
The fact that he’s not the traditional kind of vampire that goes around draining people dry of blood and all that is a very good thing.
“And I certainly believe that all forms of love are valid,” continues Great Uncle Yakov.
“Agreed,” says Bucky, unsure where this is going.
“So there’s no need to worry about offending my delicate sensibilities vis a vis living in sin or wedlock or what have you. I am no old-fashioned prude!” Great Uncle Yakov chuckles. “Obviously, given my business! But, truly, I support your happiness in whatever form it takes! Which still includes a blood-soaked campaign of revenge against all who have harmed you, by the way.”
Bucky blinks at the sudden change of subject. “Um, thanks. I’m, uh. Just trying to move on, no need for the, uh, rampage of revenge or whatever.”
“Very wise,” says his uncle with a solemn nod. “Anyway, James, please know that you can always come to me, and that I will be happy to stand as your family in any and all future life events. Also for turning into a vampire, should you ever choose to risk it.”
“Thanks,” says Bucky again, more sincerely this time. “That—that, uh means a lot.”
His great uncle turns to face him and places a hand on his shoulder. His blue eyes actually glow in the night, but it seems like a friendlier kind of glow now.
“You are not alone any longer,” he says, and hugs Bucky.
And yeah, it still feels kind of skin-crawlingly weird what with the lack of a heartbeat and the cold and hard skin, but also? It’s a really nice hug.
They say their goodbyes just as the first gray hints of dawn are beginning to turn the night pale at the horizon. A plush limo is waiting to take them to a nearby airfield, and Michel shoves a whole basket of food at them.
“Perhaps we can visit with each other once a year rather than once a generation!” says Great Uncle Yakov, and Bucky smiles at him.
“Yeah, that sounds good,” he says.
“Sam is of course always welcome too,” says his uncle.
“Thank you so much for the hospitality,” says Sam, and shakes Great Uncle Yakov’s hand. He almost completely hides the ripple of disquiet at the eerie, vampiric grip. “We’ll definitely visit again. Or, uh, not sure how you travel with the whole sunlight situation, but you’re welcome to visit us too.”
Great Uncle Yakov looks touched. “Oh, that is so kind of you to say. I shall look forward to our next meeting immensely!”
When they’re safely on the plane and flying away, Bucky heaves a sigh of relief.
“So that all went pretty great, given that it started with me being kidnapped by vampires. And our cover even held up!”
“Hell yeah it did,” says Sam, enormously smug.
“Wait, what do you mean your cover?” asks Blade.
Sam and Bucky blink at him in surprise. “That we’re married,” says Bucky slowly. “That was a cover. I kinda panicked and said the first thing I thought would keep Sam safe.”
“You two aren’t married?!”
“No?” says Sam. “I told you when we first met up that I needed help to get my partner back, not my husband!”
“I thought you meant life partner!” says Blade. “Also, you do know that a lot of vampires can sense lies and emotions and shit, right?”
“What,” says Bucky.
Blade nods. “Especially the vamps like your uncle who can start feeding on, you know, energy instead of blood. If your ‘cover’ held up, it’s only because it was mostly true.”
“Oh my god,” says Bucky faintly. “But all he said was—” Suddenly, that last one-on-one with his uncle takes on a new light. “So that’s what he meant with all the stuff about how he’s not a prude and doesn’t care about people living in sin.”
“Shit, now we have to get married for real,” blurts out Sam, staring wide-eyed at Bucky. “I don’t know how to plan a wedding a vampire could attend!”
Blade looks pained. “You two are the most enormous dumbasses,” he says. “If your uncle didn’t get pissed about you lying, that means you weren’t lying. Not really. Maybe think about that.”
“Oh,” say Sam and Bucky in unison, and stare at each other.
Blade heaves an enormous sigh. “I will throw myself outta this plane, I swear to god,” he mutters. “Sort your rom com nonsense out.” He gets up to stomp to the other end of the plane.
“So…” says Bucky slowly, starting to grin. “I guess that means you still suck at undercover.”
Sam glares at him, but he laughs too, and tugs Bucky out of his seat to sit on Sam’s lap. “Maybe. But I guess it means this really is our happily ever after, too.”
And then Sam kisses him, and it’s definitely a storybook-perfect, happily ever after kind of kiss.