Chapter Text
Despite the late night hour, as the moon shone brightly between the crevices of his window, Bucky was wide awake, laying in his bed, reading an old astronomy novel that he had found in his father’s study weeks ago. The paper was yellowed and frayed at the edges, the scent of aged ink rising faintly as he turned each page. He loved the book—loved the way its diagrams mapped the heavens in careful lines and dots—he read it whenever he had the chance to do so. He'd always thought of growing up and studying the stars, to chart them with the same patient devotion as the men who wrote such books.
The sky spread out behind his curtains with tiny speckles that represented the stars dotted around in mass amounts, some creating constellations. The soft hush of the countryside seemed to carry those stars closer, as if the night pressed its ear to his window, listening to his quiet breathing. He enjoyed watching them before he closed his eyes and allowed sleep to overtake his body.
But this night would be different than the rest. On this night, his world would change for better or worse. He didn’t know anything at that moment—only that the cool hush of starlight felt like a promise. But after only a few hours of sleeping, he’d woken up to his father bursting into his sleeping quarters, panic in his eyes, blood dripping down from his temple, the metallic scent hitting Bucky’s nose before his mind even processed the sight.
“Father, what is happening?” he asked, throwing the duvet away from his body and standing away from the bed. His bare feet hit the cold wood floor, sending a shiver up his spine.
He had no time to reply, however, as Bucky's mother’s defensive shouts echoed through the small cottage into Bucky’s bedroom. “Back! Back, I say! Stay away from my family!”
“Mamma!” Bucky charged out of the room, pushing his father out of the way, and sprinted into the other room, where a man was seen towering over his mother. His stance was calm and tall. Collected, even as his mother held a tea kettle in the air, ready to strike the man.
“Get back to bed, Bucky!” she called, never looking away from the creature that was a breath of distance away from her. “Get back to bed!”
The man, however, turned his head at the sound of the child’s voice, a soft curl of his lips ever-present. “My boy,” the man greeted. The softness of his tone took Bucky aback—it was too warm, too familiar, in a room so charged with fear. “My boy, you’ve grown taller since I last laid eyes on you.”
“Who are you?” his father spoke up in fear, grabbing Bucky and clutching him to his body, his fingers gripping Bucky’s shoulders entirely too tight. Bucky could see from the corner of his eyes that his father’s knuckles had turned a pale white with his grip.
Chuckling, the man spoke with an air of calm, “My name is Nicholas Fury, my dear sir. I reside in the castle a little ways into the forest that surrounds this quaint little town. You’re both very much welcome to my Welcoming Feast.”
“‘Welcoming Feast’?” His father spat back in disgust, scowling in despair and fright at the creature who stood tall and calm meters away from him. “What’s this about? How did you get into my dwelling? I’ve no idea what ‘creature of the night’ entails nor do I wish to understand what you intend to do with my son!”
Chuckling once again, the creature spoke again, “Why, welcoming Bucky to my castle, of course. He will be my new apprentice—” the man cut off and hissed in pain as Bucky's mother had struck him in the back of his head with a tea kettle. The hollow clang of metal against bone rang sharp in the air.
“You shouldn’t have done such a thing, my dear lady.” His voice dropped, velvet and venom in equal measure. When he opened his mouth, the growl deepened, revealing pearly white, sharp fangs that glinted in the flicker of the candles.
Bucky’s breath caught. The moment stretched unnaturally long—his mother’s determined stance, kettle raised again, the brief look of shock on the man’s face. His father’s hand clamped around Bucky’s arm, pulling him back, but the boy’s eyes stayed fixed on the figure before them.
The creature moved—not quickly in the human sense, but with something far worse: an inhuman speed that stole the air from Bucky’s lungs. One heartbeat, there was space between them; the next, the shadow loomed over his mother.
There was a flash—her cry—and then everything dulled. The world’s sound collapsed inward as if someone had pressed hands over Bucky’s ears. His pulse thundered in the hollow quiet, each beat making his vision tremble. The light fractured in the corners of his sight, turning the edges of the room into watery shadows.
The kettle struck the floor and rolled away, its metallic clatter fading to nothing. His mother’s arm hung limp. His father’s grip on his arm became the only anchor keeping him upright, but even that began to slip.
Bucky tried to cry out, but the sound was stolen before it could leave his throat. The walls tilted, the air thickened, and then—darkness swallowed him whole.
The next thing he knew, he was sprawled across a bedspread that was nothing like the one in his small home. Heavy fabric pooled around him, patterned with intricate designs he didn’t recognize. The ceiling above was high, carved in shadow, and the air was colder than it should have been.
Somewhere far away, in the echo of his fading memory, the clang of the kettle still rang.
“Where am I?” he asked, rubbing his eyes, letting a soft groan pass his lips. “Who are you? What have you done to my family? What do you want with me? Where are my parents?”
The man remained silent until he had stepped forward and sat on the bed, hands placed in his lap. “My name is Nicholas J. Fury. I am not a person of this lifetime. I am something humans like to call a creature of the night, a bloodsucker. A vampire is most common among the townsfolk, however.”
Bucky nodded, hardly believing this was what had become of his life in only a matter of hours. “Why did you take me from my family?” he questioned, bringing his knees up to his chin and wrapping his arms around his legs. “Why am I here?”
Nick’s tone was slightly sombre. “Why do you think I have you here, my dear boy?”
“To keep me a prisoner,” Bucky answered without a beat. This man was too calm and collected. He frightened Bucky. But he wouldn’t allow this creature to know how he felt. He’d try his best to remain calm. He wanted to go back home. He wanted to be safe and away from this creature. “You wish to harm me, like you’ve done to my parents. I cannot imagine any other reason for me being here.”
“You are safe here, my dear boy, that I can promise you,” he vowed. “I do not wish you any harm, my child.”
“Do not call me that.” Bucky shook his head, balling his hands into fists as anger surged beneath his skin. “I’m not your child. You are not my father!”
“My apologies, Bucky.” Bowing his head, he stepped away from the bed as if ing some extra reassurance that he would not hurt the poor child. “I know you want answers, and that is what I will give you if you wish it.”
“I do.” He nodded, almost eagerly.
“I know you are wondering why I had taken you away from your dwelling. I know that you wish to know why I attacked your birth parents. I can assure you, my intentions were not to bring them harm. I was merely defending my well-being. I only wished to meet you in person. I wish for you to become my apprentice, my successor, so that when I cease to exist, you will carry on my legacy. You understand, right, boy?”
“You killed my parents in front of me.” He shook with uncontrollable anger, tiny hands balled in fists, his nails breaking the skin of his palms. “And you wish for me to respect you? Surely, you can’t be serious? No! No, I will not stay here with you. I will not be a prisoner here. I will not spend the rest of my days with some creature who murdered innocent people. You are undoubtedly insane.”
Nick blinked as if knowing the answer Bucky would give him. He turned back to the door and took a step towards the hallway. “I feared this would happen; however, if you wish to leave, you may.” He raised a slender hand to the doorway. But Bucky didn’t react, didn’t move an inch from the bedspread, even though he wished his legs would run.
“I mean you no harm, Bucky. I can give you anything and everything you wish. All you have to do is ask me. You enjoy novels, yes? I have a grand library. Cooking? I have a grand kitchen where you can learn recipes from any passage of time. I have a workshop in my basement to keep your fingers focused on making things rather than destroying them.”
Bucky felt conflicted. He couldn’t understand why this man was speaking so kindly to him. He had just murdered his parents in cold blood and now, here he sat at the edge of Bucky’s duvet, looking as old and worn down as ever.
But Bucky stayed. He stayed for years on end afterward that first night. Thoughts of his parents were long lost to him. For decades he stayed by Nick’s side. He’d seen many sunsets and sunrises, the colors spilling through the castle windows like liquid fire. He’d spent long winters chopping wood in the basement to tend to the fireplaces that littered several rooms, even though warmth wasn’t needed. He watched and he learned. He read novels. He cooked and baked. He learned the art of crafting potions, filling the halls with scents that lingered for days.
“Mix these two—”
“Yes, dear boy, you have such a natural talent.”
“Gather these ingredients for a more tantalizing scent.”
“Sir, I did it!”
Nick, his master, his teacher, his father—as Bucky had grown to call him—had gained his trust faster than Bucky had ever expected. Of course, Bucky felt lonely at times. Of course, he missed his family and walking through the town. But he never became exhausted from seeing the other man. He never grew annoyed at hearing the soft echoes of Nick’s voice as he entered the room, catering to Nick’s every need. He grew quite fond of the soft touches Nick would give him as he tutored Bucky while they created potions or baked in the kitchen. The cold, vast castle became less of a prison and more of a home.
He knew a long time ago that Nick never really wanted to harm him or his parents. His parents’ deaths were an accident—something that had occurred in a moment of rage from Nick. Bucky never once held it against him once he learned how delicate the creature was on the subject. He learned how careful the creature truly felt. He was gentle and kind. He was smart and ethical. He was family to him.