Chapter 1
Tony Stark was dying.
This fact was weighing heavily on Phil Coulson's mind as he walked an unfamiliar yet remembered path toward an old, overgrown Victorian home. The last battle the Avengers had been in against the villain of the week had gone badly; it had ended with Stark, self sacrificing asshole that he was, getting himself crushed by a building saving civilians. He was in critical condition, and the doctors had given an estimate of eight hours before Tony's body gave up.
Coulson, of course, knew that the other Avengers were not going to take it well; it was why he was here, hackles raised as he knocked on the door of a home that looked as if it had never really seen better days. It swung inward after a moment, no one inside to greet him. Phil sighed at the theatrics, entering the threshold, eyes sweeping the foyer, very much expecting someone to try to take him by surprise.
What he was not expecting, however, was an attractive man with a long braid down his back to come running down the stairs, ipod in hand, dressed in faded jeans and a Daft Punk shirt. His hair was long and tied into a messy braid along his back, his eyes were a vibrant blue, and he looked incredibly tired, eyes dark and sunken.
"Hey, hi, sorry about the door, it's got a mind of it's own," the man said, the hint of a Californian accent creeping into his voice. Phil kept his face impassive, as always, hiding the fact that this man was not at all what he had been expecting.
"It's quite alright," Phil said mildly, lips twitching ever so slightly. "Are you ready to go, or do you need more time to get ready?"
"Nope, I'm ready," the man said slipping on a pair of flip flops that had been resting beside the door, and then he was out, squinting into the bright sun as Phil followed him. "I was actually surprised to get Nick's call. I thought he was going to hang on to that debt forever."
Phil smiled slightly, and internally agreed. "He likes to hold on to favors until a dire need has arisen," Phil said, wondering at the man as he put in one ear bud, the faint sound of something upbeat and sharp meeting his ears.
"Well, one of the Avengers taking a crap could be considered dire," the man stated drily, and Phil's eyebrows arched in surprise. He knew Nick hadn't divulged anything to him, and he was set on edge. "Oh, don't give me that look. I'm old, not stupid. There's only one reason Nick would call in a favor from me, and it's if one of the Avengers or someone else he cares about is in mortal danger. This isn't the first time we've met, Phil."
Phil blinks at him, and he'd thought this man was familiar, and now he remembers exactly from where. "Oh," he said softly.
"Oh, indeed," the man said softly, and they reached the black Sedan Phil had brought, both sliding in silently. They were on the road again before the man spoke again.
"Let's just hope fixing the broken Avenger is as easy as fixing you was."
**
The beeping of the heart monitor was getting less and less steady as the clock ticked by, and Steve was tense as he sat beside Tony's hospital bed, grief etched into every line of his face. He clutched Tony's hand in both of his, praying and hoping and pleading silently for some miracle to happen, for Tony to open his eyes and laugh at them for being so worried, even though he knew there was nothing.
Tony was dying and there was nothing he could do about it.
Steve startled slightly as the door opened, and Natasha, sat beside him, had a knife in her hand before he could blink, but it was Phil, followed by a man in his twenties that he had never seen before. He was wearing a Daft Punk shirt, and Steve's heart gave a hollow clench, because Tony had the same one.
"Who's that?" Natasha asked sharply, waking Bruce, who had been sleeping in the corner, eyes flashing green a moment as he blinked sleepily up at the newcomers.
"My name is John," the new man said, not coming any closer than he had to; he seemed to sense how unwelcome his presence was, how protective the assembled teammates were. "I owed Nick a favor; I can help your teammate recover."
Some of Steve's tension drained from him, and hope filled him up to the brim. "You can help him?" he asked roughly, his voice raw with tears and disuse.
John nodded, once, and took a step closer to Tony. When he met no resistance, he stepped right up to the billionaire's bedside, leaning over him and inhaling deeply. He frowned after a moment, and straightened, crossing his arms as he did so. He sighed, softly, and his bright, bright blue eyes scanned the available people.
"Who is his next of kin?" he asked, and Steve looked up.
"I'm listed," he said, and John nodded once.
"I can't heal him," John said, and Steve's hopes plummeted all at once. John held up a hand, as if sensing the distress. "But. But I can turn him. I'm a vampire, and he's just alive enough for the change to save him, body and mind. But I need permission in order to do this."
"Do it," Steve said hoarsely. John frowned, and took a deep breath.
"This will kill him," John said. "I am not alive; I'm like an animation. I have the appearance of life, but I am a walking corpse. I drink blood to survive, and I will never grow old, and I tend to only keep the company of other vampires, because humans die rather quickly. If I turn him, he will need at least three regular donors to keep him fed. For a while, the only thing he's going to want is blood, sex, and sleep, in that exact order. It'll probably be about a year before he calms down, and learns to control his urges. Do you want this, still, knowing that a vampire's existence is and was always meant to be a cursed one?"
Steve swallowed, taking in everything John was saying, and looked at Natasha. Her expression was carefully blank, but she gave a slight tilt to her head. His gaze fell on Bruce, who had curled into himself so tightly it looked painful, and Steve knew he couldn't make another choice then. There was no other choice.
"Do it," he said, voice rough. "We can't...we can't lose him, not like this."
John nodded, and there was an emotion in his eyes, one that told Steve he had been in this position, and he had not made the same choice and regretted it.
"He'll need a meal after he's turned; I won't have very much control over him, so everyone except the one who wants to be his donor needs to be out of the room," John said, and Steve nodded.
"I'll do it," he said, and he and John ushered the others out of the room, and the two of them were left with the heart monitor and Tony's frail, broken body.
"We need to take the breathing tube out," John murmured. "I have to bite him and he needs to drink from me while I do it in order for the change to take place."
Steve was nervous about that, because the breathing tube was the only thing keeping Tony breathing, but he'd decided to trust John; he had to, because he couldn't lose Tony. They couldn't lose Tony.
John's movements were sure and quick as he slit his own wrist, while Steve gently pried the tube from Tony's body, wincing at the gasping, wheezing breaths Tony tried to take, but then blood was dripping into his mouth and John struck like a viper, his teeth sharpening and elongating, biting into Tony's flesh with a sick sound.
Steve couldn't look away, wouldn't, and the heart monitor stopped completely. His eyes widened and he was about to jump on John, pull him away and beat him bloody because he had killed Tony, he'd promised he was going to help him and he killed him. But then Tony's hands came up, clutching the wrist on his mouth, drinking deeply. John released his grip on Tony's shoulder, lips red with blood, and he watched Tony, eyes open for the first time in days, drinking from his wrist as if his life depended on it.
Steve watched this happen, eyes wide, not quite able to believe what was happening. Tony's visible bruises were fading quickly, and his legs were twitching, which was incredible because his spine had been snapped. After a moment, John tugged his wrist away, and Tony made a soft, desperate noise, eyes looking at it longingly.
"Hush, you're still changing," John murmured, pushing Tony's shoulders down, just in time for the billionaire to begin thrashing, his mouth opening wide, canines lengthening, curved and wicked as he screamed. "Shh, it will be over soon," John murmured, and Steve could see tears in his eyes, wet and shining as they streamed down pale cheeks.
Tony thrashed and screamed and moaned, and Steve watched in frozen horror as it happened, unable to move as Tony screamed, face contorted in agony. John was making soothing noises all the while, crying in earnest now, and the moment seemed to stretch into eternity, an agonizing stretch in which Steve was completely unable to move, unable to help, could only watch Tony writhe in pain.
And then it was over, Tony slumping down, panting, eyes glazed over and red stained on his mouth. John was gently taking out his IV, ripping the cast off his leg in an impressive display of strength. Steve started to move forward, to help, but John looked at him sharply and shook his head. Tony blinked a few times, nostrils flaring suddenly, and he sat up, eyes trained on Steve.
No, not on him, Steve realized. On his pulse.
"Not yet," John said, sternly, and Tony shifted, eyes still locked on Steve, teeth jutting out over his lower lips. "Do you remember who that is? I need you to tell me."
Tony's brow furrowed and he looked at John curiously, as if he couldn't possibly understand why he was being asked this question, and then his frowned deepened as he looked back at Steve, confusion written into the lines of his expression.
"That's...Steve," he said after a long moment, looking pleased with himself.
"Good," John praised, and Tony preened a bit, and that made Steve illogically jealous for some reason, the emotion sharp and hard and gone as soon as he peered at it too closely.
"Steve is your friend. He's going to let you drink from him, but you only need three swallows, understand? Any more will make you sick, and might hurt Steve," John murmured to him.
"I don't want to hurt Steve," Tony said, and there was a panicked note to his voice, eyes wide; there was an almost child-like aspect to him just then, the need to please and be good at the forefront of his personality in a way it never had been before.
"Three pulls, and you won't," John said reassuringly, and gestured Steve to come forward. He did so, heart pounding in his chest, eyes trained on Tony. John gently took Steve's wrist, holding it up.
"Bite here," he instructed Tony, tracing the vein on Steve's wrist, blue and thick in the fluorescent lights. "Only with your top teeth, or you'll cause unnecessary damage."
Tony nodded solemnly, and gently took Steve's wrist in both hands, looking up at him, silently asking permission. Steve nodded, once, and Tony smiled at him. His fangs should have been unsettling, but Steve only found them charming, and maybe he wasn't quite over the shock of almost losing him, but he didn't care.
Tony positioned his fangs over Steve's vein like he'd been told, the tips cool against his skin, and bit down gently. Steve was expecting it to hurt, feel foreign and intrusive, like getting blood drawn, but it wasn't like that at all. Pleasure burst across his skin, making him gasp and his knees buckle, and he was suddenly glad for John, who caught him before he could begin to fall, solid and cool against him. He felt his blood leaving him, but it only added to the blissful sensation he was in. It was like an orgasm, blinding, consuming, delicious, but his cock was uninterested, his heart slowing after a moment, eyes falling shut as he savored it.
He vaguely felt Tony pull off his wrist, tongue darting out to lick over the puncture mark he'd left, and he was being guided into a chair, loose limbed and blissed out.
"Did I hurt him?!" he heard Tony asked, and he opened his eyes to look at him, mouth trying to form the words to assure him that no, he was completely fine. It didn't seem to want to cooperate, though, because all he managed was a slight whine.
"No, that's the venom doing it's job. Your first feeding is always the most intense; he should be more responsive in a few moments," John assured him, and Tony seemed placated by this. He swung out of the bed, taking off more bandages and stretching, his eyes bright, almost glowing, and he sat himself in Steve's lap.
"Thank you, Steve," Tony murmured, resting his cheek on the top of Steve's head.
"Do anythin' f' you," Steve managed to slur, and Tony giggled, and then tipped Steve's head up, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, before wrapping his arms around Steve's shoulders, cuddling him tight.
**
John was watching Tony speculatively, wiping his tears away with the back of his hand. The Avenger was the most in-control newborn he had ever met, and he was wondering if the Stark had vampire blood in his lineage. It was worth looking into, just to know, but for now, he was content in the knowledge that his new ward wasn't going to kill his friend by accident.
Steve was recovering from the venom a lot quicker than normal -a regular human would be non responsive for hours from a newborn's first venom- but seeing as he wasn't a normal human, John wasn't too surprised. The bond between him and Tony was warm in his chest, making him smile slightly, and his gut clench painfully in memory.
He shoved those thoughts away, however, and left the room to retrieve the rest of the Avengers plus Phil. They were all tense outside the door, and the tall blonde one in the cape looked distrustful, hammer clenched tightly in his hand.
"The change was successful," John murmured. "Now is the best time to get familiar with him, as newborns are extremely agoraphobic once they've settled. Make sure everyone he will be spending a lot of time with normally is here to be around him within the next day or so."
The Avengers, plus Phil, all filed into the room, and Tony looked up from where he was curled against Steve, his eyes flashing dangerously before he recognized the people filing in. He looked questioningly at John, and John nodded, once.
"Nest," he said, knowing that Tony would understand, and remembering the instincts he felt when he was first turned, so many years ago. Tony reluctantly extricated himself from Steve's lap, causing the human to make a soft noise of discontent. Tony touched his face a few times, and leaned in, rubbing his cheek over Steve's carefully, bathing him in his scent. This calmed Steve, and he blinked lazily at the rest of the assembled team, and John was impressed; he'd never seen a human so coherent after a feeding so quickly, let alone a newborn's feeding.
Tony approached Natasha first, gently taking her shoulders, handling her with deliberate care, as if she would break if he was too rough. John felt a rush of approval, and pushed it through the bond, making Tony smile. He carefully rubbed his cheek along Natasha's, first on one side and then the other, thoroughly saturating her in his scent. After he was done, he pressed a light kiss to her lips, grinning at her shocked expression before moving on to Bruce.
Tony handled the scientist with the same gentle care, massaging his shoulders a bit to get him to relax before he scented him, kissing his forehead gently before leaving him. Natasha and Bruce had the same relaxed set to their shoulders when Tony moved away from him, and even though John knew it was a chemical release of hormones causing it, he relished the feeling. Through Tony he could feel them, and it had been so long since he'd been part of a nest he'd forgotten how blissful the feeling was, how easily people fell into one another.
Thor was next, and he seemed to enjoy the scenting the most, taking great care to lean into each touch, his eyes half lidded in pleasure. Clint seemed to be the most wary, and Tony's hands were gentle as they smoothed over his biceps and chest, taking extra time to scent him before the archer was loose and relaxed. Phil was putty by the time Tony had finished scenting him, but that was to be expected after the blood John had given him in order to heal him fully. Tony led the agent over to the bed, placing him down gently and leading Clint over to cuddle with him, before he reclaimed his spot on Steve's lap, cuddling the soldier with a smile on his face.
John watched from the corner as they all settled around each other, their scents intermingling with Tony's. Any vampire would be able to smell them for miles, so strong was the home, nest, family scent that clung to nests, and John felt his muscles relax, though he stayed alert; as the eldest vampire, it was his job to ensure this new nest was not harmed or interrupted while the new bonds were forming.
James Rhodes, Pepper Potts and Sam Wilson all wandered in eventually, and each of them were scented and found their own places among the strewn limbs and mixed scents of the impromptu nest. John took up a guard position outside the door, and he did not allow any others to come through, having meals delivered for the humans, making sure Tony drank every few hours.
It was a whole twenty hours before the nest-bond felt solid, and John felt it was safe to move everyone out of the hospital. Tony's mind had returned to him, and even in the glow of a fresh nest-bond, John could tell he was disgruntled. He took the time to pull the new vampire away from his nest while people were being herded into cars to take them back to their dwelling.
"I'm sorry," he said softly, and his eyes were full of regret. "I would never wish this life on anyone. I would never have turned you if it were only my choice."
Tony looked at him, grim confusion written on his face. "Why? You saved me."
"I passed on my curse," John said. "These people, this nest you just made...you will outlive them. And you won't realize how much it will hurt until they are gone. Or you will turn them, and they will still leave you."
Tony shook his head. "They wouldn't," he said, and there was so much conviction in his voice, such truth, that John felt his heart twist in agony.
"For you...for you, I hope that is the truth," he said sadly.