I Am

James Buchanan Barnes was born in Brooklyn, New York. In his century of life, he had served as a soldier in the U.S. military, fought beside the first genetically-engineered superhuman, lost his arm, been brainwashed by a secret Nazi science bureau, assassinated dozens of political figures on behalf of the Soviet Union, handled a Cosmic Cube, and, as of twelve hours ago, fought and beaten an alien god. He had killed men on all seven continents, seen regimes rise and fall, but America would always be his home.

And as the ramp of a Wakandan jet bumped onto scuffed asphalt, and Bucky Barnes got his first look at vampire-infested New York under Dracula’s reign of eternal night, the simple truth behind that age-old adage seemed to ring truer than ever - there really was no place like home.

The moon hung low and full in the sky, casting its foreboding light on the empty streets. Its pale light bounced off abandoned cars and stagnant puddles, shattered bottles and dented bins. Every window was closed and shuttered, blinds drawn. The electronic billboards of light and noise were silent. The acrid smell of engine fumes was gone; not many cars had clogged the roads since the evacuation buses left. In its place was the faint smell of sewage, drifting up from the drains. His nose wrinkled at the unwelcome aroma. The city that never sleeps, it seemed, had dozed off.

His boots crunched broken glass as he stepped down onto the pavement. For urban combat, he was wearing olive-green techwear trousers, a long black t-shirt with a bullet-resistant vest over it, and a khaki bodywarmer. For practicality, he had also put on knee pads and gloves, and his sidearm was strapped at his side. The t-shirt’s left sleeve had been cut off. It made no secret of Bucky’s missing arm, but he didn’t really care. 

“Jeez. No kidding about the whole ‘eternal night’ thing.” Clint was also wearing techwear trousers, though he had chosen a black pair with adjustable straps to stop them from sagging. A black short-sleeved t-shirt covered his chest, and over it, he had a purple chestplate. “Purple for Wakanda, purple for Hawkeye,” he had explained cheerfully to Bucky, tapping his knuckles against the breast. Finishing off the look was a pair of archer’s gloves with a plate on the outside forearms, boots, a lilac cowl around his shoulders, and his signature quiver behind his back. His bow was already in hand, and he adjusted his grip uneasily. 

“Easy, Barton.” The moonlight glinted on a vibranium shield, painted with the stars-and-stripes of America. Thick trousers, stitched from synthetic polymers, covered Steve’s legs, while his torso was clad in blue vibranium armour. A white star sat over his sternum, and red boots and gauntlets protected his extremities. Clad in the best protection 2099’s Wakanda could give him, Captain America was a patriotic bulwark. 

Heavy footsteps, clanking against the steel ramp, followed them. Frank was clad in grey trousers and a grey short-sleeved shirt, with a sidearm strapped to each thigh and a bulletproof vest emblazoned with a white skull. He held a combat shotgun close to his chest as he scanned their surroundings. 

Last out of the jet was Sai. She had a white cloth wrapped around her chest, partly obscured by a blue shirt that covered one shoulder and her midriff. Blue leg warmers met a blue skirt with a floral pattern, and large black boots rose up to her knees. A piece of black armoured fabric was held in place around her waist by a red rope, with a small ornamental gold ring hanging at the front. For a more practical element, her hands were protected by fingerless armoured gloves, and a red scarf hung around her neck. Her ōdachi’s leather sheath was in its usual place, nestled between her shoulder blades. A look of morbid curiosity mixed with slight disgust coloured her face. “Is this the New York of which you so reverently spoke?” she inquired.

“The very same,” Clint replied. “You like it?”

Sai was silent for a moment. Then: “It smells vile.”

“It’s not… okay, yeah,” Clint allowed. “It’s normally just a different vile.”

“We should move.” It was Steve. “The Baxter Building’s waiting.”

Their conversation continued as they walked, as Sai’s eyes continued to scan their surroundings. Clint gestured to an apartment building. “See that?” he announced. “That’s the cottages of the future. Each floor can house five, six people, pretty comfortably.”

Sai’s brows furrowed as she examined it. “People live in there?” she demanded, as a hint of revulsion entered her voice. “Where are the vegetables grown? How are they all fed? Where do the children play? How do they escape if there is a fire–”

“Well, okay, sure it’s not a perfect solution,” Clint replied. A hint of defensiveness was inexplicably entering his voice. “But it’s better than families living on the streets. And they’re usually pretty nice inside. When the landlords do their jobs,” he added under his breath. “As for food… you can buy pretty much anything in stores these days–”

“Stores are like big markets,” Bucky interjected.

“--right, big markets. Food, clothes, anti-diuretics, they’re all there. Just hop in the car, head to a Dollar General, and pick some up.” 

Sai was silent. Clint’s face screwed up as he remembered he was talking to a ninja from feudal Japan. “Right, right,” he lamented. “Okay. Um. So what do you know about how engines work?”

“Hey!”

They turned to Frank. His mouth was twisted into a scowl. Well, he’s usually scowling. This is just a bit meaner than usual. 

“Hush up,” he snapped. “We’re in hostile territory. We could be ambushed at any moment, and you’re getting their attention. I don’t want to have to carry your asses back to the infirmary.”

For a moment, Clint looked hurt - but he recovered with his usual speed. “Yes boss, yes boss, three bags full, boss.” He gave Frank a mock salute. Frank’s scowl calmed into a glower of distaste as they set off once again.

A block later, they rounded a corner - and came upon an unpleasant surprise. A corpse was slumped against a shop door, its head tilted unnaturally to one side. It was Bucky’s turn to grimace in distaste as his eyes reached the corpse’s neck. A brutal gash yawned wide, torn open with a missing chunk of flesh. “Thought Shuri said they drink blood?” he interrogated Steve. “This is…”

“Bad.” Steve crouched in front of the corpse, gently coaxing its head to the side to better examine the wound. “I don’t know. But we’re not going back to ask.”

“Right.” Bucky wasn’t exactly eager to meet the creatures that had done this, but it was looking less and less like his choice. “How far to the Baxter Building?”

“An hour’s walk north-west, at a guess.” Steve rose. 

“And why couldn’t we save ourselves the trip?” Clint demanded. “It probably has a helipad, or something. Or we could just touch down outside the front door. We could be sipping martinis with Mister Fantastic right now.”

“Right now, the Four have the Baxter Building on high alert,” Steve replied. “The building’s shielded and camouflaged by Susan Richards. And they’re not expecting us. If we flew in unannounced, we could be attacked.”

“‘Kay.” Clint’s voice was marred by an edge of resignation. “Guess we’re getting there the old-fashioned way.”

Their trek continued. Every step they took through New York only bolstered Bucky’s sense of unease and alienation. For every five shops they passed, two or three had been ransacked; their windows were smashed in, their stock stolen. Cracked digital billboards struggled in vain to show their pictures. More corpses were appearing, some older than others. The unnatural moonlight seemed to highlight them in its baleful glare, taunting him with the dead, their decaying eyes staring at him accusingly. You could have saved us, they cursed him, but you put yourself first. You had to kill your demons before you could save us from ours. Outside a casino, a broken neon sign sparked red light over the body of a young woman, sprawled on the pavement. Her painted lips almost seemed to move in speech as the shadows danced.

“There.”

It was Sai’s voice. She was pointing to a roof a few buildings down. Steve’s hand flew up in a “wait” gesture as he saw it too. Bucky froze, already reaching for his sidearm. A gentle click came from Clint’s bow as he nocked an arrow. He squinted as he looked up, seeing nothing - then gave a start as he spotted it. 

The vampire was perched atop a small shop plunged in darkness. Its features were indiscernible from this distance; it was nothing more than a human-shaped lump, hidden in the shade. Two yellow pinpricks seemed to glow from the shadow. Their eyes reflect light. Like a cat’s, he realised. The thought disquieted him for reasons he didn’t understand.

The group had a few moments of staring before their stalker realised it had been spotted. It got to his feet in a smooth motion, and backed away into the darkness. Those malevolent, reflective eyes were the last thing to fade.

Bucky felt his hand fall away from his sidearm as he released a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. Clint tucked his arrow away in his quiver. “First contact?” he asked cheerfully, his attitude fooling no one.

“If there’s one, there’s more,” Frank declared. “Eyes up. If you see one, call it.” They nodded in unison. 

Their next sighting came fifteen minutes or so into their journey. A terrible sound buffeted Bucky’s ears; a screeching howl, unlike any sound he had ever heard a creature make. It brought to mind dying animals and scavengers picking a corpse clean. It was nails on the chalkboard of his soul. A few moments later, more howls rose in answer, distant yet all too close. Something moved above him. It was little more than a blur in the dismal lighting, but Bucky caught it all the same. “Saw something,” he called, and pointed. “Up there.” A vampire had hopped from one rooftop to the next, silhouetted by the moon. It was heading to the source of that original sound, the one that had called the others. Blink and you miss it, he thought, and shivered a little.

After that, Bucky kept one hand on his sidearm at all times. Glass crunching under his foot became a rattle of gunshots; a distant car alarm, an air raid siren. He found his eyes zipping across the skyline, picking out any little movement. His feet carried him in a wide berth around the many dark alleys. A pigeon set off from an overflowing bin in a flutter of wings, and his weapon was in his hand before he knew it. He heard an unflattering sound of surprise escape Clint next to him.

Twenty-five minutes of walking, and they heard it.

“Help! Help me!” 

It was a scream of mortal fear. Steve was running in a heartbeat. After a moment - though only a moment - Bucky took off after him, weapon drawn. Footsteps drummed behind him, and he knew he wasn’t alone. 

The source of the call was the next street over. A young man was backed up against a butcher’s shop door while four figures approached him. His chest was heaving with hysterical panting, his eyes flicking back and forth between his soon-to-be murderers. As they appeared around the corner, he screamed again, “Please! They’re gonna kill me! Plea-”

There was no time for fear. No time for panic. In a heartbeat, Bucky had chosen his target and aimed. Another, and the bullet was in the air. The crash of gunfire echoed through the vacant streets like a shockwave, and one of the figures fell to the ground with a hole in his head. An arrow whizzed past his head, and took another through the throat. 

The remaining two vampires recoiled and whipped round. Their faces were inhumanly pale, almost blue - in stark contrast to their eyes, which were a pallid yellowish-green, divided by slit pupils. Their lips peeled back, and they hissed at the interruption, revealing a mouthful of pointed teeth. Where a normal person’s nails would be, their fingertips had hardened into claws. Beneath their alabaster skin he saw a criss-crossing network of purple lines. Is that their veins? Bucky wondered in horror. But the most terrifying part was their clothes. They were normal clothes. Not cultists’ robes, not soldiers’ fatigues, not even superhero costumes. These were normal people, once. Shuri said they pass on vampirism with a bite. I guess she was right.

Sensing fresh prey, the creatures of the night abandoned their victim and charged at them. Steve drew back his arm, paused, and threw his shield like a frisbee. The vibranium sheet spun through the air with a soft whistle. It smashed into the jaw of the closest vampire, bounced off, and hit the second in the temple, before bouncing once more back to Steve’s hand. Both creatures fell to the ground, whining piteously.

“Never fail to amaze, Cap,” Clint remarked, drawing another arrow. He nocked, aimed, and fired, his arrow punching through the hole in the second vampire’s temple to finish it for good. Bucky aimed his pistol at their final target - which still cradling its jaw - when its head simply exploded in a shower of viscera and bone. Behind him, Frank racked his shotgun, ejecting the empty shell. Bucky gave him a grateful nod, which he returned. 

The danger passed, they approached the man, who had slid to the floor with a mixed look of terror and awe on his face. Steve offered him a hand and a smile, and hauled him to his feet. 

“You all right?” Bucky asked. 

The lucky man nodded. In shock, Bucky thought, and no wonder.

Steve took over. “There’s a shelter for humans on Yancy Street. It’s run by Benjamin Grimm. Can you get there safely?” They had composed the line in the eleventh hour of preparations, in case they met a survivor. It was written to give as much information as possible in a short time; on the battlefield, every second could mean life or death.

The fear was back in the man’s eyes, however. “No,” he moaned, “no, please, don’t leave me, there’s so many, hundreds–”

“I’ll take him.” It was Frank.

Bucky couldn’t hide his surprise. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Castle,” he replied.

Frank shrugged. “I know New York. I’ll get him to Yancy Street. We’ll rendezvous at the Baxter Building.”

Steve nodded. “Good luck. Stay safe.”

“Don’t worry about me, Captain,” Frank shot back. “I’ve scraped off worse scum than this.” He dug a handgun out of a holster, and offered it to the man. “Know how to use one of these?” The man took it uncertainly. Frank examined his grip with a critical eye, before concluding, “You’ll do. This way.” They set off back the way they had come.

The group continued north-west. Good thing we got there when we did, Bucky reflected. But he didn’t feel any better for it. A deepening sense of tension was constricting his insides. 

Half an hour to the Baxter Building, they saw another. This one was peeking its head out from the corner of a dark alleyway. Clint saw this one; the rest were still scanning the rooftops. “We’ve got trouble,” he muttered, and nodded at their onlooker. Bucky only caught a quick glimpse before the figure vanished around the corner. They heard the drumming of feet as he fled. They continued.

Steve’s face was clouded. Bucky let it stand for a couple of minutes, hoping Steve would broach the topic himself, but his eyes stayed fixed forward. 

Eventually he could stand it no longer. “What is it, Steve?” he prompted.

Captain America turned to face him. The unsettlement was clear to read now, and it made Bucky uncomfortable. “I don’t like this,” Steve confessed.

Amen to that. “What do you mean?”

Steve nodded back the way they had come. “The vampires we keep seeing in our peripherals. At first I thought they were waiting for us to split up, trying to pick us off, but…” he trailed off.

Sai finished the thought. “They do not behave like predators. They have not tried to attack us, not even a desperate attempt to take one of us.”

Clint spoke up, in a voice flecked with distress. “So, what? Are they just coming to get a look at Bucky’s high cheekbones?”

Steve ignored the jape. “My only guess’s that they’re–”

“Scouts.” The idea opened a pit in Bucky’s stomach. He looked at his friends, and knew the same word was echoing in all of their heads. Hundreds.

The silence hung heavy in the moonlight while Steve thought. “We can’t stay here,” he decided. “We need to leave the streets. We’ll take the alleys where we can, and stick to the shadows where we can’t.”

“You sure that’s safe?” Bucky inquired. “Alleyways are tight. If we get cornered…”

“The streets are compromised,” Steve replied firmly. “At least in the alleys, they’re not watching us. We all good with that?”

The alleyways of New York were labyrinthine. On each side, a dozen locked doors led inside buildings, interspersed by graffiti tags and closed windows. The sound echoed uncomfortably on the brick walls. Illumination was sparse; even under the moonlight, the footpath was a minefield. Rubbish was discarded in heaps, and the odour of decaying food waste mixed with the sewer-stink in an obnoxious cocktail. In the corner of his eye, Bucky saw Sai lift her scarf over her face, and felt a flash of envy. 

Twenty minutes away from the Baxter Building, they were walking through a particularly unpleasant alley. A discarded needle crunched under Bucky’s boot. Clint cursed as he almost slipped on a piece of rotten cardboard, blindly grabbing a street sign to steady himself. Steve stopped, and Bucky was so invested in placing his own feet that he almost walked into him. “Do you hear that?” Steve asked. Bucky concentrated, and realised he could. It was a rhythmic thumping, like thousands of footsteps locked in march. He nodded. Steve checked the corners as they reached the other end - and flattened himself against the wall. Bucky instinctively followed suit. “What is it?” he whispered, as Clint joined them.

Steve poked his head around the corner, and drew back, confusion muddling his features. “Some kind of… parade,” he muttered, and shuffled past Bucky. “Take a look.”

Bucky leaned carefully out, and was met with an utterly bizarre sight. What could only be described as a tide of vampires were marching down the street towards them, straight-backed and proud. Bucky saw a man in the long, tough jackets of the homeless standing shoulder-to-shoulder with a man in a tailored suit, neither sparing the other a second glance. At the front of the procession was a cadre of vampires in black tuxedos and red shirts. Behind them - just far enough behind to be safe, but not too far that they were lost in the crowd - a group of four unfortunates were holding an open-topped palanquin, glittering with gemstones. And sitting on the throne’s luxurious cushions, with a regal air about him…

Dracula, Bucky grimaced.

The Emperor of Eternal Night wore a tailored suit. Tailored it must be, for he was nearly ten feet tall. The cloak that draped from his shoulders could have covered a car with ease, and elegant boots covered his feet, adorned with rubies. His skin was deathly pale, and his hair - a shock of white - flowed down to his shoulders. 

He turned straight to Bucky - and smiled.

Shit. Bucky’s head whipped back round the corner.“Dracula’s there. He saw me,” he muttered. 

“Time to go,” Clint interjected. “We’ll take the long way to the Baxter Building. Reed can wait a little-”

“Stephen Rogers!”

The footsteps had stopped.

“Come out now, Stephen. Come and face me.”

They didn’t have to ask who was speaking to them.

“We need to run. Now.” Clint’s voice was shaking.

“Sai,” Bucky asked. “Think you can kill him?”

“I have killed worse than a vampiric despot,” Sai replied.

Steve took a deep breath, then stepped out around the corner. “Steve–!” Bucky hissed, but it was too late. Helpless, Bucky followed him.

“Captain America,” Dracula crooned, his voice as smooth as silk. “I have heard so much about you from my subjects. Including your alleged demise.”

“Freedom never dies,” Steve shot back.

“Oh, all things die eventually, Captain. Even heroes.” The emperor turned to Bucky. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure. Who might you be?”

“None of your business,” Bucky retorted.

“How droll.” The emperor dismissed him with an imperious wave of the hand. “You fascinate me, Captain, truly. A man of your… abilities… yet you lack ambition. You substitute hegemony for humility. Why?”

“I fight for the people of America. To protect the innocent. To preserve their freedom.”

“That word again. What is freedom, without security? The freedom to live like an animal? People like you and I, we exist to guide them. They crave our leadership.”

Steve raised his shield. “You sound like an old friend.”

“I should very much like to meet him.” Dracula sat back in his throne. “This has been thrilling, Captain, but I will not dirty my hands by fighting you. Instead…” He drew a gemstone out of his jacket, attached to his neck by a chain. The moonlight refracted through it - but the rainbow it cast on his clothes was a thousand shades of red. He snapped his fingers.

As one, the heads of the vampire horde whipped round towards Steve.

“Run!” Steve yelled to Bucky.

They ran.

The alleys blitzed past them as they fled. Bucky never stopped to look behind him; the screeching and howling dogged his footsteps, closing with every second. Shocks drove through his legs as his feet slammed against the asphalt again and again, every muscle laser-focussed on staying ahead of their pursuers. He buttonhooked around a corner, hurdled a pile of cardboard boxes, toppled a stack of crates behind him. He heard Clint yell wordlessly as he jumped the avalanche, and knew he wasn’t alone. He forced himself to ignore the echoes of the inhuman shrieking behind him, the thunderous footfalls of hundreds - no, thousands - of pursuing feet. 

The alley ended in a storage unit. One of the shutter doors was half-open, and Bucky saw a passageway on the other side. “Clint!” he yelled. Every word was an effort. “The door! Go!”

There was twenty metres at most between them and the first vampire. Bucky rolled under the door. Clint, hot on his heels, slid under with an artful grace. He flipped them the bird as Bucky slammed the door closed, and yelped as Bucky’s hand slapped his. “No time,” Bucky panted. “Won’t keep ‘em for long. Gotta keep going.”

They set off down the passageway, and burst out the other side of the storage depot. A few vampires were on the street ahead of them, waiting to cut them off. It was no more than half a dozen. Bucky drew his sidearm, and blasted four of them to kingdom come. By then, Clint had dispatched the others. They set off again as the sounds of the flood began to chase them once more. 

Bucky’s legs were aching with lactic acid, and Clint’s breaths were coming out ragged. He turned around, and saw them streaming out through the other passageways, racing through the doors of neighbouring houses, even dropping down from roofs. Like ants, the thought came vaguely, and he found another burst of speed inside him. Clint huffed as he struggled to match his partner’s speed.

They made more twists and turns, zigzagging their path through the labyrinth as they fought desperately to stay ahead of their pursuers. There was no rhyme or reason to the turns they took. Bucky simply turned, and Clint turned with him. Eventually, when Bucky’s chest felt ready to explode, he stopped in front of a door and threw it open. “In!” he gasped at Clint. Clint stumbled through, and he yanked it shut, turning the catch.

They collapsed, gasping for air, fighting muscle cramps. Every nerve in Bucky’s body was screaming at him. The air clawed at his dry throat as he stole gasp after gasp, but it was the sweetest pain. He distantly heard the thunder of the horde approach the door, reach a crescendo, and fade. Eventually, he pulled himself back to his feet, and examined his surroundings. To his left was a staircase. 

There was a vampire quietly descending it. As he looked up, it hissed, and pounced. He brought up his arm to fend it off - and remembered too late that he had left the ruins of that arm on the jet. His head crashed into the wall, and a swamp of blackness masked his vision. He felt its teeth sink into his shoulder, and ripped away a chunk of flesh, as its claws slashed at his face. A line of white heat opened down his left eye. He grabbed his sidearm, but his hand was trapped between them–

“Bucky!” a voice screamed. An arrow sprouted between the vampire’s eyes, and it crashed to the floor, limp. Bucky staggered backwards, his head swimming. It bit me. His hand found the catch on the door handle, and he threw the door open. The horde had moved on; all that was left of their passage was scattered rubbish and overturned bins. He reeled out, dropping his handgun, and collapsed against a brick wall, his hand clasped to his shoulder, his teeth bared in agony.

“Buck!” The drill of boots against asphalt. Then the glare of the moonlight was shrouded, and Clint was there, looking down at him. “I got you.” Bucky felt arms under him, pulling him up into a sitting position, pushing his back against the brick. Fresh waves of pain bombarded his senses. Stars danced in front of his eyes, and a sharp bark of pain escaped his lips. Clint flashed him a smile that fooled neither of them. “Don’t think about it, huh?” he appealed in a voice that trembled. “Just a scratch.”

A feral screech assaulted Bucky’s ears, bouncing off the scuffed brick. More shrieks rose in answer. It was the victorious song of a pack animal calling its brothers. Clint’s head whipped round. “Oh, hell,” he moaned. He grabbed Bucky’s sidearm and pressed it into his chest. “Can you use that still?” he begged. “‘Cause I really need you right now, Buck.”

Even just coiling his fingers around the grip took an extraordinary level of concentration, but Clint smiled. “Great. Great job, Buck. We’ll be outta here, and getting you help, before you know it. Stay with me, okay?” Clint’s voice cracked with that last word. 

Thump.

A vampire dropped from the roof, ten feet or so in front of them. In a matter of seconds, Hawkeye had his bow up, and an arrow nocked. He planted his feet between Bucky and his attacker. “You stay away from him!” he yelled. “Don’t you touch him!” He loosed, and the arrow punched through the vampire’s head like a knife through an apple. Two more vampires dropped. Thump, thump. Another was nocked. Hawkeye let loose again, and again. The vampires fell dead. Between each shot, his wide eyes found Bucky, as if he might disappear. “I got you, Buck,” he reassured, as he felled another, and another.

As Hawkeye nocked another arrow, something arced down from the rooftop, and slammed into Bucky’s shoulder. A scream ripped its way from his mouth as Hawkeye drew back his bowstring. At the same time, two more vampires dropped down. 

“Buck?!” Hawkeye’s head whipped round. He loosed the arrow.

It sailed through the air, and clattered on the floor. Its echo was a death knell.

Clint looked up. Naked fear was plain on his face. “No,” he said. “No, wai-”

The vampires lunged. Clint screamed once. And then he fell silent.

A few minutes later, Bucky found his feet. His head felt like it had been split open. There was moisture in his left eye. Had he been crying? The people next to him were eating something, but he couldn’t remember what. He staggered away, and slumped against the wall. His hand found metal. A ladder, he thought. He hauled himself up, rung by rung. He was hungry, he realised, but it was a strange, strange hunger. 

He reached the top. He was standing on a roof now, but he was bitterly tired. The climb was exhausting, especially with one hand. 

The moon is beautiful tonight, he thought dreamily. His vision swam. The floor rushed up to meet him.