The epilogue is still kicking my ass, but that's partly because 'WandaVision' reignited my interest in the X-Men movies, and now Quicksilver has been occupying the majority of the fanfic space in my brain for the past month. Never fear, I have made some progress, and should still be able to finish it before the time comes to post it in June.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own the Marvel Cinematic Universe, the Potterverse, or any characters from either of them.

WORD COUNT: 3,099

Previously on 'Dahlia Parkinson is Dead':

"I will." She took a shaky breath in, mentally apologising to Bucky, and hoping that he would understand that she was doing this for their baby. "I'll marry whoever you want me to. Just please, please let my baby live."

Dederick looked disgustingly pleased with himself. "That's what I thought. I'll have a healer come by tomorrow morning to check on the health of your little bastard. Should there be any complications, however, your life has more value to me than that of your spawn. Remember that."

Monday, August 15th, 2016

Bucky glared at the man sitting in chains before him. The last time he'd seen him, Sylvanus Rookwood had been on the floor at his feet, looking more than a bit disheveled from getting knocked on his ass, but otherwise neatly dressed and well-groomed. Now, the months of confinement had taken their toll on him. His hair was greasy and matted, and he'd lost some weight. The plain, grey robes that made up his prison uniform were wrinkled and had at least one bloodstain that hadn't quite washed out (which was saying something, considering they probably should have been using magic to clean them).

It had taken them a while to actually get a face-to-face interview with Rookwood, mainly because he apparently had enough money to hire an expensive attorney (a British one, because apparently an American lawyer wasn't good enough for him), who had been stonewalling them, trying to get his client a deal – and his initial demands had been pretty damn ridiculously high, wanting Rookwood to be released from prison, free and clear, for the information they needed. Bucky was half-surprised that the arrogant bastard hadn't demanded compensation for his time spent in prison.

That slimy lawyer was now sitting next to Rookwood, wrinkling his nose at the obvious smell coming from the other man. "My client is prepared to give you the information you need, in exchange for immunity from any self-incrimination, and a transfer to a British wizarding prison."

Auror Kowalski arched an eyebrow. "Your client is asking to be held in Azkaban prison?"

"Well, with the Dementors no longer inhabiting the island, my client would rather be held in his home country, rather than as a captive of the Americans."

Kowalski's face gave nothing away. "I might be convinced to arrange that, provided that the information he gives us is reasonably useful."

Rookwood and his lawyer had a brief, hushed conversation, then turned back to their interrogators. "Very well," Rookwood said, speaking for the first time, "I heard the little Squib bitch's family may have gotten their hands on her, after all. And that you need my help in order to figure out where it is that they're keeping her."

Bucky so wanted to beat every piece of information out of this bigoted piece of shit, to extract every little drop of information that this asshole had. But his time with HYDRA had taught him better than that, so he needed to be patient. Even though every day without Darcy – and every day of not knowing whether she and the baby were alright – was becoming more and more painful to endure.

Steve, standing to his right, elbowed him and subtly shook his head. It was a bit ironic; back when they were just two kids in Brooklyn, Bucky had been the one to always try and talk Steve out of getting into a fight. Now it was Steve acting as the voice of caution.

Kowalski briefly glanced at the file in his hands, although Bucky was willing to bet that he already knew the information in it by heart. "On the eleventh of May of this year, you entered the United States under an assumed name. Three days later, you attempted the abduction of the Squib Darcy Lewis, using magic in a public location and against two No-Maj's, one of whom was a police officer, including no less than fourteen separate uses of the Cruciatus Curse."

"And what proof do you have of that?" the lawyer demanded pompously, "From what I understand, my client was unceremoniously dumped into the M.A.C.U.S.A. lobby by a No-Maj vigilante."

"Doctor Strange is a sorcerer," Kowalski corrected him, "A sorcerer with a power unlike our own, but a sorcerer nonetheless, and quite a strong one, at that. And your client's wand was tested with Priori Incantatem upon his arrest. Evidence of all fourteen castings of the Torture Curse was found on said wand. This, in combination with the testimony from the victim of that Curse, was more enough for a conviction."

"Surely the testimony of a mere Muggle-"

"I'm standin' right here, you know," Bucky snapped, having been silent up until now.

Rookwood blinked, and for the first time, Bucky saw actual fear in his eyes as the man no doubt remembered how Bucky had nearly taken him down, and how he would have succeeded if the bastard hadn't gone and used that illegal curse on him. Bucky would never deny the satisfaction he got from seeing that fear, because it was exactly what he wanted.

Kowalski cleared his throat, drawing the attention back to him. "During the incident in question, you claimed that you had been hired by British national Dederick Parkinson to abduct Miss Lewis. What, exactly, were the instructions that you were given?"

Rookwood was quiet for a few seconds. Then, under the heat of Bucky and Steve's glares, he relented. "I was to track her down via a tracing charm placed on the most recent letter from her family, wait until she was alone, then subdue her and use a series of International Portkeys to bring her back to a prearranged location in Great Britain, where an intermediary was going to meet us with the rest of my payment. From there, I don't know where she would have been taken. Presumably to the Parkinson Ancestral Home, but I don't know if Lord Parkinson would actually choose such an obvious location."

"Do you have any physical proof of your arrangement with Mister Parkinson?" Bucky wasn't sure what was up with this 'Lord' business, but it seemed that Kowalski, at least, wasn't buying into it.

Rookwood looked uncomfortable. "Our agreement was outlined on a charmed piece of parchment that was enchanted to completely destroy itself upon completion, or upon my failure to complete the request. I haven't checked, but I am quite certain that getting arrested would qualify as a 'failure'."

Bucky felt Steve stiffen beside him, and his blood ran cold when he realised what Rookwood's statement meant. Without any sort of official documentation connecting Dederick Parkinson to the first kidnapping attempt or the Dementor attack, they only had Rookwood's word. And from what Darcy had explained, her former family was still well-placed socially in the British magical hierarchy, while the Rookwood Family had fallen into disgrace after this man's father had been arrested for being part of some 'pure' wizard supremacy terrorist group. In other words, Sylvanus Rookwood's word wasn't enough to justify a search of the Parkinsons' home and properties.

Bucky turned on his heel and stormed out of the interrogation room. He didn't care where he was going, he just needed to get out of there and hit something.

Steve knew that he had to get Bucky the hell out of there soon, and get him someplace where he could safely take his anger out on an appropriate target. And since Sylvanus Rookwood was, sadly, not an option, he had to get him back to the Tower and its apparently never-ending supply of heavy-duty punching bags.

He caught up to his best friend, who was storming down the halls of the American magical prison. "Buck! Bucky, wait up!"

"Not in the mood for talkin' right now, Steve," Bucky growled, his tone low and almost drowned out by the whirring of his metal arm (a tell-tale sign of how agitated he was, as it usually responded like that when he was going into fight mode).

"I know," Steve said simply, "But you look like you're in the mood for fighting it out, and you'll have to wait until we're back at the Tower for that. Some of the guards are already pissed that we're even allowed in here. For all we know, just punching a damn wall could see us in one of these cells."

It was true; Kowalski had explained that the American magical community had quite a lot of people who were still suspicious of non-magical people, an attitude that dated back to at least the Salem Witch Trials, if not earlier. Kowalski himself wasn't that bad; his paternal grandparents had been a witch and a non-magical man, so he had no real issues with them. But others had made it clear that they didn't trust the Avengers, and some of those others were guards in this very prison. So, the last thing they needed was Bucky losing it out of stress and anger right in the middle of this place.

Luckily, Kowalski caught up with them, and directed them back to the proper exit point. They then took one of those Portkey things (an utterly horrible form of transportation, in Steve's opinion, even if he did always land on his feet) straight to the Tower's common area.

Pepper was the only one there at the time, working on something on her tablet. She jumped, startled, upon their arrival. "Oh! You're back! How did it… go?" She trailed off as Bucky stormed out of the room. She then looked at Steve, clearly worried. "How bad is it?"

Steve just shook his head and followed his best friend, leaving it to Kowalski to explain what happened.

He caught up with him in the gym, just as he expected. But instead of pummelling punching bags, like Steve probably would have done, Bucky was hurling a few of his ever-present knives at some targets with a distinct lack of his usual grace and control.

"Buck?" Steve asked tentatively, "You wanna talk about it?"

"Already said I didn't," Bucky growled, chucking one knife so hard it embedded in the target all the way up to the hilt, "What's there to talk about, anyway? We finally get one last lead, and we can't even use it!" His last knife struck the target with the same force as the previous one, but it hit hilt-first and bounced off, loudly clattering to the floor. Bucky cursed in what sounded like Russian, and went to retrieve his blades. "She's out there, Steve, dealing with God knows what, while they try to make her marry some piece of shit, and I can't do a damn thing about it!"

For someone who literally just said he didn't want to talk about it, Bucky was now shouting his frustrations for all to hear (Steve could hear more than a few of the others gathered outside the gym doors, no doubt wanting to know what happened). And he wasn't done; now the floodgates were open, and everything kept spilling out.

"She's out there, alone and pregnant, without anyone to help her! Jane told me she was worried about what Parkinson might do to the baby to get his way – what if my kid is already dead?! I'm supposed to be taking care of them, but I CAN'T FUCKING DO ANYTHING!" Having just yanked a knife out of his target, Bucky reared up and stabbed it back in as he yelled.

Steve couldn't just stand there and watch his best friend suffer anymore. He walked up, circling around slightly to the right (because approaching Bucky from directly behind him was a bad idea on a good day), then he wrapped his arms around Bucky's shoulders.

Bucky broke. Huge sobs shook his entire body, and his knees gave out. Steve could just barely hear Pepper telling everyone else to give them some space over the sound of his cries.

Steve hated feeling helpless, especially when it came to the suffering of people he cared about. This was far from the first time he'd tried to comfort Bucky after a breakdown like this, and just as painful as seeing him like this was the knowledge that he didn't know how to make it better. He was worried to pieces about Darcy and the baby, but he was just as worried about what their predicament was doing to Bucky. He was falling apart, piece by piece, every day that went by without their return.

"I need her back," Bucky choked, "I need her back, Steve. I don't know how much more of this I can take."

Tuesday, August 16th, 2016

The healer came promptly at three o'clock the next afternoon. Her name was Gemma Farley, and she'd been one of the Slytherin prefects when Pansy and Nott had started at Hogwarts, which was how Pansy had been able to discretely get her services. Any hopes that Darcy had of maybe getting someone sympathetic to her situation were dashed the moment Healer Farley opened her mouth after entering her room. "It really would be cheaper for you to just terminate, Lord Parkinson. A Muggle spawn isn't worth the gold you're paying me."

Darcy glared at the healer, who had yet to even look her way. "If you try to kill my baby, I'll kill you myself."

"Dahlia!" Dederick snapped, "Mind your tongue!"

Darcy so wanted to throw a threat his way, too, but he currently held all the power in this room. One of the first things Natasha had taught her was to avoid a fight she couldn't win, and avoid it at all costs. And this was a fight she knew she couldn't win, and a fight where losing meant losing her baby.

Healer Farley glared back at her, before issuing her instructions. "Lie down on the bed, and pull up your robes."

Dederick and Nott left at that point, shutting the door and leaving her alone with Pansy and the healer. Darcy reluctantly did as Healer Farley ordered, since apparently this was going to be the closest thing she would get to a doctor's appointment as long as she was stuck here. Healer Farley pulled out her wand, and murmured an incantation, creating an odd mist that settled over Darcy's bare stomach.

Upon contact with her skin, the cold mist started changing colours. First it was undulating shades of green, then a mix of purple and blue, then a pale pink that pulsed at a rapid pace. The changes occurred every time Farley muttered another incantation under her breath, which happened about every ten to fifteen seconds. Darcy, propped in a half-sitting position against the headboard, couldn't make sense of the swirling colours. There was no tiny blob of colour that might suggest that this was anything like a magical ultrasound.

Eventually, Healer Farley stopped, but she addressed Pansy, instead of Darcy. "It's healthy. She's most likely due in early February. I can't detect any conditions that would prevent her from being up and about at this point. However, I would recommend that she eats a lot more vegetables and lean meats."

Darcy scowled. "I'm right here, you know."

Healer Farley glared at her, like she was a stupid little girl who should be seen and not heard. Then she pulled some potions out of her bag. "These potions will help prevent any complicating conditions, and help keep her nutrient intake up. Your father can Floo me, should any problems occur."

Pansy nodded and escorted the healer out of the room. Darcy readjusted her robes, still scowling at being talked about like she wasn't there. It brought back some old, painful memories, of Dederick (or Father, as she had still been calling him back then) yelling at another healer for diagnosing her as being a Squib. He may as well have been discussing whether or not to put down an animal – and yes, that idea had come up once, even if it was immediately dismissed because Dederick didn't want to go to Azkaban over her.

Pansy came back into the room shortly afterwards. "Lunch will be served at noon sharp," she stated, "As long as you behave, you might as well dine with the rest of us."

Darcy nodded, even though she'd honestly rather eat in the solitude of her own room than spend time with any of those three.

Monday, August 22nd, 2016

His left arm hurt. He was pretty sure that he'd only felt this much pain from that limb once before.

His head was fuzzy. He couldn't concentrate. He couldn't remember what happened to put him in this state, or even what his last clear memory was.

A single word floated into his mind. HYDRA. Who else could have put him in this state? Panic welled up within him. He had to wake up. He had to escape. He didn't want to go back to the cold – or worse, to the Chair.

His eyes wrenched open, and screwed shut again when bright light blinded him. Automatically, he tried to focus on what his other senses were telling him, but even as he tried, he couldn't make sense of anything besides the rapid beeping noise nearby.

He had to get out of there. He had to go, to run, run-

"Sergeant Barnes!"

The voice sounded from somewhere off to his right. Someone was close by. He had to get out of there, before they put him back under.

"Sergeant!" A pair of hands grabbed him and pressed down on his chest. He hated that feeling. A second pair grabbed his heavy-feeling right arm.

"No!" he gasped, struggling weakly, unable to dislodge their grip.

"Barnes, it's alright! Calm down, man!"

Wilson. That was Sam Wilson's voice. Did they have him, too?

"Bucky, it's me! It's Steve! C'mon, Buck, wake up!"

Steve. Steve was here. He wrenched open his eyes again, blinking in the bright light.

"Could someone turn the lights down?" At Steve's request, the lights dimmed enough that he could see. Sure enough, Steve and Sam's faces appeared over him, along with a third that he vaguely recognised. "Bucky?"

Steve was there. He wasn't with HYDRA. He was in safe hands. But he still didn't know why he hurt. Or why he couldn't breathe.

"Barnes, you gotta calm down," Sam told him, "Here, breathe with me, okay? Just like we talked about. In for five, hold for four, and out for six." He took several deep breaths, and Bucky struggled to imitate him. He wasn't even sure how long it took him to do so, as black spots were creeping up on the edge of his vision at one point.

"There," Steve sighed in relief. The third man and Sam gradually let go, although Steve moved over and gripped his shoulder in what was clearly meant to be a comforting gesture.

Bucky groaned, his head still more than a little fuzzy. "What happened?" he asked, his voice a raspy whisper.

Steve looked pained. "We were at a HYDRA base in Siberia, remember? We were trying to get there before Zemo could release those other soldiers."

Zemo.

Yes, he remembered that name.

Next chapter, we'll get more details about how 'Civil War' has changed, and more Potterverse characters will be making an appearance, although it will be near the end.