A/N: updated the maturity settings on this series. I realize that just because I'd read this as a teenager doesn't mean it's actually suitable lmao.

— PART FOUR —

— DEATH BECOMES HER —

Chapter Thirty-One
✭

Carry Me Home | The Sweeplings

Slow, painful steps onto the snow.

Mia in his arms, hanging limply, loose curls trailing in the bitter wind as they finally breathed fresh air again. But it was a cold relief, a thin balm against the growing pain in his side, the bubbling in his chest, the growing exhaustion seeping into every limb. But nothing felt as bad as when he looked down at Mia, seeing her injuries and feeling them as if they were his own.

How he wished they were his own.

Steve had offered to carry Mia instead, being the less injured of the two. But Bucky had refused. On principle. It's just — it's just how it is. He just wanted to hold her again, even in this terrible way.

A wretched pietà, stepping bloody into the blinding white light of the tundra.

The King's ship laid ahead, standing atop a low hill. T'Challa was already waiting for them.

He did not ask how they were when they approached. Just took one look at Mia and said, "We have the medical bunk prepared. It will keep her stable until we reach our destination."

Bucky didn't even ask where that would be, just followed the King's pointed finger. Ayo, the junior of the Dora Milaje, stood over a bench on the far left side of the hull — a fold-out cot that had not been there before, Bucky thought. Already she was tapping at an extended display panel, and nodded to Bucky. "Put her down here. We'll have her hooked up, and the machine will keep measure of her vitals."

It seemed like magic, the way it worked. The rim of the cot glowed dimly, but upon sensing Mia's weight, as he gently laid her down, it brightened; Ayo helped fix an oxygen mask to Mia's face, an oximeter and some kind of IV to her finger and wrist. The heads-up display responded almost instantly, and Bucky's heart sank further at the readings it gave.

"Ribs ten to twelve on her left side and eleven on her right have been fractured," Ayo read out from the Wakandan script, though the display also showed a small visual diagram of a human body. So much was highlighted in red. "A broken nose. Fractured radius and several metacarpals on her left hand. A large hematoma at the back of her head, but there appears to be no damage to the inner cranium, brain activity present; she appears to have several puncture wounds and significant blood loss…"

Ayo's voice continued on, Bucky hearing her words but unable to focus on them anymore. How was his baby ever going to come back from this?

Then, a hand on his shoulder. Ayo, looking directly at him, dark eyes suddenly anchoring him to reality. "You need help, too. The second bay can assess that wound on your side."

Yes, Bucky supposed he should get that checked out before he bled to death. He staggered back to his feet, his own body starting to resist his movements; slowing down, wanting to rest, to heal. But this wouldn't take care of itself on its own. Mia got him pretty good back there. It would be a long, painful death without medical attention.

Steve came around to help Bucky up, pulling an arm around his shoulder; Bucky still felt a little ridiculous, but he was in no state to complain. His only desire was to keep Mia in his line of sight at all times — even now, he couldn't tear his eyes away as Steve walked him over, and only an unexpected flicker out of the corner of his eye managed to pull at his paternal instinct for danger.

And there, hunched down in the far corner of the ship, just out of sight — was Zemo.

"Ah," Zemo said, when their eyes met. He had been silent until this moment, but even now the smarm didn't leave his voice. "I suppose Rumlow didn't make it? Oh well. Two out of four dead is acceptable."

Bucky didn't even think. Zemo hadn't even finished his last sentence when Bucky was already pulling the pistol from his hip, already calculating that short distance from muzzle to forehead.

Steve felt the movement right before he saw — he jerked hard, trying to twist Bucky away, throw off his shot. "Wait, no —!"

The gun fired. But not before a dark hand enclosed the muzzle of his pistol, and the bullet impacted harmlessly into the palm of T'Challa's glove.

The King gazed at him, stern but even. "Not yet, Barnes. We must have our justice, first."

"Justice?!" Bucky spat, the word leaving him like a sucker punch to the gut. His breathing was fast and uneven, the adrenaline kicking back up again, sluggish and painful. "He's a fucking Nazi! The only justice he deserves is a bullet—!"

"Do not mistake my stay of execution for mercy," T'Challa cut him off, and his tone was colder than Bucky had ever heard it. "Do not think I do not want to avenge my father as much as you your daughter. Zemo has hurt countless lives. But he will not escape this time, as he had so many years ago. The eyes of the world will be upon him. And they will be his judge."

That was only a small assurance on Bucky's part. But the promise of some future trial didn't negate the extremely close and present danger to them right now. "You don't understand — he has our trigger phrase. Mine and Mia's. If he speaks, if we hear it, then it's going to happen all over again!"

Steve added, "Keeping him on the same ship as Buck and Mia is too dangerous, your highness. It's not just a threat to them. It's everyone on board."

For a moment, all Bucky could think of is the damage Zemo could do, on this little ship, with two super soldiers at his beck and call. "He can't live."

"No," T'Challa lifted his chin slightly, taking this into consideration. He cast a glance at Zemo. "You're right, he is too dangerous. But we have no other ships, and we cannot leave him behind."

"You'll never be rid of me, Soldier," Zemo grinned at this, at Bucky. "Even now, I'm more useful alive than dead. One day they will all know fear as you do. Zhelaniye —"

Bucky seized at the first word; Longing. Jaw clenching, stomach dropping. His hand shook, gripping the pistol, blood pounding as he sought to aim again.

But Ayo beat him to it.

"Enough!" She snapped, before swiping the base of her spear at Zemo. He had only begun enunciating the second word when it struck him across the face.

Then she turned, and noticed all of them staring at her in silent alarm. The woman winced slightly, chagrined. "I apologize. He would not shut up."

"It's… fine." T'Challa said at last, raising a hand to gesture his forgiveness. He looked at Bucky. "Is this a suitable solution?"

Bucky glared at Zemo's slumped form. "As long as he stays that way."

"We'll find something to gag him with," T'Challa nodded. "Until he is safely separated from all of you. In the meantime — please. Allow the medbay to help you."

At last, at last Bucky could finally rest a little. Steve helped him sit onto the second bed, silently but pointedly taking the pistol from him. Bucky didn't complain. If he wanted to kill Zemo, he didn't need anything but his own two hands to do it. His own teeth, if necessary.

Now Bucky couldn't decide where to keep his attention focused. Not when the greatest danger to Mia was sitting less than fifteen feet away from her. Alive. Breathing. In one piece.

How easy it would be to kill Zemo now. He'd never even wake up.

Ayo insisted he lie down for the diagnostics scan to work optimally. Bucky didn't think he needed some super fancy computer to tell him what's wrong, but maybe that was just the exhaustion talking. He didn't know. Maybe he didn't even care anymore.

Would it be too much to ask if they dropped Zemo out the back door, over the Atlantic Ocean?

Only when Steve was satisfied that Bucky was done trying to kill people, did he finally turn to address the King with another important matter. "What about the Madbomb?"

"Here," Okoye's voice rang out, as she appeared on the gangway. Bucky hadn't even noticed she wasn't in her usual pilot's seat; now she stood, with the glass-and-metal machine in her hands. "One of the mercenaries dumped it over a frozen ridge. Perhaps they thought to absolve themselves."

The Madbomb's inner green mainframe was still humming, but off tune. There was a large dent on one side and a crack in the glass on the other, where Bucky had gotten in a lucky shot. The interior looked a little damaged, but the audio system still seemed to be functional.

Okoye dropped it unceremoniously to the floor. Then, before either Bucky or Steve could suggest what to do with it, Ayo stepped up, whipped out her spear in a near twirl, and slammed its vibranium point through the heart of the Madbomb.

It flickered once, then died.

"I am taking no chances," T'Challa finally answered, once the deed was done. "That is my promise to you. This weapon will never be used again. Nor its technology, if I can help it. The madness ends now."

~o~

Though told to rest, Bucky did not sleep once, not for a minute.

His attention shifted between Zemo and Mia the entire trip. As promised, Zemo was securely gagged, which he had the honor of waking up to later, with further threats of unconsciousness if he didn't hunker down and be quiet. He didn't look so smug anymore, with a broken jaw and muzzled like a dog.

So Bucky could devote a little more attention to Mia, who remained comatose on the bed across from him. During the initial take-off, her arm had dropped, hanging limply over the edge. All Bucky wanted to do was to reach out and take her hand, but the distance was too great between them. And with internal bleeding, Steve insisted he did not move unless he had to.

Bucky didn't know how long their flight lasted. He was vaguely aware of the sunlight changing, day to night to day again. He forgot to ask where they were going, but it had gone long enough that he knew they weren't in Europe or Asia anymore.

It wasn't until they landed, nearly fourteen hours later, did Bucky finally figure it out. When the gangplank lowered and a waft of warm, humid heat rolled inside, someone remarking on a warm winter day — ah. Wakanda.

Of course.

Bucky had no complaints. He only watched, carefully and without blinking, as Zemo was the first to be hauled off the ship. Bucky didn't see where they were taking them, or where they had even landed specifically. But at some point, between a small army of medics arriving onboard to carry him and Mia out did Bucky's subconscious finally allow him a chance to rest, and he blacked out.

Only for a few hours, long enough to be disoriented when he woke in a new environment. A very clean, very sterile room, with a window overlooking a city he'd never seen before, and attached to machines that didn't seem to belong to a hospital so much as one of those science fiction movies he'd seen before. A nurse stood over him in a shiny white coat and braided hair tied neatly back, tapping at her tablet, and smiled when she noticed him awake. She spoke in a language he didn't understand, but in a gentle, reassuring tone, before walking out.

There was a brief period between unconsciousness and full cognizance, where Bucky was too dazed and confused to fully realize what was going on. Then as the information clicked in his brain, each detail falling into place as his eyes and ears picked up each new piece, did the last couple hours return to him, and realizing he didn't know where Mia was.

The EKG machine started to beep erratically as Bucky tried to rise out of his bed, accidentally pulling at the IVs in his good arm, a sharp new burning in his side. It took all of a few seconds, between his sudden panic, shouting words he himself couldn't make sense of, to the nurse and several aides rushing back into the room, trying to push him back onto the bed. He didn't even realize they were speaking English, or that they knew exactly what he was talking about, until the nurse forcefully pinched his chin in her hand and jerked his head to the right — pointing at the other bed, against the opposite wall.

There, lied Mia. Eyes closed, with a new oxygen mask and IV drip feeding her a blood transfusion and nutrients. Stripped of that wretched black gear Zemo had equipped her with, now dressed in a thin white hospital gown of a strange shimmery material; her face cleaned of all the blood, fresh bandages on all her open wounds, and an active monitor reading a live feed of her vitals. All green, all even.

"She's right there," The woman told him, firm but gentle. "She is safe, she is stable. Captain Rogers insisted you two remain together. You can go to her when you're better — after we fix the new stitches we just gave you."

His heart rate plummeted back to normal, and Bucky slumped back into his pillow, panting with relief. Wincing now, as he felt the growing warm, the spread of blood as they pulled apart the fresh bandage at his side. Looking down at it made him feel ill, so Bucky refocused his attention on Mia. Safe. Alive.

"Steve," was all Bucky could mutter, barely enough energy to form a question. "Where's Steve?"

"Captain Rogers is with the King and Queen Mother," The nurse told him; she gave the impression of being the one in charge here, directing the subordinates in repairing the work he just ruined. "They will visit with you shortly. I'm sure there will be much to discuss. You should save your strength for then."

She was probably correct in that judgment, not that Bucky had the mental bandwidth to really comprehend it. The last week — no, the last few months, were finally catching up to him. Days of running on empty, living on the edge, never able to relax even for a moment. It wasn't just his body worn down, but his mind, too. How easy it was, how tempting, to just close his eyes and slip back into oblivion.

He didn't even ask where they were, exactly. Presumably Wakanda's capital city, not that Bucky could recall what that was in his current state. But safe. That's all that mattered. Safe, where Ross couldn't get to them, where Zemo was appropriately caged like the monster he was.

The time it took for his stitches to heal well enough to leave the bed was a short one; thanks to that trusty super healing, Bucky was able to get out of bed by nightfall, which had numerous benefits aside from being able to reach Mia; the bathroom, being the other one.

It was easier to sleep, to eat, to focus on recovery in the following days. Steve did not visit for the first day, or the second. Or as far as Bucky knew, since he spent most of it unconscious and catching up on what felt like a year's worth of sleep. Eventually someone left a tablet on his bedside table, so he could access the news. Least to say, it wasn't surprising that Steve would be too busy to be playing caregiver right now.

But eventually, he did come. The morning of the third day, catching Bucky a little after he'd woken up.

Bucky had woken to the sound of beating drums, and had looked out the window to the streets below; the Wakandan capital city was a magnificent place, with gleaming skyscrapers draping with greenery and streets alive with people and markets; now it was decorated, and the people dressed in white, dancing in the streets. It appeared to be a kind of parade, a celebration? One that Bucky couldn't fathom. It wasn't until the main procession marshed through, not until he saw King T'Challa, with his family, dressed in pale ornamental gowns, escorting a coffin down out of sight, did he finally understand.

The funeral. Of course. They could only hold it after T'Challa had officially returned.

"You're looking better," Steve's voice pulled his attention from the window. He had appeared in the doorway, framed by a beam of warm sunlight. He wasn't in his soldier blues anymore, now dressed in more casual clothing, a little stylish, clearly on loan from the Wakandans. Pants and a fancy buttoned shirt he'd never wear otherwise. "How's Mia?"

"Better, I think," Bucky mumbled, still groggy with sleep. Within minutes of waking, he'd gone from his bedside to Mia's, which had become his daily routine. He cast another glance at her; Mia hadn't shifted since they first got here. "Hasn't woken yet. They say she will, soon, on her own time."

"That's good," Steve replied, and came around, grabbing a rolling stool to sit next to him. "Have you seen the news yet?"

"Some," Bucky said, before admitting, "To be honest, I haven't been keeping up. It's… too much right now. Figured you'd give me the highlights. The stuff that matters."

Steve nodded, inhaling deeply through his nose before diving in. "It's a doozy, that's for sure. Ross is still on the warpath; Sam and Sharon got arrested. The kids escaped scot-free, not that I'm surprised. So did Nat; I haven't been able to get into contact with her, but she's on their Most Wanted list. Ross is basically running the show now, saying he's got the Avengers either under arrest or on the run. Pretending those new heroes in Paris never happened. He doesn't know we're here. T'Challa has plans to offer Zemo up to the international community as a way of clearing your name. That is, Mia's. The world deserves to know who's behind the attacks."

"Is it really clearing our names?" Bucky asked, after a moment, frowning. "He used her to plant the bomb. She shot those people in Switzerland."

"T'Challa doesn't know exactly what kind of deal he'll be able to secure for you two," Steve could only shake his head. "Depends on what the UN is willing to compromise with. But they'll definitely want Zemo. And your immunity is non-negotiable. I made that clear, and we're on the same page. In the meantime, the King and his family have welcomed us as honored guests. You can stay here as long as you need. With a few caveats."

"Like…?"

"No weapons," Steve continued. "You — and Mia — will have to remain unarmed as long as you stay here. The Queen insisted. That includes our shields."

Bucky wasn't too surprised by that. Or upset by it. "Fine by me. I don't want to pick up another gun for a long time." Then he paused to think about it. If they took Steve's shield… "What about my arm?"

"Different case," Steve said, glancing down at Bucky's vibranium prosthetic. "They know what it's made of, but as long as you don't attack anyone, they're willing to let you keep it."

"Well, that's kind of them," Bucky laughed, but there was no humor behind it. He had a feeling that dismantling his arm would be more trouble than it was worth, for all the vibranium that was used in its structure. Not all of it was made of the valuable metal, just the outer plates and inner scaffolding. The rest was wires and gears and other, more delicate hardware that would be a pain in the ass to take apart. The Soviets built that thing to last. "Are they reclaiming the shields?"

"Don't know yet," Steve shrugged. He looked a little wistful, and Bucky suspected Mia might be disappointed by the loss, as well — but in the grand scheme of things, the shields were acceptable as collateral damage. Better to lose the shields than to lose Mia. "We'll see. In the meantime, our only job here is to behave ourselves. Now that the T'Challa has returned, they have a mourning period for King T'Chaka."

"And then?"

Steve shrugged. "We get back to work."

"Getting everyone out of the Raft…" Bucky knew exactly what that meant. It was a daunting task. And something he wasn't sure he could do. "Steve, you know I always have your back. But this time? I don't think…"

Bucky hung his head, embarrassed and maybe even a little ashamed. In any other situation, he wouldn't hesitate to follow Steve into danger.

But.

But that was before.

"I know." A hand rested on his arm. Bucky lifted his head, meeting Steve's gaze as he continued, "I'm not asking you to help. Not in that way. Your job right now is helping Mia. That's my assignment for you."

This time, Bucky laughed for real. "Oh, my assignment? That's what you're calling it now?"

"Sure, if it makes you feel better." Steve chuckled, throwing up his hands. "And if anyone asks, that's what I'll say. You're on special assignment. And don't worry about the others, I'll figure something out. I'll get everyone off the Raft, one way or another."

"It won't be easy," Bucky warned him.

"No," Steve grinned, rolling his eyes. "But when is it ever?"

And for a moment, just a moment, everything felt like it was going to be okay. Like it was normal, like they were boys again, shooting the shit. Only for Steve to look to Mia, and say, "You don't have to stay at her side forever, you know. If you need to do anything, go outside, I can stay here. If anything happens, I'll let you know."

But that wasn't an option.

"It has to be me," Bucky's smile faded as he shook his head. "When — if — she wakes up. It has to be me, the first one she sees. Just in case."

Just in case it wasn't Mia. Just in case the Soldatka was still operating, in case the protocol wasn't fully broken. There was no telling what state she would be in, how cognizant she would be. How hostile. The only person Bucky trusted to handle that kind of situation was himself.

"Alright, if that's what you want," Steve relented easily, though Bucky didn't fail to notice the concern he failed to hide. He wasn't that slick. "But if you need anything —"

"I'll let you know," Bucky finished the phrase easily. His hand, which had been holding Mia's this whole time, brushed her knuckles with an anxious energy.

The one thing Bucky really wanted, Steve couldn't give him.

But it was nice, not to be alone for a little while. Three days was enough time trapped with his own thoughts. Steve stayed at his side all day that day, keeping him company, getting them food. He'd already had a taste for Wakandan cuisine, once Bucky felt hungry enough to eat something besides bread and crackers. They ate a lot of fish here, and a kind of meat he's never had before. Root vegetables, tree fruit, and spices that tasted both strange and delightful together.

It was well past sunset when they received another visitor.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you two." A low voice broke the silence.

Steve had just started to doze off at Mia's bedside, while Bucky had heard the approaching footsteps and had gently nudged him back awake. He jolted now, both surprised to see the King standing in the doorway. T'Challa was still wearing the white mourning robes from the funeral that morning, though he had since taken off the elaborate headdress and heavier accoutrement. Instead, in his hands, he carried the star-spangled shield.

"Your highness," Steve was the first to react, rising to his feet almost immediately. Bucky was slower to move, remaining seated and hoping it wasn't too rude given his condition. He didn't want to let go of Mia's hand. "Is there something you need?"

"I only wished a chance to speak with you," T'Challa said, with a nod in Bucky's direction. "And to offer my sympathies. I never got to ask about your daughter."

"She's doin' okay," Bucky winced at his own gruffness, not really sure of the appropriate response. Or the giant elephant in the room. "And I'm sorry, too. About… your father."

"He's at peace now," T'Challa bowed his head solemnly. "And now I can finally address our unfinished business, Captain Rogers. I have put much consideration into your offer."

Steve looked a little wary. There was a reason T'Challa had come bearing the shield, but neither jumped to any conclusions. "And?"

"I have decided on a counter-offer," T'Challa said, and there was the hint of a smile on his face. "You may keep your shields, and in return, I will join your Avengers, and help you rebuild it."

Steve and Bucky shared equal looks of surprise. Steve looked back at the King, looking at a loss for a moment. "Well, I'm not sure I'd call that a counter offer. No offense, your highness. Sounds like a pretty good deal to me."

"I know I am not what you expected," T'Challa replied, looking a little amused. "Nor do I want you to take this offer at face value. My council did not want me to return these shields to you, and if you had been any other kind of man, Rogers, I think I would have agreed with them. Vibranium is one of our most precious resources, and while it has been a target of theft, I have discovered a bit of our old history. That my grandfather once gifted the Allies a small morsel of Vibranium as a show of our support against the Axis powers. I'm sure he thought you would have turned it into a weapon of mass destruction… but a shield? Well, I think he would have been pleased with that. The second piece was stolen, then taken again, and I find it so curious to be forged in the exact same fashion."

"With that in mind," T'Challa continued, "I return the shield with the same intentions as my grandfather had; I hope it may be the start of healing the rift Wakanda has with the rest of the world."

"You know, I always wondered why Stark chose a shield of all things, too," Steve admitted with a soft chuckle. "I think he doubted himself. The simplicity of it. But it means a lot more than that now. I wish I could say the intentions were just as pure as the super soldier serum."

"And I never questioned the provenance of your power, either," T'Challa said. "The serum was ill-begotten and created by men that sought to conquer and destroy. You have turned it into something else, something greater. And it is why I trust you — and your young friend — with them now."

"Are you…" Steve began, ignoring the pointed look Bucky shot at him. Looking a gift horse in the mouth, as always. "Are you sure?"

T'Challa considered the question for a moment before answering. "I admit, I once saw you as a symbol of your country's global domination and militarism, the egoism of men like Ross." T'Challa chuckled wryly. "But now I understand that you represent not your government, but your people. And of those that I've met, I am glad for it."

With that, he held out the star-spangled shield. "I return them to you now, untouched; not as the stolen resource of our country, but as an olive branch; a symbol of our friendship, and my hope that we might work together to build something better than our forefathers left it. All I ask is that you do not alter the shields; do not sell them, melt down the metal, or change their function. I see no flaw in their current design."

"Neither do I," Steve said readily, though he was a little slow to accept the shield, pausing slightly before raising his arms. He received the shield with a near reverence, or perhaps a nostalgic fondness. Running a hand through the now-worn paint, the underlying metal remained scratchless. "I've been through a lot with this shield. I wish I could say I wasn't attached, but…"

"The tools of our trade hold great meaning for us," T'Challa said, smiling. "I expect no less. It is better that as a soldier you carry this shield to protect others, than find a lesser weapon to replace it."

"If only it could fix everything."

"Nothing is ever so simple," T'Challa shook his head. "With that said, I must add that I cannot offer a true alliance to America, as you do not represent your statesmen and politicians, or their will. Nor should you, in my opinion. But I can promise, both as King of Wakanda — and as your friend — to never harm any of your fellow citizens, the common man you protect."

"That's all I'd ever ask of you," Steve replied, as he slid the shield back onto his arm, testing its weight. It appeared unchanged since he had surrendered it last. "And I promise you the same. The Avengers, all of them, even if they aren't here right now. We help everyone, not just our own."

Bucky did not think his words were needed here, but sensing the formality of the exchange was complete, he felt it was safe to finally add his own two cents. "Steve probably said it better than I did — but you have my word, too. Thank you, for your hospitality. I don't think I'll ever be able to repay what you've done for me."

"Ah, don't thank me yet," T'Challa said, with a smile that had Bucky a little surprised. "There is more I have to offer. After I explained your psychological situation to our head doctor, she believes she might have a solution. It's experimental, but it would be permanent. More effective than anything we might do to Zemo."

"What? How?" Bucky asked, furrowing his brow. What could possibly be a better solution than killing Zemo?

"To rid you of your protocol." T'Challa shrugged, as if it were the simplest answer in the world. "A cure."

~o~

A week passed, and Bucky remained at her side.

She was healing, that much he could tell. Slowly, but surely, as the redness of her injuries turned pink, as the dark bruises faded to yellow.

And still she slept.

Steve made a point to visit at least once a day when he and the King weren't planning their infiltration of the Raft. Still no word from Natalia, but Bucky was certain she would make it out on her own just fine, she was just waiting for the right moment to contact them. Doubtless Ross was hot on her heels wherever she went.

Nat could take care of herself.

Only Mia remained.

He knew it would tickle her, to read the headline he had open, the mayor of New York rebuffing Ross' attempt to deputize the entire city populace to arrest Spider-Man on sight. The announcement was so unpopular that the mayor's statement only came after the follow-up news of thousands of false reports, the least of which included a flash mob of people dressed as Spider-Man in Times Square, a moment that instantly went viral online.

Ross was a joke on the Internet, and as far as Bucky understood it, that was the perma-death of dignity.

If only she'd open her eyes.

Bucky didn't know what would happen if she didn't. And even if she did, what could he offer her besides refuge in a foreign country, far away from home? That the man who kidnapped her, tried to destroy her, was still alive in a cell somewhere? Still had her trigger phrase in his head? An uncertain promise of freedom that may not even come to fruition? A world that now sought to hunt her down, a crazed army general with a grudge against superheroes, an international court that might want to drag her out onto the world stage, a lifetime of imprisonment or worse — what kind of world was that to wake up to?

But it was still better than not waking up at all.

He could take care of it. Bucky didn't know how, but he would. That was his job as her father. He'd figure this out so she wouldn't have to. Cure or no cure, he'll get her home safe and sound. A normal life was still possible for Mia, even if it wasn't for him. Bucky had started to accept he may never be able to go home. May never live a small, quiet life as he wanted to.

As long as Mia could have it, though? Bucky could accept that fate.

Doctors said the comatose could hear you talking to them, something Bucky wasn't sure was true. But in that week he's said everything he could, just in case. Just in case something went horribly wrong and Mia never woke up to hear those words. It did make him feel better, just a little. Maybe that's why the doctors tell people that. Less therapy needed afterwards.

He ran his thumb over her knuckles, the broken skin already mending. He watched her fingers, her eyelids, for any sign of movement. A few times her fingers had twitched, but it was only dreams, the doctors said. Brain activity. A good sign.

It just felt like false hope.

Now and then, he squeezed her hand, sometimes when his inner thoughts got too much. Sometimes just hoping she'd squeeze back.

So when the clock struck a little after midnight, Bucky had decided to call it quits. To go back to bed and start his vigil again in the morning. As much as he hated it, he needed his rest, too.

He set her hand back under the bed cover to keep warm, and got up to take a shower.

Bucky's injuries were far enough along he no longer had to worry about getting the sutures wet, though he obviously couldn't scrub very hard. Definitely couldn't strain himself. But hot water felt good, steam to clear his head, soothe himself into a sleeping mindset. As much as he could get when all these beds felt like they'd swallow him whole.

When he stepped back out in a fresh set of linens, Bucky noticed Mia's hand had fallen over the side of the bed.

He knew he hadn't left her that way. Bucky may be getting drowsy and dazed with the monotony of his days here, but he wasn't losing his mind. Clearly he hadn't tucked her in well enough, and chided himself for his lack of care. Not that it would hurt Mia any, but still. The principle of it all.

This time, as he went over to tuck her arm back in, Bucky carefully laid it across Mia's stomach. Won't slide off this time. But as he carefully set her hand over her midsection, her other hand rested on his, fingers brushing the metal inquisitively. Bucky almost jerked away in surprise, contained only by the instinct not to hurt her.

She's moving.

Bucky's thoughts were going a mile a minute, studying her hand, trying to interpret it. Curious? Hostile? Heart pounding, he looked at her face.

A soft sigh left her nose. An intake of breath.

Mia opened her eyes.

She saw him.

"Dad."