Light Up The Night

Steve really should have just left the volume on his cellphone on; that way he would have had at least a few seconds warning. Such as it was, he was too busy keeping an eye on Bucky in the waiting room that he didn’t even glance at the phone’s screen before answering.

“Hey there, Rogers. Thought you’d like to know your shop is officially clean. You’re welcome.”

Steve managed not to sigh. He kept his voice low so as not to wake Bucky. “Thanks, Tony. That’s one problem dealt with. What do I owe you?”

“It’s on me. I also got your place taken care of, too. Figured I’d get everything in one go.”

Steve gritted his teeth. It was difficult not to just let loose, to say that his place was supposed to be off-limits to anyone except him or Bucky. But he knew that it had been necessary to get rid of the last of the evidence. Perhaps that was why all he said was, “Didn’t realize you’d be covering my place, too. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. It looks good,” Tony said quickly. “Especially now that I fixed everything. You’re still welcome, by the way.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “I already said thanks. Twice. Alright, so great. Good. Things are pretty much the same here.”

“I know. I’m supposed to be notified about any change. Speaking of which, you’re gonna have to open in the morning, even if you don’t sleep. Best not to have a change in schedule.”

“Tony, come on,” Steve mildly snapped. Beside him, Bucky shifted and groaned. Steve gently ran his fingers through his hair to settle him, and turned away as he lowered his voice. “I’ll be the only one there. Bucky and Clint are in no shape to work, and Wanda and Darcy are only going to leave Pietro if you physically drag them from the room. And depending on how the rest of this shit evening goes, I’m not going to be up for more than admin duty. I’ve worked through health issues before, but there is a limit when it comes to inking a design. I’m not gonna risk screwing that up.”

“Whoa, settle down there,” Tony said, his tone annoyingly placating. “You didn’t even let me finish. Look, I’ve already cancelled all the appointments for tomorrow-“

“You did what?” Steve asked, his tone turning dangerous.

“You would’ve had to do it anyway! And when were you gonna do it? 5 AM when you finally got home, or 6 AM when you finally stopped worrying enough about Barnes to pick up the phone?”

“Okay, fine, you’re right,” Steve said grudgingly.

“I know I am. Anyway, you need to be at the shop so it looks like nothing happened there. If it’s closed suddenly, that could be suspicious in case anyone comes sniffing around if they’ve caught the kid’s scent. Second, if someone shady does come by, sees it’s open, and comes in to scope the place out, I want their face caught on camera.”

“…okay, that does make some degree of sense,” Steve said. “But those cameras would’ve caught everything that happened yesterday.”

Tony scoffed. “Rogers, you should know me better than that. I’ve already dealt with that. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Steve exhaled slowly. “Still seems a bit risky.”

“Cause that’s never stopped you before.”

“Tony - “

“I wouldn’t be telling you to do this if I thought you were in danger or that you couldn’t handle it,” Tony said in a quieter tone.

That caught Steve off-guard. He was quiet for a few moments. “Okay, yeah, I’ve got this covered.”

“Good. Right. So, you do that and keep me updated,” Tony said, speaking quickly once more. “I’ve got a car waiting in the lot for whenever any of you want a ride home.”

“Night, Tony. And thanks again.”

“Don’t mention it.” There was a click, and the call ended.

Steve leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes as he pocketed his phone. He glanced over at Bucky. He’d curled up on some of the chairs and seemed to still be sleeping. His right arm hung down to the floor, where his hand rested on Winter’s paw. The dog seemed calm, which reassured Steve about Bucky’s condition, at least for the moment.

Across the room, Natasha sat between Sam and Clint, and had an arm around each of them. She’d settled there after Wanda and Darcy had been allowed back to see Pietro. Both Sam and Clint had their eyes closed, but Steve wasn’t sure that they were sleeping.

Natasha met his gaze and inclined her head towards Bucky. Steve shook his head and ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair. Bucky stirred somewhat, but didn’t wake up.

And that was how things went until somewhere in the early hours of the morning, once it was clear that Pietro’s condition wasn’t likely to change in either direction and the others were already staying, Natasha managed to convince Steve to take Tony’s limo – which was still waiting outside for them – and bring Bucky back to the apartment to sleep. Steve had no desire to argue, given that Bucky’s skin was pale, and despite the fact that he looked completely drained, Bucky also seemed too wired to sleep again. Being in the medical setting wasn’t helping with anything at that point, given how triggered Bucky had already been. There were also enough signs – the squinting in response to the fluorescent light, rubbing his temples – to recognize that he was fighting off a headache.

With enough medication pumped into Bucky’s system, Steve had gotten him to sleep within the hour after they got back. Unfortunately though, there was just enough time between Steve finally getting Bucky to relax enough to fall asleep, then getting ready for bed himself, when Bucky woke up screaming in the throes of one of the worst nightmares Steve had ever witnessed. Steve nearly ended up with a black eye while attempting to calm Bucky down, as Bucky struggled and lashed out. Calming him down from that took another hour – and another Xanax – and somewhere in the nearly dawn hours of the morning Steve finally managed to sleep.

As a result, the worst sound Steve could have heard that morning was the sound of his alarm. Beside him, Bucky groaned and Steve took that as his motivation for moving enough to shut off the alarm and then very seriously contemplated whether he could just tell Tony to fuck himself and go back to sleep. Hell, he didn’t even need to tell Tony first, it’s not as though Tony would know if he stayed in bed all day. Though knowing Tony, he’d probably stop by, just to check up.

And now, for better or worse, he was awake after only a couple of hours of sleep. The moment he slid fully out of bed – after reaching over for his glasses so that he could actually see what he was doing - Bucky made a quiet, miserable sound and shifted restlessly, as though he were looking for where Steve’s warmth had gone. Steve hesitated, contemplating whether it would be in everyone’s best interest if he just stayed in bed for the time being, but Winter hopped up on the bed to claim Steve’s place. The dog had done the same when Bucky woke up fighting and struggling from his nightmare, though it had been a lot more crowded since Steve was still in the bed that time, and Steve was reasonably certain that Winter’s presence was the main thing that had gotten Bucky back to sleep in the end. This time, thankfully, Bucky settled down as Winter curled up against his side. Steve paused long enough to tuck the blankets more securely around Bucky, doing his best not to disturb Winter or distract him from doing his job.

Seeing Bucky settle down so easily was a relief. At least Steve’s early awakening hadn’t disrupted him too much. It was evident that he needed the rest and, thankfully, Steve noticed Bucky always slept better when the sun was up, something he hadn’t had much of a chance to do recently between work and everything going on with Steve’s mom. Hopefully that would mean he’d sleep for a few more hours to make up for the restless or awake hours he’d had over the past evening.

Steve pressed a tentative kiss on Bucky’s forehead and then dragged his feet into the bathroom, splashing some ice cold water on his face in the hopes of waking up properly. For just an instant, he caught his reflection in the mirror and stiffened. His face was far too pale and there were dark circles beneath his eyes, but otherwise, there were no signs of what he’d seen the previous night.

Everything else happened on rote memory, as he brushed his teeth, ran a comb through his hair in the hopes of making it that less messy than it currently was, and then made his way out into the bedroom to track down a pair of jeans and t-shirt. Paying much more attention than that to his attire wasn’t happening; all he cared about at this point was that he had clothes on.

The shop was empty, of course, but the overall silence and stillness felt strange as he made his way down the stairs. While there were plenty of mornings when Steve was the first one there, either because Darcy had a morning class or she arrived late, he was far more accustomed to her music playing and her moving around. Now each footstep echoed on the floor. The silence surrounding the creaks and groans of each step under his weight was far too loud.

He doubted that was all of the reason for his unease – after the events of the previous evening it wasn’t shocking that returning to the scene of the crime, so to speak, would make him feel that way – but it definitely contributed to it. Nothing felt right. Darcy wasn’t at the front desk, nor was Wanda, since they were both with Pietro, and Clint was wherever he’d ended up last night while Bucky remained upstairs in bed.

By far the strangest thing was the fact that as he walked around the shop, scanning the area around the front counter and then wandering back to the offices and stopping to survey the room where they’d brought Pietro the previous evening, nothing looked out of the ordinary. The front jewelry cases were there, locked up as always, and the floor was cleaned to a shine. There were no blood stains and overall, everything was in it’s place, aside from whatever the cleaning crews had moved around, though Steve was hard pressed to identify anything specifically misplaced.

It wasn’t surprising that the front area looked untouched. Once he moved towards the back of the shop, the hallway and the offices, his uneasiness grew. Everything looked far too clean, unnaturally so, and staring at the same spot that had been covered in blood the previous evening caused the hair on the back of Steve’s neck to stand up. He didn’t realize how long he had been staring at the same spot until he glanced at his wrist, as though the watch were still there – which was one of the many things he’d forgotten – but then shifted his gaze to the wall and the clock there.

The clock clued him into the fact that several minutes had gone by with him just standing there. Staring at the floor wasn’t getting him anywhere. The blood was gone, the floor was clean, and this wasn’t helping him at all in terms of functioning. With that, he turned on his heel, determinedly walking back out towards the front with the intention of setting up the store for business hours. He paused long enough in his office to do a quick, cursory check of the surveillance footage from the previous evening, which he found to have been wiped as Tony promised – though knowing Tony he might have kept a back-up somewhere – and then shifted his attention and focus entirely on opening up the shop.

He flipped on the front desk’s computer and turned the sign in the window to open. True to Tony’s word, all of the clients on the schedule for the day had been cancelled and rescheduled for later in the week. Steve pulled out a post-it note and jotted down a reminder to stay in contact with Clint over the next few days. The last thing he needed was to leave clients on the schedule, only for Clint to be unable to make it in. At least with Bucky, that was a situation Steve could monitor throughout the week and reschedule or cancel as needed, which was going to be a fun extra role to juggle since he wasn’t exactly anticipating Darcy returning anytime soon, at least not until Pietro was more stable.

Given the lack of appointments on the schedule for the day, he wasn’t certain how much traffic would be coming in and out of the shop. They always had a handful of walk-ins, either for immediate appointments or to set up a future appointment, but that rarely amounted to large numbers of people off the schedule coming through the door. He hated to think about the impact it would have on the finances for the month, but that wasn’t his primary concern right now. Trying to keep everyone functional was his only concern. If the finances took a hit that would probably mean the end of his hopes and dreams of buying out Stark’s share anytime soon. At this point, that was the least of his worries.

Still, in some ways he supposed it was good to be up and relatively focused – although if there was ever a day he needed a caffeine fix, it was this day. He couldn’t help wondering if his heart could handle the jolt from a cup of coffee. He looked hopefully at the coffee pot; empty for the first time he could remember since Darcy started working there. There wasn’t even the film of old, leftover coffee, which must have meant that Darcy cleaned it before she’d headed out the previous evening.

He contemplated the possibility of making some weak coffee, and balanced that with the image of dying of a heart attack. That probably wouldn’t help anything, seeing as Tony was sure whoever hurt Pietro might show up. While Steve felt reasonably certain that anyone involved in this mess wouldn’t be stupid enough to return to the scene of the crime, Tony thought they might, and if it happened, it would be information. At this point, information was definitely power. Granted, as far as Steve could tell, there was plenty of information he wasn’t privy to yet but anything he could add to the existing knowledge base would be helpful.

How his life had gone from running a small tattoo shop in DC to dealing with the type of shadiness that led to a kid being shot still made no sense to him. A few months ago, his biggest concerns were failing exams and wondering how to cope with his feelings for the new piercist. Since then, those worries had multiplied in ways he’d never expected. He’d thought the worst possible scenarios had already happened, between being jumped outside the shop to the mess with Bucky to the resurgence of his mother’s cancer, but he’d never imagined in his wildest dreams that the next step would be Pietro being shot and almost bleeding out in Shield.

The shop was too quiet, aside from the ticking of the clock on the wall and the faint sounds of pedestrian and automobile traffic from the outside. Although he could hear the sound of tires on the pavement, footsteps on the sidewalk, and indistinct conversations from the people who walked by, Steve felt far removed from everything else. How was he supposed to go back to class as though nothing had ever happened? How was he supposed to keep working, without thinking of Pietro’s blood staining the floor?

He reached for his cell phone, where he customarily kept it in his pocket, and he drew back a moment later, empty handed. Of course, he’d left it upstairs in his half-asleep haze. That was just the way things were going this morning. He could always go back up to the apartment to track it down but the last thing he wanted to do at this point was wake Bucky up when he was resting. Not after everything else.

Not that he had anyone he could call anyways.

He mentally reviewed the contents of his cell phone address book, just in case he was missing something and there would be someone to call, a reason to make a call. Bucky was already upstairs, so there was no need to call him. Clint, Sam, and Natasha already had enough going on. Like hell he would call Wanda, given the state she was in after what happened to her brother. About the only option he could come up with was Tony, who was absolutely the last person Steve wanted to speak to at the moment.

Granted, he probably should offer a more sincere thanks at some point for the fact that Tony was able to direct them to safe place where Pietro could get the medical care he needed and remain safe, as well as the fact that he’d made the shop into much less of a crime scene. On the other hand, he really didn’t want to be any more indebted than he already was to Tony. Thanking him would only strengthen that debt.

That was Steve’s justification for not calling him. At least not yet.

He exhaled slowly. Dwelling on all of this wasn’t getting him anywhere. While the majority of his school supplies were upstairs, a few of his class notebooks and sketchbooks, as well as his work sketchbook with current in-progress designs, were in his office. He could definitely start there and see about getting caught up on work. At least then he’d feel productive.

And, if nothing else, it would give him something to focus on other than the flashes of memory, of the blood stained floor and long hours spent in the waiting room the previous evening.

-~-

Coming back to consciousness felt more akin to swimming out of a deep hole in the ocean floor than waking up. It involved darkness and the sensation that his lungs would explode as he clawed his way towards the light drifting through the murky water above. Memory came back in convoluted bits and pieces – blood on his hands, the smell of antiseptic in the sterile waiting room, the sensation of Steve’s fingers combing through his hair, Pietro’s white rimmed eyes, the feeling of Winter’s rough tongue against the palm of his hand – and the air rushed back into his lungs with a gasp.

It took him a moment to realize that the last one was less of a memory – or maybe also a memory – and more actual fact. While his thoughts remained hazy and clouded, his heart practically hammered out of his chest and his breath came in ragged gasps, though the reason for the intense feelings of doom weren’t completely clear. The rest of his body seemed limp and disconnected and yet for some reason his pulse had skyrocketed. But Winter was there with him, lapping at the fingers of Bucky’s right hand while Bucky’s left hand sunk into his fur; that helped to steady things.

“Good boy,” he murmured, barely connecting with the fact that he’d spoken.

The act of speaking though, that helped too, as did keeping his focus on the sensation of Winter licking his hand, of the sheets beneath his body, and then on his breathing, reminding himself of the techniques he’d learned in therapy and thinking “relax” to himself each time he exhaled. Bit by bit, his heart rate decreased to a manageable level. He felt less panicked at that point, though he still couldn’t quite figure out what had led to him feeling panicked to begin with, aside from the events of the past 24 hours.

Or at least the fragmented pieces he could remember. As far as he could gather, if it weren’t for Steve and Winter, he would have been in considerably worse shape. From what could put together, aside from the ones he didn’t want to think about because those involved blood and torn flesh and the uneven breathing of a person in danger of dying, he remembered Winter lying beside him in the waiting room, of Steve keeping him calm and relaxed enough that he must have slept because there were too many blank places, too, to the point where he’d just woken up in bed with limited recollection of how he even ended up back at the apartment. Then again, his ability to distinguish between time lost dissociating, time lost while blacking out, and time lost due to sleeping wasn’t exactly the greatest.

But now he was awake and being awake meant movement. Bucky took things one step at a time, carefully rolling onto his side – and steadying himself with a few deep breaths when the dizziness hit - and surveying the contents of the nightstand as soon as his eyes agreed to properly focus. There were two cell phones, both his and Steve’s, which made him nervous since Steve wasn’t anywhere in sight and his phone being there meant that Bucky had no way to contact him. Then there were a few bottles of pills and a glass of water. For as anxious and disconnected from his body as he felt, he couldn’t remember the last time he took any of the meds and the last thing he needed was to accidentally overdose.

Steve had pulled the blackout curtains closed so judging the time wasn’t the easiest, although Bucky could see the glowing outline of light around the edges that indicated it was somewhere in the late morning or early afternoon given how late the sun rose and how early it set these days. His body wasn’t giving him many clues either since while his stomach felt hollow, he didn’t feel particularly hungry, though typically speaking when he’d had episodes like this, things like hunger were often one of the first thing to go. It could have been half a day since he last ate or a matter of hours.

Truth be told, he’d never experienced an episode quite like this, so there wasn’t a whole lot of basis for comparison. There had been times when he’d been horrifically triggered before, when he’d gone into a flashback, where he’d dissociated and had no idea where he was or who he was, but the events of the previous evening were something different. It wasn’t only that they’d reminded him of past events he’d experienced but that they’d solidified in his memory as new events, new traumas as he supposed Dr. Jones would classify them. Except that last night felt different, felt worse in some ways, because it wasn’t expected. On deployment, in combat, he expected this kind of shit to occur. People got shot, blown up, died, and that was all part of the job description. Last night had been unpredictable, random, and not in line with anything he would have expected to happen or anything he could have prepared for.

Dwelling on that was more than he could handle for the moment. If he needed to process that more in therapy, he’d do it. Going down that hole was not something he was willing to do on his own, not when he already felt like it wouldn’t take much to fracture himself further. He reached for his phone, more to check the time – 11:11, wasn’t he supposed to make a wish? – but became distracted when he found several messages from Natasha, checking in on him. Responding to them would have taken more energy than he had, so he left them alone for the time being and carefully pushed himself into a sitting position before swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

While his body kept responding automatically, he couldn’t shake the unease stemming from how disconnected he still felt. Getting to his feet took effort, as did slowly dragging himself into the kitchen and to the freezer, but once he shifted around the meals and meat until he could find and remove the frozen object inside, his muscles relaxed – a double bonus, given that he could now actually feel the change in tension in his body and that his body was relaxing were both beneficial. He kept the ice cold orange in his hand, squeezing it until he could feel the chill seeping into his hand and moving up his forearm.

While that hadn’t been a trick he’d needed to pull on in months, he’d kept himself prepped just in case an emergency arose. Dr. Jones recommended it at the beginning of treatment for the times when Bucky felt super disconnected from his body, as though he were a puppet on strings just going through the motions, which most of the time escalated to him dissociating completely and losing hours at a time. While all of his other grounding techniques had been enough recently, drastic times were definitely calling for drastic measures. The intensity of the sensory experiences usually was enough to pull him back and keep him in the present. Just as he’d hoped, it worked this time, leaving him feeling more solidly in his own skin, rather than like a passenger going along for the ride in his body.

From there, making decisions came a bit more easily to him. The fact that Steve didn’t have his phone on him set Bucky on edge; finding him was the first order of business. If he were lucky, Steve would be downstairs in the shop. If he weren’t lucky, Bucky supposed he’d call the others and see if anyone knew where Steve was and just try to keep himself calm until he found him. He had a feeling that second option would be a whole lot more difficult and he wasn’t entirely sure who he could contact if he needed support but he figured he’d cross that bridge if he came to it.

Bucky had a vague memory of Steve mentioning that the shop would be closed – or, at the least, that appointments were cancelled - but he still made an attempt to make himself look presentable, which basically amounted to pulling on a pair of jeans and a hooded sweatshirt, tugging his hair into a messy semblance of a bun, and slipping on sneakers. He couldn’t do much for the pallor of his skin or dark circles beneath his eyes but given that the chances of running into an actual customer were slim, he didn’t allow himself to dwell on that for more than a few moments.

Winter stayed by Bucky’s side as he finished getting himself in order and on the way to the door. Bucky hesitated for a moment before encouraging Winter to head down the stairs with him. Right now he needed anything that would keep him stable and together. Given how close he felt to slipping away entirely, mentally speaking, he didn’t want to be away from his service dog. He definitely wasn’t in any shape to be pulling himself back if he checked out. That required more energy than he had, since as far as he could tell, his battery was running on empty. Winter could help with that, could pull him back, if that became necessary.

The lights were on downstairs, bright enough that he flinched and found himself squinting. He contemplated whether it would be worth it to return to the apartment and grab a pair of sunglasses but determined he didn’t have the energy for that. Better to make it all of the way downstairs to see if he could track down Steve before retreating to the darkened apartment. The migraine he was pretty sure he’d kept at bay since last night was hovering right there, just waiting for him to drop his guard enough for it to come on full force. He felt pretty certain it hadn’t hit yet because he didn’t have the lingering ache or hungover feeling that always seemed to come along with the morning after a migraine.

He’d pay sooner or later. For the time being, he just hoped it would be later.

“Bucky.”

He’d barely entered the lobby when Steve spoke, and he flinched badly enough that he was certain Steve couldn’t have missed it from where he was sitting, perched behind the counter, a pencil in his hand, sketchbook open in front of him. Winter automatically leaned against his leg, tongue flicking out against Bucky’s palm, and that steadied Bucky’s heart rate. Steve didn’t comment and Bucky didn’t offer anything, as he made his way over and leaned against the counter as though it would keep him upright. He kept his gaze focused, his attention limited to the smallest portion of the lobby possible, because he had no doubt if he saw any more of the shop than that, he’d lose whatever limited control he had over himself at this point.

It took him a few moments to find his voice but Steve didn’t press him or seem to have a problem with the fact that the only thing he managed to say was, “Hey there.”

“Hey yourself,” Steve returned. “It’s good to see you up and about. How’re you feeling?”

“The most equivalent statement is ‘like I got hit by a truck,’” Bucky said, attempting a faint chuckle that sounded forced even to his ears. “But I’m up and about, at least for now. We’ll see how long that lasts. What’s going on down here?”

“Not much,” Steve said with a sigh. “I don’t know if you remember from last night but Tony insisted I open up the shop today. He insisted that it would be important, in case someone involved in what happened last night decided to drop in. Personally, I think that idea is nonsense but for some reason I agreed.”

“Any update from the others?”

Nothing in Steve’s expression suggested that he’d received any sort of bad news about Pietro but Bucky couldn’t help but worry. He knew full well how quickly the condition could change even after a person was stabilized with the type of injuries Pietro had suffered. There’d been plenty of guys he’d seen injured, stabilized, med-vacced out, and each time he’d assumed they would survive, only to find out that they had gotten an infection or other complication and died days later.

“My phone’s upstairs, so I haven’t seen or heard anything,” Steve replied.

Bucky’s gaze shifted towards the hallway and back towards the offices without his permission, almost as though it were a compulsion, and his heart rate accelerated once again. The smell of antiseptic – no, just bleach, but it was close enough – burned his nose and he felt his throat constrict to the point of choking. He forced himself to look down at his feet, where Winter stood pressed against his legs, and took in several deep breaths once again as though that would help.

“When was the last time I was medicated?” he managed to ask.

Steve didn’t push any boundaries but Bucky could feel his presence there and that helped, as did the fact that Steve waited on touching him until he had permission.

“About six hours ago, so you shouldn’t be in danger if you want to take something now. You want me to get it?”

“Nah, I can get it and I could also grab your cell phone - ” Bucky said, then stopped when the front door opened and a man stepped inside.

Bucky felt the hair rise on the back of his neck almost immediately. While he didn’t trust his instincts quite as much as he did while he was deployed – especially at the beginning when he’d sensed danger everywhere, it was hard to figure out when there was an actual reason to be on edge – but now, especially with his anxiety at a more manageable level than it had been several months ago, he was reasonably certain that he felt this way because something wasn’t right.

He shifted his attention back down to Winter, looking for any sign that his service dog might be sharing his discomfort. Winter’s ears were pricked and from everything Bucky could see, he was focused on the man who’d just come through the door but his hackles weren’t raised. True, Bucky wasn’t certain that Winter’s training would allow for him to express that type of distrust but dogs were supposed to be able to sense potential threats around them. It didn’t help that Bucky was feeling edgy already. That was reason enough for Winter to be alert and hyper-focused on the man now walking over to the counter.

The man himself didn’t look out of place for entering a tattoo shop. He was dressed casually, in a pair of well-worn jeans with holes in the knees, and a dark peacoat. The neckline of the jacket didn’t quite cover what appeared to be some sort of black Celtic knotwork tattoo and he sported a double eyebrow piercing over his right eye. Still, something about him rubbed Bucky completely the wrong way.

Steve either didn’t feel the same level of discomfort or was hiding it, seeing as he flipped his sketchbook shut and got to his feet. “Welcome to Shield. What can we do for you today?”

“Hey,” the guy said, his tone friendly. “I was just stopping in to see who was around. I’ve heard a lot about this place and was thinking of getting some work done.”

“Sure. What’re you looking to have done?”

“I was looking to add some more ink, maybe a new piercing. I’d heard something about one of the tattoo artists here… I think his name was Clint?”

Bucky caught it, just the slightest oddity with his phrasing of the question, almost as though the question were staged.

Steve, who didn’t seem to find anything odd, nodded. “You’d heard right. He’s one of our tattoo artists. Were you looking to schedule with him?”

“Yeah, I was wanting to get a piece done on my back. It’s a pretty big one, so I’m guessing I’ll need an appointment just to discuss my idea for the design. What days is he usually in?”

The urge to say something, to tell the guy to fuck off, to warn Steve from answering that question, was all but overwhelming. Bucky wasn’t certain why he was holding himself back. There was still that part of him that didn’t quite trust himself and his instincts. After all, Steve wasn’t seeing anything wrong. What if Bucky were just on edge because of the events of the previous evening? It wouldn’t be surprising if he were. What if this was all paranoia and expressing it scared off a potential customer?

Instead of saying anything directly, while Steve rattled off the days and hours Clint usually worked, while providing an overview of the reasons for their scattered schedules, Bucky slid up his sleeves and carefully rested his arms on the counter. It wasn’t anything overt, just a reminder, an indication of what this guy would be dealing with if he was fucking with them. He caught the guy’s gaze shift to the light reflecting off his metal arm and there was the slightest hint of unease in his eyes. Half of Bucky felt that was a guilty verdict right there, the other half recognized that he had just threatened a man, indirectly of course, and that fear or even just mere discomfort at the sight of his arm was an understandable reaction.

Winter pressed himself against Bucky’s leg and Bucky took that as a sign to keep his mouth shut as the guy – apparently not too shaken up by Bucky’s actions to shoot the shit with Steve – finally settled on an appointment the following week. He identified himself as Cyril, which meant nothing in and of itself to Bucky, and thanked Steve for his help. Bucky was just starting to accept that this might have been one of the many cases where he was overly paranoid for no good reason when Cyril was heading out to leave and asked one final question.

“Why is the shop so empty today? You mentioned that usually Clint’s in at this time and I’m a little surprised not to see any customers around since it seems like you all are pretty popular and it’s hard to get an appointment in here.”

Steve tensed but he kept his voice remarkably calm. “I’m a pretty chill boss and I love to take care of my employees. He’d probably hate me for telling you this but Clint’s got a big test tomorrow in math and while he’s a damn good artist, he sucks at that class. He asked if he could take the day off and I gave it to him. Plus it’s one of those times in the semester or year when a lot of people seem to be calling out, either because of upcoming midterms or the seasonal flu, so I’m guessing that’s what led to a couple of our appointments cancelling. It’s not all of ‘em though. If you hung around long enough, you’d see us running around. You just came at a quiet time today.”

Cyril nodded. “I figured it was something like that. I’m guessing it’s hard to balance school and work and life all at the same time, huh?”

Bucky found his voice enough to inquire, “So you’re not a student at G.W. or AU or anything like that?”

With a laugh, Cyril said, “No, not me. I was never into the whole academic type of thing. I’m actually not even from around here. Just down for a few weeks visiting my brother.”

While he couldn’t quite figure out why, something about that information felt important to Bucky. He filed it away for future knowledge, hoping that he would be able to remember it later on. If nothing else, he had no doubt that Steve would. Maybe together they could figure out why that information felt like something to follow up on.

Not now though. Bucky wasn’t in any shape to attempt an interrogation and there was a part of him that remained afraid he was wrong about Cyril. This could be just a normal guy, looking to get a tattoo, with no ulterior motives. The last thing Bucky needed was a second assault charge after the events with Rumlow and while he had no intention of going after this guy – just as he’d had nothing pre-planned those months back when he snapped – he still felt too off and detached and frankly unstable to trust himself not to do something he’d later regret if he didn’t keep himself contained and silent and wait.

Cyril had made an appointment. Now all Bucky could hope was that for better or worse, he would follow up on it. Hopefully by then, Bucky would have had the chance to talk to Steve and maybe Clint and the others and see if they could put the pieces together into a puzzle that actually made some sense. Right now it was too hard to think clearly and Bucky was reasonably certain there was information that the others had that would help everything to make more sense.

“Where are you visiting from?” Steve asked curiously.

“Boston,” came the response, at which point Cyril slipped his hand into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and glanced at the screen. “There’s my brother now, actually. I didn’t realize I’d been in here for so long. I’ll see you guys next week.”

Bucky said nothing as Cyril walked towards the door, although he was doing his best to repeat to himself that he hadn’t heard the phone vibrate or make any sort of sound indicating that a message had come through. Maybe if he repeated these pieces of information enough times, he’d be able to remember it for later. That possibility seemed a bit unlikely, given that he was struggling to focus on the present moment, let alone form new memories, but it was the only thing he could hold onto.

Once the door closed behind Cyril, there was a beat of silence before Steve grimly said, “I’d thought Tony was being paranoid but I’m starting to think he was right. I’m glad we got all of that on candid camera.”

-~-

Coffee always fixed everything, except when you had managed to piss of probably multiple branches of the mob and watched a kid nearly die in your arms the previous evening. Combine those events with hours spent nursing your own injuries in a hospital waiting room and then having your morning spent alternating between drugged sleep and calming down your boyfriend who’s having trauma-induced nightmares and it was no wonder that coffee wasn’t making a dent in Clint doing anything beyond staring blankly into the dark liquid still filling half of his cup.

He took a sip, grimacing at the lack of sugar or creamer, something he apparently hadn’t noticed until this exact moment despite the fact that he’d drained a significant portion of the cup in a matter of gulps. A glance at the fridge reminded him that finding the creamer meant moving and that meant energy and that was something he was lacking until he properly caffeinated himself; definitely a catch-22 that he couldn’t quite figure out yet. What did a person do when they needed coffee for energy to get the creamer but the coffee was disgusting without the creamer?

Despite the fact that moving continued to be an effort, staying inside was slowly and steadily making him stir crazy already. That was a pretty amazing feat, given that he’d barely been awake for half an hour, if that, and already all he wanted to do was something. Something that made him feel like he was doing more than just sitting on his ass. Something that made him feel as though maybe, just maybe he could help the twins. The specifics hadn’t been figured out yet but it was clear that doing nothing wasn’t an option.

Except that he didn’t have another option. Natasha and Sam weren’t about to let him out of their sight, he knew that much, and already there weren’t all that many places he could go. After his spectacular failure the previous evening – at least in terms of the mission he promised to accomplish, given that his personal mission could have gone much, much worse – there was no doubt in his mind that he’d need to be watching his back every step of the way, which was going to make coming into work or going to class an interesting experience, though not a drastically different experience than the one he’d had since an attempt was made on his life last semester.

Not to mention that he was currently dwelling on Wanda’s question to him the previous evening. While he hadn’t given her an answer, nor had Sam, back then, he knew he would need to consider the question once her brother was healed enough that she was willing to leave his side for any length of time. Part of him hoped she would reconsider what she’d asked, another part of him prayed for the exact opposite. While he didn’t want Wanda running off to take revenge on the people who hurt her brother – which made him a hypocrite because he would do that himself in a heartbeat if the opportunity presented itself – he also wondered if teaching both of the twins how to use a gun would be not only necessary but maybe even a good thing. How might things have been different the previous night if Pietro had been able to defend himself? Would that have helped him to escape unharmed or would he have been shot to kill, despite the cost of that action?

Those questions were more than his mind could handle with a continued distinct lack of proper caffeination, so he shifted tracks.

Clint contemplated the choices currently available to him. He could attempt to try out some of his contacts, but that would likely be disastrous. He could also update Coulson on everything that had happened, which was exactly what he should do because Coulson needed that information. That would be the first step, though Clint had no idea what the outcome of that action might be. It wasn’t as if Coulson could get directly involved, at least Clint doubted he could, but maybe there were things he was missing. Clint wasn’t an actual detective but Coulson was and he had knowledge of the ins and outs of the legal system and what to do when a potential mob war was brewing.

An idea, a ridiculous, probably reckless, and not very well thought out idea kept crossing his mind. Nothing fully formed, which worried him the most, given that it wasn’t as though things had gone positively when he’d made choices like this in the past. But there was one number in his phone, one person he could contact, and he’d either find more help than he ever expected, or he’d find himself utterly and completely betrayed by this person. Again. With no way of knowing until he actually took that step and saw what happened.

But none of that was going to happen until he had his first cup of coffee. And second. And maybe also a third. Or until he drank an entire pot of coffee, whichever one of those options came first. Until his thoughts cleared enough for him to make sure he was actually stopping and thinking and weighing the pros and cons instead of jumping straight into things recklessly because he was still too fucked up from the previous evening.

From upstairs, there were the sounds of footsteps, following by water rushing through the pipes as the shower was turned on. Now that, that made things the slightest bit more difficult because that meant that if Natasha and Sam were otherwise occupied, he could have the time to make these decisions on his own without them noticing. That of course became a bit more problematic when he remembered that his cell phone was in his pants pocket and those pants were on the floor in the bedroom. At least that was where he thought they were, although things from last night were still pretty confused in his mind and the exact details weren’t coming readily.

His inner debate as to how to proceed stilled as he caught the sound of someone heading down the stairs. A moment later Sam came into view and immediately Clint’s thoughts were far from whether or not he should make that certain call and find out what the outcome would be. Because Sam’s jaw was tight, his entire face lined with worry, and if Clint didn’t know better, he might just think with the unevenness to Sam’s breath that he was verging on a panic attack instead of just out of breath from running down the stairs.

On second thought, the former seemed more likely.

“Hey, Sam, what’s up?” Clint asked cautiously. Then, when Sam didn’t seem capable of forming words quite yet, offered up the helpful feedback, “Just, uh, just take in some nice, calm, deep breaths.”

Trying to explain to the person who provided therapy to others as a current profession and still took classes to further his education and training in the field what he should do to calm himself down felt ridiculous but Sam seemed to need a reminder of how to handle anxiety. Clint tried to remember the times he’d heard Natasha calm Bucky down in the past, the types of things she’d say, and wished he could have finished at least one cup of coffee first because remembering things and focusing enough to act on those memories was more than he could handle.

“You know how to breathe,” he started, quite helpfully. “Just breath in, nice and deep, and then exhale – uh, exhale through your mouth, and do it for, like, the count of ten or something like that? Just slowly.”

Despite the fact that he felt as though he were making no sense and being the most unhelpful boyfriend ever, Sam followed his instructions, which was encouraging enough for Clint to try it a few more times until Sam’s breathing evened out and he no longer appeared to be in danger of asphyxiating or something like that.

“Sorry,” Sam said.

His voice shook and that threw Clint off. While he’d seen the state Sam had been in the previous night, there had been a part of him that expected to see the normal, calm, collected Sam that he was used to this morning – or afternoon, as the case were. Logically, that didn’t entirely make sense because they’d all seen some shit the previous night and no one was okay but Clint had figured that after sleep and everything else, Sam would pull himself together, if not in actuality, than enough to appear that way even if he weren’t feeling that way internally.

“It’s okay,” Clint said, wishing he sounded less uncertain than he felt. “What’s going on?”

“Everything?” Sam shrugged one shoulder helplessly. “I woke up and realized that I didn’t show up at work this morning. Didn’t even realize it until I reached for my phone and saw it was dead. I’ve got a class tonight, I have no idea how I’m going to attend that, and honestly I’m not even sure when or how I’m going to go back to work anytime soon. How can I be there, helping people process their own shit when I can’t handle mine? I don’t trust right now that I won’t get triggered the second they start talking about the things they’ve seen and events they’ve been through.”

Clint had no idea how to begin to navigate this situation. It wasn’t so much about how to handle trauma and shit happening and all of that. He’d been through that enough himself over the years and dealt with it in a variety of unhelpful and unhealthy ways. It was more on the side of being an actual adult, like Sam was, and how that changed things. In his world, the worst thing that could happen was taking an incomplete for the semester, going out on medical leave, which was bad and not good but something he could navigate without feeling his life completely crumble. In Sam’s case, he was talking about clients he worked with, who relied on him. While Sam might have been able to consider a medical leave of absence from his graduate program, based one everything Clint had heard over the past couple of months that wouldn’t just mean delaying things by a semester but potentially by a full year, given how frequently certain classes were offered.

“Alright, you’re jumping pretty far ahead,” Clint said slowly. “For starters, this is only the first day after all of this shit happened. You don’t know how you’re going to be feeling once you’ve had some time to recover from all of this. Everything is raw and fresh and we’re all fucked up. I’m not saying that it’ll magically disappear or whatever but the way you’re feeling now probably won’t be how you’re feeling by the end of the week. We’ve only got another day or two before the weekend, right? Couldn’t you tell work and school that you had a family emergency? Hell, if you need the documentation to prove it or whatever, I’m sure Stark could get that shit for you.”

Sam opened his mouth but before he could respond, Clint interjected again. “Look, I know you’re gearing up to tell me why each and every one of those options doesn’t make sense or doesn’t work for you but please just think about it for a couple of minutes. I get it. You have responsibilities. Where you are in life is pretty fucking different from where I am and I know I don’t understand what it’s like for you. You also probably feel like this is a major step back for you. But it’s not and your first responsibility is to yourself. I hate to say it, man, and I know you’ve heard it before, but you’re not going to be good to anyone else if you haven’t taken care of yourself first.”

Sam’s jaw tightened all the more. “Clint, you don’t understand.” At which point he paused, took a deep breath similar to the ones Clint had just been coaching him through, and very, very reluctantly said, “Or maybe you do. I don’t know. You’re right. I’m not in any shape to be trying to figure all of this out right now. I’ve already missed work, I can’t change that. All I can do is contact my supervisor, apologize profusely, and try to explain what happened without specifying exactly what happened because I can’t disclose anything regarding Pietro’s identity. As much as I wouldn’t want to ask Stark for anything, I guess you’re right and that’s an option I can always take if I need to.”

Clint relaxed the slightly. At least he knew what to do from here. Sam wasn’t fighting him on this, which was more than he could ask for. That still meant that the things he had to worry about for the time being were increasing, since he’d need to keep an eye on Sam and make sure he was finding ways to cope with that, while also making sure he was coping, while also ensuring that the twins were safe and Pietro was healing and in the midst of that he’d need to evade the mob.

His earlier thoughts regarding making that call were back in full force but he shoved them aside and offered Sam a tired grin.

“So, how about we get your phone charged, those calls made, any necessary emails sent, and then, assuming we don’t need to run out anywhere, we flop on the couch, throw on a movie, and continue with that resting we tried to start when we got back this morning. We’ll revisit all of this stuff tomorrow.”

Hopefully the calls he would need to make could wait that long, though if he were to take the same advice he was giving to Sam, he probably shouldn’t be making any decisions right now either. Especially not when this decision was remarkably similar to previous ones he’d made in the past that had ended disastrously.

Although that was just the story of his life.

-~-

Darcy Lewis wasn’t an angry person or someone who wished violence on others. She had a taser that she’d never had reason to use but still carried because she was smart enough to recognize that wandering around DC alone wasn’t always safe and wanted to be prepared in case something happened. She might have also accidentally pepper sprayed one of her friends on one occasion when that friend tried to scare her around Halloween one year, which she considered to be his own fault for jumping out at her from the dark wearing a mask.

She thought about potential threats enough to be mindful of the things she did and places she went, to consider whether walking in certain areas at certain times of the day was a good life decision, but she didn’t let that fear run her life. She remained conscientious and alert, which was just an appropriate thing to do when you lived in a city, and yet in a lot of ways, she’d never seen how bad things could get. Sure, Darcy watched the news. Over the past couple of months there had been enough fucked up shit going on with her friends for her to get a taste of that, what with Clint getting shot in the arm at the library and the level of threat with the twins, but in the end she’d never seen exactly what could happen.

She’d never seen someone she cared about almost die.

Throughout the night, Darcy had stayed right beside the bed in the surprisingly comfortable hospital chairs. From the few times she’d accompanied friends to the hospital for a variety of reasons ranging from tech accidents in the theater to alcohol poisoning, the one thing she’d never been able to forget was how the chairs required her to contort herself into awkward positions for the slightest bit of comfort. These chairs were padded, and not with the cheap plastic bullshit at most other hospitals, and large enough that it wasn’t hard to make herself comfortable.

She’d offered to take sleeping shifts with Wanda, so that one of them was always awake in case Pietro woke up. Wanda refused, stating she wasn’t tired, and sometime in the early morning hours, Darcy tugged two chairs together and curled up to catch snatches of sleep here and there. One of the nurses stopped by to offer her a pillow and blanket and while both of those were closer to what she expected from hospitals, in terms of the pillow being covered in something more plastic than fabric and the blanket being stiff and scratchy, it was better than nothing. She wasn’t quite certain whether or not she’d actually fallen asleep at any point during that time because she definitely didn’t feel rested but she was pretty certain she hadn’t been fully awake because when Wanda told her that Pietro had woken up once again, she didn’t remember hearing him talk to his sister.

Since she returned to full alertness, she’d resumed her previous position at Pietro’s side. The nurses – sometimes with familiar faces, sometimes new ones, with no name tags although the white board in the room had been updated with a list of the names of the rotating medical staff - had come in and out several times, to check his vitals, examine the bandages, and a few times take some blood out of hands and arms that were already coated in bruises from previous needle pricks, that latter of which made no immediate sense to Darcy but she figured it might have had something to do with the potential risk for infection that had been mentioned. It frightened her to see Pietro not respond at all to the needle pricking his arm or hand, although everyone continued to remind her and Wanda that there were reasons Pietro continued to sleep, including the injuries and his current level of medication.

Darcy didn’t understand why hospitals were always so white, with patterned tiles on the floor, and this one was no exception. Weren’t there more soothing colors? Pastels, for instance, that might relax people rather than making them feel like they were in a hospital? Sure, nothing would change the fact that they were actually in a hospital, but at least the atmosphere could be a little more comfortable. There weren’t any pictures either, paintings or photographs, that again might make things feel less like one was in a hospital. Nothing would take away the pervasive smell of antiseptic and bleach but at least some homey decorations would make a difference for the patients. Who wanted to wake up in a white, sterile room when they could wake up in a sterile place that felt like home?

To keep herself entertained, she’d tugged out her cell phone – relieved that she’d tucked the charger in her bag before heading out to meet Pietro the previous day because entertaining herself between work and classes had nearly drained the battery – and alternated between sending off emails to her professors, explaining that a family tragedy was responsible for her absence, and playing Angry Birds because it gave her something else to focus on while Pietro remained asleep, while Wanda continued to barely provide syllables in response to any questions Darcy asked of her. Darcy didn’t want to press but after a night of not sleeping and the tension of sitting in a hospital room, she needed something to keep her mind off of everything else.

She’d nearly beaten the level when the door – heavy and industrial - swung open and the creak itself or maybe the fact that Wanda flinched hard enough to nearly throw herself off of the chair startled her, leading to her fingers slipping; not that she cared when she saw who had arrived. She activated the lock screen, placing her phone back on the nightstand – if that was what it was called when you were in the hospital, speaking of the need for homey decorations – and turned her full attention to the familiar figure holding a balloon and a ridiculously large stuffed animal.

Darcy couldn’t keep herself from asking, “Really?” as he put the stuff down on the nightstand beside her phone.

“Don’t look at me,” Tony quickly said. “All of this is from Pepper.”

“You told Pepper what happened?” Wanda asked, a chill entering her voice.

“Not the specific details, obviously,” Tony said, unperturbed as usual. “Just that he wasn’t feeling all that great and I was coming to check in on him, like the philanthropist I am. How is he doing, by the way?”

“Why do you ask questions you already have answers to?” Wanda responded, crossing her arms over her chest.

Darcy wasn’t quite expecting that reaction. Although she hadn’t seen Tony interact with the twins all that often, Wanda never seemed outright suspicious of him when he came to Shield. She’d obviously trusted him enough the previous night to accept him as a person who could get her brother proper medical care without placing him in danger. On the other hand, after the events of the previous evening, Darcy had to admit that she didn’t particularly feel like trusting anyone right now and she had much more reason to let her guard down than either of the twins did.

“Touché,” Tony said calmly. “You’re right, I did already chat with the current doctor and nurses on shift. I was figuring though that you might know some details that they didn’t since they aren’t in here every minute of every day.”

Wanda stared him down, long enough that Darcy wasn’t certain she was going to say anything and was starting to contemplate whether she should jump in with some information of her own. Before she could, Wanda sighed and responded to the question.

“They say he’s doing well, given everything, but you know that already. He’s been sleeping on and off but he can talk and he knows who we are, and for the moment I care more about that than the fact that he seems to have a hard time remembering where he is or what happened to him.”

“So, you still don’t know what happened?” Tony asked, and this time there was nothing casual in his tone, no sign that this was perhaps the question he’d really been asking the first time.

“No specific details, no,” Wanda said. “But when he does, if I think they’re important enough to share with you, then I will.”

Tony raised an eyebrow but Darcy knew enough about him to catch that he was impressed to a degree, if also maybe a bit irritated.

“I wasn’t aware I’d done anything to make you not trust me,” he said

“Let’s just say that I’m still split in the middle about you,” Wanda replied. “I remember how you were when we used to see you at galas and other functions and I don’t recall liking you much back then. Still, you’ve done a lot for me and my brother over the past several months and that does count for something.”

“Fair enough, I suppose. Then I guess now is a good time to let you know that I do have some ideas about where the two of you can go from here if you don’t want to end up locked up in that townhouse again.”

Wanda bristled. “We’re not running away. Not again. We’re staying here. We’re standing our ground. We’re not letting him chase us out of here.”

“Do you think your brother would agree with that?” Tony asked. “After all, he was the one who got shot.”

“Maybe you should ask me yourself,” a weak, strained voice chimed in.

Darcy immediately turned her attention to the bed, where she found Pietro’s eyes cracked open. Wanda immediately reached for his hand and his gaze shifted away from Darcy to her. There came the usual spark of jealousy that Darcy found herself able to curb a bit more quickly than usual. These circumstances certainly helped with that automatic tendency.

“Alright then, I’ll ask you myself,” Tony agreed.

Before Pietro had a moment to respond, Wanda quickly interjected, “Now is not the time, Tony. My brother will need to stay here regardless. Once we have the option of leaving, we can decide where we will go from there.”

Darcy didn’t voice all of the thoughts that came to her mind immediately. If they did decided to leave, where would they go? Would she be able to come along? Would she want to come along, on the run, with two fugitives? She’d only known Pietro for a matter of months. Was he worth leaving everything behind for?

Pietro said something then, something Darcy couldn’t quite grasp because he seemed to struggle to force each word out and it was barely above a raspy whimper. Then he swallowed hard – and Darcy wished she could give him a sip of water given that his throat was still raw from the intubation for the surgery but the doctors weren’t allowing that quite yet – and repeated more strongly, “I’m not running.”

“Now isn’t the time to be making that kind of a decision,” Tony said. “Your sister’s right about that. Once you’re healed, we’ll talk about where to go and what to do from there.”

“See, this is why I don’t trust you,” Wanda snapped. “The second things aren’t going your way, you change your tactics and act as though that’s how you’ve always viewed things. My brother and I don’t need you. We made it on our own for years. We can make it on our own again.”

Tony’s expression darkened in response to that but his voice was calm and even as he said, “Like I said, now’s not the time for us to be talking about this. I came here to check on you both, see how you were doing, and let you know that I was here if you needed anything. And now I’ve done that. So I’m gone.”

Wanda crossed her arms over her chest and simply watched as Tony headed for the door. Pietro’s focus remained on his sister and Darcy could gauge that he was taking his cues from her for the time being, since he didn’t say anything either. All of that left Darcy in a tricky position. It wasn’t as though she and Tony were particularly close. Aside from work related nonsense and the occasional party where the two of them ran into each other, she and Tony had limited contact on a daily basis.

Still, he was the reason Pietro was still breathing and if there was the possibility that he could protect the twins from something else happening in the future, Darcy wanted to take it. If the twins weren’t willing to accept offers for future help, she needed to do what she could to bridge that gap. While she wasn’t about to pressure either one of them to make a choice they didn’t want to make, she also didn’t want to foreclose on any potential options.

She gently rested her hand on Pietro’s shoulder and murmured, “I’ll be right back.”

The fact that his eyes barely shifted from his sister to her hurt, but Darcy refused to dwell on it. Once Pietro had healed and this entire mess was less catastrophic, the two of them could work on their relationship as needed. For now, her focus was on what she could do to help them and that meant chasing Tony down before he left the building.

“Tony, wait,” she called, as she stepped into the hallway.

Tony was only a few paces ahead, his phone pressed to his ear, and as she approached him, he raised a hand to indicate he needed silence for the moment.

“He did, huh? Good to know. I’ll download the footage, see what I can find out about him, and I’ll either stop by or give you a call later. Yeah. Yeah, I know. Just stay safe, Rogers.” He hung up, slipping his phone back into his pocket, and then turned his full attention to Darcy. “What’s up? Here to advocate for your boytoy?”

“I’m here to remind you that neither one of them knows what they’re saying right now,” she said, straightening her shoulders. “Don’t give up on them, okay? If you’d seen what happened last night, you’d get it. It was awful and terrifying and I’ve never seen anything like that and I hope I never see anything like that again. You haven’t even given them 24 hours before you’re asking them to make a choice. All I’m asking is that you give them a bit more time before you decide that they’re not worth your time and energy anymore.”

“You’re jumping to a lot of conclusions about me,” Tony said, raising an eyebrow. “I haven’t given up on anyone, Darcy. Trust me when I say that you’ll know when I’ve given up and it doesn’t happen easily.” His gaze flickered towards the room where they’d left Pietro. “Stay with him, keep me updated, and let me know when would be a good time for me to come back and chat with them. Only one of my plans for them involves them leaving the city. When they’re in a better place to consider all of the possibilities, we can chat about the other options. You all know how to contact me.”

Tony offered her a half-grin that looked more pained and bitter than anything else and then turned on his heel and headed down the hallway. Darcy pressed her back against the wall. The thought of going back into the room felt exhausting – and that made her feel guilty since she should be staying with Pietro after everything that had happened, after everything that could still happen – and a part of her didn’t care because she was certain that Pietro wouldn’t even notice that she was gone. On the other hand, she’d never forgive herself if Pietro’s condition worsened and she wasn’t there.

Instead of going back, she sifted through her phone, looking at the text messages, some of which she hadn’t responded to because she’d gotten to them during the mess that had been the previous evening. Jane, in particular, had sent a couple since Darcy had mentioned stopping by the previous night and obviously hadn’t in the midst of everything else. She considered responding now, then recognized she had nothing to say, and abandoned the plan for the time being.

Darcy had no idea how to keep these two parts of her life separate but also together. She’d thought that she’d built a bridge over the gap, with spending more time out and about with the twins, letting them meet her other friends. She’d assumed that things would continue that way. Now there was this part of her life where there was danger and blood and the potential for death and she had no idea how she was going to go back to class, listen to lectures, and pretend that everything else was normal. How could she sit there and listen to her professors talk or sit in front of her computer writing essays when her boyfriend had just had a bullet rip through his stomach and she’d sat there and watched two of her friends try desperately to save his life?

None of those were questions she had answers for at this point. She took a deep breath, exhaled raggedly, and then took another and another until she felt her breathing evening out to a proper degree. The twins were struggling enough already; someone had to be able to remain calm in the midst of all of this.

When she reached the room, Darcy peaked through the crack in the door where she’d left it ajar after heading out. Pietro’s eyes were still open, officially making this the longest length of time he’d been awake that she’d seen – or heard of – this far. Wanda remained by his side, one hand holding securely onto his, while the other smoothed her brother’s hair back. Her lips were moving, as were his, but their voices were so low that it was impossible to hear what they were saying.

For the time being, the fact that Pietro was alive was enough for her. That was the only thing that mattered. She would deal with everything else later, review the responses to the emails she’d sent, and find something to tell her best friend. As messed up as things were right now, Darcy wasn’t going anywhere.