After taking countless different trains and going in completely the wrong direction to ensure we lose whoever might still be following us, we grab dinner quickly at a small diner and then finally head home. Mira falls into a sound sleep on the way.
As soon as we're through the door, Bucky starts closing all the blinds and shades.
I head into the bedroom and shove the bed into the corner. With Mira still in my arms, I haul the taller dresser over to cover most of the window. It won't stop most bullets, but it will ensure they're shooting blind.
"I'll stand guard tonight, just in case," Bucky says from the doorway as I set Mira down on the bed.
"It's fine. If whoever this is wanted me dead, they would've done it yesterday."
"Yesterday?"
Oh shit.
I never told him.
"Um, yeah. I might've been followed around the mall yesterday, but it's fine. I lost them and made it back okay."
"That's why you thought you were poisoned." There's a tinge of anger beneath his words.
For some reason, I feel like a child about to be scolded. I carefully avoid eye contact, covering Mira after getting her coat and shoes off.
When I turn around to drop them to the floor, I'm greeted by a very large—and clearly upset—super soldier looming over me. Arms crossed. Jaw tight.
"It's fine, Bucky. I made sure no one followed me back." I stand in front of him, and Jesus, I know he's bigger than me, but damn, he feels like a giant right now.
"It's not fine. You could have been hurt. Why didn't you tell me?"
"If I was hurt, I would've healed. Not a big deal." I brush it off, moving past him and slipping into the living room so we don't wake Mira.
He sighs and follows. "Even if you can heal, you shouldn't be reckless."
"Aw, you worried?" I tease, snagging a beer from the fridge and sliding one across the counter to him.
"Yes. I don't want to see you hurt."
I pause, the bottle halfway to my lips.
Did he just say he's worried about me?
His eyes are fixed on his beer now, as if he's reading the ingredients. A bit of red creeps up the tips of his ears.
Well. No time like the present.
I'll just ask him. If he doesn't feel the same—or if I'm imagining all this—I'll know I need to find a place close by. I knew I couldn't live with him forever. This was always meant to be temporary anyway. He can come over. Bring Mira whenever he wants.
"Bucky…" I start, pacing near the couch as I gather my thoughts. Pacing always helps. I just need to say it. Get it out.
I glance at the tree, the presents beneath it, then knock back most of my drink for liquid courage I know won't come since I literally can't get drunk.
Stupid serum.
I turn on my heels and stare at him across the room. He's leaning against the counter, jacket gone, wearing only a long-sleeve skin-tight black shirt. Blue jeans. Combat boots. One eyebrow raised, waiting.
Just do it, Vivian. You've got this.
"Bucky, what are—"
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
A loud clatter. Glass shattering.
I spin—but too slowly.
Smashing through the window is that thing.
The demon.
All red, raging horror.
My movements feel sluggish. Or maybe it's just too fast.
I don't have time to react.
Its arm shoots forward.
My eyes lock on its milky, empty ones. That vicious smile stretches across its face, fangs bared like a piranha.
There's pressure in my stomach.
My legs go numb.
It's holding me—
No.
Wait.
It isn't.
I look down.
Its arm is impaled straight through my stomach.
For some reason, I can't process the pain yet. My body hasn't caught up.
I try to inhale.
A metallic taste floods my mouth. Drowning.
I cough—and vomit blood down its arm.
A gunshot cracks through the room. The bullet whizzes past me. I don't know if it hits.
My vision blurs as the monster lifts me off the ground. I vaguely hear Bucky shout something.
"Get lost!" the thing roars at him.
Its free arm swings. Bucky dodges—but a tentacle lashes out from nowhere, slamming him across the room. He crashes through the dining table, leaving a dent in the wall.
"Mira!" I gasp between coughs.
Fuck. He needs to grab her and run.
I grip the creature's forearm, trying to pull myself free, but my lungs are wrecked. I have no air. No strength.
Its other hand clamps around my skull, squeezing.
Like it wants to crush it.
"Where is Venom?" it growls.
I cough more blood into its face. It licks it up with a tongue that has no business being that long.
"Who?" I rasp.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Bucky fighting against two tentacles, slicing them—but they regenerate every time.
"Where is he?!" it roars. "The one you took!"
Its fangs are inches from my face now. Its grip tightens.
I swear I can hear my skull cracking.
Through the pain—through what I'm sure are my own screams—I hear it.
A small voice.
"Mom?"
I can't turn my head. Blood blurs my vision.
But I see her.
Standing there. Hands fisted in her little long-sleeve black shirt with the rainbow on it. Eyes locked on the nightmare in front of her.
"Bucky!" I choke out.
I see him lunge for her—
But everything slows.
The world drags.
I hear her scream:
"LET GO OF MY MOM!"
Then—
Blinding light.
Everything goes white.
A faint, piercing shriek from the monster.
Then silence.
The pain in my stomach remains.
But the pressure on my head—
The weight impaling me—
Gone.
Did I just die?
Shit.
Did it rip my head off?
No.
She needs me.
Not yet.
They need me.