#natsha

The decision to support Steve over Tony, your father, had not been an easy one.

One the one hand, after hearing Steve and Bucky out and reviewing the evidence, it was painfully obvious that Barnes was innocent. 

On the other hand, your dad was your dad. You loved him, and having to look him in the eye and tell him you would stand against him, go to war with him, if needs be, had almost torn you in two.

Why? Why couldn’t he have just listened to you? Trusted your judgement, if not the facts Steve had ready to present to him?

Your father had babied you from the moment you’d been recruited by Fury and made a part of the Avengers. Always trying to sideline you from missions, always hovering over you and scolding you for literally doing your job.

You knew it was because he cared. He loved you and he didn’t want to see you get hurt. You knew that.

But gosh darn-it, you were an Avenger.

Getting hurt, putting your life on the line, doing the right thing: all part of the job description.

The sound of your name being called over the intercom roused you from your thoughts, and you cringed inwardly, you weren’t exactly being a valuable asset to Steve’s team like this.

“Stark, you alright?”

Bucky’s worried tone crackled in your ear, and you cleared your throat, doing your best to mask the waiver in your voice as you responded.

“Yeah, Buck. I’m fine, heading to you guys now.”

After a quick glance at the mayhem before you, you slipped out from behind the container, jogging briskly across the airport tarmac towards Bucky and Steve, who were fighting alongside an obnoxiously large Ant-man.

You came up short, staring in confusion at the oversized figure in front of you.

Another explosion to your left, the sound of Steve’s voice calling out over the intercom in your right ear. There was so much going on around you, you hardly noticed the lithe black figure barrelling towards you from behind.

“Y/N!”

A familiar voice called out to you from afar, a voice that only ever brought comfort, familiarity, love. Or at least, it used to.

Your eyes met your father’s for a split second, the agony in his battling with the reluctance in your own, until an unseen force took you down from behind, your body becoming airborne for a moment at the sheer force of the impact.

“Y/N! Dammit, T’Challa, take it easy!”

Tony’s haggard tone rung out across the airport, and as you easily rolled out of your free fall, you looked up just in time to see the fear and concern in his eyes, before a well-aimed truck launched by Wanda took his attention elsewhere.

“Dad…”

You cursed under your breath, moving to check on your father’s condition, but T’Challa’s looming form materialised in front of you, blocking your path.

You grimaced.

“Your highness, it’s a real pleasure, but would you do me the Kingly honour of getting the hell out of my way?”

You offered him a sickly-sweet smile, before removing the extendable staff from your utility belt and snapping it open to its full length.

T’Challa let out a noise of indignation, his vibranium claws appearing at his fingertips. The ringing of the rare metal sent a shiver down your spine, and you readied yourself to strike.

There was a pause, as you and the Wakandan King stared each other down, then chaos.

T’Challa landed the first hit, straight to your jaw. You responded with an elbow to the ribs, ducking to avoid his swinging fist. He kicked out at your knee, causing you to stumble, but your staff allowed you to steady yourself before you spun, bringing the hilt of the staff around to strike his neck.

You struck again, lashing out with a feint strike to his temple, before redirecting your hit to take his knee out from under him. Your opponent gave a grunt of surprise, and you grinned, spinning on your heal to drive the full force of your staff into his face.

He was thrown backwards, a few inches away from you, and you took the opportunity to turn and make a break for Steve.

Big mistake.

Within milliseconds, his hand had snaked out and grasped your ankle in a vice-like grip that made you yelp. A quick yank on his end, and you found yourself flying through the air once more, your head colliding rather ungracefully with the concrete below as you landed.

You groaned, moving to get back on your feet, when suddenly T’Challa’s weight landed on top of you, launching your skull back into the ground.

You snarled up at him, firing obscenities at him in abundance as you both grappled on the ground.

One minute you were pinned, then him. Next you were in a choke hold, then he in an arm lock.

The two of you were at a rather aggressive stalemate, so engrossed in trying to take the other out, that neither of you noticed the concrete slab that was hurtling through the air, heading straight for where T’Challa now had you pinned on your front, arms stuck behind your back.

Above you, you heard the Wakandan curse, before his weight disappeared as quickly as it had landed so unceremoniously on top of you.

You flipped onto your back, eyes locking onto the debris that was now seconds away from impact.

With a start, you moved to roll out of its way, but your tactical gear had snagged on a protruding metal bar by your thigh.

You were trapped.

Everything seemed to happen all at once then, but at an agonisingly slow pace.

You heard T’Challa yell.

Steve’s voice screaming at you over the coms.

A flash of red one way.

Yellow coming from the other.

The final thing you heard was the gut-wrenching sound of your father’s voice, screaming in desperation for you from far away.

Then, there was only blackness.

…

“Y/N? Y/N!?”

You were vaguely aware of the sound of a familiar voice calling out to you. It was so far away, though, and you were so comfortably warm down here… In the darkness…

“Y/N, sweetheart you need to open your eyes. Come on, kiddo!”

Now the voice was louder, it shook the world around you, trying to make you leave the welcome blackness that you were floating in. But you wouldn’t go… Couldn’t make you…

“Y/N! Dammit, wake up!”

You heard a high-pitched whirring somewhere above you, and as you moved to settle deeper in the darkness, the force of a freight train struck you in your chest.

Your eyes burst open.

“Dad!”

You half screamed; half wheezed for your father. Frantically grasping at the air, your chest, anything. Willing oxygen to return to you.

The familiar sensation of a sturdy metal hand gripping your own almost made you cry out in relief. Your father’s face swam into focus above you, he was here.

“Hey, kiddo. Take it easy, alright? Don’t try to move…”

You registered the swollen redness of his eyes, the track marks through the dirt and dust on his face, the ragged breaths he took as he spoke in a frantic, low tone to FRIDAY.

He’d been crying? But why?

“Damage report, FRIDAY, what are we looking at here?”

His weary eyes found your own as one of his hands came up to gently brush stray hairs from your face. He hadn’t done that since you were a little girl.

“A medical nightmare.”

FRIDAY’s matter-of-fact tone cut through the moment, and your heart practically stuttered in your chest.

“Multiple contusions to the skull, including a fracture. The entire left side of her body is shattered, the hip… Well let’s just say a future in samba dancing is out of the question. Five ribs snapped, one of which is precariously close to puncturing the lung. She’ll need a knee replacement…”

You allowed FRIDAY’s gruesomely detailed report on your broken form to fade into the background, as your bleary gaze took in the array of faces above you.

Behind your father, Peter looked ashen. Rhodey eyed you with obvious concern, but kept his demeanour calm, probably for Tony’s sake more than his own.

To your left, Steve knelt within arm’s reach, his glassy eyes fixated on you and obvious horror in his expression. Bucky stood just behind him, steely gaze set on the ground, a single tear drop rolling down his cheek. Sam stood next to him, offering you a sorrowful expression as he rubbed his neck anxiously.

Nat and Wanda were knelt at your head, both offering you reassuring smiles that were only betrayed by the terror in their eyes.

You were in a bad way, that much was obvious.

“Where… T’Challa…?”

You mumbled through the blood pooling in your mouth. That couldn’t be a good sign.

Sam spoke up, trying for a smile as he did.

“He’s around, Scott and Vision took him to try and find a first aid kid, give you and your pops some space.”

You nodded, understandable. 

It wasn’t T’Challa’s fault, of course. But you doubted your father saw it that way right now.

“What… Happened…?”

It was Steve who spoke this time, his voice cracking with emotion.

“The concrete slab… None of us could get to it in time. Tony… Your dad and Wanda got it off within seconds… But…”

Bucky took over for him as Steve, overcome with emotion, trailed off.

“But the damage was done, Stark. You weren’t breathing when we got to you…”

The world tilted around you as oxygen became harder to take in.

You stopped breathing?

You were dead?

“Alright, that’s enough.”

Your father’s voice cut through your panic; the cold metal of his suit hand replaced with warm, comforting flesh.

“You’re going to be just fine, sweetheart. Okay? Nat’s calling in a medevac as we speak, we’re going to get you back to Stark Tower, fix you up good as new, you got it?”

The pain, worry and exhaustion in Tony’s voice was unmistakable.

But you felt comforted all the same.

Your dad would fix you up, just like he said. Fixing things was what he did best, after all.

You gave him a weak smile, squeezing his hand in reassurance.

After a moment’s pause, you cleared your throat, your voice a barely-there whisper.

“Hey… Dad…?”

Tony scooted closer to you, his eyes flashing with renewed concern as his grip on your hand tightened slightly.

“What is it, kiddo?”

You took in a shaky breath, glancing around the group before your distant gaze came to meet your father’s one of terror.

“I was just… Wondering… You think now maybe… Maybe…”

You trailed off, a small coughing fit racking your wounded form.

“Maybe what, sweetheart?”

Tony gripped your shoulder, trying to steady you, fear undeniable in his expression.

“Maybe… Maybe... Maybe you and Steve could just talk this out like grown ass men so I can get patched up and we can all go for shawarma and call it a day…?”

A mischievous glint flashed in your eyes, and you offered your father a sharp toothed grin, which came across somewhat comical given your missing tooth.

Your father stared down at you, an ensemble of emotions crossing his face one after the other.

Shock, confusion, exasperation, anger, more exasperation, before finally his face split into a tired grin, and he chuckled.

Around you, you heard the chuckles and snorts of your fellow Avengers, the tension practically evaporating from everyone’s shoulders as you glanced around, wheezing through your own giggle.

Tony eyed you suspiciously, before looking up at Cap with a sigh, then back to you.