Steve
The sun shone brightly, bathing them all in its muggy warmth. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and Darcy was pretty sure she could hear robins chirping. It wasn’t right. None of this was right. It should be raining. There should be big, gray clouds pouring down heavy raindrops on them all. She should hear the steady roar of falling water in her hears, not singing birds. She should be cold; her hair should be wet.
It shouldn’t be sunny for Steve Roger’s funeral.
He’d been alone and hunted. His stance on the Superhuman Registration Act had turned him into a pariah. A lot of criminals wanted to take advantage of that. One of them succeeded. Bucky had found them in time to keep Crossbones from escaping but not in time to save Steve’s life.
At first, Darcy hadn’t believed it. Steve Rogers “died” before. More than once. He was always alive. Alway strong. Always fighting.
But the funeral hadn’t been closed casket. She started crying when she saw him in there, and she hadn’t been able to stop. At this point, watching them lower him down, her tears were silent. They rolled down her face in big, fat drops she didn’t have the energy to dash away. Only Jane and Thor’s presence on either side of her kept her from falling apart.
When the funeral was over, she hurried back to her room, hopefully a place she could curl up under blankets and pretend the past week hadn’t happened. Where she could hide while she worked on settling the upheaval in her soul.
But once there, with her back against the closed door, she found she needed the upheaval. The slightest calm gave way to aching, awful pain and fresh tears.
She turned and punched the door. It hurt but not enough. She punched it again, this time with her other fist. And again and again. Harder and harder and still not painful enough. God, just break it down! But Darcy wasn’t strong enough to break it down. She was just strong enough to scrape a few layers of skin off her knuckles. Strong enough to make her hands swollen and throbbing. There’d be dark bruises tomorrow. But Darcy wasn’t done. She swung at the door again.
Darcy. Death had been shaped like a butterfly all day. They fluttered by her ear. Darcy.
“No!” she screamed and swung her hand. She caught Death’s little body and smashed them hard into the wall. Then she froze, horrified. What had she done?
Nothing. You’ve done nothing. Death pulled themselves away from the wall. Though Darcy would have killed a normal butterfly, Death was Death. They didn’t go away.
Darcy’s hands were shaking. What had she done? She’d tried to kill Death. Oh God, what had she done? She sank to the floor. What had she done?
Nothing. Darcy. Darcy, look at me. Darcy looked at Death. Death flapped its wings. You have to stop being afraid of me.
Darcy looked at Death. What? No. She wasn’t- that wasn’t- it was other people that-
Darcy. You are afraid of me. You have always been afraid of me. You never ask me questions because you fear my answers. You never blame me for your troubles because you fear my retaliation. You never even speak directly to me. You are afraid, Darcy Lewis. You always have been.
Darcy looked at Death.
Ask, the black butterfly urged. Ask me the question. Ask me the question you’ve always wanted to ask.
Darcy looked at Death. She swallowed. “Why?” she asked. Her voice grew louder and louder. “Why me? Why did you have to pick me to be your fucking anchor, you bastard! You ruined my life! My own parents were afraid of me! I couldn’t have any friends, anyone who- who might lo…” She was crying again. Would she ever stop? “There were so few people that I trusted and you know that and it’s your fault and you still TOOK ONE AWAY FROM ME!” she collapsed and sobbed, her head in her hands. “Why?”
She felt a slight movement on her head, like a little breeze. Death had landed on her hair.
I didn’t pick you. We are not as separate as you insist. Both of us are part of something greater. You may condemn me for ruining your life if you wish. I do not know whether you would have found acceptance in the family you were born into without me. It may be. Or it may be they would still have feared you. But do not allow their failure to diminish the love of the family you have found here. Jane, Erik, Thor, Sam, Bucky and Steve all love you.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Darcy spat.
Shall I show you? There are many things I can show you, if you are not afraid.
Darcy wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t sure she was anything anymore, except a boiling pain that fizzed like anger in her hands and in her head. “I’m not afraid.”
Brace yourself, Death warned. And then… the world changed.
Everything was brighter. All the colors Darcy had seen in her entire lie made up only a small portion of what she now perceived. Death could see many more wavelengths than were visible to human eyes, and Darcy was now seeing through the eyes of Death.
They had chosen the form of a snake. Their slender body glinted with colors Darcy had never seen before. She couldn’t describe these new colors, much less name them.
Death slithered over rubble and rock, toward something larg. Darcy started when she realized it was Steve.
How he shone! Death reflected many colors, but Steve- Steve was made of light.
You all look like that, Death told her. You’re all so beautiful.
Steve noticed the little snake crawling toward him, and he recognized them for who they were. “Death,” he choked out, and Darcy winced. God, he sounded like he was in so much pain. “Darcy. is she-?”
Peace, Death told him. She’s safe. I’m here for you.
No! Darcy thought.
“Yeah,” Steve coughed and leaned back. “That was my second guess.” The lights with his body were shifting, changing. They started slowly at first, but got faster and faster the closer and closer Death got. Darcy realized this was what dying looked like. It wasn’t a light going out. It was a light changing. All the parts of Steve that made him Steve were transforming. He was still beautiful, but he wasn’t going to be Steve anymore.
Darcy felt like her heart was breaking all over again. No.
“Death?” Steve asked, his voice quiet.
Yes?
“Could you tell Darcy- tell her for me,” he stopped and took a shaking breath. “Tell her thank you. For being there. For being her. And tell her- tell her to take care of Bucky, will you? He needs someone like her. Like I did.”
I will.
Banging on the door behind her wrenched Darcy out of Death’s head. She blinked and the world went back to its normal colors: flat and dull. “Darcy,” someone said into the wood behind her. She recognized Bucky’s voice.
Darcy wrenched open the door and threw her arms around Bucky. She started crying again. (Would she ever stop crying?) She buried her face in his neck as he pulled her close.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”
“No,” Darcy murmured. She pulled back and shook her head. “No, it’s not your fault. It’s okay.” She brushed his hair away from his face. He still hasn’t cut it.
Bucky frowned. “Your hands.”
She looked sheepish. “I may have done a lot of punching.”
He snorted and held up his flesh hand. It was swollen and bruised. “That makes two of us.”
Darcy swallowed and wiped the tears from her eyes. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go get healed up.”