EXECUTIONER'S SONG. ❪ Steve Rogers ❫ ✓

thirteen

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Steve went to a lake to clear his thoughts, thinking back to all his memories with Peggy. He knew she was happy. She had gotten married, had kids, had a successful career, while Steve had only gotten out of the ice recently and spent most of his time beating bad guys - until he was tasked with babysitting. He didn't have much to look forward to in his life. He had his own apartment in Brooklyn he only recently got. It didn't even have a mattress yet since he threw out the old one from the previous tenant. He did not want to use an old mattress from a stranger. He hadn't gotten around to decorating since he was busy. Now, he didn't even know why he had this apartment if he was just going to stay at the compound all the time.

With S.H.I.E.L.D. only starting to get back up, he didn't get paid as handsomely as he would have if it hadn't been infiltrated and destroyed. Tony was the one paying for his apartment, which Steve did not like but accepted since Tony started ranting about how rich he was and how a tiny Brooklyn apartment would do no damage as he made what the rent was within the hour.

Once Steve noticed the sun was beginning to set, he rode his motorcycle back to the compound, solemn but ready to nod and tell everyone who asked questions that he was fine. The compound was quiet when he entered, so he assumed everyone was grouped up in order to either help him feel better or to ignore it for when he was ready to come to them on his own.

He dropped his keys and jacket off in his room before walking toward the living room where he assumed most of them would be. When he entered, Darcy, who was thrashing around, arms wildly thrown around, was pinned down by Sam and Bucky who seemed to be having trouble with her.

"What are you guys doing?" Steve asked, slightly amused.

"Steve!" Darcy cried out. "They're bullying me!"

"She's too hyper!" Sam exclaimed.

"I don't know how you handle her," added Bucky.

"It's not that hard," Steve answered, opening his arms out wide. "Come on, Darcy."

She wiggled underneath Bucky and Sam before they decided to let her out. She rushed toward Steve in order to hug him but tripped and face planted into the ground.

"To be fair," said Bucky, "she's clumsy."

She scrambled up to her feet with a pout on her face. Steve, noticing her blood first, took out his handkerchief and dabbed her bloody nose, the other hand reaching behind to cup the back of her neck.

"Well, she's yours now," said Sam. "Come on, Elsa."

"Shut up, bird shit," Bucky grumbled, allowing Sam to drag him out of the room.

"What happened?" Darcy asked.

"You have a nosebleed," answered Steve.

"A nosebleed?" she murmured, fingers reaching up to touch the liquid near her nose.

She brought her fingers up toward her eyes to look at it. She narrowed her eyes and stared at the red liquid. A flood of memories hit her at once. Killing innocent girls, being trained under murderers, running around like a dog. She snapped her head forward, knocking into Steve's face, causing him to stumble back slightly. She looked down at her herself and felt embarrassed at her penguin pajamas. She ran off, mumbling a sorry toward Steve. He quickly followed after her, the head-butt earlier doing nothing much against him.

She remembered everything as her 8-year-old self and it was entirely embarrassing for her. She couldn't believe she was so attached to him, but she was feeling ashamed for who she was and what she had done. She was torn between the persona she built during her time at the Red Room, to the persona she was raised with before they took her away from her family. She ran into her room, slamming the door before eyeing the window in her room. She opened it and slid part of her body out before a hand grabbed her ankles and pulled her out. She let out a yelp, falling back as a voice said, "F.R.I.D.A.Y., lock all the windows in this room. What are you doing?"

Darcy stayed still, breathing heavily. "Let me go."

"No, what are you doing?"

"Trying to kill myself. Let me go."

"No! That is clearly not an answer I wanted to hear!" he exclaimed.

"I'm not here to please," she snarled. "Let me go."

"No."

She was breathing more heavily, chest heaving, eyes wavering and focused on the floor in front of her. "W-What's happening? What are you doing?" she questioned.

"I'm not doing anything," he whispered. "You're having a panic attack."

He held her closer to him, chest against her back.

"I - I don't - I don't like it," she stammered. Just grab a gun - " She took in a breath. "Place it between my eyes and shoot me, Captain."

"No," he muttered, cheek pressed against the top of her head. "You don't deserve to die."

"Did you make the rules? I deserve to die. I've killed people." She wanted to rock back and forth, but he held onto her.

"What do you remember?"

"Everything," she whispered. "But they're my family because they've been with me for most of my life. They made me what I am. They made me who I am."

"No, they didn't. Your parents made you who you are, and you're you."

"Did you see that through my 8-year-old self? That was before the Red Room, Captain. I was a child. The Red Room is all I've ever known," she replied.

"You seemed rather fond of Steve-anator," he murmured.

She froze. "Steve-anator... I loved that sausage." She sniffled, tears beginning to fall. "He barked - I think - when they came to get me. Barked until they shot him. Didn't want to draw attention."

"You're safe here," he reassured.

"Am I?"

"Yes," he answered.

"You shouldn't make promises you can't keep."