Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel
Chancery
Living Tribunal: Cosmic entity, a safeguard to rid of all imbalance. There are three faces on the Living Tribunal; one that represents equity, the other of necessity and the last as revenge.
HEIGHT OF WAR
Darcy liked Earth.
From the children withholding youth and innocence running with no burden, to the elderly couple whose wrinkled skin trekked geographical lines.
Earth (Terra, it had once been called) is a beautiful planet; inhabited by a variety of people, whose nature are easily underestimated. Only a minuscule compared to the vast galaxy. It's technology and knowledge not up to par and some, might even label them as troglodytes. But Darcy, against her Other's wishes, always had an interest in the underdogs. Mortals were't perfect, they were flawed around the edges and ugly beyond belief. Yet beneath the taint was something precious, something strong. It small, hidden beneath flesh and bones, But Darcy learned that nor matter how many times they fall, mortals will always rise.
Thus it became a habit that she visited Earth almost every century. Each time, she was astounded to see how far they've progressed despite their young age.
Darcy remembered when they still built pillars out of sand and water while houses were constructed by sticks and stones. Mortals focused best during battle, it was in their nature to survive. Though Darcy hates that aspect of them, the one filled with closed minds, she still saw good in them. A beauty you can't quite see in the other ends of the universe. the beauty lied in their stories, so blissfully short; the ridden guilt in a soldier's eyes as they pulled the trigger, a dictator's frown as they wish for a better world, children eating sweets, elders playing chess. The cries of a thousand and laughter of none. Human's aren't a superior race, but their imperfection made them different. Interesting.
Her Other (soul, essence, persona) however, hated humans. No―it wasn't that, rather, her Other held an apathetic view towards mortality and soul.
He valued order and judgement above all else. However, he was right, because Darcy also saw the rational ways on how he thinks. Don't get her wrong, she hates it. Yet without balance there would be no equality, thus the scale of the universe will tip, creating chaos and destruction. That would be disastrous, there was no need for another Big Bang, the first one wasn't a pleasant experience and she'd rather stay clear of it. So if there were mass genocide or a famine, it wasn't because she took pleasure, it's because her Other deems it necessary for survival and as cheesy as it sounds, the fate of the multiverse. A terrible burden, a destiny that can't ever be lifted from her shoulders.
Don't get her wrong, there were many advantages of being one of the most powerful entities. It just came with a lot of rules, and on occasion, Darcy ad a habit of not listening to her Other. There were times when she told him to kiss his ass. And others where she takes it all back. This was definitely one of them,because going from one concentration camp to another might not have been such a good idea. Especially with the fact that she cried everyday, knowing that if she intervened it would upset the balance and if she didn't, many of her friends will die.
This was how the story began:
(Okay, that's a lie. Her story began long ago, but here is where this story began.)
She arrived not long ago, posing as a Jewish waitress and even dated a handsome Aryan for a while being. Everything had been perfect, albeit the propaganda was a bit scary, though nothing she hadn't seen before. Of course perfection never lasts and then they shoved her into the ghetto, along with almost everyone in her neighbourhood. Life conditions weren't the best, although she managed to still be a waitress in a place that had lovely piano music. Majority got sick and the trail of bodies were left behind by the large walls, ignored and uncared for. Darcy was often beaten, nothing her immortal body couldn't do. It angered her Other, and he furiously told her how she should leave and let nature do it's course. Darcy being Darcy, flat out refused.
And so life went on, she continued to take care of the elderly lady down the street to babysitting her next door neighbours when they had nightly shifts. She waitered tables while listening to the soft tunes of Mozart and Bach, tray in one hand and notepad in other. During those times, Darcy would meet Lukas with his blonde hair and blue eyes, always in secret yet certainly memorable moments. This was Darcy being stubborn, her Other hated it when she was stubborn, said that putting effort wouldn't do the world a good because they'll only fuck you over. And for a moment, he was right.
Lukas was shot.
Darcy felt numb.
Getting pushed into a small train was horrible, she held onto Ruth's hand when her mother and older brother were lost in the cart. Gone were the earrings and designer shoes, warmth left with it as the cold embraced her being. Despite that, she continued to watch (all she ever does), mouth set in a firm line, making no judgement as the doors were clasped to a close. Darcy was painfully reminded of her time in Zorr-Ad, one of her previous favourite planets before it got blown off, they had a mass populations, overwhelmingly so. And those in charge took the matter at hand. Now, being locked up like a cattle, like an animal, Darcy couldn't help and tremble. She needed to be strong, for poor Ruth whose silent tears fell.
Only until Ruth is fine will Darcy leave.
Her Other grumbled at that.
Needless to say, the camps were much worse than the ghettos. Like flocks of sheep, women and men were divided. They were put into a large room where an align of scissors waited. One by one, with a snip snip, hair fell and almost every woman was crying. Some, not at the loss of locks, rather of dignity. Darcy's had been torn to the scalp, blades merciless, allowing cuts to form. Identification tattoos were imprinted on them (easy to disappear, oh but the way Ruth cried tore her apart).
Dark caverns awaited them and shrieks filled the skies when ice cold water sprinkled from the ceilings. Some laughed in joy, while others continued to cry. Never once did Darcy let go of Ruth's hand. And finally, finally, near the end, they were given bland clothes. Stripped pyjamas with star and triangles sewn on.
Life at the camp, for the lackluster of words, was scary. She gave all portions of food to Ruth, seeing that she didn't need any. They were pushed into labour similar to how Gornian would do in Gortak, except this was against free will and whoever disobeyed had a bullet through their heads. Darcy made sure to do all the heavy lifting, putting ease to Ruth's strain. It was gruelling and an endless cycle of repeat, a lot of people died and some, abused in terrible way. A couple, were dragged back into the dark caverns never to be seen again and Darcy knew what they wanted and are doing. For a second, Darcy felt as old as her actual age; seeing the negative constitutions of humanity.
Days passed and Darcy often talked to a lovely woman named Greta and her daughter, Marlene, often played games with Ruth, away from prying eyes. They were all skin and bones, compared to Darcy who was still flesh and muscle hidden by layers of clothing. Darcy ignored that fact, they all did as they preferred listening to Greta's stories of her husband and son. In exchange, Darcy told them of her 'hometown' far away, unreachable to many, where things were golden and skies unveiled. Her Other told her to stop, that it was dangerous for her to get so close to a mortal. Only bad things happen when you are not watching and is participating, he'd say. Darcy paid no heed and continued to laugh at Greta's reminiscence and Marlene's jest.
Unfortunately he was right, and not long after, a typhus outbreak happened and they died.
Her Other said, "I told you so."
And Darcy still held on to Ruth.
Darcy met Ruth the first time she arrived on Earth as a waitress. Her family, which consisted of two parents and her older brother Max, often visited her restaurant. Every time, Darcy made sure to start a little conversation so they'd feel welcome. One rainy day, she met Ruth's mother on the way home, who ironically invited her to dinner. She spent most of the time exchanging recipes and talking to Max, never about world affairs. then, at the ghetto, they met again, Max had been sick, and Darcy was willing to give her food to them seeing that she didn't need it. Darcy wouldn't consider them family, but they were the closest thing she's got excluding her Other.
So when the opportunity arrived to leave the concentration camp, she took it. They needed small, quick hands at some type of factory and Darcy pulled Ruth into the cue so they'd be the first one. With one small nod from the Aryan, they were sent to the truck. Not many, it seemed, were picked, a handful, maybe seven?
The road was bumpy and on a rocky terrain, leading upwards. It was extremely cold and Darcy sacrificed her blanket for Ruth, who pulled it closer and snuggled into her arms. She exhaled, seeable in the cold air, "I'm scared Darcy."
"Hey," she smiled, "When that smile is down, you have to turn it upside down."
"Darcy?" a voice snipped before Ruth could reply, curiosity leering, "That does not sound Juden."
"It's not."
She hugged onto the little girl tighter, looking at the woman sitting in front of her. Her weight looked off and like everyone in the car, hair starting to grow, unruly strands defying gravity. The woman gave a tired, weary, motherly smile, "No need to worry. I am Anya, I too am not Juden."
"Romani?"
"Romani."
There was a harsh bang from the front and Darcy attempted to smile back. They settled into a comforting silence. the only sound was of the wind, roaring engines and silent mutters of the soldiers.
The new camp was much different from the previous one. It looked like a Medieval Xandarian camp they'd set right before war, excluding the barbed wires, because that's so a millennia ago. It was nighttime, the wall of soldiers protecting its fortress and guns by their side. They were all pushed into a tiny room, better than the one's at the old camp and was provided on blanket. That had been day one, the next days weren't actually that bad in Darcy's opinion. Other than screwing the bolts and tightening the edges, the guards practically ignored them. And they were given a small portion of bread. It was stale and moldy, so Darcy made sure to get Ruth the best one before anyone could.
At night, Darcy made sure to sing an old Spartan lullaby for Ruth, it told of happier days, where war was scarce and Spartax wasn't hidden to all. Where the aurora lights glimmered and golden castles reached the clouds. Darcy made an input to add the annoying king, who had once been an obnoxious prince. She sang how it's prosperity was destroyed by a single seed of discord. It had been unlike any language on Earth, simply because the human tongue could not pronounce it. But neither Ruth, Anya, the others or even the guards commented on it, it was a soft flicker of light in this dark world. And in the back of her mind, she heard her Other humming a soft baritone.
As they say, all things good cannot last forever.
(Like Lukas.)
Ruth screamed.
In an instant, Darcy kicked the asshole who dared touched Ruth. She knocked him unconscious and then, the next thing she knew, a bullet tore through her skull. Her body hauled upon a shoulder and dragged into a room.
Ruth cried.
It was the worst thing Darcy had ever heard.
Bucky didn't know what to think of the girl.
Their battle had been lost and the casualties were high, men covered in soot and blood trudged their way towards the compound, guns leading and sweat trailing. Just hours ago they nearly sang praise when the enemies were shot down, that is, until a wave of people, wielding unknown weapons came dashing down the hills like the devil to their victims. His brothers were bound and hoisted upwards, lead to unknown territory. During their journey snow was unkind and many fell due to hypothermia, toes gone blue and teeth chattering in silent prayers.
Then came the camp, it's borders erect with barbed wires, a cage of greys and gunmetal. There was less snow there, more taint. An array of soldiers trotted their way into a dark tunnel, it's obscurity creating suspicion. Metal panels were sharp and jagged, impaled deeply into the stained ground, ready to oppose and defend. It was all rather foreboding and Bucky didn't like the fact that the inside was no better than the outside, cold as shit. It was worse, in a way. How their boots made terrible echoes and every shuffle creaked in animosity. This base was a shell withholding a monster, and his fallen brothers were the food supplying it.
The first couple of days, he'd admit, were bad. Dreadfully so. There was still a severe case of hypothermia, others died of stomach infection and the guards didn't give a crap except when somebody vomited over the cement. At that time, Bucky's fingers had already adjusted to the automatic response of making, cleaning and clearing particles that were given to him. That, or having his ass kicked around. Luckily, he didn't get caught in any fights, that had been more of Steve's thing, and he managed to gain some friends, which was good.
Until, he managed to be like Steve and get into a fight.
With a guard.
That ended well.
Now, he was stuck in yet another cage. There were no blankets or comfort, no food or provision. It didn't even look like one of those standardised cells that Bucky has been in (don't ask), no bars were in one side, only a barricaded door with a small slot so the guards can check in on him. It was an almost complete and utter isolation, Bucky would have slowly learnt about the tortures of isolation if not for the small person at the other end of the room. Shrouded in shadows and huddled beneath a layer of obsidian locks.
Bucky didn't that there were civilians in this compound, he thought it had been a POW camp. No, Bucky knew it was a POW camp, because unless the halls were very soundproof, he couldn't hear the cries or whimpers whenever a guard pulled their trigger. And everything here was looked upon thrice, as if waiting for someone to try and escape only to pound them down by the electricity running through each line. What made things worse was that Bucky isn't good with comforting others and he really didn't want to hear any crying. That was more of Steve's thing, bless his soul, he could make anyone smile if not punch him in the face.
But not comforting the person would make him guilty, unless this was some type of test. Or perhaps and action to try and lure him into a sense of comfort. Maybe it was the food this morning, it did taste more off than usual. Alas, Bucky's sense of morality, driven hard by Steve, overpowered him, and he carefully, hesitantly shuffled closer to the other. He opened his mouth before promptly shutting it, opening it again, only to shut it. Wonderful.
"If you open your mouth all the time, flies will get in," a warm smile, "That's what Papa told me."
Oh, oh hello there.
Not a girl, a woman, who was all curves and lines hidden from her previous position. A woman with badly cropped hair wearing striped pyjamas.
"You speak English?"
"Took a guess."
There was no accent, well, not German at least. The words were carefully pronounced, husk here and there and a slur. Bucky was slightly surprised, many of the guards here retained a harsh accent that sounded like shrapnel in his ears. Though his injury didn't stop, just what was a civilian doing here? Covered in soot and dirt, the blood splatters on her face was extremely discerning.
"Do I look that American?"
"No," she whispered, "The way you were about to roll your tongue, I could tell."
"Roll my tongue?" he smirked, "Never seen a dame so forward."
"Don't flatter yourself."
Bucky huffed a laugh before looking around, "So, isn't isolation supposed to be...isolated?"
"This where they put bodies, I think, pick them up in two weeks time. It can get kind of crowded."
"You're very funny doll."
"You are too soldier."
"This what usually do? Talk to people who are going to die?"
She was silent for awhile, then an (ancient) odd smile formed, "Don't worry, I won't let you die soldier."
Darcy liked the soldier.
Almost as much as she liked Ruth, who she made sure was still in her circle of protection.
The soldier was unlike anyone she had known before. He was relaxed, almost like an Asgardian, except less boastful, closer to a Vanir. He was symmetrically pleasing and did that quirk with his lips that she desperately wanted to learn. It was cool. They didn't talk about themselves, nor what was happening around them. Darcy asked more about cuisines that could be found on Earth as well as beverages. the soldier said 'coffee' once and she could recall drinking it long ago when it was still considered illegal, wondering how much the taste has changed.
Her Other however, hated the soldier. Told Darcy he was a no good mortal that's only going to break her heart. She nearly cackled at that, telling him that she wasn't going to fall in love with a mortal any time soon. Darcy wasn't a fan of physical love, she had a few flings here and there and ones that she truly love. But recently, she only 'court' for fun, to ease the tension. So while the soldier was fairly attractive. She had no interest of pursuing. They continued to talk and talk, not once asking for each other's names. It brought a sense of comfort that she hadn't felt in a long time. The ignorant fact that she'll never know his name without using her powers meant that she'll never know his fate.
Comforting.
"So what's America like? I have been there in the distant past, however I do believe that things have changed."
Darcy had been to America, known by another name, once upon a time. When trees remained untouched and mountains touched blue skies. She remembered green capes and silver wings, of boisterous laughter and mischievous trickery. Her tarnished hands pulling the ground and planting a young sapling, in hopes that one day, it'll canopy the lands from impending doom. She never did get to see it grow. And after those seconds (centuries), Darcy travelled further down south and then further to the East until a small island surrounded by white sand, and underneath it, red fire. She smiled, the world had been much simpler then, discord far from the planet.
"From what I remember, there were many trees."
"There are," the soldier answered, "Though there's less in the heavily populated areas."
"Like York of New?" Darcy blurted, she had read it once in a German newspaper. A reporter had visited the city, stating how it was bustling and very different from those of Europe. There accents did not withhold the British's cultured accent or the slight uplift in an Australian's. There was a slang, evident in the soldier's voice, though she had read that some were thicker than other's. It had been all very interesting. Despite going through different multiverses, Darcy made sure to never forget that one world will always be different than the rest, even with prominent similarities. It was similar to putting bookmarks in a book, forget the res and find the bookmark, than start anew and continue it from there. If not, Darcy (stable, the rock) would've either been too insane or too bitter, something that her Other didn't need. She guessed, that's why her Father allowed this.
"You mean New York?"
Darcy chuckled, "I'm a very forgetful person."
"That's odd, you don't seem like it."
"I was born to forget buddy."
It was eery, and made everything uncomfortable. Darcy berated herself at doing so, it had gone all so well until now. She sighed, "The doctors said Anterograde Amnesia, I called bullshit. Cause yeah, I forget a lot but I can still remember, sometimes. This is getting too sappy. Enough about me, what about you? New York? And diseases I should be aware of? An attractive guy like you would surely be sleeping around."
He rolled his eyes, sarcasm dripping in his next words, "I appreciate the flattery. All I've got is a bad knee. My pal back home though," the soldier paused. A distant look overwhelming his features, "He's always sick. One time, through a bad winter I though he wouldn't of made it. We live in Brooklyn ya' see?" deliberately making his accent thicker, "And not a nice neighbourhood. When those rich bastards were grubbing money, we were scraping food. And not a lot of people liked dirt runts all around. Huh, we got into a lot of fights, my pal would always be the one to start them. Pickin' on people twice the size, before I left he was getting beatin' down. Had to go save 'em, that punk."
"He sounds like a great guy, I'd like to meet him one day."
"Yeah, yeah he is."
"You love him," there was no judgement in her tone. Darcy knew of love, it was a beautiful thing capable to tear the strongest of beings apart.
The soldier shook his head, lips tilting and eyes closed, "It's deeper than that."
He laughed, "Sorry, I'm talking nonsense―"
"You're not. I actually understand. The feelings you have, it doesn't require sexual pleasures for contentment. There is a mutual understanding, not in the way of a lover's physical anticipation or a family's emotion concern. But balance. You two are one and the same, two sides of a whole, sun and moon. You two are..."
(Soulmates.)
The soldier frowned, "Who was the one that broke your heart doll?"
"Nobody. I broke mine."
Far too many times.
"Do you have special people?"
"What?" Darcy blinked.
The soldier grinned, "Someone you care about."
A lover, brother, sister, mother. Too many to count, and as time clawed to their decay, many were dead. She had loved them, incredibly so. But the short lives of mortals were unpredictable. And many moments has her Other claimed that she gave away too easily. Darcy wore heart on her her sleeve. Love fascinated her, it was a contrast to her Other's realistic point of view. Darcy cared for many things; balance, universe, animals. Most of them are at a global capacity. She liked mortals, but didn't necessarily meant she considered herself as one. There will always be a thin line that she'll never be able to to cross. And caring for someone was a whole different matter all together. Her Other didn't actually count, because while she can view him as her brother, he'll never be just that. They were one and the same. Then there was Father, a dick at times. He was too focused on everything else and Darcy ever wondered if he forgot he had a daughter.
Asshole.
Not that Darcy could blame him, trying to maintain existence here and there.
But still, asshole.
Then there's sweet Ruth, who she has gotten quite close to. Maybe it's because Darcy has an affinity with vulnerable things, or maybe it's because she sought comfort. Ruth provided her with a sense of familiarity that Darcy could consider home. It was as if she felt a delegation to protect Ruth, not only as a promise but as a duty. Darcy came to genuinely liked the girl, but she knew that she liked people far too easily. Or perhaps it was because Darcy knew of what will happen to Ruth's family. Their are countless of possibilities, and the multiverse is endless, a never ending ripple. But here, in this world, all of the outcomes showed Ruth's parents dead, and her brother either dying with them, or Ruth dying and her brother living. There was also the one where they both live but will never meet until it's too late. A harsh tragedy known just by names, an ability that Darcy didn't know whether to hate or cherish. In the end, Ruth is merely a mortal and no doubt, she'll leave Darcy.
Just like everyone else.
"Ouch!" Darcy held her forehead, feeling a small flick, "What was that for?"
"You were sulking," the soldier had an easy going smile. And Darcy envied that. When she smiled, everyone would have an uncomfortable twitch. Too many times have she been commented for her old eyes misplaced on her youthful face. Due to her young appearance she was always underestimated and Darcy didn't understand mortals, they judged experience by age. But you didn't have to be old to be wise. The new generation faces the battered bigotry created by the old, affecting them far worse than those previously. Smiling had never been Darcy's 'thing', she would come off as one 'beyond' her 'age'. Too enigmatic, they'd say, kill her, another would scream. And for a fraction of a second, Darcy almost didn't know how to reply. Only the sound of dripping water broke her out of that trance.
She narrowed her eyes, lifting her lips slightly, controlled and careful, "A lot of people claim that I'm too morose for my own good."
He didn't laugh this time, an almost unreadable expression etched on his face. Darcy knew he saw what the others did, but no comment was made. And then she took the deliberation of telling about Ruth, she had a feeling he'll understand. She told him of tales of pink dresses and white roses, walking down the streets of Berlin with bread in their arms. How Ruth's brother would follow them, albeit discreetly, and sometimes Darcy would worry that the two siblings weren't spending enough time with people tier age. But they had been lovely children, wonderful even. They'd go to the cafe at the end of the road, passing a music shop with beautiful classical music, those were the times she enjoyed the most. Darcy whispered how she was afraid that one day, the auburn hair girl will leave her and if she gets too close it'll hurt far too much for her to bear. And it turns out, he did understand.
He told her of Rebecca, his sister livid far across the sea. A tomboy, he'd describe, with short hair and clothes that hid her feminine figure. That was when she was young, and as they grew up, her hair grew longer and she took the time to out her loves into pretty pin curls. Clothes far to wide were exchanged to floral dresses and cherry lipsticks. Walking with grace and epitome, making shy eye contact with the boy across the street. The soldier claimed that he was afraid as well. That when he comes back, he'll be to far gone for her to recognise him. War did that to people, they clawed out all the morals and drove insanity into one's mind. He knew that Rebecca was a beautiful dame, and a man was bound to marry her. But the soldier muttered that she'll fall in love without her brother being there to protect her and that he'll miss all of the things he should be there for.
"They grow up so fast."
Darcy thought the two siblings, and in another time, of a little boy who lost his father due to dignity. In another world, she saw students wearing mantles and holding weapons, head held high and fingers shaking.
"They do."
And then came the question. They had gotten close and spoke of more personal things. They seeked comfort from each other, it wasn't sexual though Darcy found a certain attraction towards him. When her other found out he hadn't ben very happy, not that she cared. Then came the question―and no, it was not the asking of names. Oddly enough, the topic hadn't come up once. He was simply known as 'soldier' and she as 'doll'. No, this question was far worse and Darcy was debating whether she should answer or not.
"Why are you here anyway?"
Just like multiple universes, there are numerous answers. From, why Darcy is here on Earth, which is for her own selfish pleasure. Or why Darcy protecting Ruth in here, it's because survival rate is much higher here than the other camp. Then there's: why Darcy the Jew is here. And that's because of pride and discrimination. Such an ugly thing. However, no matter how despicable, it had been something she was accustomed to. Wars have been raged, blood shed. She knew that the soldier was familiar with prejudice, who wasn't. Earth's history wasn't exactly foreign to that custom. They weren't, by far the worst in the galaxy. But their close mindedness made them close to it, especially in the past where children were killed and beaten just because they were born. Well, there's no point in coddling.
"It's because I'm a Jew."
(Once, twice, thrice-too many times, yet nothing compared to those who had suffered.)
"What? What do you mean it's because you are a Jew?" there was disbelief in his tone but they both knew what he was thinking of.
"In this facility there are a couple of women brought from the camp, forced to help with the development of weapons because our hands are small and nimble. In the camp there are thousands of us, Jewish, Gypsies, gays, deformed, all wearing these ugly uniforms a big coloured star to identify us with. We're whatever's left from ghetto. Ain't a nice place, but there was this pianist that played nice music. It was only a shadow of what we once knew as home, but far better than the camp. There, we're no better than animals. Marked, beaten, and when we loose our value, gassed."
"Jesus, when did this happen?"
"Long before you've arrived."
For millenniums before fate decided to make you exist. Before the big bang created the galaxy once more, before the bug man in purple suffered from hunger. It was one of the ugly aspects of reality that Darcy will forever hate.
"That's-that's horrible."
"Yeah. I guess it is."
Days had passed and the soldier was getting worse. Skin a terrible parlour, eyes painted black and hair grimy.
On colder nights, Darcy made sure to embrace him and whisper sweet nothings, making sure that his life force did not dwindle, careful to never touch his skin. So Darcy made sure his hands were warm, heart still beating and lips red. Without his knowledge, she made sure that hunger would not thaw his stomach and thirst dry his lips. Though it caused a delirious affect, whenever Darcy used her powers on mortals, it was far too beyond for their mind, putting them in a state of high. Too much, and she'll accidentally smite them off existence. Easing the pain, she tried to sing a soft song, one that she often sang to Ruth.
"St've," he rasped, "'M scared."
"Hush, everything will be alright soldier."
Cosmic energy never ended good when twisted with human biology. And without the full extent of her power, she was just that, an alien. Not something beyond that, not all powerful-no, that was her Other. She was only the physical embodiment and if Darcy flashed her eyes, then she'll see who the soldier really is and make judgement. And that can either end up very well or deadly. Instead, she etched as the soldier cried, holding his hand and kept on singing. In the back of her mind, whispering a praise to her Father to keep dear Ruth safe.
Then the others came, dragging the soldier away to the left while hauling her to the right.
Darcy was strapped down, a man in red lining cutting her flesh and dissecting her organs. It would've hurt if she hadn't experienced a similar situation not so long ago. She only bit her lip, hearing her other scream and slowing her heartbeat.
The next time she woke up, she was back where she started, piles of bodies surrounded her.
Not an hour later.
Everything was set on fire.
The third time Darcy awoke, she was outside in the snow. Covered in ash and soot, but all she could think of was: Ruth.
Her shoulders ached and back cracked. She was naked and her feet sank into the snow. Darcy snapped her fingers, cleaning herself and exchanging her nudity for clothes. Walking forwards, she waved her wrist and the mimic of a Xandarian building during the archaic periods, was gone.
Only ashes was left.
A part of her panic, until her eyes flashed and she reached out for the one hundred ninety nine, nine hundred and ninth nine strings. Picking that small strand, insignificant in contrast to the bright reds and blues. Darcy tugged pulled and―
Smiled.
Far away, Ruth was still in her circle of protection. The others with her as they, and a group of allied men made their way towards Italy.
She's alive and will be, for a good long human years.
'Are you satisfied?'
'Yes, yes I am.'
Ruth Eisenhardt bit her lips.
They had stopped after a while and were now setting camp.
A group of soldiers and women with one child was saved by a single man in blue, white and red. Shield singing and broad shoulders an unmovable mountain. It had all been so unreal, and never once in her life had Ruth felt relief. Though she was supposed to be happy, didn't mean she is. Her parents were still at camp, or probably dead and Darcy, Darcy was shot because of her. Ruth hitched a breath, trying to hold in the sob, not wanting to dampen the mood. But there had been so much blood and Ruth had cried for days, quietly, by the corner, murmuring silent prayers that Darcy is resting in peace. She was doing that now, the words a quick murmur, head bowed and shoulders hunched. From the violence displayed, Ruth knew the world was cruel, doesn't mean he has to like it.
"Hey, do you want some crackers?"
Ruth blinked and saw the Aryan―no, American, handing her a box of stale Austrian made crackers. She shook her head, "Nein."
"Do you speak English?"
"Yes," her father had liked America and thought that one day, they'll move there permanently. Land of opportunity and freedom, "Only bit. Not dat vell."
"I'm Steve," he offered a kind smile. Much difference than her brother's grimace and Darcy's unusual tilt. In fact, if anything, it was most similar to her mother's since father's was much too boisterous. In all honesty, Ruth didn't want to start up a conversation. But her mother told her that it was common courtesy to introduce oneself.
"Ruth? That's a pretty name."
"Danke," she paused, "Before, did you fine uh...another woman?"
He carefully chose his answer, "No, why is that?"
She blinked back her hazy eyes,"Nein. It is nothing."
Steve pulled her into a hug, "Hey, everything's going to be alright."
For the first time since Darcy died.
Ruth cried.
.
.
.
.
Humans are so complex.
AN: Hope it's good!
Here are some facts:
Living Tribunal: Technically like supreme judge of the multiverse, big golden dude with a purple cloth over his head.
Xandar: Home to Xandarians, birthplace of the Nova Corps (Guardians of the Galaxy).
Spartax: Home to humanoid race called Spartoi (Guardians of the Galaxy).
TRIVIA
Greta and Marlene: Are Greta and Marlene Erskine, that's right, Dr. Abraham Erskine's wife and daughter. My headcanon is that they weren't killed instantly because HYDRA wanted to use them as leverage in case they ever recapture Erskine. After his death, they were left in the concentration camps.
Rebecca: Is Bucky's sister.