Consciousness slowly crept up on Darcy. She rose through a thick fog in slow motion, floating, but being pushed down. Lungs on fire, she struggled, unsure which way was up but pushing onwards in the hopes of finding air. She slowly became aware of someone crying out, keening and constant. It was loud and hurt her ears.
She tried to lift her hands to cover them, but couldn't. She was muddled and held down, weight without form keeping her immobile.
Her eyes flew wide open, and somehow still felt like she was unconscious and dreaming. The world around her was in slow motion, greyscale and out of focus, the people walking by, reaching for her, passing in the distance, all too blurry to make out.
Until it wasn't, and suddenly, haltingly, everything came into sharp focus. Any sense of understanding evaporated, and all that remained was fear, and pain.
There were no familiar faces, only people in scrubs and lab coats. Hospital staff bustling around but not near her. The bright lights above her flickered and burned her eyes even when she squeezed them shut to try and sink back into unconsciousness.
A sob escaped her. She couldn't hear any of the voices she had fallen asleep to. Where was everyone? Another cry followed, and another, until she was weeping uncontrollably.
Her body burned. Everywhere. Pain without a source ran through her body like blood.
The sharp and constant ache in her shoulder hurt the worst, sending pounding waves of agony into the base of her brain. She felt incredibly nauseous. Her leg, which she saw but didn't truly register, was covered in a bright orange cast from toe to hip, with a large cut up both of the sides, like the cast wasn't quite closed. Her face was covered with a thick gauze - it was claustrophobic, smothering - and her neck...there was something wrapped around her neck, and she couldn't breathe and she was suffocating, and…
"Okay, sweetie. I know you are hurting - I know," an older nurse with a kind voice, someone she didn't know, someone that didn't register. "You are in recovery right now. You've just gotten out of surgery and I'm going to help you with the pain. I know it hurts right now. How are you feeling? Can you give me a number between one and ten, ten being the worst pain?"
The nurse held a syringe close to the IV on Darcy's arm.
"Te.. ten," Darcy croaked, crying, eyes wide and tears streaming down her cheeks. "Ten, God, TEN!" She whimpered, "It hurts - please, it hurts!" Darcy gasped, her chest aching as a sob forced its way out of her, small voice cracking. Her voice was almost inaudible - she was pushing words out, but barely any sound was coming out.
The pain overwhelmed her, her hip throbbing, the bright lights burning her eyes, cruelly reminding her that light hurt. Craving the safety that came from the dark, needing to distance herself again from the hurt, she closed her eyes tightly, desperate to shut out the pain. She couldn't curl in - she couldn't move. Her casted leg felt like a dead weight, holding her down. It felt as if she were still in chains...
She began shaking.
"Okay, you're going to be fine," the nurse comforted gently. "I know it hurts, but I'm going to make it better. This is going to help." The nurse pushed the plunger, sending something down the IV tube, and kept talking to her soothingly.
Two sets of footsteps made their way to the side of the bed, a whispered conversation coming to an end. "Thank you, doctor," Natasha said as she came close, and the doctor stepped away, the rustling of metal rings shifting above Darcy's bed, the curtain opening and then being closed behind her.
"Natalia." A deep, male voice from behind Darcy's head. Darcy settled immediately. She hadn't been left alone. She was being guarded.
"James," Natasha replied, exhaustion evident as she sunk into a chair perhaps a little less gracefully than usual. No further words were spoken between the two, but in that moment, Darcy was so grateful for their presence, reminding her and surprising her yet again, that she wasn't alone like she thought. It felt like a comfort, like a warm blanket wrapping around her heart, relaxing the pain in her lungs and chest, easing tension from her shoulders. She felt herself calm down, felt her breathing become easier, deeper and more even. The weight of the drugs taking over, she felt heat flooding her veins, a foggy thickness pulling at the corners of her mind, pulling her down, down, down...
The chair beside her squeaked against the tile floor as the nurse stood. "I'll be around the corner - just over there - if she wakes up again," a gentleness in her voice.
Darcy felt a rustling of movement next to her, and heard a chair being slid closer to the bed, before a small hand settled gently in her hair, fingers carefully working through her tangled locks...
"The doctors say that she'll sleep for a while," Natasha's murmured voice was soft and muddled, like a mother's murmuring comfort to her child, as she spoke over Darcy to Bucky. Darcy relaxed further as Natasha talked, and listened as Bucky responded, but Darcy didn't know what either had said. She didn't care. His voice was gentle and deep, and she let their voices lull over and soothe her. Somewhere between the soft, murmured conversation, and the gentle fingers in her hair, Darcy let go.
She felt heavy as a warmness spread over her chest, her body finally giving in and she fell into oblivion, momentarily away from the hurt and pain.
Something was pulling on the bandage on her face, and it discomforted her. She grunted, trying to swipe at the movement. A metal hand gently grabbed her wrist and held on, holding her away to keep her from touching her cheek. She fought weakly against the hand holding her down, but it didn't budge. Another hand was laid on her cheek - the one that wasn't bandaged up, a warm, human hand, and her body betrayed her by leaning towards the warmth.
"...just need to let the nurse change this bandage, doll," he said. "I know it hurts - it'll be quick. Sleep, Darce..."
"...please don't leave...," Darcy whimpered brokenly, clinging now to his metal hand - to it, to him - both a familiar presence - his presence. She wouldn't forget, ever, that he had been the one to find her.
Gripping his metal arm tightly, his presence offered safety and the reminder that she wasn't by herself, that she wasn't alone in this. He wouldn't let anything happen to her under his watch.
"Doll, I'm not going anywhere," he promised gruffly.
Sleep was once again taking over, and Darcy relaxed into it, eventually allowing him to gently set her hands back down to her stomach when she was finally too far gone. He didn't let go of her, though. He simply rested his metal hand atop hers, unmoving, keeping her safe. She felt the covers pulled up and tucked under her chin, and felt his other hand softly caressing her hair, soothing her until she knew no more.
Every moment she was awake enough to see the light, feel hands on her, struggle and fail to move away, tension and nausea sank their teeth into her.
Darcy had woken several times over the past few hours, coming in and out of consciousness as they worked on her. The drugs they gave her were helping in waves, at times rolling high enough to drown out the agony her body felt, and at times falling low, so she would edge to consciousness, pain causing her to groan and shift, irritating her already agonizing hurts and causing them to raise the dosage again to drown the pain again.
As she woke again, she didn't want to hear the words they were saying, didn't want to really think on it or remember it or acknowledge it. It took effort to block their words out, energy that she didn't currently possess. Darcy dug deep. She focused on the sounds around her, the wheels to the bed under her, squeaking gently as she was pushed down the hall. Her stomach churned, queasy from the flashing lights and the sharp movements. Her eyes squeezed shut.
She heard the beeping sounds from machines going off in rooms around her. The scratch of pen to paper as someone took notes. The atmosphere was cold and the air smelled of a harsh disinfectant. She heard the rustling of sheets being gathered around her as her warm covers were lifted and cold fingers began prodding her, voices around her methodical and asking more questions that Natasha and Tony took turns answering steadily.
Darcy tuned out. She was able to ignore the words finally, hearing only the sounds of voices, letting them pass her by without seeping in.
She was so tired.
Steve's voice cut through her quiet haze above her, low and commanding, as he responded to the doctor's question on explaining how she had been found. She tried to ignore him, but she couldn't. She was forced to listen as he began describing the room she'd been in, the state they found her in, talking about how scared she had been and how she had flinched away from him, them… his voice hitched slightly but he carried on. His hands moved, growing more agitated, his eyes worriedly glancing back at Darcy as he spoke, and he took a few steps away from her as he continued to speak with the doctor.
Bucky, the one who had found her, remained calmly beside her. He had yet to truly speak to her, other than a few comforting moments in her panic or pain, to calm her down. He didn't speak up or answer questions that were asked of the group - Steve was taking care of what needed to be taken care of in that department, anyway.
His steady presence near her, guarding her, perhaps, may have been the only thing keeping Darcy down at the moment. Natasha had come in once or twice, and Bucky had spoken with her - sometimes switching from English to Russian, and then back to English as if both momentarily forgot where they were, or what time they were in. Darcy found both of their presences strangely comforting, even if she couldn't focus on their words due to the pain, or in the moments where they were speaking Russian and Darcy couldn't understand even if she wanted. She still was pretty sure she didn't want to be touched - at times, it felt like any touch at all would absolutely be too much for her to handle, that she would 100% flip the fuck out if anyone tried to come near her with a hand. Other times, like when Natasha had combed Darcy's hair with her fingers, or Bucky caressing her cheek right before sleep took over - she found that she not only craved that touch, she felt as if she needed it and would die without it.
It was very confusing, and conflicting, and she didn't understand it at all. Everything felt too big to put any real thought to. Labelling emotion felt like trying to find a needle in a canyon. She couldn't see big picture and she certainly couldn't focus on small picture. She was overwhelmed, and couldn't get a grasp on anything. Not on what she was feeling or how she was feeling, what she wanted or didn't want. What she needed or what she craved. She could only feel overwhelming distraught.
The fight or flight response thrummed deep within her and it was all she could do to remain on the bed. Her limbs were heavy and she wasn't sure she could actually lift her head off the pillow, but she was thinking about it. It really wouldn't take much to just sit up and shift off the bed. Just a few steps and she'd be outside, breathing in the outside air for the first time in what seemed like too long. She imagined the bright blue, cloudy skies above her and dreamed of breathing in fresh, crisp air. She could almost feel the wind on her face, could almost feel the warmth of the sun on her skin. She wanted it - no, needed it - so badly. It felt like freedom to her, and she wanted to run towards it and never look back.
Never wanted to get too closely to her current present, ever again. She wanted to run away and to keep running, away from the uncertainty, the oblivion, the horror and cruelty. She didn't want to need the few comforting touches from her heroes to keep her settled, to keep her grounded. She wanted to resist them, to never be touched again. And yet… a deep longing settled in her gut at the thought of never wanting touch again.
Bucky's right hand - his warm hand - remained in her hair, his thumb occasionally caressing her forehead, and again - at this moment - she found that it helped settle her. It calmed her. She didn't dare lean into the hand, but she didn't shy away from it. It kept her in the bed. His even, steady pressure against her forehead reminded her that she wasn't alone and had nothing to fear. It helped keep the anxiety and fear from crashing against her.
She knew she should feel afraid. She knew she was afraid.
But she felt small and was so tired.
"I'm gonna go grab us some coffee," Clint murmured to Natasha, upset and needing some time to regroup. Darcy hadn't realized Clint had even been there. She was having a difficult time staying present, staying focused. She heard him say, "be right back," and then he was gone again.
She drifted in the clouds. A long time passed, or perhaps a short time - Darcy couldn't keep track. Hours passed, and hospital staff came and went - sometimes poking her, sometimes moving her limbs, sometimes just coming in and having a chat - conversations that Darcy found impossible to try and keep up with, it was all a confusing, thick haze - until Natasha repeated something to Darcy, clearly trying to get Darcy to focus in, "We'll be right here, Darcy, when you get out."
Darcy felt confused. Where was she going?
Her friends were hovering around her. She felt them move around her. Heard them shuffle. Were they leaving her? Darcy struggled to keep up, to latch onto the conversation around her.
An orderly came behind her and began pushing her gurney through a set of heavy double doors.
Darcy didn't want to go.
"Where… what? No!" She whispered suddenly, her voice nothing more than a wheeze. "No, stop. STOP," her voice was so weak - she had no voice. Her eyes popped open as she struggled valiantly against the drugs trying to keep her down.
Natasha looked very sad. Tony looked down at his phone, as if it contained some answer to solve this. His brow furrowed and he fidgeted unhappily.
"Wait, what's happening? Where am I going?"
Natasha stepped in close, steady eyes comforting her. "Darcy, you have a small complication with your hip and the doctors need to take you back to surgery for a quick procedure to fix it. You won't be gone for more than an hour or two."
Darcy began begging, feeling out of control as terror rose up within her, choking her, for them to not make her go, to not leave her. "I don't want to, please. I don't want to go. Please… Please…" She mouthed, her voice offering no help to her. "No, I want to leave. I want to go home now. Please don't make me."
She couldn't go. Her casted leg felt as if it were weighed down with bricks. Why couldn't she move? She tried to move her other knee up so she could climb off the bed. But her leg wouldn't move. She was confused. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't swallow. Her head pounded. She clawed at the bed, weak, yet determined.
Steve looked like someone had punched him in the gut. He walked towards her and reached out as if to comfort her. "Darcy," he said softly, brokenly.
She flinched. She couldn't help it. She hadn't even thought, her body just reacted. It was just Steve, her mind reassured. You like Steve. Steve is nice and safe. He's Captain America. But still, she hesitated. Her body grew tense, still leaning away from him. He withdrew, his quick reflexes making the movement seem purposeful, a devastated frown settling on his face. He glanced over to Bucky, conflicted.
Bucky nodded at him, and that was all Steve seemed to need. He returned the nod, and looked back down at her.
"Darcy, you are safe," Steve told her softly, stepping close. His solid build created a small shadow over her, that sent a shiver down her spine.
"I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you again, ever." His voice and expression were honest, and part of her yearned to believe him. But how could he promise that? Everything that had happened to her...he hadn't been able to stop that.
Steve took a solid breath and let it out. "I'm gonna touch your arm, okay? That's all. Tell me if you want me to stop, and I will stop."
Her breath hitched. She froze, unable to nod or shake her head no. It was too complicated, what he was asking, and she didn't know... she was just unsure...
He reached towards Darcy again, slowly, watching her face as he leaned over, laying his hand on Darcy's arm, gently but holding her still nonetheless. Darcy reflexively pulled against him, as if burned. She yanked, but her body was so against her. Weak and useless. She felt out of control. This was just like the room. What she wanted didn't matter. She wasn't in charge. They left her to bleed out, in pain, when they wanted. This was just like that. She had no say. They were going to do to her what they wanted, and she didn't get a say.
A broken sob escaped her. She flinched away from Steve, trying to escape him, pulling away to the other side of the gurney. "Don't touch me, stop," she whispered brokenly, achingly.
Steve immediately let go of her, his face sad, but not disappointed. He left his hands hovering nearby, to stop her again if she tried to move. He wasn't threatening at all, he had tried to offer comfort - but Darcy felt fear. Steve wouldn't hurt a fly - he was gentle and kind and helpful but… he was still a man. He most likely had manly urges. He wouldn't hurt her, she did know this, somewhere, inside. But she didn't want to trust him. He was a superman. He could hurt her if he wanted to, and she had no power or control to stop him. The loss of control weighed heavily within her. She trembled, curling into herself, cringing away from Steve and everyone else around her.
She was terrified and out of control. Terrified of her friends. Because they were all people. Men, like the men who had hurt her. Those men had taught her that all men had the ability to hurt her, and that if they wanted it, she couldn't stop it. Her NO didn't mean a damn thing. They took her voice.
All Darcy had was her voice. And that is how they broke her. And that is why she didn't want to think about it, or remember it. And now, she needed her voice back, she needed control… and her friends were taking it from her.
She didn't think these men in front of her would hurt her, but she didn't trust them enough that they wouldn't - because they could. If they wanted. And she was helpless to fight back.
And again, they - someone else - was taking away her choice. She was saying no. She had said no all along. And those men had ignored her, and these men were ignoring her now.
It crushed her. It broke her. Her expression crumbled.
And Darcy completely melted down.
The Darcy from long ago would have slapped herself upside the head for throwing such a tantrum, for crying in front of people.
Darcy wasn't the kind of girl who cried.
She definitely didn't cry in front of others. She had the 'buck up and chin up' mentality, when life gave her lemons. She made fucking lemonade and to hell with it all. She was the kind of girl who defended the girl who cried.
Darcy was horrified at her own terror and her inability to control the outpouring of fear and emotion. She couldn't stop. It trickled out of her, like water pushing and gushing out along the cracks of a dam, breaking down the barrier until every resistance crumbled. Cold fright held her on a precipice and her hands clenched on the sheet covering her, knuckles turning white from her tight grasp.
Tony looked panicked. He looked right and left, as if he didn't know what the appropriate next step was. It was very strange to witness - he usually was the man of action. Shifting from one task to the next, multi-tasking at a level no one else could keep up with. And yet, here he stood, dumbfounded.
An orderly came in to move Darcy to surgery. He was a young man, looked barely eighteen, with bright green eyes, and piercings covering both ears. He unlocked the bed at both ends and began pulling the bed towards the door.
"Wait," Steve said, yanking on the gurney, causing it to jerk to a forceful halt. "She's not ready. Give her god-damn minute." The orderly looked terrified and took two steps back, hands coming up in front of him.
"Steve," Tony started softly, his skin pale and clammy. He looked nauseous, as the day's stress caught up to his body. "She has to go, even if she doesn't want to. You know it."
Steve's jaw clenched.
Darcy hated Tony in that moment. There was violence in her heart, and it burned her. She would never forgive him. She wanted to glare and scream at the injustice, but she was too torn apart. Tears streamed down her face, wet drops falling to her hands, her covers - soaking her. She laid there and wept. She just... couldn't anymore.
"I know, kiddo," Tony comforted, his voice hoarse and full of sadness. "I'm sorry."
"I'm going to be sick," Darcy said suddenly whimpered through the tears, sitting up despite the sharp and horrific pain, and before she could lean over the bed, Natasha thrust a small bucket in front of her. She vomited. Oh, it burned so much.
She hadn't eaten much in weeks. She was dehydrated. She dry heaved some more, and it hurt. She was sick until her stomach cramped. When she was finished, she coughed. Her lungs were full of fluid and made a crackling sound as she exhaled. Between the burning in her throat and the noises from her lungs, she felt for a moment like a fire trying to catch, like if she could summon just a spark more, she would burst into flame and consume herself.
Tony grabbed a rag from somewhere. It was warm and damp. He started to lean towards Darcy, to help her and Darcy groaned and tried to shrink away. Natasha took it from him, and lifted it towards her face, washing her, helping her. Darcy didn't fight her, allowing it, feeling less flighty with Natasha than she had with Tony. Darcy was weak, even attempting to reach for the rag herself - to take over for Natasha, to do for herself - was too difficult. Her hand fell to the bed. Tony took the bucket from her and walked to the side of the room to dispose of it.
Natasha gently wiped her cheek with it and then her hands. The rag was warm, and although Darcy felt the heat against her skin as she gently cleaned her skin, all she felt was clammy fear. She looked down at her arm, and noticed how her skin looked almost translucent with her veins showing through as if someone had taken a marker to her, drawing lines up and down her arms. Tears coursed down her cheeks, eyes flooded.
Bucky stepped up beside Natasha.
"Give me a clean rag," he requested softly. Tony handed him a clean one, taking the dirty one from Natasha to dispose of.
Bucky put the rag to her forehead, gently wiping the sweat from her clammy skin. His face gave nothing away. His eyes were kind, but his jaw was set. She looked up at Steve. Steve looked devastated, but held her gaze. He had another rag in his hands and was wetting them in the sink. He walked over to Darcy and set the rag on her lips. They were cracked and bleeding, and she was so very thirsty. He squeezed the clean rag, and water drops gently fell through Darcy's lips, wetting her mouth. She sucked the rag, letting the coolness in it give her a momentary relief. When the rag was dry, he took it from her and set it back in the sink.
"More?" he asked her.
She shook her head.
Bucky was wiping behind her ears now, comfortingly. Steve's arms crossed as he looked down at Darcy, different emotions flickering across his face. Sadness, despair, a loss of control...
"Please, Steve, don't make me go…" she pleaded, her voice a crackled mess as she pushed the words out of her straining throat.
She started crying when he looked away, crushed, and then refused to meet her eye again, unable to answer her. Darcy looked around to the others in the room, and no one would meet her eye. No one had seen her cry before, and they were obviously uncomfortable.
She turned to Bucky, to beg him. He had been guarding her - he was on her side.
"Please, Bucky - I can't go, you... you can't make me," tears streamed down her cheeks, burning the flayed skin on her cheek. "I can't go by myself, I won't do it." She began struggling to get off the bed, making it so far as to roll precariously near the edge.
"Easy," Bucky tutted softly as he pulled her lightly back into the bed, his voice low and soothing. Steve moved near her feet, hands untucked again as if he was cautiously waiting to see if he would have to grab her quickly or not.
Bucky stretched across her abdomen and leaned over her then, his metal hand going across the bed to land on the bar opposite of Darcy. His chest wasn't four inches from her own. Darcy stilled immediately, shrinking into the bed, cringing and pulling her body tightly into her, making herself as small as she could.
"Barnes," Tony warned tightly, "you are scaring her."
Bucky didn't even blink. He just looked deeply into Darcy's eyes, taking in her panic and fear, and gazed back at her, calmly and full of compassionate understanding. He remained steady.
Steve gave Tony a quick shake, no - don't interrupt - but didn't say anything to him. Natasha stepped over to Tony, putting a hand on his arm, giving him pause.
"Darcy," Bucky said calmly after a long moment, his voice catching her by surprise even though she had been waiting on it and expecting it.
"You have to go into surgery. You have to do this - your body needs to heal."
Darcy crumbled and whimpered.
"You'll be fine, doll. They're going to fix you right up, I promise. But you have to go. I'm sorry, it's just not an option for you not to go in, darlin." He gently swept a wisp of hair from her cheek. "I know we've been riding you all day, staying on your case since we picked you up, taking away your control of this situation. You are doing good, doll. So good. Bein' so brave. You are so strong. You keep on bein' brave just a bit longer. I know this is hard. This is so unbelievably hard. But look at me."
Darcy glanced up at him, a tear leaking down her cheek, her shoulders tightening up, tense and painful.
"You are not alone. We've got you. You just keep bein' brave - just a little while longer - and let us take care of the rest."
Steve laid a hand on Bucky, and Bucky glanced over to him. Steve gave him a small, lopsided smile. Bucky's eyes softened.
He met Darcy's gaze one last time before stepping away. Darcy's eyes flitted to his metal arm moving away from her, her shoulders easing as he stepped away.
When he moved away from the bed again moments later, Darcy weakly sobbed. She wasn't brave. She hadn't been brave at all. She'd been scared and belittled. Tortured and tormented. But his words echoed and she took a jilted breath.
"That's good, Darce," Steve said, stepping into the space that Bucky had been previously occupying - the Cap in him now leading, confident and sure.
"Take another," he instructed. "Like this," and he demonstrated, filling his lungs with air and then slowly, breathing out.
Darcy tried to inhale, but it came out as a gasp. "That's good, sweetheart," Steve said. "Try again."
Sweetheart, huh. That was new, Darcy thought. It shook her out of her terror a bit, and allowed herself to relax even more, ever so slightly.
This time, Darcy was able to pull air into her lungs. She inhaled sharply, and exhaled shakily.
"Good, Darcy. That's real good," Steve said gently. "Deep breaths, now."
Natasha nodded at the terrified orderly, and gestured for him to take control of the transport again. The orderly came up behind them and began pushing the bed again, giving cautious glances to the Avengers present, almost making it through the double doors for the second time, when Darcy went into full panic.
The door.
She absolutely could not go through the door.
Her fear completely revolved around that damn door.
Bad things were on the other side of the door. Of doors. All doors.
Doors were terrifying.
She shot up, her body arched against the bed, and she couldn't go, she wouldn't.
Bucky and Steve grabbed at her quickly from both sides, and firmly pushed her back into the bed. Gently, but she was weak against them, casted and bandaged - weighed down.
She was again being held down against her will. They had to know how this hurt her. And yet, they kept doing it.
"NO," she screamed, her voice shrill and violent as she bucked unconsciously against them. "Please don't, please no, I'll be good, I can be so good for you - I don't want to go, please… I'll be good," she wept.
Everyone startled at that, Steve let go of Darcy as if he'd been burned, a look of absolute horror and devastation on his face. Darcy shook with wide eyes, refusing to meet their eyes, refusing to see how he saw her.
Bucky didn't let go, though. He was currently the only one now keeping her in the bed. She'd most definitely go over the side had he not kept a tight grasp on her. His hands moved from her shoulder to against her arm, holding on to her instead of holding her down. She trembled but didn't yank away.
"Darcy, we will all be here, the whole time." Steve solemnly promised in his best Captain voice, his voice low and authoritative. He looked pained. "We won't leave you." He gentled, "Sweetheart, I swear..."
"You are good, " Nat swore, her voice cracking just slightly as she interrupted - her solid emotional armor buckling under the stress. "I promise, Koyotak, you are so good."
"I can be good," she mumbled, crying. "I can be good. I don't want to go. Please, please..."
"Darcy, doll," Bucky spoke, low and comforting. "You are being so good. You are good. Let us take care of you, doll."
"We won't leave without you, Darce," Tony promised. "We'll stay the whole time."
"You will all need to wait in the waiting room," the nurse pointed down the hallway to the left, having come in after hearing the commotion. "Orderly, let's get her to surgery."
Darcy reached out and grabbed onto Bucky, tightly, to try use him as leverage to climb off the bed again, common sense and rationality completely failing her. She had to leave, she had to go.
Steve's hands reached up and grabbed her wrists, over her bandages, pinning her back down to the bed. Darcy bucked violently on the bed, mouth falling open in agony as pain erupted around her as her body flailed. Her mouth stayed in a silent scream and she couldn't breathe, she couldn't inhale - oh God, oh God, she wanted to die. It was all too much.
"Darcy, love, calm down," Steve commanded. "You're safe, doll. We've got you. Breathe, Darcy. Breathe."
"Sedate her," Bucky suggested tightly, the dark undertone to his voice reminding the others of what lay beneath his calm manner.
Bucky took her arm gently from Steve, looked apologetically at Darcy, and held it for the nurse. A needle sank into her arm, and Darcy screamed silently, unable to move her arm away.
"No, Bucky!" She cried out, furious. She hit him weakly with her other fist. "NO!"
Bucky calmly grabbed her wrist and held them together, gently squeezing them as she ranted. If she had had any strength at all, she could have easily shoved him away, but she was tired and without strength, and the medicine was kicking in. She grew warm and couldn't stay awake anymore. She cried out, her voice losing steam and growing weaker.
"I said no, Bucky," she rasped. "I told them no," she cried, over and over, she repeated. "I told them no."
Bucky laid her arms to her side, his hand warm and soothing. "I know you did."
"I told them no, so many times," she fought to speak, her throat tight and full of hurt.
"You're safe now, doll," he repeated gently. "Easy."
"No one will stop," she whimpered, falling back, her traitorous body being dragged under by the drugs.
The Avengers were shaken. None of them wanted to leave her.
"If you would just wait down the hall," a nurse said, coming to stand next to the orderly, "we'll get her taken care of."
Bucky spoke up firm and flatly, "I am staying with her."
The nurse looked at him like she wanted to argue… but after a quick glance to his metal arm, and a glance to Steve, watching him cross his arms and stand a bit taller, her jaw shut with a click and she nodded shakily.
The medicine kicked in fully and where Darcy's panic had given her strength, the medicine stole her adrenaline, leaving her weak and whimpering, half unconscious and half out of her mind with fear.
But when Bucky stepped up and held her hand, gesturing for the orderly to lead on, she was able to finally let go. "You are not alone," he whispered. "I won't let anyone hurt you. It's over, now. You survived it, Darce. No one will even be able to get close. And when you're healed from surgery, doll, I promise if you say no - about anything - I will make sure it is respected."
She listened. She was angry, but he was right.
She wasn't alone. She was being unreasonable. They weren't telling her no to disrespect her, they were telling her no because she had lost her mind and was being unreasonable. It was comforting, she thought, that they were looking out for her, even when she was so far from herself even she couldn't recognize what was going on with her - and that he would help enforce her saying no after this surgery.
It's just... she had said no. She had said no. She had screamed no. She had begged no. And those men laughed at her.
They had laughed at her.
It hurt so much.
But Bucky had promised he would help her, he would enforce her no's in the future. He would help her. She wasn't alone.
She just had to keep telling herself that.
She tugged her hand away from his, not wanting the reminder of being touched at the moment, even if he was being incredibly sweet, and caring, and comforting. She refused to acknowledge the look of sad understanding that flitted across his face - so quickly it almost didn't happen, before he settled back into his blank and calm Winter Soldier persona.
He was quickly becoming a stationary center for her to gravitate towards, to help keep her grounded, to prevent her from flying away into the dark abyss.
And she was very grateful to him for it. To all of them. They had rescued her. They had gotten her out, taken her away.
Removed her from those men. Darcy shuddered.
They were keeping her safe.
But they were also forcing her to go, taking her control, taking away her ability to say no.
She felt hurt, unreasonably - she did realize she was being unreasonable, but couldn't help it. She was so angry. She was in such enormous pain. She trembled.
She felt incredibly alone.
Bucky's metal arm grasped the bar on the bed, as he helped push the bed through the doors, his calm gaze steadying her instead of frightening. She hiccuped weakly.
"I won't leave you alone," he promised her.
It hurt to breathe.