Chapter Text
Plenty of people have thought Darcy strange or unusual throughout her life. Some had even said it to her face. Jane said it to her at least once a day. Usually in the morning when she added buttermilk to her coffee rather than the heavily sugared creamer Jane preferred. And alright, that was pretty strange, but not the strangest thing about Darcy. In fact, the things most people found unusual about her wasn't that one thing that really set her apart from everyone else.
When Darcy was 13, a ward of the state and aspiring for the perfect winged liner under the florescent lighting of her middle school girls bathroom, her head rolled right off her shoulders. Of course, that wasn't all there was to it. This new development was proceeded by the breath in her lungs freezing and a sharp pinch around the base of her throat. It felt a lot like the time Mrs. O'Hara got mad and took the silver chain around Darcy's neck and twisted it until it cut off her air supply and pinched at the skin. Mrs. O'Hara didn't last long as a foster parent after that.
After flopping around on the filthy restroom floor like a fish, Darcy realized she wasn't dead. She also realized that while her eyes could no longer see, she could sense everything around her. Every dip in the painted brick wall, the broken hair tie under the sink, and the smooth curve of the exposed pipes.
It was fortunate for Darcy that she had watched a documentary just last night at a friends house about Area 51 and the types of tests government scientists would conduct on alien visitors. Darcy grabbed her detached head and executed a half barrel roll before flopping on her back and crab walking the rest of the way into the handicapped stall just before two other girls entered.
To Darcy's eternal relief, her head could reattach. It took a bit of twisting in shaky hands to get it on just the right way for her to regain proper use of her head. And even regaining her sight and hearing and sense of smell (eww, one of those girls needs to lay off the fish taco's), she could still feel that newly developed sense, swirling inside her like smoke.
Darcy didn't go back to her foster home after that. For the next five months, she ran and made it all the way to DC before she was finally caught breaking into the Central Public Library. And really, was it breaking in if the doors had been left unlocked? The responding officers thought she was just looking for a place to bunker down for the night, and while that was true (because Northeastern winters were fucking cold), she really wanted access to their internet and mythology section.
By the time she was returned to her Social Worker in Boston, Darcy had decided she was a dullahan, maybe an alien, but dullahan for now. It made her wonder about her parents. Was her mother this mythical creature that had passed on the trait to Darcy? Was it her father? Were they both some type of mysterious creature? Would this affect her fertility? Why did they abandon her?
In the end, Darcy decided she could live a life without those answers. The deciding factor being that the search for them might land her on a slab in some mad scientist's lab. That one officer in DC had pressed her hard to reveal how she had gotten the scar on her neck to the point where his partner had had to step in. Likely, he thought it had been done to her by a second party rather than by her own genetics. Her social worker had asked her once and gotten no answer before moving her into a group girls home.
And that was the end of that. She lead a normal life with few interruptions. There were still odd things like her aversion to gold or the uncontrollable urge to hurl things when she could feel people's eyes on her (her Earth Science teacher, Mr. Hass, had held a grudge against her until the day she graduated for the water bottle she had thrown at his head). She focused hard on her studies and got into Culver on a scholarship for foster kids. Darcy was even hired as an intern, though she later learned that it was unpaid and she was the only applicant. All was well.
Then Thor landed. She could feel it, seconds before the RV made impact with him. Like her, he was something other. Unlike her, he didn't seem to notice. Thor didn't outright claim to be anything other than the Son of Odin, like that was enough.
As it turned out, that was enough information. Thor was a god. A fucking god. Darcy believed him, Jane thought he was an alien (which yeah, but there was magic in him too, she could feel it), and Erik thought they were all mad and stopped drinking the drink tap water.
The first time anyone had caught onto her otherness was when Thor's alien-god friends showed up. They greeted Thor (the big puppy) with hugs and vows to return him to his rightful place in the stars. The shorter of the Warrior's Three was the first to notice and gave her a long considering look but didn't say anything. Next was the woman, who shared a brief, silent conversation with the first man while watching Darcy. The blonde one seemed more interested in the contents of her sweater and the big red-head had found their stash of pop tarts and seemed content to gorge himself.
Then Thor’s dick of a brother sent the family murder-bot to kill him and ended up setting the town on fire.
She could feel it seconds before it happened. A sick feeling in her gut that was purged with a cry of Thor's name just before the space robot backhanded him and ended his life. She could sense it with that strange smokey sixth sense of hers before she saw it. A dark shadow emerging from the side of the wrecked dinner, taking on a tall and thin humanoid shape. It was terrifying and when the hunched thing turned toward her she nearly lost control of her bladder. She knew it was looking at her even though the large sockets where its eyes should be were empty. Yet, it didn't feel malevolent.
So focused on the creature, she didn't notice that Jane had rushed back to Thor’s side with Erik hot on her heels. She didn’t hear the whistle on the wind as a hammer forged from the heart of a dying star sliced through the air. But she felt the electricity of a soul returning to its body as it sizzled up her spine and caused her knees to give out.
Darcy looked away from the shadow creature to see Thor with his arm outstretched and holding the legendary hammer. When she looked back to the dinner, the creature was gone but the chill that it had brought still clung to her skin.
It was a frosty autumn morning in Savoy, Massachusetts when Margery Graves heard the cry of a baby. She had been collecting eggs for her and her husband, Will’s, breakfast from their chicken coop but stopped to listen, sure she was just hearing things. After all, what would a baby be doing way out here on their farm?
Another cry pierced the quiet morning and Margery went to investigate. The pre-dawn fog hadn’t yet rolled out, so she didn’t immediately see the bundle of burlap at the base of the apple tree. She reached the bundle just as the baby let loose a third cry. A pretty little thing, with dark wisps of hair.
Margery reached out to pick the child up when movement alerted her to another presence. Looking up, she saw a figure just inside the tree line. A ghastly creature stood there, holding its head in its hands. It had long dark hair that hung down low enough to catch dead leaves and twigs in its tangles. Even from this distance, Margery could see its eyes dart around until they landed on her.
The world around her grew dim and it became harder to breathe the longer she stared at the creature. It took a step forward and Margery tipped back far enough to land on her rear.
“Margery Graves.” It called across to her. It's voice a haunting melody on a breeze.
When her husband went out to look for her fifteen minutes later it was to find her laying on the ground beneath the apple tree. He’d rush to her and call her name while he felt for a pulse. But she had gone. Beside her, Will would see a baby wrapped in burlap. The poor thing whimpering and wriggling and nearly freezing.