#faad

[Steve]

"D'you think she'll try to run out of the house?" Jenny asks, the alarm evident in her voice as she rises to her feet. Carefully standing up myself and brushing off the sand from my clothes, I shake my head.

"No," I try to assure her. "I installed a surface lock higher up on the door where she can't reach it, after that night she went down to Bucky's," I explain, continuing to shake the loose sand from my shirt.

"Alright," the young lady breathes a sigh of relief, her gentle eyes catching mine. "Is this the first time something like this has happened?" she asks softly. I nod.

"This is the closest she's ever had to a tantrum in all the time I've known her. I don't think I've ever seen her angry like that before; it's just not like her."

"I understand," she says politely. "Steve, I know this must be startling for you, to suddenly see her behaving this way. But as I said before, this is right on track for how a lot of children begin to heal from complex traumas. The fact that she's displaying anger is a step in the right direction, in my opinion. What'll be most important is how we handle things from here."

I nod again, feeling as though I have a good idea of what she means. "Yeah, it's strange to see. But in a way, it's also a relief," I admit. "She's right. About the thing with Tony, I mean. I didn't save her. It's only fair that she gets to be angry with me about it."

Jenny smiles sympathetically, giving me a nod in return. "I would agree that her feelings are fair. It's really great that you're able to see that, Steve. Your ability to think of Willa's wants and needs before your own is critical, and I only grow more and more confident as time goes by in your ability to be a wonderful parent to her."

A subtle sense of encouragement and pride settles within me as I tell her, "Thank you, Dr. Brighton. I truly appreciate that, especially coming from you." Looking down at the mess of sand on the floor, I suggest, "If you want to go see where she might've went, I can get things cleaned up in here."

"Alright," Jenny agrees before stepping out of the door. Taking a moment to myself, I let out a deep sigh, running a hand back through my hair. An image of the child's face twisted in anger flashes through my mind, followed by her voice insisting, "You don't. You didn't."

I didn't. As many times as it happened, as many chances as I had to stop it all before it could get any worse, I didn't. And she paid the price for it. Over and over and over again.

Exiting the room, I go into the set of cabinets by the bathroom door and pull out the vacuum. From the front of the house, I can hear Jenny's soft voice speaking; they must be up in the living room. Going back into Willa's room, I start up the machine, running the head over the piles of sand collected on the floor. The mess takes little time to clean up. When I'm finished, I switch it off again, crouching down on my knees and collecting Willa's toys up in my arms. A hint of sadness washes over me as the little brown-haired doll catches my eye.

Putting the toys away in one of the bins, I carry the vacuum back out and put it away in the cabinet. Soft footsteps approach, and as I close over the wooden door in the wall, I look up to see Jenny. "Everything clean up okay?" her careful voice asks.

"Yeah," I respond with a low voice, straightening back to a standing position. "How's she doing?"

"She's... regressed. Significantly," Jenny informs. "And by that I mean, her brain is entering a younger state of mind due to an inability to cope with her current situation. You've mentioned that she's potentially done this before with you in the sense that she's grown very upset and cried for her mother, but this is a little different. I think it's probably due to the fact that this is the first time she's challenged you so openly." I nod, my heart sinking in my chest at the news.

"How can you tell?" I ask. "Is she asking for her mom again?" The woman's lips purse slightly as she shakes her head.

"I'm afraid it's... a little more intense than that. When I walked out into the living room, I found her curled up on her side in the corner of the room by the television. She was sucking on her thumb and rocking feverishly, behavior more typical for young or mid-toddlerhood. When I tried talking with her, she ducked her head down every time I spoke. And when I asked her questions, I only got a mess of incoherent babbling."

"Oh Willa," I mumble, the description of the poor girl nearly bringing tears to my eyes.

"Her current state reminds me of descriptions from her Hydra files, behaviors the agency noted from training sessions before she learned to swallow down most of her fear in self-preservation. Those notes were all from years ago, though, when she was maybe two or three."

I sigh heavily, shaking my head. "I mean, I don't blame her. That was definitely the boldest I've ever seen her act, especially towards me; I just wish I could show her that she's not in trouble for it. It's not exactly behavior I want to encourage, but I think it was well justified given the circumstances."

"I do believe there's some room here for reparenting," Jenny suggests gently, at least seeming to offer a tiny glimpse of hope. "I think it would be best for me to leave so that you two can have some time together; that's probably what she needs more than anything right now. Her mind is currently collapsing due to fear of the consequences of her actions, but you have a window of opportunity to step in and give her a happier ending than whatever it is she's anticipating for herself."

I nod again, knowing that the doctor's probably right. "Thank you, Jenny. For everything," I breathe.

"You're more than welcome," she replies with a kind smile, turning and heading for the front door. "Oh, and Steve?" she pauses.

"Hmm?"

"Now might be the time to 'baby' her a little," the blonde hints with a sweet smile before turning back and making her way to the door.

'Baby' her a little, I think to myself, nodding in agreement though I know she can't see me. While I feel mostly out of my element when it comes to all the trauma-informed child psychology that Jenny's so well-versed in, this does feel like one answer I probably could've come up with myself. If Willa's internally regressed to a younger state for now, out of the need for safety and comfort, then it only makes sense to approach her at whatever age that might be.

Turning back, I make my way through the little girl's open bedroom door, grabbing the fluffy pink blanket off of her bed as well as a blue pacifier that happens to be sitting on her nightstand. On my way back out of the room, her bookcase catches my eye. Pausing, I grab Goodnight Moon off the top shelf, which has been one of her favorites for quite some time now.

Heading into the kitchen, I open up the microwave, tossing the blanket in and running it for thirty seconds to warm it up. In the meantime, I grab a Sesame Street-patterned sippy cup out of one of the cabinets and fill it up with apple juice from the fridge, figuring it might earn me some points to offer her favorite drink. Once the timer goes off, I remove the blanket, collecting everything up in my arms again and making my way out to the front room.

As soon as I walk through the archway, Willa's faint cries of fear and distress become audible from over in the corner. In an instant, I soften up my posture, looking over to see her in exactly the state that Jenny described: curled up in a fetal position with her thumb in her mouth, her cheeks puffy and red as tears trail down them. "Shhh. It's okay, Willa," I hum softly, not sure if she notices me yet.

As soon as the words leave my mouth, her whole body jerks back, her big green eyes landing on me as she collapses into a stronger round of sobs. "Hey, hey," I murmur as I make my way across the room, stopping a few feet away from the little girl and kneeling down onto the floor. "Shhh, sweetheart. It's okay- you're okay, Willa. You're okay, there's no need to cry. No need at all, it's safe here." Choking and spitting through her thumb, her other arm rests up by her face in a defensive position, her entire body trembling terribly against the wooden floor. "Look sweetie, I brought some of your things," I try to entice her, placing the objects down on the floor. Jenny was right; every time I begin to speak again, the poor child's head jerks back in fear. At the sight of my offerings, Willa cowers, her legs kicking out faintly as she tries to press herself back further into the corner.

"I have your blankie, and your pacifier, oh- and some apple juice. I brought Goodnight Moon, too. Remember the two little kittens?" I list, but nothing seems to come even close to tempting the inconsolable little girl to listen. "Hey lovebug, you're alright. Deep breaths, remember? Can you take some deep breaths with me?" I ask, but as I predicted, my words do little to help as she continues to cry her eyes out. "Willa, Willa- shhh," I shush gently, reaching out and placing a hand on her shoulder.

A sob wracks through her body at the terrifying contact, tears and spit dribbling onto the floor as she whimpers, "M-mm-... h-h-... p-p-... p-p-... n-n-... n-nnn... " And while she fails to get out any actual words, the message she's trying to convey is clear. Help. Please. No.

"Shhh sweetie, it's okay, it's just Daddy, sweetheart. It's just Daddy; nobody's gonna hurt you." Rubbing gently at her shoulder, I lean down a bit closer to her, my hand trailing up and beginning to brush down her hair comfortingly. "I know you're scared, baby; I know, it's okay. But Daddy's right here, Willa-bug. Right here, and nothing bad's gonna happen to you. Nothing scary, doll. Just safe. You're safe." With my free hand, I reach over to pick up the blanket, asking, "Can I wrap you up in this, sweetheart? It's nice and warm; I just threw it in the microwave."

A new round of tears spills over as Willa ducks away from the object, whimpering weakly into her thumb, "H-ho-... h-h-ho-o-"

"No honey, not hot. Not hot, just warm," I cut her off once I understand her fears. "Just warm, pumpkin. Nice and warm and safe. See? Daddy's touching it," I point out, wrapping my hand a little bit further around the fluffy fabric. "Not hot, won't hurt you. Daddy's not gonna hurt you, baby."

As slowly and carefully as I can, I take the blanket in both hands and reach out to place it over the shaking child. The moment it touches her, she lets out a heartbreaking cry. But once she realizes that there's indeed no danger, she quiets down a bit, her big green eyes staring up at me as I offer her a soft smile. "There, see?" I coo, stroking her shoulder again through the fabric. This time, thankfully, she seems to let me.

"Hey, Willa-bug. You want this?" I ask, picking up her pacifier and holding it out to her. "I know your thumb must be sore, sweetheart," I hum sympathetically. Cowering back slightly, the small girl whimpers, her eyes widening at the familiar object. "Here honey," I soothe, gently placing the nub in front of her mouth and easing it through her lips. A faint cry rises in her throat at the insertion, but as soon as it's in place, her thumb falls to the floor, her eyes drooping slightly as the pacifier bobs in her mouth. "There you go, sweetheart," I murmur, letting out a deep breath I must've been holding in as the sight before me suddenly seems a lot more manageable than it was even two seconds ago.

The little girl's eyes trail to the picture book on the ground, and I smile at her lovingly. "Hey baby-bug. You wanna come sit on my lap and read Goodnight Moon together?" Willa shrinks back at the suggestion, more tears building up in her eyes as I quickly reassure her, "Hey- you're okay, sweetheart. Shh-shh shh, you're okay. Here, honey," I soothe, reaching out and gathering the child and her blanket in my arms. She whimpers softly as I hold her in one arm, using the other to swaddle her up in the comforting pink fabric. Once she's all wrapped up, I set her down in my lap with one arm still behind her, cradling her.

Willa shakes as she gazes up at me, fresh tears threatening to spill as I lean down, planting a kiss on her forehead. "You're okay, pumpkin," I promise as I rock her back and forth gently, relaxing as the girl's small body begins to settle against my own. "See? Not scary," I hum, reaching over and picking up the book off the ground. "You're safe with Daddy, baby. Always safe with Daddy."

Willa mumbles something into her pacifier, something I can't quite understand, causing me to lean down and ask, "Hmm? What was that, sweetheart?"

"Goo'night moon," she repeats, warmth spreading from my chest throughout my whole body at her simple words.

"That's right, doll. Goodnight Moon. You remember how it starts?" I ask as I flip open to the first page, well aware she know the whole thing by heart.

"In the great green room, there was a telephone, and a red balloon..."

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[Steve]

If the night at Bucky's had been an isolated incident, I wouldn't have thought much about it. Unfortunately, in the days that have followed, things have only seemed to get more and more difficult for Willa.

It started the following morning, when I woke up around 5:00am to find the little girl in the bed next to me, bawling her eyes out. I had quickly switched on the bedside lamp, checking her over to see what was the matter, and I found her to be in the grips of a seemingly hellish night terror. She had no mind channel open, no crimson glow, so there was no way for me to know what she was dreaming of. Immediately, I had gathered her in my arms, rocking and soothing her as best I could while simultaneously hoping to rouse her from her torturous sleep. But it was no use; she was far too deep in the nightmare to break free. She flailed and sobbed and sputtered incoherently for hours, and all I could do was hold her and watch. By the time 7:00am rolled around, she finally woke up, and at that point she was inconsolable.

I couldn't get anything out of her that entire morning. She had fought her way out of my arms and crawled deep under my blankets, and I simply had no heart to remove her. I tried coaxing her out with the promise of cuddles, breakfast, and even her favorite movie, but nothing worked. Eventually, I decided to leave her alone and let her determine when she felt safe to come out, but she ended up staying there for most of the day. When she did finally emerge, she was a puddle of tears, her eyes begging for comfort and reassurance. But at the same time, she wouldn't let me come anywhere near her. When bedtime came around again, I offered to let her sleep with me in my room for another night, and she surprised me greatly by agreeing to it.

Through the night, she had another horrific nightmare, one so terrifying that it sent her jumping out of the bed in fear when she awoke. As soon as she saw me waiting for her with the lamp on, a deeply concerned expression drawn on my face, she grew so afraid of being punished that she began hyperventilating, eventually passing out from her compromised airflow. In the agonizing process of her panic attack, she wet herself again, and it was at that point that I decided I needed to speak with Jenny.

"Did anything happen in the days leading up to her shift in behavior that might've been cause for such a regression?" the mild young lady asks as she sits across from me in the living room. Resting back against the soft cushions of the sofa, I pick apart the past week in my mind, ultimately unable to identify anything.

"No," I sigh with a shake of my head. "There were small incidents here and there, but that's always the way it's been with her. Nothing major happened, at least, not that I can think of." It's now later in the morning, and Jenny and I are wrapping up a last-minute session I requested while Willa plays in her room. The doctor started off speaking with the child herself, but after half an hour or so of not getting much response at all, she decided to come out and work with me instead.

"I see," Jenny notes, scribbling something down on her legal pad. Closing up her pen, she brings her eyes up to meet mine, a familiar sense of warmth and patience lingering in her gaze. "Steve, with everything that Willa's gone through, her road to recovery isn't going to be as smooth as any of us would like it to be." I nod, not sure where the doctor could be going with a statement like that. "And even though things seem like they're getting worse with her, this is actually a pattern that's seen quite frequently with survivors of abuse and trauma who've recently escaped. Willa's body and mind were suppressing a lot of emotions, a lot of fear during her captivity, and even at the tower due to the things Tony did; her system couldn't handle addressing these feelings, so it shut them out. Now that she's in a truly safe place, with a safe person who only loves her and takes care of her, those things are beginning to show themselves because it's safe for them to." A wave of relief washes over me as the woman finishes her explanation, and I let out a deep hum.

"So this... is normal?" I ask. She nods.

"It's a difficult part of the process, since it might seem to both of you like things are getting worse when they should be getting better, but it's really just a sign that her body and mind are ready to start doing some deeper repair."

"I see. That's..." my voice trails off as I bring a hand up to brush through my hair. "That's so good to hear," I finish honestly. "I was really worried that I had done something wrong, or was messing up in some way."

"I don't think you need to worry about that, Steve, not at all. You're doing a phenomenal job with Willa. She just adores you." A faint smile crosses my face as I think of the little girl, and how much love and care I hold for her in my heart as well. "As far as dealing with her new or returning behavior, I'd recommend allowing her to get it out, as much as you possibly can. A big part of her might just need to respond in the way her body originally wanted to. She might need to go through the act of being scared or crying or getting sick, since those were all responses that were made impossible for her up until now. In regards to the increased accidents, it's a very common indicator of sexual trauma in children. I know it's frustrating, but try to be as patient with her about it as you can."

"No, no- it's not even frustrating," I assure her quickly, meaning the words with all my heart. "Really, it's not. It's not a hassle when it happens, not at all; it just makes me so worried."

"I know it's alarming to see her regressing in that sense, but it's totally normal and shouldn't pose an issue permanently as long as she remains in a safe environment where she isn't violated sexually. We're just meeting her where she's at, if that makes sense, and where she's at might go forward or backward for a while before we really start making linear progress. I know you know this already, but Willa is in many ways somewhat younger than five still, at least internally. And that's okay. We just have to let her exist at whatever developmental age she's at."

"And you think- you're sure it's okay? That I'm kind of, well- I don't know, kind of 'babying' her, as Tony would say?" I ask, wanting to be sure the doctor still approves of my controversial approach. Jenny smiles, allowing me to relax even more with relief.

"Yes, that's completely acceptable. Actually, it's probably very therapeutic for her system to be allowed to have those critical early childhood experiences that she was deprived of for so long. Whatever helps her feel safe and secure, even if it's meant for younger kids, is completely fine."

"Good," I nod, feeling slightly more sure about myself as a parent from all of Jenny's encouragement. "I'm sorry she wasn't up to working with you today," I apologize again, "I told her you were coming and asked her to do her best to be open and honest, but... I don't know. At the same time, I don't have much heart to push her."

"It's completely fine," Jenny reassures me once more, shaking her head at my persistent apologizing. "Therapy isn't ever something that should be forced upon a child. She'll talk when she's ready." Glancing down at her notepad, she offers, "I was wondering, though, if maybe the three of us could wrap up the session together? I believe Willa's still playing by herself in her room, and a lot of times children can be demonstrative of what they're thinking or feeling through the ways that they play. Maybe we could sit in with her for a little bit, if you don't mind?"

"I don't mind at all," I tell her, earning a smile as she rises to her feet. 

"Alright, then," she says with a nod. "I'll let you lead the way."

Leading the woman back through the house, I stop just outside the child's half-open door, knocking a few times against the sturdy wood before pulling it the rest of the way open. Willa sits on the floor beside her bed, a few toys scattered around her as she holds a small wooden doll in her hands. Her big green eyes meet mine warily, and my heart sinks as she begins to tremble. "Hey sweetheart," I greet gently. For a moment, I remember that just a few days ago, she would beam every time I entered the room. Realizing that we're back to such a state of fear and uncertainty, a tinge of disappointment builds up inside of me. But then, I remember the doctor's words, and I'm able to remind myself that Willa's behavior is actually probably a good sign, in some weird way. "Things are starting to show themselves because it's safe for them to."

"Your daddy and I were wondering if we could sit and play with you for a little bit," the young lady's soothing voice overlaps her previous words running through my head. A look of skepticism forms on the little girl's face as she glances between the two of us, but thankfully after a few more moments, she nods. "Wonderful," Jenny says with a smile, and we enter in, both sitting a few feet back to give the child some space.

"What're you playing, Willa-bug?" I ask in a gentle tone, now able to get a better look at the toys she's taken out of her boxes. She has a bathtub and a sandbox from a dollhouse set, as well as Captain America and Ironman figurines, and the little brown-haired doll she's holding in her hand. The clothes are half torn off the doll, the hair messed and tangled. Big, frightened eyes look from the doll to me, and then back. "Who've you got there?"

"Willa," she says simply, holding up the doll that seems to represent herself. I nod.

"Is Willa getting dressed?" Jenny asks politely.

Swallowing hard, Willa shakes her head. "Off," she mumbles, removing the toy's purple dress and placing it on the floor. She then removes the doll's underwear as well, leaving it completely naked. Next, she reaches over and picks up the sandbox, opening up the cover. Almost urgently, she begins to dig, not stopping until she's created a little hole in the center. Then, she takes the Willa doll, placing it in the center of the hole. A lump forms in my throat as she buries the tiny pair of underpants with it, not paying any mind to the dress.

"Oh, you're... is Willa playing in the sand?" I ask, trying to understand the child's actions. Not giving a response, Willa simply continues with her scene, picking up the Ironman action figure and extending its arm. Clumsily, she begins using the plastic hand of the figurine to begin shuffling sand back over the doll that represents herself. "Willa, sweetie, what- what is Ironman doing?" I question carefully. 

Once the wooden doll and her underwear have disappeared completely beneath the sand, Willa extends the other arm of the superhero's body, making them now both stick out straight. With a concerning amount of force, she begins jabbing the hands into the sand, uncomfortable sounds of plastic and wood colliding as the man apparently attacks the girl. Glancing over at Jenny, I see that her brow is furrowed in concentration. All I can hope is that she's understanding what Willa's actions mean, because to be completely honest, I have no idea what to make of any of it. 

After several more moments of the violent motions, Willa finally stops, putting Ironman's arms back down and dropping him to the floor. Sifting through the sand, Willa pulls out the wooden doll, shaking her off slightly before finding her purple dress and redressing her. Turning back to the sandbox for a moment, she uses a single finger to re-bury the underpants, causing my brain to ache with questions and concerns. When satisfied with the way the piece of clothing is hidden, Willa picks up the bathtub, once again removing the doll's dress before placing her in the tub, coming to what seems to be a stopping point.

"Sweetheart?" I ask quietly, unable to even form my thoughts into a question.

"Can you tell us what you're doing, Willa?" Jenny fills in for me. "Willa's taking a bath now?" The little girl nods. "What about Daddy? He's with you when you take baths, right?" she continues, picking up Captain America off the floor and offering it to the child. To my surprise, Willa shakes her head, pushing the doll away. Jenny lets her. "No help from Daddy? Okay, that's okay, hun," the doctor says quickly, wanting to avoid upsetting the chidl. 

"What was... what happened in the sandbox, honey?" I ask, not sure if I should be asking so many questions but ultimately too worried to refrain from doing so. Willa flinches slightly at my question, her bottom lip quivering as she gives me nothing but silence in return. "Okay, it's okay, sweetheart," I coo soothingly, not wanting to push the subject too hard, "that's okay, you don't have to tell us."

"How about you keep playing, sweetie," Jenny suggests, "it's okay. You said Willa was in the bath?" The small girl nods, looking back down at her toys before pulling the doll out of the tub, redressing her in her purple gown. Then, the child surprises both me and the doctor by repeating the same exact process all over again, starting with digging out the underpants in the sandbox, putting them back on the doll, and then completely undressing it.

My brow creases in perplexion as I watch Willa 'play,' her motions almost seeming like a routine or ritual that her body knows by heart. She repeats the entire scene once, then twice, and by the point in which she's buried herself a third time with her underwear, preparing the Ironman doll to perform his assault, I finally speak again, causing the child to pause. "Willa," I breathe, my heart pounding faintly in my ears. "What are you doing?"

Her wary gaze rises to meet mine and she blinks, her arm beginning to tremble as she clutches the action figure tightly. 

"Could you explain it to us?" Jenny adds, her voice laced with concern. "What is Ironman doing to Willa?"

"Why is she buried with her underwear?" I ask, earning a glance of warning from the doctor. Sighing, I take a moment to breathe, not wanting to say anything I might regret. "What is- sweetheart," I murmur as I notice the poor thing's eyes filling with tears. "What is Tony doing to you?"

"Hurting me," she concedes, her voice barely loud enough to hear. Her big green eyes peer up at mine and beg for what she's too afraid to out loud: to not hurt her, myself, to not be angry with her for expressing her feelings with her toys.

"Okay, Willa-bug," I nod, not completely understanding but deciding that at the moment, I don't really need to. My biggest priority for now has to be showing Willa that she's safe and that she's not in trouble for what she's admitted. "What if- how about Daddy comes and helps you?" I offer hopefully, taking the Captain America figure from Jenny carefully and holding it up for the little girl to see. "How about Daddy comes and protects you?"

"N-no," Willa refuses, picking up her sandbox and holding it slightly closer to herself, almost in a protective manner.

"Why not, sweetheart? How about Daddy comes and- comes and makes Tony stop, stops him from hurting you," I try, reaching out with the figure and trying to place it in the sandbox with the other two characters. Unexpectedly, Willa jerks it away, bits of sand spilling out from the sides as a look of anger forms on the child's face, a look I've never seen before. "Willa, please-" I insist, extending a hand to take hold of the sandbox.

But to my complete surprise, instead of pulling back again or allowing me, Willa throws the entire thing at me, sand dumping all over my clothes as she snaps, "No. You don't. You didn't."

As the dust settles into my lap and I blink away the sand from my eyes, I'm met with the sight of Willa staring back at me, any indication of anger or frustration completely drained from her face. Her eyes are as wide as saucers as she gawks at me, as if she, herself, can't believe what she's done. And before I can say anything, before I can reassure her or even try to calm her fears, she's jolted up onto her feet, running right out of her bedroom door. 

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[Bucky]

The sound of the doorbell ringing in the middle of the night rouses me from my usual restless slumber. Grunting as I twist from my side to my back on my mattress, I stare at the ceiling as my mind takes several moments to adjust to being awake again. Who the hell could that be? I think to myself, my heart beginning to pound lightly in my chest as anxiety builds in my throat. I don't know who would come knocking at an hour like this, but given my past, I'm heavily inclined to be skeptical.

Forcing myself up to a sitting position, I glance over at the red numbers of my alarm clock glowing faintly in the dark. 2:49am. What on earth?

Dragging myself out of bed, I switch on my bedside lamp, fumbling around on the ground to find an overshirt and throwing it on over my pajamas before walking slowly out of the room. I make my way up to the front of the apartment slowly, putting on as few lights as possible for myself in an attempt to minimize the amount that can be detected from outside. By the time I reach the front door, my whole body is shaking. Cursing the fact that I have no peephole or window to see out easily, I clear my throat, asking firmly through the thick wood, "Who's there?"

Almost too quiet to detect, a muffled voice responds, "Bucky? I-it's Willa. C-can I-... c-can you-... sorry, sorry for b-bothering you." Realizing who it is, my entire body relaxes as I let out a sigh of relief. I immediately undo the locks and open up the door to find the poor thing shivering out in nothing but her light blue teddy bear pajama shirt and undies, carrying a mess of bedsheets at her feet. Her cheeks are bright red and stained with tears, her big green eyes glancing up shamefully towards me.

"Willa- hi," I murmur, a bit stumped by her appearance. "Hi sweetheart, are you alright? What're you doing up so late, hmm?" I ask, ushering her in the door. Closing it behind her and kneeling down to her level, I look over her once more. Noticing that her underwear are soaked through, with her matching pajama pants balled up along with the mess of sheets, the dots start connecting in my head; she probably had an accident in her sleep. I still don't know, though, how or why she ended up at my door.

"'m sorry. D-did I wake you up? 'm so sorry," she mumbles, her head hanging lamely as she sniffles.

"It's okay, bunny. Don't worry about it," I tell her gently, unsure of what to do or say. "Are you okay, sweetie? What're you doing here? Does Steve know where you are?" At the man's name, the girl flinches slightly, shaking her head.

"'m sorry. Tried t-to do it by m'self but c-couldn't reach," she rambles as a few more tears make their way down her flushed cheeks. "Please don't tell D-Daddy. He'll be s-so mad."

"What do you mean, doll? Couldn't reach what?" I ask, leaning my face in a bit closer and raising my brow sympathetically at her.

Keeping her gaze on the floor, she whimpers, "Th-the machine, to wash m-my sheets. W-wet them... while I was s-sleeping. H-had a nigh'mare. Don't beat me, please. Please don't." More tears drip down her nose and onto the floor as she quivers, my heart breaking at her pleas.

"No sweetie, I won't beat you. You're alright, doll," I soothe warmly, reaching out to rub her back lightly. Jumping, she sniffles as she eyes my arm warily, clearly not trusting my gentle touch. "It's okay to have accidents, Willa. No one's gonna hurt you for it; I certainly won't. You need help cleaning up your sheets?" I ask. She nods defeatedly. "Okay. We can wash them in my machine, okay? Your pajama pants, too, and your undies. And we can get you cleaned up too, kiddo. How does that sound?" I offer.

"Y-yes please," she agrees quietly. Giving her a smile, I carefully take the contents of her hands from her.

"Alright missy, follow me," I tell her as I rise to my feet, walking back through the apartment to the washer and dryer, which are tucked in a closet by the bathroom. Willa trails behind me silently with her head still lowered, a stray tear still making its way down her face every once and a while.

Opening up the folding closet doors, I load what the child gave me into the top machine before crouching down again at her height, asking softly, "Could I get you a big t-shirt to wear while we wash your clothes? That way you can still keep covered up," I offer, not wanting to ask her to give up the underwear until she has something else to cover herself with. Receiving a nod, I stand again, going into one of the baskets of clean clothes I've yet to put away from my last cycle that sits in the closet beside the stacked machines.

"Here, how about this," I try, pulling out an old maroon shirt that seems like it'll fit her somewhat like a dress. She nods as I hand it to her, suggesting, "How about I cover my eyes and turn around while you get changed. Is that okay?" I ask carefully, not wanting to cross the little girl's boundaries. She nods warily as I give her a comforting smile, covering my eyes as promised with both of my hands and turning around.

I can hear quite shuffling as the child gets changed. After a few moments, she tells me, "'m done."

"Okay bug," I hum as I turn back around and uncover my eyes, taking her soiled clothes off the ground and loading them with the rest in the machine. Measuring out some detergent and popping it in the washer as well, I hit the button to start the cycle, the cheery chimes of the machine sounding as the water begins whirring inside. Turning back to the little girl, I crouch down again to her height, my heart aching as she winces slightly. "If you want, you can use my bathtub to get cleaned up. I don't have baby wipes, but I can give you a washcloth and some soap and you can use the tub's faucet. Does that sound alright?" She nods silently as her wide eyes gaze into mine, seeming relieved that she'll be allowed to do it on her own.

"Alright bunny, this way," I tell her as I rise back up to a standing position, guiding her over and into the bathroom. Switching the light on, I make my way over to the tub and get the water running, making sure it's a comfortable temperature for her before stepping back over to the cabinet under the sink and pulling her out a clean washcloth. Willa stands sheepishly in the doorway, watching my every move as I prepare the things for her, grabbing a big fluffy towel and setting it down right outside the tub. "Here's the soap I have; it's some really nice hand-made stuff I got at the market," I tell her as I place the bar down on the edge of the tub along with the cloth. "Okay sweetheart, how about I go back out into the living room and let you get cleaned up, and you can come join me when you're done," I propose.

"N-no beating?" she mumbles quietly, still frightened that she might be punished for her mistake.

"No babydoll, no beating," I promise her. "You did a good job, coming and asking for help," I add, remembering something Steve had told me about her therapy and exposure work. While it would've made a lot more sense for her to seek out Steve instead of me, the fact that she asked anyone at all is progress. "Willa, can I ask you a question?" I ask slowly, not wanting to overwhelm her or make her fears escalate. Her eyes widen slightly, but she nods. "Honey, why didn't-... why didn't you ask Steve?" I question softly. "If you're worried that I might beat you, too, then... what difference did it make?"

Her gaze falls to the floor as she trembles in the doorway, swallowing hard before revealing her answer. "D-don't... don't want Daddy to beat m-me," she whispers. "P-pounded that guy's face in... h-he could hurt me really b-bad." My heart breaks at her revelations, but they make sense, so I nod. She does have a point. While I was mutilated to be a super soldier like Steve, it's no secret that he's the stronger of the two of us. If Willa's train of thought was that either way she would be beaten, and she was just trying to avoid as much damage as possible, her choice makes sense.

"Little dove," I breathe sadly, not even sure where to begin. "Sweetie, Steve would never hurt you; he'd never beat you. He loves you so much, so, so much, and he'd never do something like that," I tell her, but I know that her worries are deeply engraved in her brain, and that it'll take a lot more time and experience than just simple words to put them at ease. "Everyone has accidents, honey. Everyone does when they're little, especially when they've gone through as many scary things as you have," I reason. "Steve knows that; he would never be angry with you for it. He'd do the same thing I'm doing, help you clean up and wash the sheets. That's all," I coo, wishing I could prove it to her. "Bunny, you're always welcome to come to me for help. I'll always do my best to help you. But Steve wants to help you too, Willa. That's what he's there for; that's what Daddy's are for."

Willa sniffles and I sigh, deciding that at this point it's probably wisest to just let the poor thing get clean before pursuing any further discussion on the matter. "Here, I'll let you wash up," I tell her as I step past her out into the hallway, closing the door over behind me before heading back out into the living room.

As I continue to listen to the water run faintly from the bathroom, I pull my phone out from my pocket, unlocking it and pulling up Steve's contact. As much as I hate going against Willa's wishes, I think the smartest thing to do would be to have him come down here and address the situation as soon as possible. Besides, I don't want him to wake up and find her missing; that would scare the shit out of him. Letting out a deep sigh, I hit his number, a call popping up and ringing only a few times before there's an answer.

"Buck?" Steve's sleepy voice calls.

"Hey pal," I greet lowly, taking a seat on the couch. "You're probably gonna wanna throw on some shoes and come down here."

[Steve]

"She what?" I exclaim as I throw on a sweatshirt, making my way quickly through the apartment to the front door to slip on my shoes.

"Yeah, she showed up in nothing but her pajama shirt and underwear, carrying all her sheets at her feet. Said she had a bad dream," he explains.

"Oh god," I breathe, brushing my hair back anxiously as I make my way out the front door, being sure to lock it behind me. "I'm so sorry, Buck. I had no idea she would do something like this. I should've guessed something might-"

"No, no, it's okay, Steve," he tells me quickly. "Really, it's no trouble. I'm glad she felt safe enough to come to me about it. It's good that she came to someone, anyone."

"You said she was begging not to be beaten?" I repeat what he had said, making my way across the porch to the stairs.

"Yeah. She's still pretty worried that she's going to be punished for stuff like this. I told her that neither of us would ever do that, of course, but it's just gonna take time," he replies.

"Yeah- we're working on it with her therapist, but I think you're right," I agree as I make my way down to Bucky's apartment. "I'm outside," I let him know.

The front door to the home opens up before me, and I switch my phone off, shoving it in my pocket as my friend lets me in. Closing the door behind me, he offers me a sad smile. "Hey, punk," he mutters, patting me lightly on the shoulder.

"Hey, thanks again for everything," I say sincerely, still feeling incredibly guilty for all the trouble he's gone through for the little girl.

"No problem, pal," he waves it off as I step into the apartment, hearing water running back from what I'm guessing is the bathroom. "She's getting herself cleaned off right now. I have her sheets and clothes in the washer, and she's got a big t-shirt of mine to wear in the meantime."

"Okay. Thanks Buck," I thank him again. "Does she know you called me?"

"Uhh... no," he admits, scratching the back of his neck nervously. "She begged me not to tell you, but I figured it would be better for you to come and get the situation addressed." I nod, thankful for his decision. Hearing the water shutting off, Buck looks behind him before turning back to me, suggesting, "Maybe we should meet her at the bathroom, so she doesn't try to run back through the house or anything."

"Sounds good to me," I agree, doing my best to mentally prepare myself for whatever kind of reaction the little girl might have to my arrival.

"I'm gonna let her know you're here, and then I'll let you take over," he decides as he leads me back to the closed bathroom door. The light from inside peeks out from under the wood as faint shuffling can be heard from the other side. "I don't wanna overwhelm her with both of us in a small space like that, so I'll just let you handle it," he tells me, earning a nod.

Turning and knocking gently against the door, Bucky calls, "Hey Willa? You doin' okay in there?"

"A-a'most done," she calls back, the shakiness of her voice causing my heart to break. The whole situation in general is incredibly saddening. While I think Bucky is right in that it's an improvement for her to have sought out any help at all, it still makes me feel unbelievably guilty that she's so scared of me, apparently even more scared than she is of Buck. "O-okay," she says.

"Alright," Bucky says opening up the door slightly. From where I'm standing, I can't quite be seen yet by the child. "Sweetheart, while you were getting cleaned up, I had to call Steve and let him know what was going on," he tells her slowly. Though I can't see her, I can just picture her beginning to dissolve into a mess of anxiety. Soft whimpers can be heard from inside the room, making my heart tighten in my chest. "Shhh bunny. it's okay. He's not angry, not at all. He's just happy you're here and safe," he murmurs soothingly, stepping aside and motioning for me to join him.

Taking a deep breath, I shift over into the doorway; the sight before me breaks my heart. Willa stands trembling on the bath mat in one of Bucky's old t-shirts, her eyes overflowing with tears as a look of pure terror and betrayal makes its way onto her face. She flinches back at the sight of me, bumping up against the wall behind her and letting out a frightened sound as she realizes she's trapped. "I'll let you two have some time alone," Bucky sighs as he steps away, heading back into one of the rooms at the back of the apartment and closing the door.

"Willa-bug," I coo, keeping my voice as soft and low as possible. The poor child's knees begin to wobble underneath her as she stares at me, her bottom lip trembling in fear. Stepping a bit inside the bathroom, I bend my knees in hopes of coming off as unintimidating as I can, though my efforts seem to do little in helping the girl relax. "Hey sweetheart- it's okay, Willa. You're not in trouble. I'm not here to hurt you," I tell her softly.

The little girl's chest rises and falls erratically as tears continue pouring down her cheeks, a soft whimper rising in her throat before she opens her mouth, barely able to make any sound at all. "P-... p-p-..." she tries, her eyes widening in fear as she struggles to speak. "P-please," she finally manages, adding, "'m sorry, 'm so s-sorry. Didn't m-mean to. D-don't beat me, please don't beat me."

"Willa, Willa, shhh," I soothe, inching myself a tiny bit closer to her as she shakes feverishly against the wall. "Shhh, sweetheart- I'm not gonna beat you, doll. No beating," I tell her reassuringly as I bend down onto my knees before her, causing her to jump again. "I know you didn't mean to, sweetie. I know. It's okay, doll. You're not in trouble. Bucky said you had a nightmare?"

She nods, swallowing down her sobs as I soften my expression for her, murmuring, "Oh honey, that's alright. You couldn't help it that you had a scary dream." The look in her eyes tells me that she's skeptical of my words, but I continue, "It's okay, accidents happen. You're still little, sweetie. No one's mad at you. And you did a good job, you asked someone for help. That was really brave of you, darlin'. I'm so proud of you."

Willa's eyes widen at my words, and she asks, "P-p'oud of me?"

Despite her confusion, I just nod, explaining, "Yeah baby, you were really scared, but you came to Bucky for help anyway. You didn't do it all by yourself. That was good, Willa. You did such a good job." The child blinks, still appearing perplexed at my words. "Next time, it would be good if you could come to me," I add. "I know you were scared that you were going to be beaten, and that you would rather be hurt by Bucky than me. But no one's gonna beat you here, Willa. Never. I'll never hurt you or punish you, no matter what you do."

Willa's eyes gaze warily into mine and I open up my arms for her, earning a soft flinch. "Here sweetheart, you want a hug?" I offer, wanting nothing more than to wrap her up safely in my embrace. A pitiful look of longing forms on her face as she takes in my position, letting out a quiet whine of want. "It's okay doll, Daddy won't hurt you. Just wanna hold you."

And to my surprise, despite all the fear lingering in her big green eyes, Willa slowly steps forward, her face tucking itself away into my chest as I wrap her up softly and lift her off the floor. Carefully, I rise to a standing position, holding her safely against me as her tears begin to soak through my sweatshirt. "Hey- shhh," I soothe, rubbing her back tenderly as I sway her gently from side to side. "You're okay, Willa-bug. I've got you, it's okay."

"N-no beating, please no beating," she begs quietly.

"No beating," I repeat back to her, "no beating, baby. Just soft. Just safe." For several minutes, the little girl continues to cry silently into the damp fabric of my sweatshirt as I keep rocking her, offering quiet shushes every now and then in hopes of soothing her fears. Eventually, her breaths start to even out, and it occurs to me that she must be exhausted after all the night's events.

"You tired, sweetheart?" I ask, stroking down her hair gently as she shifts weakly against me, her head completely limp on my chest. She nods silently and I stroke her hair again, telling her, "That's okay, honey. It's pretty late, and you've had quite the night. I'm gonna thank Buck again and let him know we'll come get the sheets in the morning, but you can close your eyes if you want to, okay? I'll hold onto you," I soothe.

"H-have to sleep in th-the cold?" she whimpers, catching me slightly off guard.

"In the cold? What do you mean, baby?" I ask as I head out of the bathroom, shutting off the light behind me.

"N-no sheets, n-no blankies," she pouts.

"Oh," I say with a slight chuckle, now understanding. "No baby, of course not. You can sleep with me in my bed. How does that sound?"

"Daddy's bed," she hums lovingly, her thumb having made its way up into her little mouth. "Big. Lots'a blankies"

"That's right," I agree, "big bed, soo many blankies, baby. Plenty of room for both of us. And that way, if you have another scary dream, Daddy'll be right there to make it all better," I add.

"All better," she mumbles sleepily into her thumb, her eyelids fluttering as they fall shut.

"All better, sweetheart," I coo, rubbing her back lovingly as she falls asleep right in my arms.

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