-- russian horror fairytale

I once saw her kill four men in a barn. WITH AN ICE SKATE. WITH A FUCKING ICE SKATE!!! Who the fuck can do that???

“<As a> human?” Ironically she forgot the translation for what she no longer was. She remembered Natasha’s instructions for learning a new language: return to what she knew instead of overthinking it.

Natasha nodded again, even if part of her wanted to squirm at the subject. Openness was necessary to nourish a bond, and this was one Natasha was responsible for. Not for the first time, she wondered what the fuck she was doing. "In both."

As always, there was a prolonged minute of silence as Natasha weighed her options, her words. She wasn't an impatient woman, nor an impulsive one. Plus, they were methodical hunters, stealth hunters. The patience to waiting was a skill Karen would need to have.

She sighed shakily. Xander. It was him.

This wasn’t what he wanted. And he hated himself no small part for the fact he felt that way at all. His life was so difficult. Beautiful wife, endless riches, a set of staff that would tend to his every need, and power, as much as he wanted to wield.

"I don't suppose they fall for yours." Just as dry as his delivery, though she did hope he'd pick up on the fact she meant no harm.

Still, Natasha sipped from her tea with the most innocent look she could muster, topped up her blini with smetana.

The dense forests of Stria were as promised, Karen’s boots placing exactly where Natasha’s led as they neared the ruined village of Karnstein.

“≪Won’t we be short on food?≫” She practiced her German, one of the many languages Natasha was tudoring. They weren’t the first of their kind to visit the storied lands in hopes of glimpsing one of their few true queens. Humans brave or foolish enough to live in such a gothic place would be scarce and Karen’s youth still demanded larger meals. It will be less of a chore once she aged into average necessity or the survival ability to rely on very little. Austria mountains weren’t all ideal for settling it, but forests and weather didn’t limit queen Carmella’s blood quota.

"<If we stick to the mountains.>" Natasha tossed her response over her shoulder. Winter had meant scarcity, back when she'd been human. They'd labour all year to have enough reserves for the winter; a failing crop could have meant starvation. Now, it brought a new challenge: it sent the prey indoors, or away entirely. Sickly humans were less nutritive, too. "<We will need to go down into the village to hunt. The season makes them venture out less, for shorter amounts of time. We need to be sneakier. Worst case, we'll get by on animals.>"

Not that Natasha would it reach that point. Karen needed to feed, needed healthy blood to thrive. It was a tightrope, to challenge her and allow her to make mistakes and suffer their consequences, without letting those consequences get out of hand.

a pause. and natasha hits the drums — joy rises in his heart, right to the tippy top of him. there’s happiness unspeakable. the sound resonates and blinky blinks in a flicker. he has to cross his arms over his chest to stifle the sight.

“i would never upset you guys with that kind of volume. awful if you’re not the one practicing.”

he knows better than to be that inconsiderate. no, stark thinks about all angles carefully. he tries to be as careful as he can.

he produces that faithful phone, starktech, and the scrolls through until the dulcet tones of a blink182 song begins quietly. the drums kick in, and their steady beat is something constant. i miss you was the sound of his… early college years. (they should’ve been high school, but alas.)

“just ignore the words and listen to the beat. feel it in your gut.”

he kneels beside where she sits, cheerfully battering out a patient tune on the nearest drum within hand’s reach.

“i always wanted a drum kit. you can break it. there are two more.”

“you’re the best part of my day, sweetie.”

“i know this is all different – a home, a bed, plenty of food – but i’m here to help you adjust.” 

“what time did you get home last night?”

“you need to stay under the blankets and sweat this out.”

“come here. shh, i’ve got you.” 

“you look like you could use a hug.”

“let’s get one thing straight. i’m the parent, you’re the child. i give the orders, you take them.” 

“take your medicine.”

“i’ve decided to ground myself.”

“kids shouldn’t have to look after themselves. ”

“you need to eat more than that.”

“i’ll stay up. in case you need anything else.”

“kiddo, this parenting gig isn’t easy. i’m really trying here.”

“i’m scared. can you hold my hand?”

“hey, look at me. i’m not leaving you behind. we’re family.”

Like, not even in Deadly Origin or Name of the Rose, when she was dealing with people targeting people close to her she was as ruthless as she was in Black Widow 2004 (Sally Anne's rescue) or No Restraints Play.

Bucky used to be so good at playing the room, used to be able to talk his way in and out of things before someone could even bat an eye. That was one of the many parts of himself he had lost when they created the Winter Soldier. Maybe playing Natasha's game would help him find that part of himself again. "I guess you have a point. Maybe I'll see how many times I can bring up fruit in a conversation."

A slight frown formed on Bucky's lips. He would enjoy seeing Natasha in action, but he also appreciated having her by his side. "Games more important than helping an old friend?" he asked before letting out a sigh. "Fine...If you sense a pair of eyes staring into the back of your skull, just know it will probably be me pleading for your help out of an awful conversation."

"I always have a point."

She would be insufferable, if she wasn't also right.

James did look a little bereft, the poor thing. It was tougher on him, no doubt. His reputation was more widespread, he was more recognizable, he hadn't been free for as long. Not to mention, he had a personality to come back to. Natasha had had free reign to build her own from the ground up.