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Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Panic! at the Disco, My Chemical Romance, Fall Out Boy, BioShock 1 & 2 (Video Games)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Relationships: Ryan Ross/Brendon Urie, Gerard Way/Frank Iero (background), Spencer Smith/Ryan Ross (historical mention), Jonathan Walker/Cassie Walker (historical mention)
Additional Tags: I repeat, Major character death - Freeform, Bioshock AU, Dystopian Horror, let's get all the minor characters' baggage out the way:, Body Horror, body modification (including non-consensual), abuse of fictional drugs, Murder, Self-Harm (Brief Mention), and now for the major characters:, Strangers to Lovers, Suicidal Ideation (brief mention), love in unlikely places, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Blood and Injury, Death, Emotional illiteracy, Food Scarcity, Yearning, First Times, Doomed by the Narrative
Summary:
“Tell me you understand, Ryan. We’re not anyone’s sickly sweet anything. That’s for real people in the real world who don’t have to worry about fighting to stay alive every day. Not here.”
Ryan took in the sight of him, trying not to shiver from the cooling sweat of the fight, shoulders tense and eyes burning with a quiet plea.
He thought again of falling asleep with Brendon. The two of them safe in a home they could rest in together. How they just had to get there.
Tony and Natasha are being pursued, but they are driving a rickety Corolla. Tony is incredibly frustrated because he has a need for speed. What's their clever escape plan?
This was fun to write. Lol I hope I was oddly specific enough.
Natasha glares, and holds onto what Clint affectionately calls the ‘oh shit’ handle; Tony rounding the corner like a madman.
“It’s not made for this,” she tells him angrily, “the engine will fucking fall out.”
“It won’t, it’s top speed is like 120mph, and I bet that it can go faster than that. You said they were behind us?”
Natasha looks behind them, gun drawn.
“I think we lost them on the freeway, when you decided to snake around the four trucks that almost hit us. Where did you learn to drive?”
“I’ve driven everything from Supercars to an Ironman suit, I’m not about to be bested in a race even if I’m in a Corolla.”
She rolls her eyes.
“You’re going to kill us,” she states, as he accelerates.
“We aren’t going fast enough,” he replies.
The black SUV serves in front and they both swear.
“Tony,” she starts.
“I told you!”
The Corolla seems to slow, even as Tony pumps the accelerator.
“My foot’s on the floor,” he states, watching the one black car turn into three.
“Brake!”
Natasha’s yell makes him react and he does as she ask, it makes them almost level with two and Natasha shoots at floor.
“What are you doing!?”
“Go!”
Tony’s words are frantic as he starts forward again, building speed and watching as one car tips.
“How…?”
“They’re armoured,” she states, looking around. The third SUV on their tail.
“If I shoot the ground, it ricochets up, and punches into the floor of the car. Most people don’t like that.”
She shoots once into the side, and Tony watches as it bounces off. It doesn’t do much but the next shot under the car, as they pull away seems to make it pause.
“Get off at the next exit,” she orders.
Tony nods and changes lanes and even though he probably will never get the sound of horns out of his head, he’s grateful that they haven’t been hit yet.
“They’re still behind us,” he tells her, watching out of the mirrors.
“No shit,” Natasha replies.
“When I say break, break again, okay?”
Tony nods.
“Fine, do you have enough bullets?”
Natasha doesn’t answer.
“Come on,” he tells the car, “go faster!”
He watches Natasha check her gun, nod and then as they turn off the freeway, only one catches the turn.
Tony smiles; only one is doable.
He presses his foot down, even though it’s basically on the floor.
“On three, break and brace,” she tells him.
He doesn’t know what that means, but waits for her count, and when he hears three, he pushes the break so hard, he wonders if his foot is going to go through the car.
The shock he feels when she pulls up the handbrake too, makes him scream.
The sound comes from him and even he feels shocked at it.
“Nattttt?!”
“Wait!” she exclaims.
“Nat!?”
“Wait!”
They’re stationary, and Tony watches the SuV come at them.
Natasha smashes the car into reverse, and yells.
“Go!”
Tony acts on instinct, pushing the accelerator hard and feels the car go backwards.
“I can’t drive backwards!” he shouts, panicked.
“It’s like driving forwards, weren’t you just saying that you’ve driven Supercars and the iron man suit?”
Tony looks behind him, thankful it’s a straight line.
“It’s not the same! And you know it!”
Natasha leans out of the car, and his heart almost drops.
“What the fuck are you doing!?”
The SUV gains.
She shoots the ground and Tony watches as the man panics in front of him. She shoots once more and the car spins into a barrier.
The car door closes and she’s safe inside.
Bullets from the ground, he muses. He’s got to remember that one.
Natasha checks her gun.
“Break on three,” she tells him.
He does as he’s told.
The poor Corolla.
Thirty miles later and it’s limping but for all accounts the red, rickety car pulls into their safehouse.
“Not bad,” he tells it.
“But I still prefer fast cars.”
Natasha rolls her eyes, but as he steps forward he notices that even she gives it a pat.
Natasha feels guilty about how she left Yelena. Thor imparts some wisdom on siblings, and how to forgive herself.
Warnings: fighting, talk of guilt and forgiveness.
1.2k (I love this gif, and it is not mine, we can all thank @causeitswhatjesuswouldfreakingdo for their genius)
This is such an underrated pairing. And the parallels of siblings I suppose is one I hadn’t given much thought to. I quite enjoyed writing them. Fifty points if you know where the opening quote is from. <3
.
“It is difficult to seek forgiveness when you feel unworthy,” Thor tells her serenely.
Natasha growls.
The left hook is wild.
She doesn’t want to talk.
“And you would know?”
He nods, pushing her back.
“I do.”
“It’s my fault,” she kicks, watching as he avoids it, dodging to the left.
He pushes her again and it only lights her ire.
She comes at him full force.
“It can’t be your fault, if you’ve done nothing wrong.”
She throws two punches, then kicks him, but the power is lacking against his enormous bulk.
She side steps and he waits.
“Attack me like you mean it Natasha. Tell me the things you want, because I think I know what it is you seek, but I’m also here to tell you, you are worthy of forgiveness.”
He catches her punch, and lets it go, the movement so effortless that she almost feels despair in fighting him.
“How could you know anything?” She spits.
Natasha watches as he smiles at her sadly.
“Unfortunately,” he says slowly, “I have lived this life over and over again. I have lived twice your lifetimes and maybe more. I know, because I’ve lived it. And Natasha?”
He pauses long enough that she looks up at him.
“You’re worthy of the forgiveness.”
A further barrage of punches come at him, and he blocks and dodges and pushes as she attacks and he avoids.
“You. Couldn’t. Know. That.”
She breathes so heavily that he sweeps her legs.
She doesn’t get up.
Thor looks down at her and offers a hand.
Natasha doesn’t take it and avoids his eyes.
“I failed her,” she whispers.
Thor sits down next to her.
“No.”
The words are gentle.
Soft.
“I want to go back and save her.”
Thor nods.
“But you can’t.”
Natasha growls at his words.
“Tell me why you can’t.”
He thinks maybe that if she says the words out loud, she can see reason, and not the guilt that clouds her.
“I can,” she says mournfully.
“But she doesn’t want to be saved. The wounds are still too fresh. She needs time too.”
“You are not responsible for her life. You are not responsible for what has happened to her.”
“So tell me,” he asks, slowly, “why can’t you go back and save her?”
Natasha doesn’t answer.
“I can.”
Thor’s next words are kind, gentle and firm.
“You can’t save people who don’t want to be saved.”
He says it with such finality, and conviction that Natasha huffs in annoyance.
“Tell me what happened,” he asks, picking up a small throwing knife and handing it to her.
She twirls it in her hand, thinking back on the last four days, and how indeed she has ended up in the sparring gym with Thor of all people.
“You’re more observant than I thought you were,” she offers.
He smirks and throws another knife to the target across the room over ten metres away.
She rolls her eyes.
He stands and goes to retrieve it.
Natasha twirls her own knife judging the distance and trajectory, waiting until he’s safely back next to her and throws her own, lodging it just to the right inches from where his just landed.
He nods in approval.
“And you’re just as dangerous as I thought,” he replies.
She doesn’t face him but appreciates the compliment.
“Yelena,” she offers, her voice cracking.
“My sisters name is Yelena.”
“I… she’s not my real sister.”
Thor twirls the knife and throws it.
“And Loki, my brother, is not my real brother.”
It lands true.
“But it doesn’t make them any less family, does it?”
Natasha shakes her head.
“She’s the only family I know.”
Natasha throws her knife.
“I thought that she had never got out of the Red Room, she was too good, too innocent to ever survive.”
Thor stays close to the target and slides Natasha’s knife back to her, allowing her to throw it again.
The exertion feels good, despite the emotions of anger and grief bubbling inside.
“Another widow, defected last week. She got in touch with the safe haven Clint and I built years ago.”
“Her name was Irina. She was about Yelena’s age, I thought anyway. And I always ask, I always ask about her, but…”
She throws the knife again.
“She said that Yelena would be in Vladivostok in two days.”
Thor looks at her, concern lining his face.
Natasha purses her lips.
“I didn’t think it would be a trap, but I didn’t even second guess it.”
“She was there though.”
Natasha throws the knife.
“I saw her.”
She swallows.
“I told her to come with me, and you know what she said before aiming a gun at me?”
Thor is silent.
The knife thuds against the target so hard the wall behind it seems to take more of the impact.
“She said I failed all the widows. She said that it was because of me that they were punished. She said that no one would forgive me because it was all. My. fault.”
The last three words are whispered and Thor steps closer to Natasha enveloping her into a hug.
“She shot at me and I think she would have killed me if Tony hadn’t pushed me out of the way.”
She steps out of the hug, looking up and willing the tears to flow backwards.
“She hates me, she’s alive and she hates me,” Natasha whispers to the ceiling.
Thor steps back, and throws two knives at the target before turning his attention back to Natasha.
“She’s not ready to be saved,” he tells her again.
“It won’t stop you trying though; family is like that. Sometimes it’s not the first time, or the second or even the third that they might listen, but little things can mean bigger things.”
He watches as she schools her face.
“I asked you to spar with me, because…”
“Because you knew you couldn’t win? Because you thought it would be an easy way of punishing yourself?”
Natasha looks at the ground.
“I’ve been there too. But friends aren’t for punishing. You… are my friend, and I want to help you.”
Natasha feels her stomach drop with an edge of guilt. She had wanted him to hurt her, and instead he’d given her the time and space to work out what it was that hurt so much inside.
“I’m sorry it’s that way for your brother too,” she offers.
He nods.
“You’re worthy of forgiveness,” he replies, “and I’m not sure that ensuring your own survival even qualifies as needing forgiveness.”
Natasha doesn’t reply.
Instead, she looks around and sees the indentation of the knives in the target, and admires the accuracy.
“Will you show me how to throw like that?” she asks, walking across the room the retrieve them.
Thor nods, and shrugs.
“I don’t know if you need the help, but I can give you some pointers.”
He pauses and puts a hand on her shoulder.
“Natasha. I will spar with you, but I will not hurt you. We have fought together and I think that makes us family, warriors. So I will tell you again, and you will repeat it back to me.You have done nothing wrong.”
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A/N: what a ride this year. For everyone who has commented, reblogged and liked the fics, thank you - from the bottom of my heart. I love Nat, and doing this reminds me I’m not the only one. So thanks. Until maybe next year?
Today’s fic was requested by @millenniallust4death a while ago. I left it and still am not sure I did it justice.
Warnings for blood noses and benign chat of the red room. 2.8k
death can have me when it earns me.
“That’s a lot of blood.”
Natasha wipes at her nose, inspecting the leak and getting a tissue from her pocket.
“No, it’s not.”
Tony frowns.
“Yes, it is.”
He pulls her sideways into the grocery store.
“Look where we are,” she growls, “we are in public, and could be seen by anyone.”
The tissue is red with blood.
He pointedly looks down, and she follows his gaze.
“It’s England, no one knows us here, there’s a Boots and we are in Tesco?”
Natasha changes the tissues and bends her head down.
“It doesn’t matter where we are, we can’t stop moving.”
He turns her around, eyes full of concern meeting eyes full of shittiness, one turning a sickening red-blue.
“Let me see,” he asks, producing his own hanky.
She looks as it in disgust.
“Where did you even get that from?”
He shrugs.
“It’s clean?”
She takes it, and folds it, holding it to her nose.
“Do you… get blood noses often?”
She rolls her eyes in exasperation.
“Clint does.”
“Really?”
She resists the urge to break from his gaze.
“I don’t.”
“Hmm.”
Tony’s non answer makes her feel annoyed.
“We need to go.”
“Follow my finger,” he offers, sticking his finger in front of her face.
Pushing him off, she growls.
“Follow mine.”
She sticks up her middle finger and starts to walk away, the stumble and trip almost comical.
The vomit happens all together too quickly, and suddenly the blood from her nose and the bile from her stomach is mixing in a puddle on the grocery store.
It gets some looks.
Tony rushes her.
So do four other people.
All offering suggestions and one with their phone out calling an ambulance.
“Fuck,” she whispers.
Tony ducks next to her, guarding her.
“You have a concussion and now you’re the one making a scene.”
He offers her another hanky, and she stares at it and them him.
“If I was feeling better I’d have a quip about you being a clown,” she mutters.
“Noted,” he mutters back.
“Excuse me?” comes a voice, the young shop attendant breaks through the crowd of four and stares at Tony and Natasha and looks down at the puddle of sick and blood on the floor.
There’s a look of recognition.
Natasha sees it in her face.
More people seem to stop around them, and the woman seems to notice Natasha’s panic and Tony’s cluelessness.
Both of them more than dazed, and perhaps more than a little injured.
“Can you please follow me?”
She says it with an air of authority, enough that the people part again, and let both Avengers through.
“Gary, please clean the floor? I’ll be back to help.”
Gary, looks twelve, and like he’s never cleaned a floor in his life. But the young teen does what he’s told, and blusters to get the yellow ‘wet floor’ sign, as they disappear into the back end of supermarket.
“Thank you,” Natasha says earnestly, the woman waving her off.
“I know who you are.”
Natasha freezes, wondering if they just walked into a trap. Someone wanted them dead.
“I have a sister in Brunel.”
The university where they’ve just come from. The university where Tony just gave a speech, to further their program on engineering; and the auditorium exploded. The fight where Natasha had protected him from a stampede but had gotten crushed herself; after she’d smacked her face on the podium.
“Oh. Uh, is she…?”
The woman nods, “she’s fine, she’s messaged me. She was so excited to see you and hear you both speak.”
Natasha nods.
“Thank you, we need…”
“I have a first aid kit here.”
The woman leaves, and comes back within the minute.
“You can stay here but probably not for long. My manager has been out for the last 45 minutes and she’ll probably be back soon.
Tony looks at Natasha.
The exchange is quick.
“We’ll be gone before you know it,” Natasha assures.
The woman leaves, Tony following her to the door.
“What’s your name?” he asks quietly.
“Beth,” she smiles.
“Thank you Beth,” Tony replies.
He turns his attention back to his friend and finds her standing, no trace of a blood nose; just fresh bruises.
“We should go?”
Natasha nods.
“Are you okay?”
Natasha looks to Tony asking the question but dressing him down with one look.
He taps on his chest and it makes a clang.
“Maybe you need some armour too,” he says with half a smile.
“Maybe,” Natasha replies, the smile returned.
“We should go,” she tells him.
“Your nose,” he starts, pointing as she swipes at it.
“It’s fine, it’ll be fine. We’ve all had concussion before.”
“Nat…”
“Tony…”
“We have to move.”
Tony stands his hand held out.
“Shouldn’t we wait for her to come back?”
Natasha looks to the exit, the staff door with the bright green sign.
“Come on.”
Dutifully, he follows her, the door opening onto a back car park, with cars smattering around the lot.
“Exfil is around 13 kilometres… ummm like 8 miles, we just need to get a car.. Maybe-“
She points, the little red Corolla, old enough to hot wire but not so old it would die.
Tony grins.
“I can do that,” he tells her and she nods.
“Sure you can.”
“Can you also drive on the other side of the road?”
Tony stops in his tracks.
“Yeah probably?”
“Just Hotwire it and I’ll drive, okay?”
Tony sets to work, breaking the lock easily and handing himself upside down to get below the fuse box.
She spits on the floor, next to the car and grimaces as her head smarts, and vision blurs.
The car starts and she climbs in, shaking her head to clear it, ignoring the throbbing.
“Do you know where to go?”
She nods,”I think so.”
“Why do you think they did it?”
He pauses.
“Was it because of me? Us?”
Natasha starts driving, and looks over at him momentarily.
“No, not you.”
Tony frowns.
“If not me, then… you?”
Natasha nods.
“I think so. I’ve been playing all the scenarios in my head, of why? Why then? Why you? Why was it that it was a charge that wouldn’t hurt any one but us, and evacuate the building? I don’t really understand, but I think, it was a message.”
Tony’s scowl deepens.
“Someone did that, to send you a message?”
Natasha shrugs.
“It’s what I would do.”
Tony tries to school his face.
“You must know my next question, then.”
She smirks.
“Who’s sending me a message?”
“Who’s giving you a concussion, putting me in a firing line and destroying a building to send you a message?”
Natasha scoffs.
“If I told you,” she starts.
“No, this isn’t a game.”
His seriousness seems to catch her off guard.
She stops smiling.
“It’s telling me to come home.”
.
The safe house is in the dodgiest part of Uxbridge is so dark that even with the car headlights they can only see a small way ahead.
He growls awake, and then seems to realise where he is and sits up wide awake.
“What?”
“We’re here,” she smiles.
He can see the fatigue in her face, the lines and the sipped red under her nose which seems to have finally stopped bleeding.
“What’s the time?”
She gestures at the safehouse and then at the time as she unbuckles herself; pawing at the catch.
Tony looks and frowns then helps, catching the belt and opening his car door.
He stretches and walks to her side.
“Thanks for driving.”
She nods.
“The key is under the pot plant,” she tells him, standing slowly.
“But lift it from the edges and don’t slide your hand underneath; there’s razor blades.”
Tony nods, stepping forward, his mission clear.
She grabs the satcom phone, and calls Clint, the message curt.
She doesn’t have the brainspace.
“Concussion,” she tells him, when he inquires about her. “Tired.”
He replies with telling her to drink some water and eat something before resting, and asks to talk to Tony.
“He’s in the house, he can call later?”
Clint agrees, and she ends the call.
The lights in the house switch on, and she knows Tony has disarmed the alarm. She hears the slight hum of electricity as the generator switches on and steps light to the house.
Walking slowly she heads into the house, nodding to Tony who stands awkwardly at the kitchen table.
“Mac and Cheese?” he offers.
She feels a sharp pang as she always does and shakes her head. She regrets that action too.
“Call Clint, I’m going for a shower.”
He catches the phone she throws at him and he watches as she bumps the wall going up the stairs.
Tony waits til he hears the shower switch on and calls the last dialled number, Clint answering on the second ring.
“What happened?” he demands.
Tony explains the best he can, how he was taking, then how the building exploded, and then how Natasha thought that it was for her.
“But that’s ridiculous, right? She doesn’t have any enemies? They’re coming for me? I’m the one that has the enemies, I always seem to have people after me.”
Clint is quiet.
“I don’t know,” he answers and both go silent.
“How can I help her? I think she’s got a headache and she just seems… off.”
“Just make sure she eats and drinks something,” Clint advises.
Tony looks at the packet Mac and cheese and opens the fridge. There’s not much.
Maybe pasta, with some butter and Parmesan. It’s not the same as Mac and cheese but it’s just as easy.
He sets to work, listening for the shower to shut off.
He cooks and listens to the news, then waits for her to come down.
When she doesn’t, he climbs the stairs to find her.
The door to the bedroom is open and he feels like a voyeur looking in.
She sits on the edge of the bed, palms of her hands covering her eyes.
“Uh, Nat? Come eat.”
She sits up and looks over at him.
“I’m not hungry,” she tells him, “I just want to go to bed.”
Tony nods.
“Come and eat, I… don’t want to eat alone?”
He knows it’s a shot in the dark, and really she has no obligation to come and eat with him, but seemingly it does make her stand and follow him.
“It’s not much,” he keeps talking, looking over his shoulder, making sure she’s following.
Tony’s glad he set the table and pulls the chair out for her.
He hands her a glass of water.
She takes it without thinking and he walks around. He spoons the pasta into a bowl and passes that across too.
Natasha looks at him.
“I know, but eat it if you want to.”
He spoons some into his own bowl and passes her a fork.
He starts eating.
Not saying anything he keeps going, eating, sipping his own drink, and slowly she copies.
Tony grins to himself.
He feels he’s outsmarted a spy and he’s oddly proud.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he offers.
“No,” she replies.
“If you hear screaming, just leave me alone, my subconscious will work it out,” she continues.
His stomach drops.
“What?”
“Just ignore it,” she repeats.
“Thanks for dinner,” she tells him, and attempts a smile.
“See you in the morning.”
Tony watches her leave.
He doesn’t know what to do.
He sends a message to Clint and walks up the stairs behind her.
.
Tony stays awake, the door open to her bedroom as he watches her move around. He stands guard and watches as she moans.
It’s not in pleasure.
Words spoken he wishes he could forget and instead, he stands transfixed, feeling like a creep watching her and doing nothing.
It feels like a lifetime.
It slows though.
In time.
And he breathes again.
He didn’t even realise he was holding his breath.
Tony takes a step towards her, even though still asleep he can see the beads of sweat.
At least her nose isn’t bleeding.
He wonders if that’s all, if he should wake her up.
She said not to though, and he pushed her to eat and drink and she drove the car.
He takes two steps back and heads into the other bedroom.
He sits on the edge of the bed, and glances at the time. 6am. It’s been a long night.
Deciding that it’s almost over, he goes back down stairs and starts breakfast.
Spam and eggs will have to do, he thinks, and the left over pasta.
It’ll be enough.
.
It’s probably fifteen minutes before she comes down, dark circles under her eyes, probably matching his.
“You look like shit,” she opens.
“You too,” he nods to the chair.
“Eat.”
He loads her plate and notices the slight tremor in her left hand, and chooses to ignore it.
“How’s the head?”
She shrugs.
“Sore, I’ll take something later.”
He throws a packet of painkillers at her and nods.
“Good.”
“What’s today’a plan?”
Tony shrugs.
“I think we should probably determine whether it’s you or me.”
She stares.
“It’s me, I told you.”
“It’s me, I have enemies,” he retorts.
“No, you don’t… it’s not you, Tony, I told you.”
“It could be.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Tony bristles.
“This is stupid. I was standing at the podium, they targeted me, I’m here because you covered me, it was me they were after.”
She looks at him carefully.
“No.”
“I think,” he replies, trying to keep the anger out, “you need to explain, because otherwise I’m going to need to start writing out a list of enemies.”
She smirks.
“You should do that anyway.”
He shrugs, “probably.”
She sighs and pushes breakfast away.
“Black widows are after me. They’ve been trying to kill me for the last 3 months. Clint know but no one else. I’ve been trying to get to them before they get to me to see if I can deprogram them. It’s been… marginally successful.”
He freezes.
“What?”
“Fury knows too. Theres a facility in Black Forest.”
She sighs.
“Sorry, I didn’t want you to get caught into it too.”
He feels anger stir within him.
“How close have they got?” he asks, low and measured.
“I’m still here, aren’t I?”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
She shakes her head.
“No, it doesn’t. Tony I’m sorry you’re caught in this, once we get you stateside it’ll be better, they seem to have more reach in Europe. I didn’t want you to be caught in this..”
“Natasha that’s not, no. This is not even. How could you not tell us?”
Her eyes narrow.
“And put you in danger too?”
“To help you out of it?”
“No!”
“Yes!”
“You’re not going to change my mind,” she starts, “this is not your fight.”
“No but you’re my friend and I can help.”
“No!”
“Yes!”
“Tony, this is too much, you talk of enemies with a grin. I talk of ones who could kill me in a heartbeat. Why do you think I drove for so long? Losing a tail, and making sure no one else gets hurt on my behalf.”
“I can help,” he tries.
“No! You will not get hurt on my account.”
She winces.
“Your nose is bleeding,” he deadpans.
“Just leave it alone, okay?”
Natasha wipes her nose, and takes two steps back.
“It’ll be okay.”
Tony shakes his head but offers her a hanky.
“Where the fuck do you keep getting these from?”
Tony pulls one more out, and smiles, some of the tension lessened.
“I can help,” he tells her quietly.
She shakes her head.
“Let it go.”
Looking up she glances at the time.
“We should go, do you want a shower?”
He shakes his head, unwilling to take his eyes off her.
“We can go,” he tells her, “the bags are packed.”
Natasha nods.
“It’s not far to the airport and exfil field. We’ll be home by tonight.”
Tony feels his mind wander and he answers absently.
“Yeah, let’s go.”
“Probably still not a bad idea to write out your enemy list.”
He rolls his eyes.
“Why? Apparently you have enough enemies for eh both of us.”
“Tony…” she starts.
“Let’s just go.”
She nods, letting the thought drop and wishing she didn’t have to tell him in the first place.
.
“He’s not going to let it go.”
Clint looks at her, and makes her eyes follow a light.
“You need to take it easy,” he diagnoses.
“I’m fine,” she replies.
He scoffs.
“Maybe we get him in on it, maybe he can do more good rather than dwelling on it.”
She’s silent.
“She could have killed him.”
“Better the threats that you know?”
She hops off the table.
“Ughhhhh.”
“You need sleep,” he tells her.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll go soon. Can you deal with Tony?”
For those that are new here, black widow fest has been running since 2021, as a way to celebrate the black widow movie and use it as a bit of an excuse to interact and do some writing.
It will run for I think probably 7 days this year from the 9th until the 15th. For the first day there will be 8 fics (thank you for those who sent some in I have done as many as I can <3 the ones I don’t get to I may try to get to later).
For all previous fest here is the Masterlist of fic (which I know I need to pin but for some reason I haven’t figured it out and I am 100% mobile sooooo I’ll work it out one day)
Events:
9th - short fics released hourly over 7 hours (please blacklist bwf2025 if you don’t want to see them)
- The Corolla (Nat and Tony)
- Ride Home (Nat and Steve)
- Mistakes (Nat, Clint, Kate and Yelena)
- Something new (Red Room)
- Fires (Nat and Tony)
- Babysitting (Clint/Nat and Fanny)
- Sick (Clint/Nat)
10th - unconditional (Nat and Thor)
11th - Drowning Part One (Natasha, Yelena and Pepper)
12th - where we are (Natasha and Clint)
13th - Drowning (part two) (Natasha, Yelena and Pepper)
14th - snapshots (Nat/Clint)
15th - death can have me when it earns me (Nat and Tony)
I’ll use this page as a Masterlist for the above fic so keep coming back but will try and reblog it.
Above all thanks for coming along for the ride and the encouragement. It means so much when I do stupid things like this. <3<3<3
(We’re gonna be okay) (800w, warnings of talk of leaving the red room)
Natasha has a set of blades. Sharp, intricately detailed and precious.
The travel with her everywhere, always hidden, sheathed except when needed.
The patterns, Clint thinks, as he runs his hands over the indentation with one finger, must mean something; but he’s never had the courage to ask.
It’s rare, they’re out in the open, left on their bench, and he wonders if she was cleaning them.
The dagger is about the size of his hand, the tip is sharp and the inlay covered in deep bronze.
It bares two marks one is the black widow symbol and the other is another shape that he’s seen but he has no idea what it actually means.
Two lines intersect like a plus sign, with what looks like an eight over the top of it.
He traces his finger over it, looking at the next ones and realizing it’s the same.
Clint knows she’s watching, even before he can see her, he feels her presence in the room.
“What’s the symbol for?” he asks, turning around and finding her leaning against the door.
“I haven’t told you this story?” she asks, walking towards him.
Natasha picks up the first dagger, it looks bigger in her hand, but also that it was meant for her.
The hilt fits perfectly, and she twirls it, showing off.
“There’s a place, in England, where there’s a man who used to be Russian lives.”
She grins.
“Isn’t that how your stories start? With a man somewhere, doing something?”
He laughs too.
“Yeah, yeah. Something like that.”
He retreats and sits on her bed, watching as she twirls the daggers and makes them disappear and reappear.
“When I first got out, I was lost, but I had skills and the Red Room, well it did give connections. I wasn’t so young that I didn’t know what I was doing, and so could find my way, but actually wanting to live? That took some more time.”
Clint is silent.
She doesn’t talk about these things, he could count the times on one hand how many stories he had from her early days and like the tales they were; he loved them.
Crossed legs, he leans in, wanting more; anything she’s willing to impart.
“There was a man, and he had weapons. I knew I needed at least one, a gun, a proper knife that wasn’t a kitchen knife, anything that would help me protect myself,” she pauses, “anything that made me feel safer.”
“I couldn’t trust what I’d escaped with, it wasn’t clear if they could be traced, I don’t think so, but even back then I knew I couldn’t trust it. They’d marked us with trackers, so why not the weapons they gave us?”
She absentmindedly touches the thin scar behind her ear, where the tracker had been implanted.
Clint scoots closer.
She eyes him and he holds his position, wondering if she’ll stop. He picks up a dagger and makes it disappear, his sleight of hand making her laugh.
She attempts the same and it helps to dispel some of the anxiety that seems to have built in the room.
“So,” she tells him, handing it back and letting him make it disappear and reappear, the motions mesmerizing her.
“He was an old contact. He knew me or of me at least, and agreed to help, in exchange for information.”
She takes the dagger.
“He engraved the widow symbol, and I started to cry.”
She smiles to herself, lost in the memory.
“It was the first time I cried in front of someone. Ever.”
Clint reaches across and holds her hand.
“He was so taken aback, I hadn’t wanted to be a widow, and everything that it represented. As I sobbed, he led me to is workshop, sat me down with a glass of water and waited.”
She traces her fingers over the lines.
“He drew a black widow symbol; and then told me to draw what I wanted over it. The lines, they’re what I came up with. The eight is for the months I’d been out and the plus sign was the sign for help, like a medical sign, I felt maybe like what I’d actually tried to aspire to. I don’t know. It seemed appropriate at the time. I can’t rid of the black widow. She’s a part of me as I’m a part of her, but the rest maybe that could be written.”
