Date: April 8, 2023
Words: 2538
~ Author's Note ~
Lyrics belong to Luke Hemmings, Bloodline
...Natasha Snaps...
WARNING: Graphic Description of Violence (Dreykov's Death— first half of the chapter until Yelena comes in). Past Child Abuse.
When I live in the numb
And all feeling is gone
.
.
.
And something inside of Natasha snaps.
She lifts her head weakly, her vision swimming against the haze in her mind. At first, there's a burning fury that rages through her soul. But it quickly fades into a deep chill. It spreads through her veins, merging its way into every part of her until there's nothing left.
Black swirls continue to dance in front of her vision, but she doesn't give in to the darkness. Not yet. Her head rests gently against the guard's chest, her fingers softly dancing up the side of his neck, before gliding down to the side where his hidden knife is secured. He doesn't notice the movement, too consumed with following his orders through.
She bites quickly— like the spider she's named —and before he has the chance to alert the others, she thrust the blade into the delicate skin of his neck.
Immediately, blood splatters across her face, as it soaks through her suit. She barely has enough time to stagger to her feet, before the guard's grip weakens and his body crashes against the ground.
Natasha shakes her head, struggling to make out the blurry figures before her, as they begin to notice their fallen comrade. She tightens her grip across the blade, forcing herself to focus on the situation before her, and not the black spots creeping through the edges of her hazy vision.
Focus. Dreykov.
Focus. Three guards left between him and her.
Focus. Wait for them to attack first.
She watches Dreykov clench his jaw, while positioning himself behind his guards. It's obvious they're watching her. Watching her heavy breathing. And how her body is shaking, as she braces herself against the wall. And to top it off, she's covered in blood.
"Get her," Dreykov growls. The red alert echoing along the hall only amplifies their need to leave. There's a big chance of the other intruders locating them, the longer they stay in one place. And he can't risk them stopping him from getting her.
The three guards stalk forward, a smirk circling the lips of the one in the middle. Either unaware or oblivious to the true amount of danger he's approaching, the guard charges at the swaying woman. He attempts to subdue her with a rough hit across the face, but she ducks and swiftly grabs his gun out of the holster.
Bam.
Natasha watches the guard fall with blurry eyes, before turning her attention to her remaining opponents. They approach wearily, without so much as sparing a glance to their fallen teammate. She watches them cautiously, subtly bracing herself on her toes, preparing herself for any sudden moves. And with a knife in one hand and a gun in the other, there's a little shred of hope beginning to brew within her soul.
Maybe she can do this. And so, she continues.
Watching and waiting for the right moment.
And the taller guard is the first to fall into her web.
It's clear he has more experience than his previous two companions, and definitely has better training. It is clear he's not wasting any time, and catches her off guard as he suddenly appears before her. And swiftly, blocks her hit from hitting his face.
Natasha clenches her jaw, quickly pretending to lunge to the left, before shifting her body right. While ignoring the black spots filtering through her vision, she slashes the tip of the knife over his sternum. Using the surprise to her advantage, she pulls him closer, tilting the gun in the right direction.
Bam.
His body drops carelessly to the ground. And the third guard creeps silently from behind, quickly slamming his legs against the weak spot of her shins. She stumbles forward on shaky legs. And something shifts along the edge of her vision. There's a blurry figure watching the violent events before him intently, but he does not dare come close.
Coward.
Dreykov.
The assassin shifts her attention to the only remaining guard, and quickly steady herself on her feet. He tries to secure a hit from behind, but she elbows him in the stomach. Giving her the opportunity to knock his feet out from under him, before smashing his face against the concrete. And for good measure, she shifts the gun into the right position.
Bam.
Natasha swallows, clenching her fingers tightly around her weapons. And finally, she turns her attention to one of the stars from her nightmares.
She raises her gaze to meet his dark black irises, and smirks hauntingly, as she recognizes the fear spreading through him as he comes to the sickening realization that there is nothing left standing in between him and her.
"You took everything from me," she growls. As the fire begins burning through her emerald irises. The blood is staining her face all over, but the tears continue to leak down her cheeks at an uncontrollable pace. And before he has the chance to speak or run away, she slams the tip of the gun across his face, causing his body to fly to the ground.
"You took my childhood," she whispers brokenly.
Natasha clenches her jaw, fighting through the tears in her eyes. Her heart is pounding wildly in her chest, and her palms are sweaty. She hates the effect this piece of shit still has over her. Quickly, before he has the time to move, she thrust her foot against his rib cage.
"You took my choices and tried to break me."
A lonely tear trails down her cheek. But slowly, she can feel a little courage emerge through her soul. Dreykov's weak. A coward. And she won't let him have the power to hurt her or anyone else again.
Natasha bends down, shifting her weight into her toes, leaning close until her breath collides with his face. Hauntingly, she traces the tip of her blade against his face.
"You took my baby," she growls darkly.
Dreykov tenses, using his hands to cover his face in a weak attempt at protection. But it's no use. She swiftly glides the blade down his delicate skin, while ignoring the cries of pain slipping past his lips. She smirks, it's fitting. An eye for an eye. He used to ignore her.
Natasha whispers, "But you're never gonna do that to anybody ever again. Because I'm gonna take away the only thing that ever mattered to you."
Quickly, she lowers her blade, not allowing him time to process her words, before she thrust the knife into his belly. Immediately, blood begins to pool around her red-stained fingers, but she doesn't pay any attention. Too consumed by the ringing in her ears.
"Your life," she promises darkly.
Natasha's grip tightens, digging the blade deeper into his flesh. She was careful not to hit an organ or any of the major blood supplies. His death isn't allowed to be painless and quick. She wants him to suffer.
Dreykov gasps, struggling through the pain, as his dark black irises remain steady upon their prey. Her emerald gaze trails over his face, as she begins to pull the knife out of his abdomen. But at the last second, she thrusts the blade into another spot.
"Well... Look at you, Natasha," Dreykov whispers, "You really are... what I made you... to be." He trails off, the air trapped in his lungs. He gasps, coughing weakly, as blood splatters across his lips. "A... monster."
Natasha clenches her jaw, forcing a calm exterior over her face. Slowly, she frees the knife from his belly, and focuses on the pain washing over his face. It's not until the last second that she notices his hand trailing along the side of her arm toward the knife. Immediately, she twists away from his grasp.
But he uses the distraction to his advantage. He grabs the gun with his other hand, quickly slamming it across her forehead. She can feel the fresh blood beginning to leave a trail along her scalp, as her cheek collides with the ground.
Dreykov presses his hand against his wounds, gasping for air. After he had hit the assassin, the gun had fallen out of his weak grasp, before sliding out of view. But he notices the bloody knife that had once been under the assassin's possession, lying on the floor.
Subtly, he struggles to force his body to move closer to the blade. And he watches Natasha out of the corner of his eye, her body shaking as it slowly rises. He smirks, a dark gaze filtering over his irises.
"She's so much like you," Dreykov taunts.
Natasha grunts, clenching her jaw, while pain spreads through her body as she forces herself to her feet. She notices the man before her moving away, and tries not to focus on his words. But it's no use. The poison in his words burns. And she struggles with the anger rising in her soul.
"She's exactly what I made her to be. Just like you."
Natasha tenses, and her heart beats wildly against her rib cage. She tries to prepare herself for the words she knows are coming. The words posed as his final strike, the ones that will hurt the most. He can call her names all he wants, he can try to destroy her and remake her into something no one will ever recognize.
But she's not going to let him do it to Rose.
Not anymore.
"She's a Monster. Just like you."
Dreykov smirks, his fingers barely reaching the edge of the blade. But at the last second, something slams into his abdomen, forcing black spots through his vision. He can make out a blurry figure, one soaked in red, before something smashes across his face.
"You don't get to talk about Rose," Natasha struggles.
She sends another rough hit into his abdomen, leaving the man gasping for air on the ground. And she bends down, leaning across his bloody body for the knife. But in a desperate attempt to gain control, Dreykov grabs the back of her hair, pulling as hard as he can.
Ignoring the pain spiking through her head and all the tears emerging within her emerald irises, Natasha does not waste any time, clawing her fingers across his face; digging them into his eye socket.
"Ahh!" Dreykov screams, finally releasing her hair from his grip. She grabs the knife on the floor, quickly using the sharp edge along his delicate skin. There are tears flowing across her cheeks, but she does not pay them any attention.
"I hate you," she whispers darkly.
Natasha sends a strike with the blade.
"I hate you."
And again.
"I hate you," she cries, "I hate you!"
Again. Again.
The blood pools around her. But she's too consumed by the man in front of her to notice. Suddenly, her grip on the knife loosens, but her hits continue. She repeats those same three words over and over. And her mind is frantic as her thoughts burn.
It's a violent sight. The bloody woman on her knees, as she beats him with everything she has left. She doesn't notice that he isn't moving. She doesn't notice anything but the ringing in her ears. As the world begins to fade around her.
She hits. Repeat. Again and again.
Natasha doesn't notice the figures behind her. Or that they're getting closer. She doesn't until the smaller figure places a gentle hand on her shoulder. A cry slips past her lips, as she turns sharply, bringing her fist up in an effort to protect herself.
"Hey, hey," Yelena whispers calmly, while slowly moving her hands in front of her, as a silent reassurance to her sister that she means no harm. "It's just me."
The blonde slowly traces her eyes across her sister's body— taking in the blood. Gently, she pulls her body close, rubbing her shoulders in an attempt to calm her down. And she raises her gaze, briefly eyeing the body all broken and battered, before turning her attention to the shaking woman in her arms.
"You're going to be okay," Yelena whispers, struggling against the sight before her. She needs to stay strong, not for herself, but for her sister. Slowly, she glances at her companion, her hazel irises searching for his dark chocolate orbs.
Tony swallows, meeting Yelena's gaze steadily. As the cries continue to slip past Natasha's lips. He has never seen her like this— this broken. She's covered in blood and shaking, tears pouring down her face. Her emerald irises are staring at the battered body before them. And her gaze is hazy, unfocused.
"Is he dead?"
Yelena swallows, the words stuck in her lungs, but with one last glance at Tony and the body— Dreykov's body —it's all confirmed. The bastard is dead. Tony can't find any signs of life. No heartbeat. Nothing.
"He's gone," Yelena promises.
Natasha trembles, stubbornly forcing herself from the blonde's arms. "Прости меня, моя младшая сестра." Forgive me, my little sister. "I should've come back for you."
"You don't have to say that," the blonde insists, shaking her head. Even though her eyes fill with tears, and her heart begins to pound against her ribs. She's wanted to hear those words for years. Through all the nights, she spent wishing for her older sister to come and save the day. "It's okay."
"It was real to me, too," Natasha whispers, gently resting her forehead upon Yelena's.
"Thank you," Yelena whispers.
.
.
.
And I know I'm so far gone
Your heart can't keep the vacancy for me
XX
~ Author's Note ~
They still need to get to Steve...
And we are about to hit Natasha's breaking point...
Any questions? Thoughts? Ideas?
XX
Next Chapter:
The joy and the chaos, the demons we're made of
I'd be so lost if you left me alone
.
.
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Now she sits before them, holding the battered body of her love; her limbs shaking against her will, while tears flow down her flushed cheeks. The redhead can't even begin to comprehend the thoughts of her losing him. It is not a possibility. She can't imagine a world with him gone.
"Hey, look at me," Natasha commands softly, "We are going to get out of here. You are not going to die. You are not... not allowed to die." She ignores the way she begins to stumble over her words, roughly wiping away any evidence of past tears. "Do you hear me? You are not allowed to die!"
Her attempts are proven futile.
For tears continue to crusade down her cheeks against her wishes. She's a mess. But it doesn't matter. Not the stares at her back. Or the pain shaking her limbs. He's the only one that matters.
Natasha cries, and her attempts at protecting her weak resolve shatter. She breaks. There's no rage sheltering her from the pain. Nothing to pull her focus away from the hurricane rumbling through her mind.
"I... I love you," she whispers, "I love you."
XX