prologue
Its been a week since Natasha and Steve rescued their teammates from the Raft. Most of their teammates. The ride to Steve's preferred safe house had been long and quiet as the group of ex-Avengers recovered from the escape, but to Natasha it had been unsuccessful. Normally, she welcomed silence with open arms. She was an assassin, after all. But the silence on the unregistered Quinjet that night had been suffocating. It left her alone with her thoughts, loud and relentless as the girl's bruised and battered features ingrained themselves into Natasha's mind.
They shouldn't have left her there.
Natasha had easily sliced at the strait jacket Wanda Maximoff had spent her days on the Raft wearing, freeing the younger Avenger from her confines, but with each step she took she shuddered, as that damned shock collar sprung to life around her neck.
No matter how much she'd begged and pleaded with them to just go, not to worry about her, promised them she'd be fine in the meantime, Natasha couldn't fathom how she'd so easily caved. Given, the little witch hadn't given her much of a say in the matter, hints of scarlet swirling in her irises as more prison guards piled in around them. Steve and Clint were on either side of Natasha, helping her fight off as many as they could as Scott and Sam made their way towards the hatch, but there were more than Natasha had anticipated and it seemed with every guard the boys took down, two more took it's place.
She'd felt Wanda's overwhelming surge of power before she'd even released it, drowning the area in bright, red light as it burst from Wanda's chest. They'd all been thrown back from the strength of it, but it ripped into each and every prison guard as if following specific instructions. Natasha had flinched at the earsplitting scream the witch let out, forcing herself to ignore the pain of being flung into a wall and instead on the resounding sound of electricity buzzing to life. Violent tremors shook Wanda's small body as the collar released an abundance of energy onto her neck, triggered from the use of her powers.
Natasha had wanted nothing more than to run and scoop the younger girl into her arms, bring her to safety, rip that stupid fucking collar from her neck and use it to torture the monster who'd made it. The monster who'd made Wanda wear it. She was just a kid! Hardly twenty-five years into her life and had already lost her entire family to wars she had little to no control over.
Behind her she could hear Sam yelling for the girl, Clint back on his feet in record time and running towards Wanda as she keeled over from the intense shock the collar had given her in return. But something stopped him, rejected his presence as he made his way towards her. A forcefield of sorts, strong and red each time Clint tried to push through it. Wanda was keeping them away.
"Just go! I will only slow you all down!" Wanda had yelled hoarsely. Her words slurred, Sokovian accent present as Natasha watched her claw at the ground. The collar around her throat continued to hum with electricity and Wanda's eyes had rolled as she fought to remain conscious. If Natasha had ever doubted the brunette's power before (she hadn't) she certainly didn't then. She'd never seen someone withstand so much electricity for such a long period of time. Distantly, she could hear the simultaneous footsteps of more prison guards, but her heart ached for the girl as she watched Clint repeatedly slam his fists against her magic, desperate to get to her. The wall flickered ever so slightly as Wanda's breathing became dangerously shallow from the continuous shock.
"Please! Just go. I cannot hold them off for so much longer. I will be alright for now, j-just go."
Anyone with common sense could have seen that was not the case. She could hardly speak and her eyes had been bleary and unfocused as Natasha watched helplessly. It was only when Clint gripped her arm did she look away from the girl. "We will come back for her." He had gritted it through his teeth, tears in his bloodshot eyes as he pulled a reluctant Natasha towards the shaft.
The silence in the safe house the next morning was even more deafening than it had been on the Quinjet. Natasha hadn't slept that night and neither had Clint. She could hear him from her chosen room upstairs, crying quietly in the bathroom across the hall.
It continued on like that for days. The group hardly spoke aside from Sam and Scott's lame attempts at jokes. Natasha appreciated it, really. But nothing could take her mind off of the youngest girl's tired, green blue eyes, or the way she shook as she released a wave of magic to protect a team of people she would have gladly ripped the heads off of a year prior.
The first nightmare strikes at random.
Its so vivid that for a moment Natasha wonders if it is instead a memory. She can see her so clearly. Her face is littered with green and purple bruises, her left eye swollen and crusted. The dark ring around it almost distracts Natasha from the deep bags beneath the girl's eyes and the hollowness of her cheeks. She's close enough that with a few steps forward Natasha can reach out and touch her, but she doesn't. She can't. She's rooted to her spot in the corner of Wanda's bulletproofed cell.
The collar hums to life around her neck and the witch screams, shaking Natasha to the core. She watches her thrash and rip at her neck, her cries filling Natasha's head as if she is standing right next to her. The Widow covers her ears with her hands and sinks to her knees as the collar buzzes louder and Wanda's screams get sharper. Help her! Something inside Natasha hisses. But her feet won't move. Help her, you coward!
Then silence.
Natasha forces her eyes open then, taking in the stillness of the young girl. She's still breathing, thankfully, but it's hardly noticeable. The sound of the cell opening makes Natasha jump and she watches with wide, unblinking eyes as three prison guards enter. One leans over her, checking her pulse before connecting something, a machine, to the witch's shock collar. Another places some kind of mechanism on her forehead, roughly lifting her by the collar to clasp it behind her head. Wanda remains limp.
She wants to yell, tell them to get away from her, but her voice is caught in her throat. Her arms and legs seem to move on their own accord and suddenly, she's beside them looming over the one girl she'd never lay another hand on. The third guard thrusts a needle into Natasha's hand and she takes it. She takes it and before she can register what her body is doing, she rams it into the crook of Wanda's elbow.
The witch arched, a wail ripping from her lungs as her eyes shot open. They were bright red, thrumming with power as she screamed, but that seemed to be what the guards wanted. Natasha can't recall when they'd strapped the girl down, but she can't move from the bed. Instead, she calms to a whimper, eyes locking onto a terrified Natasha. Her lips don't move, but Natasha can still hear her voice.
Tasha... Why would you hurt me? Why would you? You hurt me! You did this! You hurt me. You hurt me!
"No! Wanda I-"
This is all your fault! Look at what you've done to me!
"I would never! Wanda please!" Natasha hears herself plead. She reaches out instinctively to gently grasp Wanda's cheek, but stops short when she notices a small device in her hand, the pad of her thumb pressed firmly on the button in the middle. Wanda's back bows as she lets out the loudest cry yet, body shaking vehemently as all of her breath leaves her. The collar is still thrumming from delivering its largest shock yet when her body stills completely, eyes glazed over lifelessly.
"Fuck! No, please, Wanda, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to-"
You killed me, Tasha. I'm dead because of you.
Natasha jolts awake at this. Her breathing is labored and there are tear trails on her cheeks as she clutches at her throat as if she is the one with the collar. It takes a while for her to calm down, to remind herself that Wanda isn't dead. That the little witch is still alive and that they will get her back soon.
She tries to think of things that make her happy, and pulls images of Clint and his family from her memories. Her niece and nephew cling to Natasha's legs as she makes her way around the yard, picking them up as she goes. They laugh at her silliness, giggle when she reaches down to ruffle their hair. The memory makes her relax back into her pillow slightly as more come rushing in. There's a memory of her and Steve sharing beers over a table of cards. Sam is playing too, and has on his best poker face, but Natasha sees right through his bluff as always. There's another, one of her and Clint during a mission. They get sidetracked and begin play fighting, knocking and throwing each other around easily. An explosion grabs their attention from somewhere a few dozen yards away and they freeze, breathing heavily before Clint challenges her to a race and takes off towards the danger.
Another memory surfaces, this one more recent. It's Wanda, curled up at the island in the Avengers Compound kitchen, sipping leisurely on a mug of what Natasha assumed was tea. She recalls the way the brunette's nose had scrunched up adorably the first time Natasha had offered her coffee, but pushes that memory away and focuses on this one.
"Nightmares?" She remembers asking casually as she made her way towards the fridge. It was early in the morning, the only light source coming from the golden bulb above the stove and the faint moonlight coming in through the window. Wanda looked even more tired than usual (which was saying something), but still managed to look rather stunning, even in her bed attire (a pair of white cotton shorts she'd borrowed from Natasha and a rather large hoodie she'd stolen from Steve). She looked up at Natasha through her lashes, eyes half lidded as she offered an innocent smile and a head tilt.
"That obvious, hm?"
"You just look worn, is all." Natasha had replied, pulling strawberries from the fridge. She hadn't been much in the mood for coffee herself and was rather delighted to see her favorite fruit replenished in the fridge. When she turned, she saw Wanda's eyes light up. Something warm filled her chest and she smiled at the younger girl, placing the container between the two of them and picking one up for herself. "Have at it, любовь."
Natasha hadn't been sure if it was seeing the small blush spread across the girl's cheeks that made the warmth intensify or if it was watching her all but devour the strawberries in front of her. They had made small talk over the fruit, Natasha listening more than talking as she watched a less tiresome Wanda ramble with a mouthful of red.
But slowly the memory morphed into something more sinister and she was once more imagining the witch scream and thrash at the hands of the Raft prison.
Natasha doesn't know what this feeling is or where it came from. All she knows is that it gnaws at her chest with the ferocity of a wild animal. Bile climbs up her throat when the images flash behind her closed eyelids. She doesn't go back to sleep, in fear that she will dream.
Dream of her.