Chapter 2
Peter lay wide awake in his bed, well aware that Natasha had fallen asleep hours before. She had set up a few pillows and blankets into somewhat of a bed suitable for sleeping in. Personally, Peter thought he would have found the lack of a mattress uncomfortable, but he supposed Natasha had gotten used to sleeping in not-so-comfortable places.
Realizing that it would probably be several more hours until he fell asleep, Peter sat up in his bed. He wore an oversized Star Wars shirt that had been a gift from May, after Peter had forgotten his shirt size and wrote down a number much too large on the sticky-note May had given him. Either way, it was a good sleeping shirt, light and silky.
With constant nightmares, Peter woke up in a cold sweat almost every night, his shirt soaked through. For a few days, months ago, he had tried sleeping shirtless, but found that he felt too vulnerable, too exposed. As if a Star Wars shirt was going to protect him any better than his bare chest.
When he was younger, Peter had always imagined that Luke Skywalker was watching over him, protecting him from the bad guys. Now he had learned that nobody was there to protect him. He had to fight for himself, and the stress took a huge toll on him. Ever since he had become Spider-Man, it had been harder to keep his grades up in school, harder to keep a regular routine, harder to just get through the day.
That's why Natasha's presence made him so happy. She was an Avenger, she knew what he was going through. She was strong, brave, and everything he wished he could be. He knew better than to be jealous, because he was well aware you didn't become a superhero without going through some serious shit. In fact, if he had to envy someone it would be any random high school kid with a normal life. To live once again without feeling like he was carrying the world on his shoulders would be incredible. But still, Natasha Romanoff was a personal hero of his, and he would never stop striving to be as courageous and resilient as she was.
He looked down at Natasha’s sleeping form. May had thrown her dirty, bloodstained clothes in the wash, and given her a plain cotton T-shirt and shorts for bed. She slept in a fetal position, on her left side, her knees tucked close to her chest. Her breath came smooth and even, her chest rising and falling rhythmically.
She looked so peaceful, so innocent, Peter thought. Despite all that she had been through, all that she had done, she really was only human.
Of course, Peter knew that she wasn’t completely at ease. His sharp gaze hadn’t missed the dull gray pistol she slipped under her pillow, that he knew she was grasping now. He also knew that if she hadn’t wanted him to have seen it, he wouldn’t have. She was a spy, after all. Clever and sneaky.
Maybe it was a warning. I may look innocent, but my sweet face hides a monster. Or maybe it was more literal. Don’t wake me up or I’ll shoot you. The latter, Peter reasoned, seemed most likely.
With that in mind, he laid back down in his bed, and waited for sleep to overtake him.
Natasha opened her eyes, only to be greeted by the darkness of Peter’s room and his faint snoring. It had to be around 3 a.m., she thought. She blinked the sleepiness out of her eyes, but didn’t sit up. The memory of her dreams had escaped her the instant she woke up, and she wasn’t sorry. Those nightmares only brought pain and regret to her mind.
Natasha ran her fingers along the smooth trigger of the gun hidden under her pillow. Some might think that it was extreme to keep a deadly weapon clutched in her hand as she slept, but she was so accustomed to the dull metal that without it she felt vulnerable, exposed. Like she was a little girl again, with handcuffs around her wrists as she slept.
She knew she should never have learned to rely on something, anything, even if it was just a pistol. In truth, she had learned to rely on many more things than she wanted. Not just things—people—she corrected herself. Clint. Steve. Fury. She almost chuckled to herself. Three people didn’t even seem like a lot, but really, it was too much.
No, she had never come to rely on Tony. He was too spontaneous, too destructive and selfish at times. He would change directions without warning, he did what he wanted when he wanted and she didn’t like that. She couldn’t feel at ease when he was around.
Bruce was an interesting story. She hadn’t trusted Bruce from the moment she first laid eyes on him. He made her feel powerless. As a spy, nothing was more frightening than completely losing control. But being in the room with a man who could turn into a monster at any given moment, one that could tear her limb from limb without hesitation… well that was the definition of losing control.
Offering to be the one to sing the lullaby, to calm him, was the only way to gain control again. Flirting with him, talking of running away, all to gain his trust. To gain his deference. Life was a game, and Natasha knew how to play it.
She looked over at Peter. His arm hung over the side of the bed, and he was lying on his side, legs outstretched. His mouth was open ajar and she could hear his steady breathing. Life was a game that few could play. Tony had dragged Peter into this stupid game when he was only fourteen. He was just a kid. He didn’t deserve this life, keeping secrets from the world, fighting government agents and then coming back to his rundown apartment to do his calculus homework. He was a fucking kid, and he didn’t deserve the hand he had been dealt.
She wondered for a moment why she felt so protective of Peter. After all, he was just a kid. A kid she had met yesterday. And anyway, hadn’t her life, her childhood, been much worse? Forced to become a killer at 8 years old? Made to be a heartless killing machine? Had her innocence and humanity torn from her? Every scar, every flaw on her skin was a reflection of what they had done to her.
And yet maybe that was the exact reason she cared so much about Peter. He was too young, just like her, when he was forced to grow up. And maybe she just wanted to protect him from what she had gone through. So that maybe he wouldn’t be as broken as she was.