Chapter Text
Natasha Romanov was fighting.
But let’s be real, when wasn’t she?
The battle was massive. Everyone was fighting for the same thing: the Infinity Stones. A purple alien named Thanos wanted them, and if he got them all…
Well… everyone already knew what that meant.
The Avengers were here. All of them except for Spider-Man. Natasha was grateful for that.
For once, Peter was exactly where she wanted him to be.
Home.
Not the Avengers Tower. Not a battlefield. Not a hospital bed. Home.
Their home.
Her home. Peter’s home. James’ home.
Bucky was there, recovering after the last mission had left him barely able to stand. Even the serum needed time when the injuries were bad enough. And these injuries were bad enough to keep him in bed for at least a couple of days.
So she had forced Peter to stay with him. No arguing, no heroics.
Stay with your father.
Stay safe.
For once Natasha Romanov allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, she had done something right.
She was selfish. She knew that. A cold bitch that didn’t care about giving up everything to save the world. Maybe in another scenario that statement would affect her, but when it came to her husband and child’s safety, she had never pretended to be anything else.
But she didn’t care about being selfish this time, because deep down, in her bones, she knew they weren’t winning this fight.
And strangely… she was okay with that.
If this was where she died, so be it.
She had already accepted it.
Bucky would live. Peter would live.
They would be safe.
That was enough.
Natasha stopped fighting when Thanos raised his hand with the final stone.
He had just won.
And you know what?
She didn’t run. She didn’t attack.
She simply watched.
The snap echoed across the battlefield. She felt it in her bones, in her head, in her blood and she just accepted it.
The people began to turn to dust.
She felt nothing.
For a moment, Natasha felt nothing.
The rest of the world could burn to ash and she wouldn’t even care if they were safe. Maybe it was ruthless or selfish, but it didn’t bother her at all.
Peter was safe. Bucky was safe.
That was enough.
Then she heard a voice.
“Mr. Stark, I don’t feel so good—” Everything inside her went cold. Absolutely everything.
No.
No.
That voice
Peter.
Her boy
Her head snapped toward the sound just in time to see him stumbling forward, dust already beginning to crawl across his suit.
Her son.
Her baby.
He hadn’t stayed home.
He hadn’t listened.
He came here. He came here to fight.
She knew why. She knew why Peter didn’t listen when she gave the order to stay behind.
He had red numbers on his list, just like Black Widow and the Winter Soldier once did. They all had blood on their skin, on their hands, and they had to clean it. They had to atone for the wrong they had done in the past.
It was selfish, but she wished he had listened and stayed behind with his father.
So when Natasha saw her son—her baby boy—on the battlefield, everything went cold.
And she couldn’t move.
Her body froze completely as Peter began to fall apart in front of her.
“Peter!” she screamed, reaching for him. She didn’t care if Stark heard her. She didn’t care that she might have just given up her son’s secret identity.
She didn’t care.
Not when her son was turning into dust in front of her.
She was the Black Widow.
Death itself couldn’t take that title away from her. She had earned it. Bled for it. Survived too much to ever be anything else.
But none of that mattered.
Not when she was watching her son turn to dust.
And she couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
When Natasha woke up, she was in a bed.
A very comfortable bed.
For a moment she didn’t question it. She simply sat up slowly, the mattress dipping under her weight.
Maybe Tony had gotten her out.
…Out?
Out from where?
The Red Room?
Wait.
What?
Her hand moved to the back of her head. The moment her fingers touched skin, she hissed.
Sticky.
Warm.
Blood.
The pillow behind her was stained dark red.
So it was a recent injury. A bad one.
She could ask Bruce to stitch it up.
Bruce?
Who the hell was Bruce?
No.
Ask the Winter Soldier.
Ask James.
“Fuck,” she muttered, sliding off the bed and sitting on the floor instead.
Her head swam with the slightest movement.
She forced herself to look around the room, trying to figure out which Aveng—soldier this room belonged to.
It was a man’s room. She could tell from the way it was decorated.
Blue.
A lot of blue.
Everywhere. Blue everywhere. Every corner of the room had some shade of it.
Strange. Hydra didn’t usually let their weapons personalize their rooms like this.
Maybe it was a Hydra's higher-up?
Hydra.
The word hit something sharp inside her mind.
She needed to get out.
Now.
Natasha planted her hands on the floor and pushed herself up. Her legs trembled immediately.
Weak. Unsteady
wait. what?
Maybe she had passed out during the escape. God, she hoped not.
Her skin itched everywhere.
Her body hurt in places she couldn’t even name anymore. Bruises blooming under torn fabric.
Wait.
Was she wearing her Widow suit?
Her muscles screamed now that the adrenaline had burned away.
The word adrenaline triggered something in her brain.
Adrenaline.
The war—
War?
No.
Escape.
Find Peter.
Peter?
Yes.
Peter.
Her mind caught on the name.
Peter…
Wait. Peter?
Who was—
Oh.
Project Arachnid.
No.
No.
Peter.
Peter Romanov.
Leave. Return to base immediately.
Find the kid first, then everything else, Natasha.
No. You’re Natalia.
Natasha.
Natalia.
Her head pounded. No.
It was worse than that.
It felt like something inside her skull was being pulled apart. Like hands digging into her memories and ripping them loose one by one.
Yeah. She had definitely passed out during the escape.
And now she had ended up in some Hydra soldier’s room.
Very good, Natalia.
Very good.
But why had she been escaping in the first place?
REMEMBER NATASHA.
REMEMBER PETER.
REMEMBER JAMES.
REMEMBER THE AVENGERS.
REMEMBER THE WAR.
War?
No.
Escape.
Why did you escape, Natalia?
Come back to base.
You can’t even think straight.
Your body is injured.
Return to base. Now
But none of that was what hurt the most.
PETER.
Her breath caught.
Then it eased.
Blood was still dripping from the back of her head. The wound was bad.
She had suffered worse, but it was still bad.
That didn’t matter right now.
She needed to find Peter.
Needed to see him.
Needed to remember who he was. What he was to her
Peter, the kid.
The Arachnid project.
No.
Not a project.
a baby.
a baby?. No.
Her baby.
“…my baby?”
The name came back to her brain. slowly.
Peter.
Yes.
Peter.
Her mind clung to it like it was the last solid thing in the world. like it was EVERYTHING she had left
Six years old.
Too small. Too stubborn.
Too brave for a battlefield that had never been meant for him. her?
S.. He he should have stayed with Bucky.
She had told him to stay.
Told him—
Battlefield?
What battlefield?
The thought slipped away again. As if the thought turned to dust. Dust... Dust?
Something cold curled in the back of her mind.
Orders.
'Stay put.'
Yes.
yes
She remembered telling Peter to stay put.
To wait.
To stay with the Winter Soldier.
With James.
James?
No.
Winter Soldier.
Protect Peter, Nat.
'Protect Peter, Nat'
The words echoed wrong in her skull. She remember someone telling that to her, but who?
James
James?
No. Winter Soldier
'Do not move until commanded.'
Not Bucky’s voice.
Another one.
Older? Crueler.
Dreykov. Definitely him
And for a second—just a second—Natasha couldn’t remember which orders had come first.
Hers or his.