Baby witch (avengers edition)

The White Widow

The zoo trip and shopping later in the afternoon,  had been a much-needed break for Wanda, and as the sun dipped lower in the sky, the day's activities began to catch up with her. The laughter, the animal encounters, and the colorful sights had worn her out. Steve, with Wanda asleep in his arms, carried her to the car with one arm while balancing a grocery bag in the other.

The rest of the group assisted with the load, except for Pepper, who remained in the car, focused on a phone call. Her phone call was crucial—her husband's business depended on her maintaining control even after the heart-wrenching loss of their baby.

Natasha, froze, a deep sense of unease gripping her. Her eyes darted around, and she turned to Steve, her face set in a serious expression.

"Nat? Everything alright?" Steve asked, placing the bags down and putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Red, what's the hold up?" Tony called out from the back, his tone impatient but laced with concern.

Natasha turned to face Steve and the others, her voice barely above a whisper. "Steve, take everyone down to the beach. No questions asked—just do it."

"Nat—"

"Now, Steve!"

The urgency in her voice cut through any hesitation. Without question, Steve ushered everyone, including Wanda who remained peacefully asleep, down to the beach. Natasha watched as they disappeared from sight, her gaze steady and resolute.

Once alone, Natasha turned her attention to the door. The sound of a voice cut through the tense silence.

"I know you're out there," a young woman's voice called out, casual yet laced with menace.

Natasha's heart raced. She reached for her gun, her instincts on high alert. The door creaked as she kicked it open and stepped inside, her senses heightened. The house was eerily quiet, the opulence of Stark's mansion muted in the dim light.

She moved stealthily, checking each room methodically. The tension in her shoulders was palpable as she reached the entrance to the kitchen. She pressed herself against the wall, her gun ready.

"So, we gonna talk like grownups?" the voice taunted from the other side of the room.

With a determined step, Natasha emerged into the kitchen. There, facing her with a gun of her own, stood her younger sister, Yelena. The sight of Yelena, older and more hardened than the last time Natasha had seen her, was both shocking and bittersweet.

"Is that what we are?" Yelena said, her tone more serious than Natasha had ever heard.

Natasha's heart ached as she saw her sister. A small, genuine smile tugged at her lips despite the tension. "Put it down, before I make you," she said, her voice firm yet laced with a hint of the affection she still felt for Yelena.

"You out yours down," Yelena retorted, her stance unwavering.

The two women, so alike in appearance, faced each other with guns drawn. Natasha could see the fear and anger in Yelena's eyes, mirroring her own. They moved with practiced precision, their guns almost touching. In a swift, unexpected move, Yelena kicked Natasha, shoving her into a nearby pole and then against the wall.

Natasha recovered quickly, grabbing Yelena by the neck and throwing her onto the kitchen counter. "Stay down. Stay down," she commanded, her voice trembling with concern. She didn't want to hurt Yelena but knew she had to protect herself.

Yelena's struggles were fierce, and Natasha's grip tightened. "Stay. Down," Natasha gritted her teeth, desperation edging her voice.

Yelena, fighting back, reached for a plate and smashed it over Natasha's head. Natasha staggered but quickly recovered, grabbing a scarf and wrapping it around Yelena's neck. The fight continued with intense urgency as Natasha was forced to use a metal stick from Tony's living room to defend herself.