𝗜𝗻𝗳𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 || Marvel One-Shots

Grief: Stage I; Denial (N.R) (GN)

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"They'll come back. They promised me they would." Maybe that was it; Maybe, and just maybe, that sentence began the spiral of denial Natasha caught herself in.

It didn't take long for word to spread out about yours and Nat's relationship, and it was followed by her being completely discharged of any missions until further notice — not that she could give a damn if she had to work or not. She'll stay in that fucking house day in and day out until you return, so that you could console her like you always did every time her emotions overwhelmed her; Like you promised you would, to come to her.

Sure, you didn't take death accounted to the vow, but Natasha's mind was not in the right headspace, not without you, her everything, to guide her.

You will come back to her arms. You won't leave her alone and afraid. You weren't dead, not to her you were not.

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A knock, quiet yet audible. It resonated from the oak door to the home you shared with Natasha, the same home you wanted to grow old in.

The door slowly creaked open, revealing Clint and Wanda on the other side of it with various supplies bundled in their hands.

They nearly winced at the condition of the once stunning redhead before them.

Her eyes were adorned by a dark shade on their underside, her hair was wrapped in a messy bun, and her gaze — once fierce and focused — seemed to look right through them.

"Can we come in?" requested Clint, shifting the pitch in his tone to match the insecurity behind it.

Natasha didn't answer, she lacked any energy; She reserved it for you. All she did was love aside, and that was enough for the duo.

Upon stepping in, the home was in a surprisingly well-kept condition — a stark contrast to the current inhabitant.

"I see you've cleaned up," remarked Clint, staring carefully at Natasha for any reaction.

She shrugged, defeated and exhausted, "I need to keep it clean when Y/N comes back."

"Nat-" Wanda tried to reason, but Natasha cut her off abruptly, "I want none of it, okay? What did you bring?"

The pair of avengers sighed and placed the bags onto the table, sitting on a set of chairs next to them.

"We brought you a few snacks, we know you're not in the mood to cook so we made some for you," Wanda explained as she carefully placed each small meal onto the table. They were large enough to provide enough energy to last a few hours but not enough to overwhelm the grieving woman.

Natasha smiled and nodded politely, taking them in her hands and pretending to actually care. It isn't that she doesn't appreciate or care for their efforts, quite the contrary; But, she was too physically and mentally drained to find interest in anything.

"Thank you, Y/N will love it." She said with a smile upon the mention of your name. Her mind didn't even register what she just said — she was used to them giving you a few gifts in secret that it had become a tradition to repeat the same line.

The fact that she wouldn't accept what occurred to you — even after brutally murdering the perpetrators and burning each facility to ashes — was frustrating. They only tried to help, but her denying reality wasn't quite helping.

"Natalia-"

"Don't FUCKING call me that!" she yelled at the top of her lungs, smashing her palms onto the table in the process, scaring the daylights out of Wanda and Clint.

In an accusatory manner, she pointed her finger towards Clint and shot him a glare so intense his skull would most likely melt if she stared for too long.

"Only Y/N can call me that, no one else!"

A few seconds of ragged breaths after her outburst, Natasha just broke down entirely. Her sobs were uncontrollable, just as were Wanda's and Clint's instinct to reach out for her.

The redhead marched up the stairs all the while her desperate weeps only grew louder.

Taking this as an unofficial queue to leave, the duo stood up and hesitantly walked away, already making a mental note to check up on her.

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The cold water ran down her face at a grueling and slow pace, each droplet slithering its way down her face.

"It's okay, you can do this Natasha."

The fact that something so simple as sleeping needed a whole preparation felt something shameful, but it was the only remedy to sleeping at all, even if it was for a few hours at most.

It was something.

Not daring to stare at the mirror, fully knowing your face would be all she'd see behind her to tease and torment her once she turned around to see nothing but the tiled wall.

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Natasha was in the living room as she always was, every hour of every day. Then, she heard it; the angelical voice she was desperate to hear again.

"Natalia?"

Her head whipped around at an inhumane speed, and her eyes welled up with tears once she saw your face — the one she loved so damn much.

"Y/N!" she lunged at you like a predator at its prey and clung at you with a death grip, terrified of the consequences if she let you go again.

"Woah! Wh- what's going on? Are you crying? What's wrong, baby?" you asked in a hurry Natasha didn't bother to notice.

"Lyubov'... They said you were dead..." she wept, not wanting to explain the suffering she was put through for the last few weeks.

"They said I was what?!" you were more confused than ever, but resigned to listen to her explanation and hold her.

"You were dead! HYDRA was here and- a-and they took you... From me... I knew you weren't going to leave me alone, I knew..." you cut her off with a kiss to her dried lips, caressing her cheeks and brushing off the trace of tears rolling down them.

You let her rest her head on your chest and whispered reassuring words to her, at last making her fall at ease.

"Sh... It's okay, baby... I'm here, I'm not going anywhere..."

Finally, you were back in her arms.

She isn't alone and scared anymore.

You aren't dead.

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Natasha rose from her bed in a panicked gasp, cold sweat dripping down every inch of her body.

She reached out to your side of the bed, but only felt what she always did every single time she had a dream — or rather nightmare — like this; Cold. Your side of the bed was cold.

She broke into tears once more, resting her head in her palms and letting reality defeat her once more. For good this time.

You'll never be back in her arms.

She's destined to be alone and scared.

You are dead.

And she can't do anything about it.

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