Death Widow

Chapter 3: Echoes of the Past

The storm had died down outside, leaving a thick, eerie silence as Y/N navigated the corridors of her hideout. But her mind was anything but quiet. Her own words from the confrontation rang in her ears: “*I have my own plans.*” It was true, she did. Hydra may have turned her into a weapon, but she’d decided she would be one on her terms. Yet, the look on Natasha’s face when she’d left lingered, a haunting reminder of the sisterly bond that hadn’t quite faded.

Y/N entered a small room at the heart of her base. It was cluttered with files, old Hydra documents she’d stolen, fragments of a broken past. She flicked through them absentmindedly, knowing every dark memory etched onto those pages. Her fingers traced over faded photos—her and Natasha as children, a rare snapshot of Yelena, who had once tried so hard to protect her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the memories away. *You’re Death Widow now,* she reminded herself. *Embrace it.*

But the voices of her sisters lingered, clawing their way back to the surface. Natasha’s voice especially had been like an unwelcome presence in her mind since that night. The hurt, the guilt she’d seen in Natasha’s eyes had stirred something deep within her—a small, vulnerable part of her she thought she’d buried long ago.

Suddenly, her door swung open, and her hand instinctively moved to the blade at her side. She let out a sharp breath as she recognized the face in front of her.

“What do you want, Clint?” she muttered, her tone icy.

He held up his hands, stepping slowly into the room. “I came alone. Just to talk. No tricks.”

Y/N’s gaze was wary, but she let her hand drop, crossing her arms instead. “You really think talking’s going to fix anything?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, though a flicker of doubt lay hidden beneath it.

Clint took a few steps closer, carefully, as if approaching a wild animal. “Look, I get it. Hydra did everything they could to break you down and turn you into something you’re not. And I know you’re angry—angry at Natasha, at Yelena, at all of us.” He paused, his gaze meeting hers. “But you’re not alone in this.”

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Oh, please. Save me the therapy session. You’re wasting your time.” She looked away, feigning indifference, but Clint’s words tugged at her, irritatingly persistent.

Clint nodded, unfazed. “Maybe I am. But I think there’s a part of you that wants to hear it.” He took a slow breath, his voice softening. “Y/N, Natasha hasn’t been the same since she thought she lost you. Every mission, every decision she made, it all came back to you. She told me once that leaving you behind was her biggest regret.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened, her fists clenching at her sides. “Doesn’t change anything, Clint. She still left. And I paid the price.”

Clint’s gaze was steady. “You’re right. And you have every reason to be angry. But running away and becoming Death Widow isn’t going to erase that pain. It’s just going to bury it deeper.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. She could feel her anger slipping, and it frightened her. Clint was trying to reach that small part of her, the part that was still Y/N Belova, Natasha’s sister, the girl who once dreamed of a future outside of Hydra.

She turned away from Clint, her voice barely a whisper. “Do you even know what they did to me?” The question hung in the air, loaded with bitterness and the quiet pain she rarely allowed herself to feel.

Clint’s gaze softened. “I know enough to see that you were hurt more deeply than any of us can imagine. And I know that you’re stronger than they ever wanted you to be.”

She clenched her jaw, the memories bubbling up again—sleepless nights, endless tests, pain so intense it had nearly broken her. Hydra had tried to erase her, to replace her with a perfect weapon. And yet, here she was. Y/N, Death Widow, whoever she was now.

Clint took a tentative step closer. “Look, I’m not asking you to forgive anyone, least of all Natasha. But maybe it’s time you stopped punishing yourself.”

Y/N turned to him, eyes blazing. “This isn’t about punishment,” she snapped. “This is about survival. About making sure no one else feels the pain I did.”

Clint tilted his head, a gentle understanding in his gaze. “And you think going down this path will accomplish that? By cutting yourself off from the people who care about you?”

She froze, his words digging deeper than she wanted to admit. The silence between them stretched, and for the first time, she felt her resolve waver. She didn’t want to admit it, but she was tired. Tired of carrying the weight of her anger, tired of living as a shadow of who she once was.

She looked away, her voice barely audible. “I don’t know who I am anymore, Clint. Hydra… they took everything.”

Clint’s voice was gentle. “Then let us help you find out. Let your sisters help you.”

Her gaze softened, her walls crumbling ever so slightly. The anger and pain were still there, but for the first time, she allowed herself to feel the small glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t beyond saving.

The vulnerability in her eyes was brief, but Clint saw it, and he offered her a small smile. “Take it one step at a time. You don’t have to make any decisions now. Just… don’t close yourself off completely. There’s still a future waiting for you, if you’re willing to reach for it.”

She didn’t respond, but the flicker of doubt in her eyes was answer enough.

As Clint left, Y/N sat alone in the dim room, the silence settling around her like a blanket. For the first time in years, she allowed herself to feel something other than anger or pain. And in the quiet, the idea of forgiveness—of reclaiming her life—didn’t feel so impossible.

But the journey would be long.