Mental Health One shots

20. Get back here! - Natasha

Tw: Sh

Y/n Pov:

I jolted awake.

"It was just a dream, it was just a dream. I'm safe, nothing can happen to me. They're not here."

I tried to convince myself that everything was alright, but the images kept pushing their way back into my head. Images from the red room, of dead people, people I had killed. Images of half-starved girls, children.

Slowly, the familiar panic caught up with me. The fact that Natasha wasn't in my room yet meant that I hadn't screamed while I was dreaming. That's good, but somehow I also wished she were here to calm me down, to hold me. But now I'm alone with my thoughts, with the memories.

I dig my hands into my upper arms; it helps, the thoughts recede briefly into the background. But the relief is short-lived.

My thoughts drift to the razor blade, well hidden in my closet, carefully wrapped in a sock.  I pause briefly, listening for footsteps in the hallway that would suggest Natasha overheard something, or that Jarvis had told on me and she was on her way, but it's completely silent.

I stand up unsteadily. The shock is still lingering in my limbs. With trembling hands, I open the closet and pull out the pair of socks.

Natasha knows nothing about this. After all, I haven't been living outside the confines of the Red Room for very long, and even less time in Avengers Tower.

The scars from the small blade are barely noticeable among the countless others. Besides, the Avengers have never seen me in short sleeves; I'm meticulous about that. I hate the sight of all these scars, whether they came from the Red Room or were inflicted by my own hand. However, should anyone ask, I can claim that someone else carved them into my skin. Dreykov used them as a form of punishment all the time.

I took the blade and went into the bathroom, disinfected a spot on my arm, and grabbed the blade thighter. First I only put a little bit of pressure on the blade. Not much, it left just a scratch. I didn't feel the relief that I was aiming for and wanted to push down more but I couldn't. Something was holding me back. I watched as little blood drops formed on my arm.

The panic intensified. My mind was racing.

I knew what I was doing was wrong. It wouldn't do me any good. The inner conflict began to tear me apart.

My thoughts grew louder and louder; I couldn't stand it any longer. Following an impulse, I pulled down my sleeve, left my room and headed toward Natasha's. Her room was at the end of the hall.

I felt dizzy and had to steady myself. The blade was still firmly gripped in my hand. I stopped in front of Natasha's door and hesitated.

How would she react? Was I bothering her? Would she help me? Could I trust her? Would she punish me? My thoughts raced, and I took a step away from the door and was about to turn and leave when the door opened.

"Y/n?"

She called softely. I froze. My heart was pounding so loud in my chest that I thought Natasha must hear it.

"Y/n, are you alright?"

She took a step torwards me. I flinched and took a step back. Natasha stopped in her tracks and crouched down to my level.

Her green eyes were full of worry but I was also able to see confusion. Her eyebrows were pinched together and she scanned my body throughly. Her gaze lingered on my hand. My hand that was formed to a fist, which held the blade tight.

"Y/n, moya lyubov, what's going on?"

I just shook my head frantically. Tears started to burn in my eyes.

Natasha slowly came a little closer. She radiated warmth and security. Her green eyes searched for mine and she stretched out one arm.

"Let's go into my room little one. I am a safe person. I won't hurt you."

Slowly I put my shaking hand without the blade into her hand. She smiled warmly and guided my into her room to the couch

"Can I close the door? I won't lock it. You can go whenever you want."

I nodded slowly.

Natasha came back and sat across from me on the couch. I shouldn't have come here. This was a mistake. Shit.

"Whats going on in the pretty head of yours."

I just shook my head and looked down. Forming my hands even more to fists, which lead to the blade cutting into my palm.

"Would you give me the blade please?"

I flinched. How does she know? Will she punish me now?

I just open my hand and she carefully picks the know bloody blade up.

Now the tears start to roll down my cheeks. Completely silent, just like he taught me.

"Y/n?"

Her voice is steady and reassuring. I look up and meet her green eyes. She watches me close. Her gaze missing no detail.

Then her gaze softens and she opens her arms. I hesitate for one second, then I throw myself into her arms.

Natasha slowly rubs circles on my back, holding me close.

"You are allowed to show emotions. I won't punish you."

As she whispers sweet nothings in my ear, I suddenly feel a cloth on my bleeding hand. Startled, I recoil.

"I promise you're safe, my little dorogoy."

I slowly let myself relax again.

After some more minutes I calmed down and slowly release myself from the embrace, while avoiding Natashas gaze.

"Y/n are you hurt anywhere else?"

The silence that follows her question tells her everything that she needs to know.

"Where?"

"My arm"

I mumble, while shifting unconfortably.

"Can I please have a look at them?"

I nod again, looking up into Natashas eyes for some sort of comfort, which I immediately find. Her eyes are soft and reassuring. Slowly I extend my arm into her hand and let her pull up the sleeve.

I prepare myself for all sorts of reactions, but Natasha doesn't react, at least not outwardly. She analyzes the cuts with a practiced eye before looking back at me.

"Did you clean them?"

"No... I came to you in the middle of doing... you know... it... I was so scared. I am-"

"No apologizing for the way we cope. I aam proud of you for comming to me, that takes a lot of courage. More courage then most people understand."

The room falls silent.

"Can I clean and bandage them?"

I nod again.

"Thank you."

Natasha then goes on to clean and bandage the cuts.

"All done."

Her eyes meet mine.

"I am really proud of you. You came to me and asked for help. Thats a big step in the right direction. But I'm a little bit concerned now. According to the scars it has been a problem for quiet some time now. Do you want help with the selfharm?"

My head begins to spinn. Do I want help? Yes, the answer is yes.

"Yes please."

My voice breaks and the tears start to stream again. This time stronger.

"moya lyubov"

She wraps me gently into her arms and takes my to her bed. Where I snuggle even closer to her until I slowly doze of into sleep.

Wordcount: 1240