An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Project Hail Mary (2026), Iron Lung (2026)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung)/Ryland Grace
Characters: The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung), Ryland Grace
Additional Tags: Dinner Dates, Ryland Grace Needs a Hug, Ryland Grace is Bad at Feelings, The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung) Thinks Ryland Grace is an Angel, Ryland Grace is Trying, The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung) is Trying, The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung) Loves Ryland Grace, Ryland Grace Loves The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung), The Convict | Simon Needs a Hug (Iron Lung), Crime Boss The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting
Series: Part 1 of How the Cool Middle School Teacher Fell in Love with the City's Most Dangerous Crime Lord
Summary:
Grace and Simon go on a date. It doesn't go as planned.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/88490881
Simon was late.
He didn't spare a glance at his watch as he got onto his motorcycle and tore off down the street. He knew he was late; this job had taken too long. Stupid C.O.I. and their last-minute crises they couldn't solve themselves. Didn't they realize he had a life outside of work?
Probably not. He'd like to keep it that way, too.
He cursed — at the C.O.I. for needing him to go to that warehouse, at the stupid targets for drawing everything out, at himself for not wrapping it up quicker — and tried to wrack his brain for a decent excuse. He couldn't come up with anything good enough to justify this. He didn't want to lie more than he had to, anyway.
He screeched to a stop outside the restaurant, years of practice just barely keeping him from coming head-first off the bike, and jumped off, running inside and hoping he didn't look too frazzled. Or bloody.
(He really hoped he hadn't missed any blood.)
Grace was sitting at a table near the window, eyes locked on Simon. The setting sun cast a golden halo around his head, reflecting off his hair in a way that reminded Simon of why he called him Angel. He was wearing his fox cardigan, and his glasses were askew as usual, even though he was holding a menu. He didn't look like he was reading it, just running his fingers over the corner of it, and something in Simon's chest twisted. Grace had been waiting for him a long time. Too long.
"Hey." Simon chewed his cheek as he slid into the seat across from Grace, running his hand through his hair in hopes that it would help smooth it down at least a little. "I'm sorry I'm late. I, uh..." No excuse came to his mind, even now. He couldn't bring up work. He didn't want to lie when Grace asked questions he couldn't answer. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," Grace said, and he looked like he meant it. He was too forgiving. "You're here, and that's what matters."
Simon sighed. "Okay." He didn't know what else he could say to that. "What… looks good?" He needed to steer the conversation away from his tardiness. Grace wouldn't push for answers, he never did, but Simon wanted to get the date started so maybe Grace would forget to be curious about why he was so late.
Grace started listing off and describing food that did admittedly sound really good. Of course he knew what was good here — he'd picked out the restaurant this time, and he'd had a lot of time to look at the menu. Simon already liked this one; it had a quiet and comfortable atmosphere, cozy and honestly a restaurant he could see Grace frequenting. It was exactly the kind of place he seemed to enjoy visiting.
Grace only stopped talking when a waitress came over, and he gave Simon a sheepish smile. Simon, who was more than used to Grace's rambles by now, just gave him a slight smile in return that he hoped was reassuring.
They both gave their orders, and when the waitress left, silence fell over them. Now, Simon was far from the talkative type — he preferred to listen rather than speak. But this silence was uncomfortable and heavy in a way that he rarely experienced, especially not with Grace. Grace always filled silence with chatter and it was disconcerting when he didn't.
Simon didn't like it when Grace was quiet, because when Grace was quiet, something was wrong.
"You know this place pretty well," Simon said, hoping his voice didn't betray how tentative he was to speak. "Do you come here often?"
"Oh—" Grace shrugged and pulled on the sleeves of his cardigan, rubbing the fabric between his fingers and tugging. A nervous habit. Simon didn't tense, but barely. Was he upset about something? "No, not really. I've always wanted to, because their stuff does look really good, but I've never gotten the opportunity. So I've just stared at pictures and drooled over their meals and desserts and stuff, y'know?"
Simon nodded slowly. "Well, you're right that it sounds good. I'm sure it'll taste good, too."
Grace smiled, and his fidgeting eased a bit. "I'm glad you think so."
Was he really nervous about what Simon thought about the restaurant? But it was just a restaurant. Most were good, especially in this area. The few that Simon had tried, anyway. He didn't see what the big deal was.
He wouldn't say that, though. Not if it was important to Grace for some reason.
He didn't understand a lot of things about Grace. That wasn't new.
To Simon's relief, Grace started talking after that. About his students, about the most recent stupid stunt his brother had done, about anything and everything Simon had missed since the last time they'd met up. Even after they got their food, Grace still talked, and Simon simply listened and ate.
Grace was mid-ramble about the current project he was doing with his class when Simon's phone rang. His mouth snapped shut.
Simon quickly declined the call, not even bothering to check who it was from. "Sorry. Ignore that. What were you saying?"
"Oh, uh—" Grace didn't get the chance to continue before the phone rang again. He fidgeted. "You should take that. It might be important."
Simon was going to kill whoever was interrupting his date. Couldn't they leave him alone for a few hours?
"I'll be right back. This won't take long." Simon stood and went outside, only then checking the caller ID.
It was Ava. Of course.
"What?" he snapped as he answered the call. "This better be important." He rarely used this tone, but it always worked to terrify people.
"We need you in," Ava said in her usual calm, almost bored voice. Unaffected as always. "We've got a problem and you need to solve it."
Simon gritted his teeth. "Send someone else to deal with it. I'm busy."
"If I could send someone else, I wouldn't have called you." Which meant it was a problem that would take a while to solve. "Help us fix this and you can get back to whatever is so important that you're trying to get out of doing your job." No-nonsense as always, even though she was talking to her boss.
That was why he'd kept her around, though.
Simon glanced back at Grace, who was fidgeting with his sleeves again and staring down at it his plate. Waiting.
He was going to be so disappointed.
"Fine. I'll be there." Simon hung up without waiting for a response and let out a long string of curses. He felt like he deserved that much, at this point.
He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to disappoint Grace because someone decided to cause a severe issue during his date that he had to solve.
But he had responsibilities.
Yeah, he was going to kill whoever caused the issue. He'd make a good example out of them that would hopefully deter further problems.
Simon sighed and pocketed his phone before going back inside. Something must have shown on his face because before he even got a chance to open his mouth to speak, Grace seemed to deflate. His eyes, which had been tracking Simon's path back into the restaurant, slid back down to his plate, and he tugged on his sleeves harder.
Simon should just say forget it and sit back down. He should go deal with the problem after he took Grace home. He should say that everything's fine and they could spend more time together because it was too rare for them to have a date like this and he wanted to spend more time together— "Something came up," he said instead. "I have to go."
"That's okay." Grace still didn't meet his eyes. "I'll see you later."
Simon set down enough money to cover the bill and tip and turned to leave. He stopped and bit down on the inside of his cheek hard. "I'm really sorry." His voice came out quieter than he intended, but he knew Grace heard him. He walked out before he could think too hard on what he was doing.
He'd make it up to Grace later.
~*~
Grace sighed as he watched Simon leave. Disappointment welled up inside him, but he shoved it down quickly. Simon hadn't said what was happening, but Grace was sure it was important. More important than him, anyway, but he shouldn't be surprised. It's not like they'd been dating long enough for him to be that important.
He bit back another sigh as he stared down at the dessert menu the waitress had brought over just a few minutes before the phone call. He'd picked out what he wanted long before he'd come here tonight; he'd looked into a few things he'd thought Simon would like, too. Guess that was pointless now.
He pushed away the menu and stood. His stomach was in knots. He couldn't eat anything even if he wanted to. And he didn't, not now that Simon was gone.
He'd hoped they could share dessert. It was so cheesy, but he'd really hoped for it.
He hadn't even gotten to pay for their meal like he'd planned to. Simon clearly made more money than he did, so he could afford it easier, but Grace had invited him. He shouldn't have to pay for it.
Grace left the restaurant and walked down the street, sticking his hands in his pockets and only looking up from the ground enough to make sure he wasn't going to run into anyone. He was being ridiculous. It was just one date, and it's not like Simon was obligated to spend a bunch of time with him when there was something more important going on. Simon wasn't one to drop everything without good reason, so it had to be something big that pulled him away like that.
…Unless Grace had messed up somehow? Oh no, had he talked too much? He'd just gotten so excited because he really hadn't been able to talk to anyone in a while, much less Simon, and maybe he hadn't been paying enough attention. He did that — get lost in his ramblings and completely miss cues that the other person wasn't enjoying it like he was. Not that Simon ever really showed his emotions on his face, so it was hard to tell what he was thinking sometimes, but he hadn't stopped Grace. He'd thought that meant Simon was interested but maybe he was bored? Or annoyed?
Grace swallowed. No, he was probably overthinking it. Simon was very direct — if he didn't like something, he'd say so. Probably. No, definitely. Grace needed to give him some credit. Simon didn't usually stop him during his rambles; he always just listened. As far as Grace could tell, he did enjoy it. Maybe because he didn't really have to talk. Regardless, he wouldn't put up with it if he didn't want to.
Somewhat assured that it was at least a little less likely to be his fault, Grace made a left turn. Just a few more blocks and another left turn, and he'd be at his apartment. Then he could at least stew in his anxieties in the comfort of his own home.
He pulled out his keys as he headed inside the building. Looked like the elevator was still broken, so stairs it was. Great.
He trudged up the stairs, the day's — week's, really — events finally starting to catch up to him and drag him down. No amount of coffee could chase away this bone-deep exhaustion, despite his previous efforts. Too many things had been happening at once, and the still-broken elevator and Simon leaving their date early were just two more things to throw onto the steaming pile labeled "crap to give Grace a bad time."
As he stepped up onto his floor, he noticed a guy standing near the end of the hall. Was he a new neighbor, or visiting someone on this floor? Grace didn't recognize him at all. But then again, the only neighbor he sort of knew was the old lady that lived directly underneath him, because she sometimes brought him cookies for being the quietest upstairs neighbor she'd ever had. So, instead of staring at the mysterious maybe-neighbor, he just turned to his door and unlocked it, shuffling inside.
He needed a nap.
~*~
Down the hall, the man watched Ryland Grace go into his apartment and smiled.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Project Hail Mary (2026), Iron Lung (2026)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung)/Ryland Grace
Characters: The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung), Ryland Grace
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Vampire The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung), Amputee The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung), The Convict | Simon Needs a Hug (Iron Lung), The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung) Thinks Ryland Grace is an Angel, The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung) Loves Ryland Grace, Ryland Grace Loves The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung), Blood, Starvation, Developing Relationship
Series: Part 2 of Bre and Cryptid's Whumperless Whump July 2026 Extravaganza
Summary:
Simon isn't good about taking care of himself, and Grace comes to his apartment to find him hiding away, waiting for a new supply of synthetic blood that isn't coming. Grace helps in the only way he can think of.
Working on this series with @matveysunflower so you should check out the series on ao3 for more!
https://archiveofourown.org/works/87823336
Simon drew in a shuddering breath and squeezed his eyes shut. He dug his nails into his palm in a futile attempt to distract himself from the pain in his gums and the hunger clawing at his insides. He curled into himself more, pressing his forehead into his knees until it hurt.
He needed to stay in control. He needed to wait. He couldn't— he couldn't—
There was a knock on his door, and he flinched. Jack wouldn't have knocked; he had a key, he'd just walk in. It wasn't him at the door.
Simon breathed in sharply through his mouth. He didn't want to know who was here. He didn't want to think about what would happen if a human was here. He'd just wait it out. Say nothing. They would leave eventually.
Another knock, then, "Si? You home?"
Simon's heartbeat quickened, almost to the speed of a regular human heart. No, no Grace couldn't be here. His Angel couldn't be here. It was too dangerous. Simon was too dangerous. He wouldn't be able to stop himself if Grace came in here, he knew it.
He wanted to tell Grace to go away. He wanted to tell Grace to leave and not come back until Simon was fixed. But that would make Grace worry more. That would make Grace stay, because he was so stupidly selfless and caring and he would get hurt.
Simon would hurt him.
Simon didn't want to hurt his Angel.
"Hello?" A pause. "I'm coming in." The lock clicked and Simon barely had a moment to realize what was happening before Grace's scent hit him — salt water and sand and that faint, faint undercurrent of blood. Simon was going to be sick.
He pressed himself into the corner more and tried to block out the smell as best as he could. But with the way his senses were heightened right now, it was impossible. His head was pounding, and he could feel his fangs lengthening. No no no no—
The door to his bedroom opened, and the smell was overpowering, drowning out everything else in the room. Grace's scent was usually comforting but instead it filled him with dread. His body twitched as he fought himself and his horrible, horrible instincts that screamed at him to get up and grab his prey and bite—
His hand snapped up to cover his mouth and nose as Grace approached.
"Simon? What's wrong?" Grace sounded so worried. He needed to leave before he got hurt.
Could Simon even let him leave?
"Go—" Simon barely managed to choke out the word, trying not to breathe in Grace's scent even if that was impossible. It would only start to fade if Grace left but he wasn't leaving.
"I'm not just gonna leave you here." Grace was close, too close, not crowding into his space but right next to him and coming closer and he was going to get hurt—
A pitiful, keening whine escaped Simon's throat, and he pressed his hand against his face harder. It wasn't enough. It was too much. He couldn't breathe. He could still smell Grace. It hurt. It didn't hurt enough.
He didn't want to hurt Grace he didn't want to he didn't want to please don't make him hurt his Angel—
"Look at me, Si." Grace should be scared but he wasn't. Stupidly, he wasn't. But he didn't know the danger he was in, did he? He didn't know that Simon was a monster. He didn't know that Simon hadn't drank in days and Jack was taking too long to get here with the synthetic blood he was supposed to bring last week.
Grace didn't know that he was going to get himself killed.
Simon's eyes burned with unshed tears as he dragged his gaze upwards to meet Grace's. He knew his eyes were glowing the blood-red of monsters. He knew Grace would recognize it now.
He knew Grace would fear him now.
(He wanted Grace to leave but he didn't want him to be afraid. He didn't want to lose his Angel.)
Grace's eyes blew wide and for several seconds, he did nothing but stare. Then, he sighed. "You don't have to hide from me." His voice was soft but steady, and nothing in it or his face indicated he was afraid. But… why?
Why wouldn't he be afraid of the monster right in front of him?
Grace reached forward, and Simon flinched back, squeezing his eyes shut. It would be all too easy to sink his fangs into Grace's wrist and satisfy his hunger with real blood. But he couldn't. He— he couldn't. He needed to stop thinking about it. He had to stay focused on keeping his instincts in check. Or he'd— he'd—
Gentle hands pulled at his, and his eyes snapped open again. No no no— he was not going to uncover his mouth. He wouldn't be able to fight the urge to bite if he did. He jerked away from Grace quickly and shook his head.
"It's okay," Grace said, sliding himself a bit closer. "Look, you haven't drank any blood recently, right? You look like you need it."
Simon shook his head again and pressed himself into the corner more. He knew what Grace was thinking — because Grace was so stupidly selfless and caring and he would get himself killed.
"Simon." Grace tugged on Simon's hand again, ever so gently. "Let me help you. Please."
A tear slipped down Simon's cheek. Why was Grace doing this? Why wasn't he leaving?
Why did he want to risk himself to help a monster?
Simon was weak. He needed to fight his instincts, and he needed to make Grace leave before he lost that fight. Because he would — he was weak and pathetic and he would lose control and hurt Grace.
But Grace wasn't leaving and Simon was giving in.
Simon allowed Grace to pull his hand away, and he only flinched slightly when Grace cupped his cheeks. Grace's touch was so gentle, so careful. Like Simon was something precious.
(Simon didn't understand why Grace cared so much. They'd been kind of dating a little while, sure, but everyone feared monsters like him. Why was Grace so different?)
"I trust you," Grace said softly, and he truly looked like he meant it.
Simon didn't fight as Grace gently pulled him forward. He couldn't fight. Not anymore. It took everything in him just to keep from yanking Grace closer and sinking his fangs in now. He was so hungry… What would real blood taste like? What would Grace's blood taste like? He didn't know.
Simon had thought Grace's scent was overwhelming before, but now, it completely surrounded him, filling his nose and clouding his mind until he couldn't think straight. He wrapped his arm around Grace and sank his fangs into Grace's neck, all of his previous anxiety slipping away like sand through his fingers. As soon as the sharp, sweet taste of blood hit his tongue, he knew he would never be able to drink the bland synthetic blood again. This was the best thing he'd ever tasted.
Grace gripped the front of his shirt, his head resting on Simon's shoulder. He didn't move from where he was sitting, though he leaned against Simon more and more as Simon drank. Simon only noticed just how heavy Grace had gotten when Grace clumsily patted his arm.
Simon pulled back quickly, clarity returning to him in a moment of dawning horror. Grace was paler than usual, and his eyelids were half-shut, like he was on the verge of passing out. Simon's heart hammered in his chest, and he fought to keep his breathing steady. Had he taken too much blood? He hadn't thought he did, but then again, he hadn't been keeping track, had he? How long had he been drinking? How much had he drank? Had Grace lost too much blood?
No no no, was Grace going to die from blood loss?
This was all Simon's fault. He never should have let himself give in. Now Grace was too pale and too still and he was going to die Simon's Angel was going to die and it was all his fault—
Grace nuzzled into his neck and let out a sigh that sounded oddly… contented? He let go of Simon's shirt to loosely wrap his arms around Simon's waist and closed his eyes. He seemed a bit lethargic, but otherwise fine, somehow.
Simon swallowed and slid his arm underneath Grace, lifting him up with surprisingly little difficulty — he was weirdly lightweight, despite being taller than Simon — and setting him on the bed. Simon intended to leave the room after that; he was certain Grace wouldn't want him to stay after he nearly drained him dry. But Grace clung to him tighter, even wrapping his legs around him and hanging on a lot like a koala would.
Simon stared down at him, chewing his cheek. He really didn't want to disturb Grace by prying him off… but would he even want Simon to stay with him?
Well, Simon guessed it couldn't hurt to stay for now. If he wasn't wanted at all, he would just have to deal with that when Grace woke up.
For now, having his Angel in his arms was… nice. He hadn't realized before how much he needed to have Grace close like this, even if there was a good chance that he wouldn't get to experience this again.
(He just didn't know — and wouldn't, for a long time — that Grace needed this just as much as he did.)
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Iron Lung (2026), Project Hail Mary (2026)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung)/Ryland Grace
Characters: The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung), Ryland Grace, Rocky (Project Hail Mary)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Werewolf Ryland Grace, Werefox Ryland Grace, Werefoxes, Fox Shifter Ryland Grace, Werewolf The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung), The Convict | Simon Needs a Hug (Iron Lung), Mutated The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung), The Convict | Simon Lives (Iron Lung), Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung) Thinks Ryland Grace is an Angel, The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung) Loves Ryland Grace, The Convict | Simon Has PTSD (Iron Lung), Werewolf Mates, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Scientist Ryland Grace, POV The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung), Ryland Grace Is Not Graceful, 5+1 Things, Panic
Series: Part 7 of Patron Shifters of One-Way Trips
Summary:
Five times Grace and Simon find out something new about Simon's mutations, and one time an entirely new one appears.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/87225826
"So…" Grace started. "Could I, uh…"
Simon glanced up. They were in the plant room, Simon tending to his plants as usual and Grace just… watching, also as usual. Simon didn't mind; it was nice having the company, now that he'd gotten used to it.
When Grace didn't finish his request, Simon set down the water he was holding and turned to face him fully, waiting. He didn't have to wait long.
"Okay, this is probably really weird, and you can say no, I promise, because I don't want you to feel like I'm pressuring you into being a lab rat or something, because you're not, I swear you're not, that's really— I'm not trying to— I'm so sorry, I probably sound crazy, just forget I said anything—"
Simon raised his hand, and Grace's mouth snapped shut with an audible click.
It was amazing how this man could make one simple question turn into a full spiral.
Simon lowered his hand back down to his side. "Just ask."
Grace tugged on the sleeves of his cardigan, an anxious tic Simon had grown accustomed to seeing lately. He wondered why, but he wouldn't ask. If Grace wanted him to know, he'd know. "Um, well. Could I… run some tests on your mutations? Maybe get a blood sample so I can study it?" His voice grew quieter as he spoke, and he didn't meet Simon's eyes.
Simon nodded slowly. "Sure."
Grace's head snapped up. "Wha— really?"
Simon shrugged. "I trust you." And he did, without a doubt. Grace wouldn't do anything to hurt him. He was too good for that.
"Oh." Grace blew out a breath. "Okay. That's… thank you." He cleared his throat. "I'll start with a blood draw and look at that, then I'll do some tests on your mutations. Non-invasive, of course." He bounced on the balls of his feet slightly.
Simon didn't really understand the appeal of this experiment, but Grace's newfound excitement was probably a scientist thing.
It was cute.
Grace smiled brightly. "I'll be right back— meet me in the lab?" He barely waited for Simon's nod before running off.
Simon went to the lab and sat down in Grace's chair to wait. The room was cluttered again; Grace must have been pretty busy with his science stuff lately, if he hadn't cleaned up at all. He was usually pretty good at keeping the lab clean-ish (at Rocky's prompting).
When Grace bounded into the lab, Simon had to bite back a smile. Grace really was happy about this new project, wasn't he?
That alone made whatever was going to happen worth it.
Grace held up a needle attached to a small tube. "I'll be sticking this in your arm to draw blood. It might hurt a bit, but it shouldn't be horrible. Unless you don't like needles." He paused. "You're not afraid of needles, right?"
Simon shook his head. "I don't think so."
Grace relaxed. "Okay, great." He set a few other things on the nearest table — some cotton, tape, rubbing alcohol, a piece of cloth, and a few vials. He grabbed the cloth. "I'm going to tie this around your arm and clean the spot with alcohol."
Simon nodded and held out his arm. Easy enough so far.
Grace tied the cloth a couple inches above Simon's elbow and wiped down the crook of his arm. The rubbing alcohol stung his nose, and he watched Grace wrinkle his nose slightly. It wasn't the worst smell, but it still wasn't pleasant with a sensitive nose. That was something that had taken a lot of getting used to — Simon could smell everything, even in human form. It had been torture for a while.
Grace grabbed the needle, snapping Simon out of his thoughts. "I'm going to put this in now, okay?" When Simon nodded, he stuck the needle into a vein.
Simon looked away as the blood began to flow out, his stomach churning. He took a sharp breath in through his nose, letting the sting of the alcohol still lingering in the air help ground him. Still, images of blood pouring down the walls and gushing through the cracks in the porthole and surrounding him and choking him flashed through his mind. Don't think about it, don't think about it, please don't think about it—
"I've been wanting to do this for ages," Grace said suddenly, not looking up from what he was doing. "I was just kinda scared to ask, y'know? I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. But I think your mutations are super cool and I'd just love to figure out how they work. So thanks for doing this. Seriously. It means a lot." He looked up and smiled warmly. "And you're all done. You can look now."
Simon blinked and looked down. He hadn't even noticed the needle being pulled out. There was no blood either — the vials that had once been on the table were nowhere to be found. The only sign that anything had been done at all was the cotton Grace was taping to the spot and the slight ache around it.
Oh.
Grace pulled off the tourniquet and set it aside, not seeming to notice Simon's surprise. Or maybe he did, and he just wasn't going to mention any of it. Still, it was… oddly sweet.
"…Thanks," Simon said softly.
"It's no problem." Grace said it like it really wasn't a problem, and maybe it wasn't, to him. "I'll take a look at these samples and let you know what I find, okay?" He paused. "If you want to know. It's totally fine if you don't—"
"I do." It wasn't a lie. As hesitant as Simon was to find out exactly what had changed, he wanted to know.
(Or maybe it was just because he liked listening to Grace talk. He may not always understand what Grace was saying, but he enjoyed it nonetheless.)
Grace beamed. "Awesome. I'll let you know, then."
Simon was looking forward to it.
~*~
Simon was reading the Martian (Grace's suggestion) among the trees displayed in the Don't Go Crazy Room when Grace shuffled in clutching a small notepad filled with illegible scribbles. His glasses were more askew than usual, and Simon had the sudden urge to reach out and fix them. He didn't, but just barely.
"You'll never believe what I found," Grace rushed out before Simon could even wave. "Your blood has some really weird properties. Not in a bad way, of course! It's just— okay so I was running all sorts of tests on it, like—"
Simon's lips quirked up into a slight smile as Grace waved his hands around and rambled on about tests and DNA and blood types. The only part Simon really understood was that his blood had a slightly weird viscosity, and his immune system was working harder than most people's because of high white blood cells or something. Everything else went right over his head, but he still paid attention to every word. Grace didn't seem concerned about anything he said — in fact, he looked more and more excited the longer he spoke — so Simon figured there probably wasn't anything he had to worry about.
Grace eventually gulped in a huge breath, his face a bit red. Likely from a lack of oxygen; Simon could probably count on his one hand the amount of times he'd seen Grace take a breath.
"So uh— long story short, your blood is really fascinating. Really cool. Um." Grace waved his notepad around again, a more purposeful gesture than what he'd been doing. "I got a lot of notes on all of that but I'm… not sure anyone can read it, now that I'm thinking about it. I'll put it on the computer later though, if you want to read them. You don't have to though, I get it if you've had enough just listening to me go on about it." He rubbed the back of his neck.
"I will." Not that Simon wasn't already memorizing every word Grace said.
"Oh— okay." Grace's eyes flicked over to the tablet in Simon's lap. It had turned off by now. "I'll stop bothering you. Sorry. I'll be in the lab if you need anything." He turned to leave.
"Grace." Simon stood. "Didn't you want to do other tests?" He had a feeling Grace wouldn't ask unless Simon brought it up.
Grace turned back to him. "Um— yeah, but if you've changed your mind—"
"I haven't," Simon gently interrupted before Grace could go on another anxious rant.
"Oh." Grace opened and closed his mouth. "Can we do one now?"
Simon nodded, a bit amused.
"Great— I wanted to test your vision first." Like a switch had been flipped, the excitement came rushing back to Grace's face. "Since one of your eyes looks different, I've been really curious to know if the differences are just superficial, or if they actually function differently. So we'll set a baseline first with your normal eye before testing out your other one."
"Okay." Simon wondered how Grace was going to test that. He knew that there was a difference between his eyes — of course he did. It was one of the first things he'd noticed. But he'd never told Grace about it. He hadn't thought it was necessary.
He followed Grace to the lab, which was still just as messy as the last time he'd been in here, if not more so. He picked up one of the needles scattered across the table and held it up, about to ask Grace where they were supposed to be. It didn't seem like it had been used, but it should probably be put away even if it had, right? It wasn't safe to keep tiny sharp objects out. Especially knowing how clumsy Grace was.
Grace turned and flinched. Eyes wide, breath hitching. Total unadulterated fear written all over his face.
He was afraid. No, terrified.
Of Simon.
(Just like everyone had been terrified of the Butcher before the slaughter.)
"Wait— I'm sorry—" Simon threw the needle back onto the table and reached for Grace, only to abruptly stop when Grace took a step back. "I didn't mean to—" Panic clogged Simon's throat, making it difficult to speak. But he had to. He had to fix this. He had to— he couldn't— "Grace— please— I'm sorry—"
(Pathetic. Why couldn't he get it together and just fix this? He'd scared Grace and he needed to fix it. He needed to, it shouldn't be this difficult, but he couldn't get it together.)
(Why did the thought of Grace being scared of him shake him so badly?)
"It's—" Grace was staring at the needle. He only briefly glanced at Simon before he looked back at it again. That was so obviously what was wrong. Why had Simon grabbed it without asking Grace first? Stupid stupid stupid— "I'm fine. I'm fine. It's… I'm fine."
Grace wasn't fine. He was trembling and not breathing right and Simon had scared him. He was scared of Simon.
(He was scared of the Butcher.)
"I'm sorry— I didn't mean to—" Simon needed to make this right. He needed to apologize. He needed to—
"No, it's—" Grace closed his eyes and scrubbed his hands down his face, and Simon hated how Grace was the calmer one, even though he was the one that had been scared. "It's not your fault. You didn't know." He let out this shaky, forced-sounding laugh that made Simon's chest feel even tighter. How could Grace laugh right now? "I didn't even know. I thought I was fine with needles—" He shook his head. "It's not your fault. I'll be okay."
Simon just nodded, not trusting his voice. He didn't understand why Grace didn't blame him. It was his fault. He'd picked up the needle and held it up like that and he'd made it worse by trying to grab Grace. How was it not his fault?
But he wouldn't argue. He didn't want to make it even worse by opening his stupid mouth.
Grace cleared his throat. "We'll just, um. We're just gonna do some vision tests in different lighting, first with your normal eye, then your other one. You'll cover your left eye and read off as many rows of letters as you can, and then we'll move on." He gestured to the board, where he'd neatly written several rows of letters that decreased in size as they went down.
Simon nodded and forced himself to take a deep breath. If Grace could be calm after all that, he could be too.
The tests weren't difficult. He read off as many letters as he could see, though he could really only make out the big ones, and tried not to think too hard on why Grace made strange faces every time Simon struggled to read the smaller letters. They did this three times with his right eye — once in full light, once in dim light, and once in near complete darkness.
Then, they did the same with his left eye, and as Simon expected, Grace was shocked by what Simon told him (and delighted, which probably shouldn't have surprised Simon as much as it did).
"Wait, so you can see everything in here right now?" Grace's form, washed gray but perfectly visible in the darkness, was practically vibrating in that barely-contained excitement Simon was quickly realizing he would do anything to see more of. Grace seemed to have forgotten about his earlier scare at this point, which was a relief. "That's incredible— man, not even I can see that well in the dark, even Shifted. And it's just all gray?"
Simon nodded then, remembering that Grace couldn't see him, said, "Yes."
"Definitely not normal Shifter vision, then. Bet it'd be pretty handy if you were a pirate. Oh— you could wear an eyepatch. That'd be fun." Grace walked the short distance over to the light switch, a slight bounce in his step. "I'm gonna turn the lights back on so I can see."
Simon quickly closed his eyes. "Ready."
The lights turned back on, gradually brightening to normal levels so neither of them got blinded. He cracked his eyes open, letting them adjust before opening them fully. His left eye was more sensitive to the light, so it took a little longer.
Grace was already scribbling on his notepad again, mumbling under his breath. Simon could somewhat hear what he was saying, but he didn't really understand most of it, so he just waited.
Grace was so cute when he was thinking…
After a while, Grace turned back to Simon, a large grin on his face. "I have a theory—"
Simon couldn't help the smile pulling at his lips as Grace launched into another science-y ramble that Simon barely understood, but paid close attention to anyway.
He knew for sure now that he would do anything to keep Grace this happy. He just had to make sure he didn't mess up like that again.
~*~
Grace thought he was clever.
Simon was a light sleeper. Even on Eden, no one was entirely safe, especially when they made enemies — and Simon, the Butcher, had made many. So, it was always good to be able to wake easily.
While he didn't have to worry about attackers on the Hail Mary, he continued to be a light sleeper. It was just how he was, and he didn't think that would ever change.
It was for this reason that Simon immediately woke when Grace attempted to sneak out of the dormitory.
Simon opened his left eye — which Grace had recently taken to calling his pirate eye — just enough to watch as Grace padded over to the door and tripped over the step up into the hall. He grabbed onto the side of the doorframe and looked around, as if to make sure no one had heard the very loud noises he'd just made by almost falling down.
Rocky made a noise like he was stomping his foot, though Simon couldn't look at him without giving away that he was awake. "Grace come back. Grace need sleep—"
Grace quickly shushed him, almost frantically looking over at Simon. "I know, I know," he hissed. "This won't take long. I'll be back soon, I promise. Just don't wake up Simon." He left quickly, almost tripping over the step again in his haste.
Rocky chittered, clearly displeased. Simon had to agree, but he kept silent and continued to pretend to be asleep. He knew Grace would back back soon.
Just as he predicted, Grace came sneaking back in less than a few minutes later. He made his way over to where he'd put his glasses — Simon had been making sure Grace didn't sleep with them on ever since he nearly broke them by wearing them to bed a few weeks ago, so he'd likely forgotten them. It made Simon wonder just how often Grace forgot to take them off before bed.
As Grace attempted to sneak away again, his glasses now on his face, Simon opened his eyes and sat up. "Where are you going?"
Grace screeched and stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet and falling flat on his rear. Simon winced; he hadn't meant to scare him that badly.
"Holy schnitzel," Grace said weakly. "Don't do that—"
"Sorry." Simon stood and offered Grace his hand, guilt already gnawing at his insides. Stupid, stupid. He should have thought this through more. He didn't know what he'd do if Grace was upset with him. "Are you okay?"
"It's just— goodness, Si, your eyes—" Grace grabbed Simon's hand, and those pleasant little sparks of electricity lit up Simon's skin at the contact, almost making him forget why he was helping Grace up to begin with. Simon pulled Grace to his feet, relishing in the feeling. He still didn't understand what caused it, and Grace didn't seem to feel it, considering he hadn't mentioned it at all, but it felt amazing.
Simon forced himself to focus on the conversation again. Right. Something about his eyes… "What about them?"
"They're glowing."
He blinked. "Glowing?" He hadn't expected that.
"Like a cat." Grace suddenly let go of his hand, as if he'd just realized he was still holding onto it. Simon immediately mourned the loss of contact.
"A… cat?" Simon asked instead of dwelling on that. Grace had shown him cat videos a few times, so he knew what Grace was talking about, but how would his eyes do that? "Human eyes don't glow like that." But then again, was he even still human?
No. He wasn't.
"Guess yours do. Which is really cool. But also really freaky when you're not expecting it." Grace laughed, but it sounded nervous, and he wiped his palms on the sides of his pants. "Um, anyway. You can go back to bed. Everything's all good."
Simon narrowed his eyes. Right. The whole reason he was awake. "Why were you sneaking out?"
"Well— um—"
"Bad Grace," Rocky chimed in. "Grace need sleep. Grace do big science later."
"He's right." Simon nudged Grace towards his bed. "You need to sleep."
Grace groaned. "But I've got work to do—"
"It can wait. Now either get in bed or I'll Shift and make you stay there." Simon almost hoped Grace would be stubborn enough to keep fighting and warrant that.
But Grace climbed into bed. "Fine…"
Simon forced down his disappointment. "Glasses off," he reminded. Only when Grace set them aside did Simon get back into bed himself.
Simon watched Grace until he fell asleep, knowing there was always a possibility that he would try to sneak out again if he thought Simon went to sleep before him. When Grace's breathing evened out, Simon finally closed his eyes, his fingertips still faintly tingling with electricity.
~*~
Simon really enjoyed his movie nights with Grace.
Usually, Grace picked the movies. He knew more about them than Simon did, and he had his favorites that he always wanted to share, so it made sense for him to pick, and Simon was okay with that. But he also always offered to let Simon pick out the movie, and that night, Simon decided to do just that. After all, what could it hurt?
He was regretting that now.
He growled in frustration as the stupid main character — he'd forgotten her name. Betty? Bella? It didn't matter, she was just the stupid main character in his mind now and there was no changing it — made another stupid decision about her equally stupid creepy boyfriend. Who wrote this nonsense? It was the stupidest thing he'd ever seen, even if he hadn't technically seen a lot of movies.
Maybe he should have listened to Grace's warnings about it.
Grace sighed. "We don't have to watch this if you don't like it. Not like it gets any better."
"I'm finishing it," Simon muttered. "I'm not a quitter. Even if it's complete bull—" He sat upright more, a vicious snarl tearing through his chest. He bared his fangs, and his cheek suddenly felt like it was ripping open and— wait—
"Woah." Grace was staring at him, at his cheek, with wide eyes. "That's new."
Simon brought his hand up to his cheek and flinched when his fingers brushed against teeth instead of skin like they should have.
No. No no no no—
He scrambled out of the nest and ran to the bathroom, skidding to a stop in front of the mirror. Hand shaking, he lightly traced the edges of his new mouth, which was filled with too many long, razor-sharp teeth. It lined up perfectly with the scar that had almost completely covered his cheek since he'd woken up here.
(The scar alone had been bad enough. Now that he'd finally gotten used to it, it was gone and replaced by the face of a monster.)
(Was Grace going to be afraid of him now? Simon wouldn't blame him but the thought was terrifying. He didn't want to lose his Angel. He couldn't.)
"Si? Hey, are you okay?" Grace was standing in the doorway now, nothing but concern on his face even though he had to be scared, or disgusted, or something other than just worried. He couldn't be this accepting. He'd been fine with Simon's mutations until now but this was different. This was worse. This was monstrous.
"I— I—" Simon didn't know what to say. He didn't know what he could say. How was he going to fix this? Could he?
"Remember those breathing exercises?" Grace smiled like there was nothing wrong. Like he wasn't currently talking to a monster. "Let's do those, okay?"
Simon hadn't realized how ragged his breathing had gotten. He gave a jerky nod and breathed along with Grace as best as he could. Inhale through the nose, hold, exhale through the mouth. Repeat.
He didn't notice Grace coming closer until they were just a foot apart. Grace didn't crowd into his space, but he was close enough to be grounding. Close enough to reach out and touch him and pull him close and breathe in his comforting scent and finally calm down—
Simon didn't reach out, but having Grace this close helped, and gradually, his racing heart slowed and his erratic breathing evened out until he could actually focus on something other than Grace.
"Good. That's good." Grace still had that warm smile on his face, and Simon wondered how it never wavered. "Do you want to talk about it, or no?"
Simon shook his head. He couldn't. Not now.
(Likely not ever.)
"That's okay. Let's go back to the nest. We don't have to watch a movie or do anything else. We can just sit there a while."
Simon just nodded. He didn't want to disappoint Grace by saying no. Not after Grace had taken all this time just to calm him down.
Grace stepped out of the bathroom, and after a moment's hesitation, Simon followed him. Grace went back to the nest and sat down exactly where he'd been before, tucking his legs underneath him and watching Simon. The movie had been paused, but Simon barely glanced at it. He didn't want to get riled up again, and even the sight of the characters' faces was enough to make him angry. He sat down a little further from Grace than he'd been before, even though he wanted to sit closer, and kept his eyes on Grace's face.
Grace started talking. It was something about the most recent book he'd read, one that didn't sound particularly interesting to Simon but had clearly captivated Grace. Simon didn't pay as much attention to what Grace was saying as he usually did, but the constant chatter helped, and he found himself moving closer to Grace again as he relaxed.
He paused as his cheek tingled; the skin felt like it was knitting back together. When the sensation stopped, he touched the scar tissue that had somehow come back.
"I know you probably hate it," Grace said quietly. "But that was pretty neat."
Simon didn't say anything. He didn't need to. But he had to disagree.
They turned on a different movie, in the end. It was a lot better.
~*~
Grace was staring again.
Normally, this wasn't unusual. Grace stared a lot and Simon had gotten used to it a long time ago. Really, he had come to expect it by now. If they were in the same room and Grace wasn't doing science stuff or talking, he was watching Simon.
But there was something different about it this time.
Mainly because Grace was staring at Simon's mouth. He'd look up occasionally, but mostly just at his mouth.
"Is something wrong?" Simon asked. Normally, he didn't call out Grace's staring, but.
"Oh— um— no, nothing's wrong," Grace said quickly, waving his hands as his eyes snapped up to meet Simon's before darting away again. "I just— well…"
Simon just watched him, waiting for him to finish. He usually did, when given enough time to collect his thoughts. Or come up with an excuse.
"Your teeth! Yeah, your teeth. Specifically your canines. They're really sharp." Grace gave him an awkward-looking smile.
Simon nodded slowly. "Are they?" He ran his tongue over them, and yeah, he guessed they were pretty sharp. He hadn't really noticed.
"I mean, Shifter canines are usually pretty sharp anyway, right? But yours are a bit longer and sharper than mine and I think that's pretty neat, y'know?"
Simon did not know, but he nodded anyway.
Grace cleared his throat. "So that's why I was looking at your mouth. I wanted to look at your teeth."
Simon got the feeling that Grace wasn't being entirely truthful here. "You could have just asked."
Grace's cheeks were starting to turn red. "I didn't think something like that was worth bothering you about. It'd be a pretty weird request anyway."
"Right." Simon would let him get away with his bad excuse. For now. "Next time though, just ask."
Grace tugged on the sleeves of his sweater. "I'll try."
"Good." Simon offered him water. "Want to help me with the plants?"
Grace smiled, and it warmed Simon's chest. "Of course."
(Still, he didn't like the idea that Grace might be lying to him. He didn't think Grace would be doing it for bad reasons, but it just didn't sit right with him anyway. The last time he'd been lied to, he'd been sent down into an ocean of blood to die.)
(But he could talk to Grace about it later. It's not like Grace lied to him often, right?)
(He hoped not.)
~*~
It was a long time after the nightmare ended before Simon gently nudged Grace off of himself so he could get up. He didn't want to move. He really, really didn't. He was so comfortable and he had Grace in fox form curled up against him, and it was just so nice being here like this. But they'd been laying there for too long and Grace surely had other things to do besides babysit the pathetic creature that Simon was.
He wouldn't take up all of Grace's time.
He couldn't.
(Not-Grace's words still echoed through his mind. "I'm getting so tired of catering to your needs," it had said. And Grace — kind, sweet, lovely Grace — he was still doing that, he was still catering to Simon's needs, because Simon was selfish and pathetic and he didn't deserve his Angel. His too kind, too sweet, too lovely Angel.)
(So he wouldn't take up more of Grace's time.)
(Maybe Grace would let him stay longer if he took care of himself more from now on.)
As Grace hopped to the floor and Shifted back, Simon tried desperately to pull himself together. He was calm now, and his tears had long since dried, but he couldn't get Not-Grace's cruel words out of his head, and he knew it showed. With how Grace watched him, it was impossible for him not to notice when Simon was broken. Wasn't it?
(Unless Not-Grace was right and Grace was only watching him for his mutations.)
He needed to get it together. Grace had helped him calm down; he should be better.
(Why wasn't he better?)
"Hey, Si?" And for one gut-wrenching moment, Simon just knew that Grace was going to say one of those awful things Not-Grace had said in the nightmare, and that would make it horribly real, because it wouldn't be the eel saying it, it would be Grace, but he didn't want it to be real, please don't make it real— "The front of your hair is white. Like, solid."
Simon's anxious thoughts came screeching to a halt. He slowly, carefully, reached up and moved his hair in front of his face so he could see it. Sure enough, a chunk on both sides of where his hair parted were a solid white.
His heart hammered in his chest. Another mutation? But he had just come to terms with the ones he'd had before. How could he suddenly have another now?
What was Grace going to think? Would he hate that Simon looked even more different now? It wasn't as bad as the teeth forming when he was angry but it was still another mutation. Another way for Simon to be other. What if—
"It's cute." Grace smiled and Simon froze for a completely different reason this time. "Now, I dunno about you, but I'm hungry. Armando, can you get us some food?" Grace walked off, talking like nothing had happened.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Project Hail Mary (2026), Iron Lung (2026)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung)/Ryland Grace, Ryland Grace & Rocky
Characters: Ryland Grace, Rocky (Project Hail Mary), The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Werewolf Ryland Grace, Werewolf The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung), Werefox Ryland Grace, Fox Shifter Ryland Grace, Werefoxes, Painful transformations, Broken Bones, The Convict | Simon Needs a Hug (Iron Lung), Ryland Grace Needs a Hug, The Convict | Simon Has a Bad Time (Iron Lung), The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung) Thinks Ryland Grace is an Angel, The Convict | Simon Lives (Iron Lung), Amputee The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung), Mutated The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung), Werewolf Mates, Alternate Universe - Soulmates
Series: Part 3 of Patron Shifters of One-Way Trips
Summary:
Simon wakes up from his coma, and discovers his lovely new abilities by an even more painful forced Shift than Grace's.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/86206251
All Shifters had mates. It was an absolute certainty — there was not one who didn't have a mate, somewhere in the world. Grace knew that.
He knew that.
And yet.
"You don't have a girlfriend. You don't even have a dog."
And yet, where all Shifters felt a pull in their chest, he felt nothing. Nothing but a yawning void that stretched on and on no matter hard he tried to find the end, find the bond that would lead him to his mate. To his life-long partner.
To the one person that would love him, no matter what.
To the one person that could love him.
He knew all Shifters had mates.
And yet.
But it was fine. If Shifters could survive the deaths of their mates, then surely he could survive the absence of his.
Right?
"Grace have mate, question?"
Grace barely suppressed a flinch. Rocky didn't know the significance of that question. He couldn't. There wasn't the same intent behind it as the other Shifters always had when asking. But still, that familiar ache he tried to hard not to think about returned full-force, and he ducked his head.
"Ah… no." He swallowed. "I mean, I used to have a girlfriend. But she wasn't my mate. And she left me for this guy named Mark."
A pause, then, "Rocky hate Mark."
A slight smile tugged at Grace's lips. "Yeah, me too." But he couldn't blame her. Who would want a guy like him?
Maybe that was why he didn't get a mate.
Rocky didn't ask him about his mate again, and he almost forgot about it. It was easy, with everything they had to do on the Hail Mary. All the preparation for Tau Ceti and their fishing trip, all the flight training, all the little experiments he kept himself busy with in the times between.
Then he almost died.
Then Rocky almost died.
It was hard to think about the lack of a pull in his chest when his best friend wouldn't wake up.
It was only after they went their separate ways that the loneliness began to sink in again. Grace kept himself busy as much as he could, but he'd never been a solitary person, no matter how he avoided other Shifters like the plague. Shifters were pack creatures, even foxes like himself, and to not have anyone around...
Well, it was torture.
Maybe that was why he went after Rocky, even if it meant never going back to Earth. Rocky was his best friend, his pack, his home. Stratt was right that he didn't have anyone to miss him back on Earth. What could he lose by saving Rocky?
He certainly couldn't lose a mate he didn't have.
So he changed course with more certainty than he would have expected. He would save the only friend — the only pack — he had. He needed to.
(He still couldn't help but feel a tinge of regret, though. What if he'd been wrong? What if his mate was out there somewhere, waiting for him to find them? But it was unlikely. And Rocky... Rocky didn't deserve to die for such a tiny chance of finding one person back on Earth when he couldn't even feel them.)
(Who would want a coward like him anyway? He would have let them die by refusing to go on the Hail Mary.)
It took months to catch up to Rocky, but despite Grace's many fears, he was alive and healthy. Rocky moved back onto the Hail Mary, and they continued their journey to Erid together.
And for a little while, things continued as usual.
Then they found Leaf, as Grace had dubbed him. (He had a little plant pendant, and it was better than Blood Human — Rocky's idea.)
Leaf was… Grace didn't even know how to describe him. Injured was such a vast understatement. Burns and cuts littered his body, including a really nasty burn on his face, so nearly all of his visible skin was covered by bandages, and most of his left arm had been ripped off — because it was definitely not a clean cut. It was all very... horrific, to say the least. He'd lost a lot of blood, too.
But he was alive, somehow, and he was looking better by the day with Armando's help. He still never fully regained consciousness, though, just waking up in short, confusion-hazed bursts before passing out again.
When he did wake up, it wasn't the pleasant rise to consciousness Grace had been hoping for.
Rocky rolled into the room, trilling in panic. "Grace! Grace! Rocky hear Blood Human bone break! Something wrong!"
Grace's head snapped up, and he tugged off his goggles, nearly causing his glasses to tumble off his ear. "What?" He pushed his glasses back onto his ear and stood. "Why would he be breaking any bones?" He rushed to the room before Rocky could respond.
Leaf must be properly awake now, and if a bone broke, then that meant he was probably freaking out over being here and maybe he fell? Or he was struggling against Armando, and it's not like Grace knew what the guy had been through before they found him, so this was probably really freaky for him, there was no telling what he was thinking right now—
Grace skidded to a stop in the doorway and froze.
Leaf was writhing on his bed, Armando hovering above him but not touching. He let out a low, pained whine, and oh. Oh. This was familiar. Too familiar.
Grace had barely managed to wiggle out of the sack thing he was trapped in before the bone in his forearm snapped. A scream tore from his throat as his other arm followed suit, then his left leg, then his right. They twisted and contorted out of his control, and he screamed again, sobbing and begging for someone to hear him, to help him, to please just make it stop, it hurt, he didn't want to die—
Somehow, the guy they'd picked up from the middle of space was Shifting, for the first time in a while from the looks of it.
What were the odds?
As another sharp crack resounded through the room, Leaf turned just a little too far and tumbled off the bed. He didn't seem to notice. He was in too much pain anyway.
Grace winced and crouched down next to him. "Hey, look at me."
Leaf jerked, his eyes flying open and landing on Grace. One of his eyes was a deep, bright red, with a black sclera, and Grace recalled briefly seeing that earlier and brushing it off as a weird trick of the light. Guess it wasn't, but he could think about that later.
"Take a deep breath," Grace said, keeping his voice steady and calm. "I know it hurts, but it won't last forever. Just stay calm. Don't fight it."
Leaf looked terrified. Did he not remember anything? It was possible. Grace recalled the terror he felt when he Shifted for the first time on the Hail Mary — he hadn't known what was happening, and he'd thought he was dying.
"It'll be over before you know it," he continued. "Just breathe with me. Okay?"
Leaf still gave no response, but Grace couldn't blame him.
Grace took an exaggerated breath, hoping Leaf would follow along. After a few breaths, he did, albeit much more shakily. Every time a bone broke, his breath would hitch, and occasionally he let out a whine, but he was doing surprisingly well with the pain. He must have had a really high pain tolerance.
Grace continued to guide him through taking deep breaths, talking to him gently throughout. He hoped it helped.
Grace's first Dhift here took minutes. They were very long and painful minutes, but no more than that.
Leaf's Shift took hours.
When the Shift finally stopped, Leaf laid on the floor, panting heavily and not moving an inch.
The wolf in front of Grace was huge — he had to be at least five feet tall, and over twice as long. His long fur was a mix of black and gray, and as he opened his eyes, Grace noticed that one eye was amber, and the other was that same strange red. His left front leg was missing, too, which made sense. Shifting didn't magically bring back missing limbs.
He was beautiful.
Grace had the sudden urge to reach out and touch Leaf's fur. He just looked so... soft.
No, he chided himself. Bad Grace. Do not touch a stranger's fur after he just Shifted. That would not be appreciated. That would be very, very bad—
His fingers brushed against the fluff, and immediately, an electrifying shock spread from his fingertips to his very soul. The bond he hadn't noticed had formed in his focus on Leaf suddenly pulled taut, drawing him closer to the wolf in front of him. His breath hitched, and his eyes burned with tears.
His mate.
After all this time. All the years he'd spent dodging other Shifters with prying eyes and probing questions. All the years spent mourning a bond he could never feel. All the years spent burying himself in his work to not think about what he was missing.
All the years spent thinking he didn't deserve to have a mate.
And his mate was right here.
He barely registered the tears slipping down his cheeks, nor did he register the familiar pain of bones breaking as he Shifted into his fox form willingly for the first time in a while. He curled up against Leaf's stomach and rested his snout on Leaf's side, just watching him and relishing in the painless little sparks of electricity where they touched. It felt better than anything Grace had ever experienced before, and even though he knew he should, he couldn't pull away.
His mate was here. He couldn't leave.
Because if he did, he was certain that all of this would disappear.
~*~
Something was wrong.
Every inch of his body ached with a dull, throbbing pain — which was much better than the sharp stabbing pain from earlier, but it still wasn't pleasant — and he couldn't make his body work, no matter how hard he tried. And he just felt... off. Very, very off. His skin prickled, and his entire body didn't feel the way it should, and smells and sounds and feelings were assaulting his senses and it was just too much but he couldn't stop it—
He shut his eyes and focused on what he could recall about the man that had been talking to him earlier. His mind was still hazy, and he hadn't been able to focus on much aside from the pain, but he remembered the man's face and voice. He remembered them from before, when he was first being lifted from what he'd thought would be his grave.
It was his Angel.
His Angel had stayed with him the entire time. His Angel didn't stop the pain — he probably couldn't stop a punishment like this, because it had to be a punishment. But he stayed anyway, offering gentle words of comfort Simon wished he could have paid more attention to. His Angel deserved to be listened to when he spoke.
The more he focused on the soothing voice of his Angel, the more he was able to calm himself. He didn't know what was happening, but his Angel was near. He would be okay.
He laid there for a while before he managed to lift his head. He immediately noticed why he had felt so wrong — instead of a human, he was some weird furry creature he had never even seen before.
Panic made his chest tighten, and he tried to get up. But his limbs still wouldn't cooperate — no wonder. His body wasn't his body — and all he managed to do was move his legs a little. He drew in a sharp breath and looked around quickly, searching for his Angel. Maybe he could help, maybe he could fix it or at least tell him what was happening—
Something brushed against him, and he turned his head to see something orange and absolutely tiny pressed against his stomach (probably his stomach. He figured it had to be in the same general area, right?). And he... stopped. The panic began to ebb away, and he finally took notice of the weird feeling where the orange ball was touching him. It was like he was being shocked, but in a somehow painless way. And there was this weird feeling in his chest, too, like something deep inside him was being pulled on.
Had that been there earlier? He didn't think so, but it was comforting in the way only familiar and safe things were.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Project Hail Mary (2026)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Ryland Grace/Pain
Characters: Ryland Grace
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Werewolf Ryland Grace, Ryland Grace Has a Bad Time, Ryland Grace Needs a Hug, Fox Shifter Ryland Grace, Painful transformations, Broken Bones, Amnesia, Pre-Rocky | Before Ryland Grace Meets Rocky, Mild Blood
Series: Part 1 of Patron Shifters of One-Way Trips
Summary:
Grace wakes up from his coma, and discovers his abilities in the most unpleasant manner possible - an excruciatingly painful forced Shift.
Collaborating with the lovely @matveysunflower for this series!
https://archiveofourown.org/works/86127956
Grace cracked open his eyes, the world around him slowly coming into focus. Metal arms (???) hovered above him, tools held in their claws just inches from his face. A female voice echoed around him, asking him a question he didn't listen to, and he let out a gurgling noise and turned his head to the side to avoid whatever the arms were holding.
What the fudge was going on?
As the arms reached for him again, he turned his head to the other side. Whatever it was trying to do, it was very determined to do it.
He needed to get out of here.
He tried to move his arms, but they felt like jelly, and the most he could manage was a bit of feeble twitching. Not helpful. Trying to move his legs yielded the same results. But the metal arms were coming in for another attack, so he had to do something.
That something was apparently rolling over and tumbling right off the bed onto the cold, hard floor.
(Emphasis on cold and hard. There wasn't much covering his body, at least not anything thick enough to fight off the chill, and uh. Ouch. What a painful landing. He was pretty sure he'd ripped a few things out of his skin, too.)
Since he couldn't get his arms and legs to cooperate, he began scooting forward in a fashion that reminded him a lot of an inchworm. It mostly seemed to work; he was getting somewhere, albeit very slowly. Until the metal arms grabbed the end of the sack he was in and started pulling.
(And it was a sack, or at least seemed to be, at a glance. Which was weird, because who the heck sleeps in a sack? He could understand if it was a sleeping bag — even if it didn't make sense for someone to use one in a bed — but it definitely was not. Why was he naked in a sack???)
As his bottom half was lifted into the air, he lurched forward and miraculously slid out of the sack. He noted that he was not, in fact, naked; whatever he was wearing was just clinging to him like a second skin, and he hadn't quite registered before that it was actually separate.
He didn't exactly feel self-conscious about his body (at least, he was pretty sure he didn't. He couldn't remember much, now that he was thinking about it... but no, he needed to focus. That panic could come later), but who wanted to be naked in a strange place? Not him, that was for sure.
Relief over clothing aside, he hurriedly continued his inchworming forward. He just needed to get out of reach of those arms—
The first crack made his ears ring, and for a long moment, he didn't even register that it came from his own body. Then the pain crashed into him, and he screamed.
His arm. It was broken— how was it broken? What had he done? He hadn't hit it on anything, he still couldn't even move it—
Another scream tore from his throat as his other arm snapped. He distantly noted that the metal arms reached for him but didn't touch him, but he didn't get a chance to think about it as both of his arms broke again, higher up this time, twisting and contorting into impossible angles, completely out of his control, as if they had a mind of their own. Then his legs followed suit, and he sobbed and retched. The pain was overwhelming.
"Stop— please—" he gasped out between ragged breaths and sickening cracks. "Please— someone— help—" He screamed again as his spine crunched, and he didn't know how he could even speak or scream anymore, his throat was raw and aching and he could barely even breathe, what was happening to him what had he done to deserve this someone please help him he didn't want to die—
The time blurred together. Hours, minutes, days. He didn't — couldn't — know how long it took for the screaming and the crying and the begging to stop. For the breaking to cease and the pain to fade away into a dull, throbbing ache. By the end, though, he was left trembling on the ground, shivering from the aftershocks of pain and the cold, cold floor underneath him.
No one had come. Despite all of his pleas, no one had helped him. Even the metal arms weren't hovering anymore, and the voice was no longer speaking.
He had been left to suffer alone.
Slowly, he lifted his head, a soft whine rising up unbidden. In his haze, it took him several seconds to realize that his vision was off. Everything looked bigger — much bigger, like he'd suddenly shrank a bunch — and none of the colors were right, as if he was seeing everything through a weird, muted camera filter. What…?
Now that he was focusing more on his senses, he noted that the smells in the room, something he (understandably) hadn't noticed before, were now much sharper. The air was sterile and a bit stale — no human activity in a while. Why? — and there was a faint smell of metal and plastic surrounding him, like that was what the entire room was made of. Much more prominent than those smells, though, was the unmistakable scent of blood. He looked around and spotted the IVs dangling from the bed he'd been on. So that was what he'd ripped out earlier.
He rested his head back against the floor and closed his eyes, already struggling to not pass out. He was exhausted, and his body still ached and trembled. What had even happened? He wasn't dead… probably. But he'd felt each and every one of his bones break and… wait…
Images flickered through his mind, brief and falling through his fingers like crumbling sand but still lingering just long enough to give him some amount of clarity.
His bones were breaking again, but for once, he'd made the choice himself. He stood on all-fours and shook out his fur, then nosed out of the doggy door he'd installed just because of this. Under the cover of dusk, he started to run.
He'd missed this freedom. Why did he always put it off so long?
His eyes snapped open, and he lifted his head again, turning to look at his body. His very small, very furry, and very orange body.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Project Hail Mary (2026), Iron Lung (2026)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung)/Ryland Grace, Ryland Grace & Rocky
Characters: Ryland Grace, Rocky (Project Hail Mary), The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung)
Additional Tags: Pre-Relationship, The Convict | Simon Lives (Iron Lung), Mutated The Convict | Simon (Iron Lung), The Convict | Simon Needs a Hug (Iron Lung), Ryland Grace Needs a Hug, First Meetings, The Convict | Simon Has Trust Issues (Iron Lung), POV Multiple, Post-Iron Lung (2026)
Summary:
Grace wakes up to find Rocky too still - sleeping, he reminds himself. Not dead - and the Hail Mary stranded next to an unknown planet covered in red. He thinks they're doomed.
Then they pick up on a radio signal from the surface.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/85493471
It was so obvious that something was wrong — the once twinkling sea of stars and Tau Ceti's solar system had been replaced with what Grace could only hope was pomegranate molasses. That was a stupid, impossible hope, but he was friends with a rock alien…
He wondered if he was dreaming; he even pinched himself like you were supposed to to check whether or not you were. All he got was a sharp pain in his arm and no change outside the window.
Was he hallucinating, maybe? He had hit his head pretty hard not long ago... but he felt fine, mostly. He didn't think he got enough brain damage to start seeing things that weren't actually there.
But this couldn't be real.
Could it?
(Yet, he'd seen so much since waking up on the Hail Mary. He'd experienced so many things he hadn't believed were possible, even back before his entire life and career had been shattered by his mouth and its lack of a filter and when he was so confident in his theories of life without water. How much of a stretch was this, really? There were so many planets and solar systems that scientists could only dream of seeing someday. Who knew what was really out there?)
Still, this seemed a little extreme.
"Mary," he said slowly. "Where are we?"
"Unknown. Recalibrating," she answered, in that same steady voice he'd grown accustomed to. Usually, it was calming. Now, not so much.
"What do you mean, unknown? How can you not know where we are?" Panic shot through him, but he forced himself to take a deep breath. He'd handled everything up to this point. He could handle this, too.
(But until now, he'd had Rocky by his side. Rocky, who was currently unresponsive and too still and maybe not even alive anymore. He couldn't afford to think like that, he knew that, he didn't need the pain and fear and anxiety and loneliness those thoughts brought him, but he couldn't help it. His friend, his best friend, might be dying and he couldn't stop it. He couldn't do anything but sit around and wait and stare at this unknown place they'd somehow arrived at while he was unconscious.)
(It was all his fault.)
Mary answered him with those same words, but he wasn't really listening. He ran his hands down his face, knocking his glasses even more askew. They nearly slipped off his ear, but he grabbed them and tugged them off before they could fall. He had multiple pairs — something he'd found out the last time he broke one. Thanks, Stratt — but that didn't mean he needed to break these. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to take a deep breath in, hold it, then back out. Again. Again. And again, until his heart didn't feel like it was going to explode out of his chest. Only then did he open his eyes and look outside the window.
No change. Still that foreboding mass of red instead of the planet he should be seeing.
He took another deep breath as the panic threatened to bubble up again. He needed to get it together. Otherwise, he and Rocky would never make it back home.
They had to go home.
(Even if Grace really had nothing to go back to.)
"Okay. Okay, fine. Keep trying to figure out where we are." Grace dragged his eyes away from the window. He needed to go check on Rocky. He doubted anything had changed, but—
He needed to check.
So, he went over to Rocky and sat next to him, continuing the silent vigil he'd promised when he first discovered his friend like this.
Rocky had saved his life. This was the least he could do in return.
~*~
"Where are we, question?"
Grace paused and looked up. It had been only a couple days since Rocky had woken up, and Grace hadn't told him yet that they were at an unknown planet. It was pure cowardice, he knew it — he didn't want to tell Rocky that they might not make it home because he couldn't figure out where home was. But somehow, Rocky knew they weren't at Tau Ceti anymore, and the truth couldn't be hidden any longer. Rocky wasn't stupid.
"I… I don't know." Grace sat back in his seat and sighed. "We're not at Adrian anymore. Nowhere near it, as far as I can tell. Mary can't figure out where we are, either."
Rocky was silent for a moment. "Grace not say that earlier."
Grace swallowed. "I know. I'm sorry."
"Why Grace not say, question?"
"I—" The excuse died on his lips. He didn't want to lie to Rocky. Not after everything they'd been through together. "I was afraid to."
(Funny, that he could dangle off the side of a space ship without hesitation, but he couldn't just tell the truth to his friend. He was such a coward.)
"Why—"
"Radio signal detected," Mary said, and Grace was ashamed of the rush of relief he felt at the interruption.
"What? Where?" He stood and hurried over to the monitors, watching Rocky follow in his passageway from the corner of his eye.
"Radio signal detected," she repeated, because of course she wouldn't elaborate.
Sure enough, though, one of the screens showed a radio signal coming from the surface of the planet below. But how could there be anything down there to even send a signal to begin with?
"Tune into it. Who's on the other end?" Grace couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement. If there was someone here, maybe they would know where here was. Their odds of getting back to Tau Ceti were going up.
There was a sharp burst of static from the speakers, and Grace winced slightly. It gradually quieted down, and he pressed the button to speak.
"Hello? Is anyone there?" He found himself holding his breath as he waited, listening to the static crackle softly. Nothing. His stomach dropped. "Please, can someone hear me?"
More static, then—
A soft groan. It was nearly inaudible, but Grace, as laser-focused as he was, heard it. Someone was on the other side.
Someone was on the other side.
But something was wrong.
"Are you okay?" It was probably a stupid question with an obvious answer, and he doubted he would get anything from asking it, since the person hadn't said anything before. Still, it couldn't hurt, right?
There was no response.
He blew out a breath. "Okay. Okay, we need to figure out what's going on down there. Mary, scan the surface of the planet and see what you can find."
"Grace think find new human, question?" Rocky asked.
Grace didn't look away from the screens. "I really hope so. Maybe they'll know where we are."
"Yes, good. Save new human. Go home." Rocky bobbed up and down. "Hurry hurry hurry."
"We have to wait to see what's on the planet, Rock. We can't do anything if we don't know what's going on down there."
"Mary slow. Need go faster."
Grace sighed. "I know she does." He couldn't blame Rocky for being impatient; he was too. They needed to get out of here as soon as possible, and right now, this was their only chance to possibly figure out where they were.
(Or maybe he just wanted another human being around. Rocky was great, but he wasn't human. It would never be quite the same.)
(Was that being ungrateful? He was so lucky to have someone here with him at all. He shouldn't be complaining. But the prospect of having another human here, even if only for a little while, was a relief.)
A couple minutes later, a blinking dot showed up on the screen.
"Object detected," Mary said, confirming it without prompting.
Grace frowned. "It doesn't look very big. What is it?"
"Maybe small ship," Rocky suggested. "Like Grace ship."
"I don't know… I don't think it is." Grace dragged his gaze away from the screen to look at Rocky. "But either way, something's definitely wrong."
"Then Grace Rocky get ship. Save other human."
Grace sighed and made his way over to the window, staring at the odd planet they'd found themselves at. "But how do we get there? It's not like we can land on it."
Rocky tapped his feet on his enclosure, drawing Grace's attention back to him. "Grace Rocky go fishing."
Grace paused. "That's… actually a good idea."
"Of course. Rocky always have good idea." For a rock, Rocky looked quite proud.
"Yeah, yeah. Sure you do, bud." But a slight smile formed on Grace's face.
It looked like they were going fishing again.
(He just hoped it went better this time.)
~*~
Grace stared at the man silently, absently chewing on the end of his pen. The guy had barely even twitched in the hours since he'd been brought in; Grace would think he was dead if not for the heart monitor's semi-steady beeping. He was barely even breathing.
Rocky rolled over in his hamster ball, checking on Grace for what felt like the millionth time. "New human not died. Why worry, question?"
Grace sighed, also for what was probably the millionth time. "He looks… rough." An understatement. Half of the guy's face was covered in sharp teeth. Teeth. Not regular human teeth, but sharp monster type of teeth. And the rest of his face was covered in boils of some kind. Not to mention his arm, which looked like it had been ripped off.
"But new human not died," Rocky repeated. "No need worry."
"Just because he's alive right now, doesn't mean something can't happen to him." Grace glanced at the monitors again.
"Grace paranoid. Nothing happen to new human. New human live now."
He sighed again and set down his pen. He really needed to stop chewing on it; if another pen exploded in his face, he would never live it down.
"Maybe I am being paranoid. But I think I have a pretty good reason to be. He lost a lot of blood." He adjusted his glasses, even though they weren't trying to fall yet. "We have to make sure he stays alive now that he's here."
"Grace still paranoid." But Rocky didn't argue it any further.
It was another couple hours before the man shifted more noticeably, and Grace's head snapped up. Grace had almost fallen asleep; he hadn't been sleeping well recently, with the whole ending up at an unknown planet thing, and it had been a while since he'd slept anyway. So, he was tired (though he'd been constantly telling Rocky he wasn't).
The man groaned softly and opened his eyes. He looked very confused as his eyes flicked around the room, which was understandable. Grace had no idea what happened to him, but this place was nothing like the submarine thing he'd been in, so it had to be weird.
Grace stood and came over, careful not to get close enough to loom over him. "Hey there. How are you feeling?"
The man immediately tensed and tried to sit up, but it was obvious that he was struggling. He had to be pretty weak right now.
Grace raised his hands to show that they were empty. "I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. You're safe."
The man stared at him, studying him in a way that made it painfully obvious how many times he'd done it before, then slowly settled back down. He still looked tense, but at least he wasn't struggling anymore. Good.
Grace gave him a small, slightly awkward smile. He was glad he'd had some time to get used to the guy's appearance; it was pretty creepy, but he didn't want to treat him any differently. That wouldn't help him relax. And, y'know. He didn't want to be a jerk. "My name's Grace. I found you in that submarine thing and brought you up here to get some medical care."
The man still said nothing.
Grace's smile grew a little more awkward. "So… how are you feeling? Any pain? You're on some pretty strong painkillers, so there shouldn't be any, but I can give you more if there is, I think." He said the last part quieter, but he was pretty sure the man heard him anyway.
"No," the man said. His voice was quiet and raspy. "I feel fine."
"Good. Great." Grace let out a soft sigh of relief. "I'm glad."
The man continued to stare at him. He felt like the guy was trying to see into his soul.
"So…" Grace tried. "What's your name? Because I need something to call you."
The man seemed to hesitate. Then, "Simon."
"Nice to officially meet you, Simon." Grace readjusted his glasses, noting how Simon tracked the movement. "Just a warning, there's someone else here. I'll try to keep him out so you can have some peace, but he doesn't know what personal space is—"
"Grace! Rocky hear talking." Right on cue, Rocky tumbled into the room.
Simon immediately jerked back with more speed than Grace would have expected and nearly fell off the bed.
Grace sighed. "Rocky, you can't just barge in here."
"This Rocky home too. Can go everywhere. Not need permission." Rocky said it matter-of-factly, like it wasn't up for debate. It never was, with him.
Grace bit back what he wanted to say — he didn't think Simon's first impression of his and Rocky's relationship needed to be an argument — and instead turned to Simon. "Sorry, I was going to introduce you more… slowly. Should've known that wouldn't happen, but can't change it now, I guess. Simon, this is Rocky. He won't hurt you. Rocky, this is Simon."
Simon didn't relax, just staring at Rocky in confusion and probably fear. Again, Grace wondered what happened to him, for him to have this reaction. He knew it was weird to meet an alien, yeah, but even he hadn't been quite this freaked out.
(He was going to ignore his scream first, think later reaction the first time he met Rocky.)
"See? New human fine. Rocky always right."
Grace sighed. Again. How many times had he done that now? A million and a half? At least it wasn't a Simon-related sigh this time. "I know, I know. But you're scaring him, so shoo."
"Grace can't kick Rocky out of home."
"I'm not kicking you out of your home," Grace said. "I'm telling you nicely to get out of this room."
"Not nice. Mean mean mean. Grace kick Rocky out like Rocky not Grace best friend."
"That is not what's happening—"
"Grace hate Rocky. Grace not want Rocky around. So Rocky leave. Sad sad sad." Rocky then rolled out in the most diva-like fashion that Grace had ever seen, which was surprising considering he was a rock. He shouldn't be able to walk like that.
Grace groaned. Rocky had to be the most dramatic rock that ever existed. Unless all Eridians were like that? It was possible, but this felt like a Rocky thing. Not that he'd ever find out.
Grace turned back to Simon. "Sorry about that. Look, I promise Rocky's harmless. He's just really… hyper sometimes."
Simon glanced up at him. He looked less nervous now, and he was laying on the bed again, which was good. Grace didn't want him freaking out and reopening the wounds Armando had stitched up. Whatever blood the guy had left in his body needed to stay there.
He let out a soft huff and rested his head back against the pillow, not responding. Grace didn't think he would. He didn't seem like much of a talker.
That was fine. As the resident yapper, Grace could talk enough for the both of them.
(He really, really hoped Simon wasn't so antisocial that he'd hate it.)
"Well, I'll leave you be. I'm sure you're exhausted. Healing takes a lot of energy, and uh… you've got a lot of healing to do." Grace waved. "I'll keep Rocky out. Goodnight."
"Goodnight," Simon echoed softly, and Grace counted that as a win.
~*~
Simon was confused. Very, very confused. Last he remembered, he was in the iron lung, staring down that monstrous thing in the blood. He was in pain, and he was dying, and he knew he would never make it out. He knew he would never get to live. He hadn't wanted to die, but he'd been forced to accept that he would. He'd wished things could have gone differently — he'd wished he could be given another chance.
What he'd done was important. He knew that. But that didn't mean he wanted it to happen.
And now…
Now, he was in a strange, bright place with a man he didn't recognize and some creature that was definitely a monster of some kind, because even he knew that rocks weren't supposed to have legs and move. That man kept assuring him that the thing was harmless, but Simon wasn't sure he believed that. The… argument(?) the two had shared put his mind at ease a little, though. It was a bit amusing.
The man himself was odd, too. Almost everyone Simon had ever known had an ulterior motive of some kind. This guy, though… no matter how hard Simon looked, he couldn't see any of the usual signs of that. He was open, not even bothering to hide what he was feeling and thinking, and he looked so… friendly.
(It had to be a trick. It had to be. No one was nice without a reason; no one did kind things without expecting something in return. He must just be better at hiding it. He couldn't be trusted, no matter how his personality already made it easier to relax around him.)
And he introduced himself as Grace… what kind of name was that? Simon had never met anyone with that name, but he knew what grace meant — unearned and undeserved salvation, something only provided in death, according to his brothers and sisters at Eden. But he didn't want to die, so why would he be granted salvation like this? Didn't only those who accepted the Father's teachings get peace in death? He rejected their teachings. So how could he have gotten salvation?
It just wasn't possible for him to.
So, then, what was this? Could it be a hallucination from the blood? But he didn't know this man at all, and before, all he'd seen were visions of people he knew. And the kindness Grace was showing him was a far cry from the screams and hatred of those hallucinations.
That left him with one final explanation: he was alive, and this (admittedly cute) stranger had actually saved him from his death.
Yeah, right. As if that was possible.
But no matter what this really was… it didn't seem half bad. He could be content with this, he decided, for however long it lasted.
~*~
Grace yawned and stretched as he trudged out of the don't go crazy room, feeling his back pop. He'd decided to sleep in there last night, something he was beginning to regret now. The hard metal platform wasn't exactly comfortable to lay on for several hours, but oh well. He was pretty sure Simon appreciated being left alone, so Grace supposed that made it worth it.
As he headed down the corridor to check on Simon, he paused at the window. His mouth dropped open, and he rubbed his eyes quickly. Still, nothing changed.
Outside the window was not the sea of red he'd been expecting, but Tau Ceti.
Chapters: 1/?
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Hawkeye (Marvel Comics), Black Widow (Marvel Comics)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Characters: Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov (Marvel)
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Hurt/Comfort, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Slow Burn, Sharing a Bed, Budapest, Red Room (Marvel), Red Room Graduate Clint Barton (Marvel), widow clint barton, Trans Clint Barton, Gender Dysphoria, Natasha Romanov Is Not a Robot (Marvel), Natasha Romanov Is Called Natalia (Marvel), Deaf Clint Barton, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Summary:
Clint had resigned himself to his fate a long time ago. He knew he would never be able to get the freedom he so badly desired. He would never get the body he wanted. He would never be anything more than a tool at the Red Room's disposal, forced to exist inside a body that could never truly be his own.
Then he met Natalia, and things started to change.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/84331681
Chapter 1
Clint wasn't sure when he realized that he was not Clara Barton.
It had to be somewhere in his teens — late teens, at that — because he couldn't recall ever truly thinking about it before that one mission, when he was made to dress up in a nice business suit because for some reason, that's what the target liked. Young women who could wear a suit and wear it well.
It wasn't much like a man's suit. It was still tailored to perfectly fit Clint's body, form fitting and showing everything that needed to be shown to get the target's attention, and then some.
But compared to a dress, it was amazing.
He'd spent probably a little too much time staring at himself in the tiny bathroom mirror in the safehouse before his handler practically had to drag him out, but he couldn't help it. For once, he wasn't in clothes that made him want to shrivel into nothingness. He was almost comfortable, something so foreign to him it felt impossible.
But perhaps, it wasn't so impossible after all.
Yeah, maybe that was when he realized something was wrong. Not with him; with his body.
He didn't get another chance to wear a suit after that. It was still a miracle that he'd gotten the chance to begin with. But afterwards, he paid more attention to how he felt, both when he was dressing up for missions and when he was just in normal clothing and training gear inside the compound.
He soon realized that he'd always been uncomfortable, even before his body grew to be more distinctly female as he aged. He'd always hated looking at himself in the mirror, hated how he felt when he moved, hated thinking about it even though it was all he could think about.
Yet he somehow hadn't noticed.
How had he never noticed?
But that answer was obvious. Madame, the other girls, even the guards. They'd all acted as if it was normal to hate your body — they just framed it as the girls needing to be perfect to survive in this place. They had to have the perfect body, the perfect looks. They were failures otherwise, and much more easy to dispose of. There was no room for anything but perfection.
He often wondered if this was the reason he hated his body. It had to be, right? What other reason could there be?
It took him a long time to realize the true reason.
It was a picture on the cover of a magazine, of all things. He'd just killed his target and was about to leave when he saw the magazine on the coffee table. He should have kept walking, but he still paused and just… stared.
There was nothing particularly special about the man on the picture. He was well-muscled, sure, but he looked like your average guy, albeit one that went to the gym a lot more than most. Still, Clint was enamored, though surprisingly not with the man himself.
He just… wanted that body.
More than anything, he wanted that body.
There was a brief moment where he second-guessed himself. Was he just mistaking attraction for… whatever this was? This… envy? But a quick glance at the photo didn't make him feel any other way. The man was handsome but not in a way that made Clint want to be with him.
Clint really just wanted his body to look like that.
It seemed silly that he hadn't figured it out before, but how could he have? The Red Room wasn't exactly the best place to discover yourself. All Widows were tools. Female tools, and that's all they could ever be.
But Clint didn't want to be that anymore.
He never told anyone about this discovery. Even if he had anyone to tell, he wasn't stupid enough to believe anything good would come out of it. At best, he would be killed, and at worst, he would be put in the chair, that awful device that seemed more myth than truth but had definitely been used to fix defective Widows before. Neither was a good option. He didn't want to die, but he certainly didn't want anyone to try to "fix" him.
So, he kept it to himself. It wasn't really hard — there weren't any obvious signs of it, and if asked, he could brush off any visible discomfort as that need to be perfect. It had been drilled into them enough times that the lie was quite believable. Really, this was much easier to hide than his growing deafness, which was a whole other issue that he was barely managing to conceal.
He was so glad he was a good liar. He'd be doomed otherwise.
He did sometimes wish he had someone to confide in, to tell all these secrets he was keeping close to his chest. He wished he could tell someone that he didn't want to be a woman. He wished he could tell someone he didn't want to be called Clara. He wished he could tell someone that he wanted to look like the man on that magazine.
He wished someone could tell him that it was okay to want all of this.
But there was no such thing as a friend in the Red Room, and he would never be able to tell anyone without risking it being held over his head like a guillotine.
And then came Natalia.
She was Madame's favorite. That much had always been obvious — she was the best in their class, excelled even when she tried to fail (and that had been such a bold move, trying to fail out of graduation. If Clint was being honest, he admired her for it), and seemed to get the most rewards out of everyone. She was the best of the best, completely unmatched by everyone, even Clint, and he liked to believe that he was pretty good himself. Everyone either hated her or wanted to be her, or both. (Except Clint, but he wasn't like everyone to begin with. He couldn't hate someone he didn't know, and if he didn't even want to be Clara, why would he want to be Natalia?)
And of all the Widows that could have been chosen, he was paired with her for a long-term mission in Budapest.
If Clint had to pick a day when his life truly began, as cheesy as it sounded, he would pick that day.
~*~
The sky was cloudy and gray, and as Clint stepped out of the door of the compound, a single snowflake fell onto his nose, causing him to glance up. More snowflakes were beginning to drift down, slowly right now, but he knew it could get much heavier in an instant. He was glad they were leaving soon; the flight would have to be delayed if a bad storm hit, and he really didn't want that. He didn't usually like his missions, but he preferred traveling a lot more than being cooped up in the compound under the guards' watch and Madame's scrutiny.
Anything was better than that.
Clint folded his hands behind his back as he stood beside his handler and waited. He knew another Widow was joining him on this mission; he hadn't been told any details yet, but obviously, the mission wasn't something he could do on his own. Of course, he much preferred working alone — what Widow didn't? They were trained to work alone and never trust anyone, which made teamwork very difficult — but he wouldn't complain. There was nothing he could do about it anyway.
They didn't have to wait long. Less than a minute later, a handler and the Widow stepped out of the compound.
Clint kept his surprise off his face, but he couldn't stop from staring at her. They'd picked her, of all the possible candidates? Just how high profile was this mission?
It wasn't like Clint was a terrible Widow. He had been second in the class only to this girl standing in front of him. But to put two of the best together on one mission… this was definitely not something they could afford to mess up.
Not that they could ever afford to mess up. Failure wasn't tolerated.
Natalia met his gaze, and he paused. There was an odd look in her eyes, something between disdain and curiosity and maybe a bit of confusion. A whole myriad of emotions seemed to be hidden behind her eyes, locked away in a way similar to Clint's own. It made him wonder what she was thinking — what was going through her head right now? Because unlike most of the other Widows, he couldn't see what she was thinking, and that made him dangerously curious.
He didn't know why he even bothered to wonder. What she was thinking and feeling didn't matter. The only important thing right now was the mission, not some mysterious Widow he didn't know. It's not like she cared about him.
(He bothered because he was scared that someday, someone would look right through Clara and see Clint, and as much as he wished to be recognized for who he truly was, he knew it would all be over for him if that happened.)
They were locked in a silent staring contest for several seconds before their handlers ordered them onto the plane — something he only noticed because Natalia turned towards them. Had he really been that distracted? He looked away from her and got into the plane quickly, sitting in the seat he was directed to. He discreetly scanned his handler's face as he went past, but the man thankfully hadn't seemed to notice Clint's lapse in attention.
Widows were always, always supposed to be aware of everything around them, especially their handlers. Clint was normally very good at this; he wouldn't know if someone spoke to him otherwise. But if he ever slipped up… well, it wouldn't take much for someone to figure out that he'd been defective all along.
Clint glanced around the plane as it started to move. The handlers were talking to each other, both already holding a glass filled with amber liquid. Whiskey, judging by the bottle next to them. Gross. They could've at least picked something better.
He turned his attention to Natalia and blinked. She was staring at him again, that odd mix of emotions once again on her face, barely visible but still there. Less disdain and more confusion, with perhaps even more curiosity than before, too. But what could possibly be so interesting about him that she was staring at him so much? She was barely even blinking.
"Is there something on my face?" Clint asked after a beat, already growing tired of watching her watch him. He kept their handlers in his line of sight to make sure they didn't hear him talking, but his voice was low enough that they shouldn't notice.
He'd learned the hard way not to speak unless given permission to.
Natalia's eyes flicked over to the handlers before settling on him again. "No." He assumed her voice was just as quiet; the handlers still didn't react.
"Then why are you watching me?"
She didn't answer. Typical.
"If you want to know something, just ask." Not that he planned on telling her anything that she could possibly use against him, which was pretty much anything truthful.
"You're odd," she said slowly. "Different. Why?"
Clint kept his expression neutral the best he could. He couldn't allow himself to react to that, because that was exactly the thing he was afraid of. If she already suspected that he was different — that there was something wrong with him — he couldn't give her proof. He had to be much more careful.
"Why do you think I'm different?" He needed to get a better idea of what she was seeing.
"You're hiding something." Her eyes were calculating. He didn't like that. "What is it?"
"There are no secrets in the Red Room." He kept his voice level and maintained eye contact, not wavering at all. Just like he was trained. "I am not hiding anything."
Natalia's eyes didn't leave his, her expression unchanging. "If you insist."
She didn't believe him. Was she really so good at reading people that not even he could lie to her? With how he'd mastered the art of deception, he hadn't thought that was possible. But he should've known better than to underestimate her. He'd seen what happened when others did that.
Clint said nothing else after that, just watched her back in silence. Arguing it would only make her more suspicious, and he really couldn't afford that. Not if she was already going to be watching him and trying to figure out the secrets he was keeping — and he didn't doubt she would. Loyal Widows were always looking for an opportunity to destroy those they believed could be defective.
This was going to be a long flight, and a very long mission.
~*~
Natalia hadn't exactly been thrilled when she was informed that she would be going on a long-term mission with another Widow. She had always done better on her own, and Madame and Dreykov both knew that. And since they both knew, she hadn't planned on that changing anytime soon, but for some reason, it had. She was being sent on this mission with another one of those bratty little girls that either thought they were on the top of the food chain, or believed they could kill her to get there.
As if she would ever let that happen.
But even though her last partnered mission had gone terribly wrong (entirely the fault of the girl she'd been teamed up with. The idiot had literally tried to stab her in the back, jeopardizing the entire mission. That was the only time Natalia had nearly failed), there was nothing she could do to get out of it, so off she went with another one of those stupid girls she hated so much.
Except, oddly enough, when she locked eyes with Clara (at least, that's what she believed the girl's name was. She couldn't quite recall; she'd never made a habit of learning the other girls' names. That made killing them feel more personal, and Natalia didn't want to feel anything), she didn't notice any hatred. The look in the girl's eyes was one of surprise and quiet curiosity, and a tinge of wariness, all expertly concealed but not enough to fool Natalia. There was also this thoughtful expression on her face, but it didn't seem to be malicious at all — and Natalia knew how to recognize malicious intent.
Was this one of the girls that idolized her? She knew some did, as absurd as that was. But this girl didn't have that starry look in her eyes, the one that made Natalia's lip curl far more than the hateful looks did.
Natalia didn't understand. She'd never encountered a girl that didn't look at her in either hatred or adoration.
What was this girl trying to do here?
Then their handlers ordered them onto the plane, and Natalia noticed something else peculiar — there was just a brief moment where she didn't even react until Natalia turned towards their handlers, and while it was so small that their handlers didn't seem to notice, Natalia did. It could have been brushed off as just a lapse in attention, but Widows didn't have lapses in attention. At least, not ones significant enough to keep them from hearing direct orders from their handlers. They wouldn't even make it to graduation if they did.
Something was very odd about this girl.
Natalia watched her out of the corner of her eye as they took their seats, and as the plane began to move, she turned her attention to the girl fully. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a scar on her jaw. Nothing else stood out; there didn't seem to be anything particularly remarkable about her, and yet…
"Is there something on my face?" she asked suddenly, voice a harsh whisper. Impatience and irritation dominated her expression.
Natalia glanced at their handlers, but the fools weren't even paying attention to them, too busy talking about some of the stupid rumors the guards liked to pass around. There was nothing useful to glean from their conversation, so she turned her attention back to Clara.
"No," she answered, keeping her voice lowered. She may not get punished too harshly for speaking — being Madame's favorite did come with its perks — but that didn't mean she cared to bring attention onto what she was doing. She didn't need their handlers watching her any closer for the duration of the flight.
"Then why are you staring at me?"
Natalia gave no response. She didn't need to justify anything.
"If you want to know something, just ask," Clara tried again.
Natalia almost quirked a brow. She wasn't stupid enough to believe that she would actually get a truthful answer. Still, she said, "You're odd. Different. Why?" She was curious to see the girl's reaction.
The girl was surprisingly good at hiding her emotions; everything Natalia had seen so far had been small and almost unnoticeable — almost. But Natalia was observant, she always had been, and so she could see the exact moment when the girl's shoulders tensed ever so slightly and her earlier wariness came back much more obvious than before. There was also a slight tinge of anxiety on her face that couldn't just be brushed off.
She was hiding something, and it was big.
How interesting.
"Why do you think I'm different?" The girl didn't break eye contact, and other than the hints of emotion Natalia could still see under the surface, there was no indication she was lying.
She was good. Just not quite good enough.
Natalia wondered how much pressure it would take for the girl to crack; would she give in now, or would it take more effort on Natalia's part to make her confess?
"You're hiding something. What is it?"
"There are no secrets in the Red Room. I am not hiding anything." The girl stubbornly held strong. This interrogation was going nowhere.
"If you insist," Natalia said, letting the subject drop. She knew now that whatever this secret was, it was bad enough that the girl across from her was not only determined to keep it quiet, but afraid for it to come out. It made Natalia all the more curious, but she wouldn't get the answers to her questions like this.
She would, though. No matter what, she would find out what was going on with the odd girl that had piqued her curiosity more than any other before her.
Perhaps this mission wouldn't be so bad after all.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Characters: Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Clint Barton
Additional Tags: April is the Cruelest Month Whump Event 2026, swaying, Body Modification, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, character turned into werewolf, Pre-Relationship, Werewolf Hunter Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Natasha Romanov Is Called Natalia (Marvel), Natasha Romanov Is Not a Robot (Marvel), POV Multiple
Series: Part 10 of Bre's April is the Cruelest Month fics
Summary:
Natalia is hired to kill the monster that's been terrorizing a small village by the forest.
@aprilisthecruelestmonth
https://archiveofourown.org/works/83076021
Natalia crept through the forest silently, gun in hand. Her eyes flicked around, but she saw nothing. There were no flashing eyes watching her, no monstrous forms hidden in the trees. That was a bit odd, but she wouldn't doubt that it was here somewhere, hiding and waiting for her to let her guard down enough for it to attack.
As if she'd let that happen.
The beast had been terrorizing the village that had hired her for about a week now. It had already killed four people for sure, and one other had vanished two days ago and was presumably dead. The people were terrified, and were willing to pay a hefty sum of money to get the beast killed, despite being a fairly poor village.
Natalia didn't mind. She knew what it was like to lose people to these monsters.
Unfortunately for her, though, she'd come at just the right — or wrong, really — time. It was a full moon, which meant the beast would be at its strongest right now. But, she had to track it down at night or she would never be able to lure it out, so she couldn't wait until daytime, or even until another night. She needed to stop it from killing more people.
She'd done this many times before, so she wasn't too worried, but she knew better than to believe she couldn't be taken down easily. Overconfidence got Hunters killed, no matter how good they were at their jobs.
She was fairly deep into the forest when she saw something odd. There was an arrow embedded in a tree. Not necessarily unusual, per se, but she would've thought that any hunters in this village would collect their arrows to use again, not just leave them in the forest. That's what all the poor villages she knew of did.
She looked around, and she noticed that there was another arrow in a tree and a bow on the ground. That was even more strange.
In fact… the more she looked around, the more things she found. Spilled arrows, the archer's quiver… even their clothes, which were ripped and torn. She realized quickly that this was probably the missing villager she'd been told about. He had clearly been attacked, most likely by the beast.
The strangest thing, though, was that she only found a small amount of blood near the outer ring of the clearing.
Something wasn't right.
She heard a twig snap, and she turned her head to the noise, but didn't raise her gun yet. When these things hunted, they were silent unless they had a reason not to be. Either something else made the noise — unlikely. She hadn't seen any animals in these woods yet. They'd probably been scared off — or it was trying to bait her into a trap.
She wouldn't fall for it.
She scanned the area again. It was hard to see through the trees, even in the decently bright light of the moon, but she could still make out some things, at least.
The leaves rustled, and she caught a glimpse of fur through the brush. It was not at all stealthy, and she wondered how this could be a trap if it was attracting her attention to itself like this. Unless there were more than one in the area? The beast she was hunting could have a mate, but that was rare. Still, she couldn't rule out the possibility of that, so she kept looking and listening for signs of another.
She couldn't find anything, though.
She finally raised her gun as the bushes rustled again, and a russet wolf stepped out.
There it was.
~*~
Clint wasn't a capital H Hunter, but he was a regular, lowercase H hunter, and a pretty good one at that, so he figured he could at least try to hunt this monster that had been killing the people in his village. How hard could it be? Those Hunters did it all the time, and they often went after several at once, so surely he could handle just one.
And, hey. Maybe if a Hunter did show up — he doubted it, but still — and he killed the monster before them, they'd be impressed and would train him. He'd do anything to get out of this place, even if it wasn't likely to happen.
With this hope in his mind, he grabbed his bow and headed out into the woods.
The moon only somewhat illuminated the dark woods, and he mostly had to rely on his memory of the paths he usually took to make his way through. He didn't know where he would find the monster, but it had to be around here somewhere; knowing his luck, it would probably find him first.
He had almost gotten to the end of his usual route, a small clearing he used to trap big animals, when something moved in front of him. He paused and gripped the nock of his arrow a little tighter, raising his bow and pointing in that direction. Nothing moved again, but he didn't relax. Had that been the monster, or was he just being paranoid? There could still be other animals out, even if he hadn't seen any yet. It had looked pretty big, though…
After several long moments, he let out a soft sigh and lowered his bow. Maybe it had just been some other animal. He needed to move on.
The only thing that saved him was pure luck. He turned and caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and he barely rolled out of the way of the lunging wolf. He immediately pointed his bow and let go of the arrow. It should have hit the wolf in the side at the very least, but it was fast. Scarily fast — it moved to the side quicker than Clint could blink, and the arrow hit a tree.
The wolf stopped and turned towards him, and as it stepped into the moonlight, he finally got a good look at it.
It was black like a shadow, so dark that it almost seemed to suck in the little light around it. Its eyes glowed red, and scars marred its face, making the already terrifying creature look even worse. It was also huge, its head level with his even on all fours. Its lips pulled back, showing off fangs sharper than daggers.
This was the monster that had been killing his village.
Clint now realized just how stupid of an idea this was.
There was a moment where neither of them moved, just staring each other down. Then, the monster lunged, and while Clint managed to dive out of the way, its claws still caught his shoulder. He cursed as he tumbled to the ground a little harder than he'd intended.
He grabbed another arrow and nocked it, then shot at the monster's head, shoulder screaming in pain. It moved out of the way, because of course it couldn't be that easy, but the arrow nearly grazed its ear. So close…
He got to his feet while it was distracted and tried to grab another arrow, but the wolf rammed into him hard enough to knock the wind out of him and send him flying. His back slammed into a tree, the force sending his bow across the clearing, and he crumpled to the ground, wheezing.
This was bad. Really, really bad.
As the wolf advanced on him, and he fumbled for another arrow, he realized that he was going to die here, all because he'd been stupid enough to believe he could take on this thing by himself, with no training, and make it out of this horrible village alive. But that had never been in the cards for him, had it? He shouldn't have even tried.
Hunting this monster was never going to save him.
But, if he was going to die… he would at least go down fighting.
As the monster loomed over him, Clint gripped the arrow and drove it into the creature's eye. It howled in pain and jerked back, and he grabbed his hunting knife and went straight for its throat. His hand just barely brushed its fur — coarse and matted — when its jaws snapped around his arm. He couldn't bite back his scream as it yanked him forward and shook him around. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited for it to kill him, but after a few agonizing moments, it dropped him.
He cracked open his eyes and slowly lifted his head. The monster was nowhere to be found.
What?
He dragged himself to his feet and pressed his hand to his arm. It wasn't bleeding as much as he'd thought it would, which was weird. That thing had bit him hard. He should be bleeding a lot, right?
He stumbled over to the middle of the clearing, looking around for any sign of the monster. It really did seem to be gone, though, but why? It could have killed him just as easily as it did the other three villagers.
He suddenly swayed, legs giving out and sending him crashing to the ground. He gasped in pain as fire lit up beneath his skin, spreading from the bite all the way throughout his body. Something was very, very wrong.
There was a crack, and he yelped as he watched his injured arm break. His other arm followed suit, then other bones, all breaking and twisting and contorting his body into some other shape. His skin prickled painfully, and fur began sprouting out of it, agonizingly slow. He screamed, both out of pain and terror, but there wasn't anything he could do except watch and pray that this was just a horrible nightmare.
It felt like hours before the pain stopped and he was left trembling on the ground. Slowly, he lifted his head, breaths coming out in sharp pants. His limbs were still tingling, but at least it didn't hurt anymore. Somehow.
Now that he wasn't in a pain-filled haze, he realized just how off his body felt. Nothing felt like it should, and he struggled to move his arms and legs. What had that bite done to him? Was his body so broken and mangled that he couldn't move anymore? But if that was the case, why was the pain gone?
He could actually see in the darkness now, too, and several different scents were assaulting his nose — had the woods always looked and smelled like this? They hadn't, right? But maybe it was just the adrenaline heightening everything. That had to be it.
He tried to drag himself to his feet, but he still couldn't get anything to work properly. He growled in frustration and turned his head to look at his body to see what was wrong — and he froze.
He was a wolf.
Just like that monster.
He really, really hoped this was a bad dream.
~*~
Two days later, and Clint still hadn't figured out how to reverse his transformation. He was pretty sure he was going to die before he figured it out — he had learned how to move around, but he was struggling to move quick enough to actually catch anything to eat. He didn't know how long whatever he'd been turned into could go without food, but at this rate, maybe it would be better if he starved. Then he wouldn't have to live as this monster.
Was he going to start attacking people, if given the chance? He didn't want to kill his village, even if they'd never been kind to him. It could be instinctual to these monsters, though, and if he couldn't fight it…
Yeah, it was better if he died.
At least he wouldn't have to worry about anyone coming to look for him. They probably wouldn't even notice he was gone.
He didn't venture far from where he'd been attacked. He wasn't entirely sure why he didn't go farther from the village, but maybe he had some hope that someone — the monster or another person — would come here and finish him off. It wasn't likely; he hadn't even caught a whiff of the monster's scent nearby and he doubted anyone would come out here, so the chances of anyone coming across him were slim.
As he wandered back to the clearing that night, a new scent caught his attention. He paused and lifted his head, sniffing the air. He couldn't quite figure out the smell — he definitely wasn't very good at that yet — so he moved closer, peeking through the bushes into the clearing.
A red-haired woman was standing there with a gun in her hand, looking right at where he was. She looked calm and calculating, definitely not someone from around here, and there was a very familiar symbol on the side of the gun.
She was a Hunter.
So, his village had managed to hire one after all.
He slowly stepped out, locking eyes with her as she raised her gun. He lowered his head and braced himself, waiting for her to shoot. At least he wouldn't have to live like this any longer.
But darkness never came.
~*~
Natalia knew many things about werewolves. One of the biggest things was that they were never submissive. They would rather fight until they died than submit to others, especially humans.
But for some reason, this one was submitting to her.
Against her best judgment, she lowered her gun slightly. Something wasn't right about this. It was almost like the beast wanted her to kill it. But that didn't match what she knew about them, and it certainly didn't match what the one killing the villagers would have done. This werewolf also didn't fit the descriptions she'd been given — the one attacking the village was much bigger and black, supposedly. She wasn't sure how much she trusted the descriptions of terrified bystanders, but this was definitely not the same werewolf.
She should kill it. It was her job to kill it, regardless of whether or not it was currently attacking anyone. It would eventually turn vicious and kill people anyway. But, she hesitated.
It opened its eyes and looked up at her, and the confusion in its eyes just looked so… human.
She quickly raised her gun again. What was she thinking? This thing wasn't human. It was a dangerous monster, even if it was submissive now. And it wanted to die, if it was just standing there and not leaving. She should just kill it and move on.
But she couldn't make herself pull the trigger.
Why was she so weak?
"Why are you just standing there?" she snapped. "Leave or I'll shoot you."
It just laid down and rested its head on its paws, looking quite pitiful.
Why wasn't it leaving? Was it just distracting her so that the other werewolf could come and kill her? But that didn't make sense.
None of this made sense.
It slowly scooted forward, and she took a step back to maintain distance. It stopped and watched her before standing and going over to the bow. It nudged the weapon with its nose and looked up at her.
She paused. Was it—? But that wasn't possible.
A bite. Cracking bones, twisting features. A look of terror in her sister's eyes, then animalistic hunger. Gunshots ringing out, blood on the ground. All of them dead. Her fault.
She flinched back. "Get out of here."
The werewolf whined and nudged the bow again. Its eyes flicked over to the gun as it ducked its head, clearly waiting.
"You're the hunter," she forced out. "It bit you, didn't it?"
It nodded its head.
She needed to get it together. She couldn't get distracted. "Are you trying to get me to kill you?" She needed to know what was happening.
It nodded again.
Okay. Okay, fine. She could work with this. "Can you track down the werewolf killing the villagers?"
It didn't nod this time, but the answer was obvious. A werewolf had the best senses of any other creature. Of course it could track down another werewolf.
Natalia took a deep breath. "I'll kill you if you take me to the werewolf." It was so absurd to say that. But if this werewolf actually wanted her to kill it… this would make her hunt much easier.
It slowly nodded and started walking around the edge of the clearing, nose to the ground. After a bit, it glanced at her before slipping into the trees.
She bit back a sigh and followed, hoping this stupid idea of hers wasn't going to get her killed.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Characters: Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Clint Barton
Additional Tags: April is the Cruelest Month Whump Event 2026, bear trap, abandoned, out of earshot, POV Multiple, Missions Gone Wrong, Hard of Hearing Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov Is Called Natalia (Marvel)
Series: Part 9 of Bre's April is the Cruelest Month fics
Summary:
A mission goes south and Natalia gets caught in a bear trap.
@aprilisthecruelestmonth
https://archiveofourown.org/works/82831496
Natalia cursed under her breath as she wove through the trees, listening to the sound of gunfire gradually fall quiet. She hoped they'd lost their pursuers; they were far too outnumbered to fight them head-on, so they needed to get out and make a new plan before they could complete the mission.
(And they would complete the mission. She refused to let these guys win.)
She glanced over to her left. She could still see Clint through the trees, which was a relief. She was glad he'd made it out alright. With all of those bullets flying around, she'd been worried he would get hit. She'd nearly gotten hit herself.
She slowed slightly and looked behind her to double-check that no one was following. She couldn't see or hear anyone, so at least their targets had stopped chasing them for the time being—
Her foot landed on something, and she let out a pained scream as something sharp closed around her ankle. She hit the ground hard, white-hot pain spreading through her leg. She looked down at her foot, stomach dropping.
She'd stepped on a bear trap, of all things.
She snapped her head over to where she could see Clint disappearing into the trees. "Clint! Help!" She desperately hoped that he had his hearing aids in.
He didn't give any indication that he'd heard, which meant he'd either taken them out or turned them off.
He didn't even realize she was down.
He disappeared completely moments later, and she fought down the urge to yell for him again, as useless as that would be. She didn't want someone else to hear and track her down.
She couldn't fight like this, not if she had to face multiple people — and that was most likely what would happen. She needed to get out before someone came.
This wasn't going to be easy.
"Well, look what we have here." A familiar voice came from behind her as she painstakingly started to pry off the bear trap. "Someone wasn't watching where she was going."
Natalia froze and slowly turned. Right there were the men she'd thought they'd lost, all of them grinning as they stared her down.
~*~
Clint frowned as he watched the woods. Several minutes had passed since he'd come out, but there was still no sign of Nat. Had she just come out in a different place? But that didn't make sense. They'd been running next to each other last time he checked. She must have split from him at some point, then. He kicked himself for not noticing; he'd just been focused on getting the heck out of there and not getting shot, he hadn't thought to look for Nat. That was stupid.
There was a good chance that she was on her way out of the woods now, or she was already out. He knew she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, and he really shouldn't worry about her. But…
He sighed and headed back into the woods. It couldn't hurt to look for her. He'd just have to be careful to avoid the guys they'd been running from, just in case those guys were still searching for them.
He really hoped they weren't. If he got caught, Nat would never let him live it down.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Characters: Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Clint Barton
Additional Tags: April is the Cruelest Month Whump Event 2026, broken ankle, Frostbite, "You can't keep this up forever", Natasha Romanov Is Called Natalia (Marvel), POV Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Missions Gone Wrong, Snow, Cold Weather
Series: Part 8 of Bre's April is the Cruelest Month fics
Summary:
Natalia is running through the forest in the freezing cold, trying to escape the person pursuing her. Things go wrong.
@aprilisthecruelestmonth
https://archiveofourown.org/works/82775616
Natalia's breaths came in sharp pants as she ran through the forest, weaving around trees and ducking under low-hanging branches while attempting to keep her quick speed. She couldn't afford to slow down.
"You can't keep this up forever," a voice rang out. It echoed through the trees, making it hard to pinpoint where it was coming from. She was pretty sure he was still behind her, though. "Sooner or later, I will catch you, so you might as well just give up."
She would not. She refused to.
The frigid winter air stung her lungs with each ragged breath, and her legs burned from how long she'd been running. But she had to be close by now, right? If she had been going north this entire time like she thought she was, then it was only a matter of time before—
Her foot caught on a root hidden by snow and fallen leaves, and she cursed as she went down hard, pain exploding in her ankle. She just laid there for a moment, dazed.
This was horrible. Why had she ever agreed to go on this mission?
Right. A lot of lives were at stake because of some insane superpowered guy, and for some reason, Fury thought she and Clint were the best equipped to deal with him.
She was going to have some words with Fury when they got back.
If they got back.
Natalia drew in a ragged breath and sat up. One look at the awkward angle her ankle was in confirmed that it was broken, which was not good for her and the mission. If she couldn't get out of here…
"Where are you?" The voice rang out again, its tone taunting. "You can't escape me forever. I will find you."
He was close. Too close. She needed to keep moving.
She grabbed onto the closest tree and dragged herself to her feet, hissing in pain as the bark scraped against her frostbitten hands. It had been easy to ignore the pain earlier, but it was worse now that she was trying to use her hands.
She cursed herself for letting her gloves get wet, but this whole mission was disastrous. The frostbite was only one small part of the entire horrible experience, and if she didn't get to the town, it was going to end in her death.
She painstakingly broke a larger branch to use as a walking stick and kept going, even if exhaustion was dragging her down. Just a little further, and she'd be in the clear…
(At least, that's what she hoped. If she wasn't close, she didn't think she would make it. Not now that she could barely walk.)
As she came to the treeline, she sighed in relief; she could see the town now. She really would make it after all.
There was a sharp laugh behind her as she hobbled towards the town. Chills ran down her spine, and she tried to move faster. She couldn't let him catch her now. If she could just get a little further… the town wouldn't be able to protect her, but Clint should be there by now, and he could help—
Something slammed into her back, and she was thrown forward. She hit the ground with a pained cry, turning to look at her attacker quickly.
The man grinned as he advanced, hovering just over the snow. "Told you I'd catch you."
Natalia gritted her teeth and fumbled with her Widow Bites, trying to activate them. Her fingers were too numb, though, and she couldn't get them to work properly. This was bad. Really, really bad.
The man held out his hand, and she was slowly lifted into the air. "That was fun, but I was growing tired of chasing you around. It's time to end this."
Natalia tried to struggle, but there was nothing for her to struggle against. "You aren't going to win."
He hummed. "But I already have."
She choked as her air was cut off. She tried to stave off panic — was this really how she was going to die? No, it couldn't be. She would do something. She had to. But what could she do? What options did she really have? She'd hoped Clint would be here, but he clearly wasn't—
There was a thunk and a strangled gasp, then she suddenly fell to the ground. She coughed and lifted her head, relief filling her when she saw the arrow through the man's head. Clint really had come.
Clint ran over to her side. "Nat! Are you okay?"
"Took you long enough," she muttered, slowly sitting up.
"I know. I'm sorry. I had to get in the right spot so he wouldn't notice me. I didn't expect you to come out right there." He helped her stand, wrapping an arm around her waist to support her. "Let's get you inside, okay?"
She leaned against him heavily. "I want hot chocolate and about twenty blankets."
"Yeah, me too." He started slowly walking in the direction of the town. "Everything's going to be okay now."
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Characters: Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov (Marvel)
Additional Tags: April is the Cruelest Month Whump Event 2026, Beaten with a bottle, Too Far, "Why didn't you come?", POV Clint Barton, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Abusive Parents, Horror, Hard of Hearing Clint Barton, Temporary Character Death, Beating, Graphic Description of Corpses, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Blood and Gore, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, emotional breakdown
Series: Part 7 of Bre's April is the Cruelest Month fics
Summary:
Clint wakes up one night to find his father beating someone other than him. He investigates and is horrified by what he finds.
@aprilisthecruelestmonth
https://archiveofourown.org/works/82714201
Shouting jolted Clint awake, and he sat up quickly. There were heavy footsteps outside the door followed by the smash of a bottle. Relief briefly flickered through him; at least his father wasn't barging in here and beating him this time.
But then he paused. There wasn't anyone else in the house, was there? His mother died years ago, so it couldn't be her.
Clint stood and padded over to the door, cautiously poking his head out. The house was pitch black, not even any lights from outside coming through the windows, but he could still hear shouting, so he let that and his memory guide him down the hall. He occasionally had to stifle panic when he bumped into something or a floorboard creaked, which felt odd to him — he had always known exactly where to walk to avoid making noise — but the noise didn't falter for even a moment, so his father must have really been absorbed in the beating. That was very good for Clint, but not so much for whoever the victim was this time.
It felt like hours before Clint reached the end of the hall, though it couldn't have been more than a minute. He hesitated; he could just go back to his room and save himself from the risk of being caught and having his father's anger turning on him instead. But he knew he couldn't just walk away now. He'd already come this far, so he reluctantly poked his head into the dimly lit room.
His father was bent over someone's prone form as he repeatedly slammed a beer bottle into their head, each hit connecting with a sickening thunk. Clint wasn't even sure the person was still breathing — had his father finally gone too far?
His father abruptly paused, the bottle hovering over the person's head, and then slowly turned, a terrifying grin spreading across his face as he locked eyes with Clint. "So, son, you finally decided to join us?"
A chill ran down Clint's spine. What was going on?
"You're a little late, though," his father continued. "You missed most of the fun." He stood, the bottle falling to the floor. "Why don't you finish it for me? I know you love a good kill, just like your old man."
Clint couldn't move. He was completely paralyzed, only able to watch as his father stepped back and disappeared into the shadows of the room as if he had never been there at all. But the bloody body underneath the single flickering light proved otherwise.
There was a crack, and Nat jerkily turned her head to look at Clint. Her face was partially caved in, shards of glass sticking through her skin. "Why didn't you come?" Blood dripped from her cut throat, but her voice, distorted like radio static, still reverberated through the room. "Why did you let me die?"
Blood began to trickle towards him from the pool underneath her body, but he still couldn't get his limbs to work. He couldn't even speak — not that he would know what to say.
"You should have saved me. Why didn't you?" There were more cracking sounds as her body twitched, and she began to drag herself towards him. "Why did you kill me just like he killed your mother—"
She grabbed his arm, and he screamed, shooting upright. His chest heaved as his eyes darted around the warmly lit bedroom until his gaze settled on Nat.
Nat, who was alive and breathing and not dead—
He sobbed and wrapped his arms around her tightly, burying his face in her hair. "I'm sorry— I'm so sorry, please—"
Nat rubbed his back and tapped into his shoulder, S-A-F-E. There was a brief pause, then, N-I-G-H-T-M-A-R-E.
It hadn't felt like a dream. It had been so horribly real, and he clung to her tighter, hoping her warmth would replace the feeling of that ice-cold hand grabbing his arm.
Nat kissed his neck and tapped S-A-F-E into his shoulder again.
He grabbed her other wrist and pressed his fingers to her pulse. Her heart was beating steadily, much calmer than his.
She was alive.
He hadn't killed her after all.
Clint didn't calm down for a long time that night. When he finally did, he put in his hearing aids and just listened to Nat talk, and they stayed like that until dawn.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Characters: Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Clint Barton
Additional Tags: April is the Cruelest Month Whump Event 2026, Improvised Blade, blame, "Who told you that?", POV Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Married Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, Civilian Clint Barton, Hard of Hearing Clint Barton, Alternate Universe, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug (Marvel)
Series: Part 6 of Bre's April is the Cruelest Month fics
Summary:
Natalia has never told Clint about her past, but she comes to regret it when someone pays her a visit and Clint gets caught in the crossfire.
@aprilisthecruelestmonth
https://archiveofourown.org/works/82651336
Six years ago, Natalia left the Red Room.
Five years ago, she met Clint Barton.
Three years ago, she married him and moved to a quiet farm in Iowa.
These years had been the happiest of her life.
One thing always bothered her, though. Clint knew that she hadn't had a good life before meeting him, but he had no idea that she was raised to be a weapon. He didn't know about the Red Room, he didn't know about her true past, he didn't know what she'd done. She intended to keep it that way, but she still felt guilty that she'd been lying to him all this time.
But she didn't think she could handle losing her love, so she continued to lie.
She should have known better than to believe that she could keep her secrets forever, though.
When she got home from the dance studio, she immediately noted that the house was dead silent. Clint was the loudest person she'd ever met, ever when he was wearing his hearing aids, and there was always some noise going on in the house when he was home. And he was home, because his truck was parked in the driveway.
Something was wrong.
She nimbly avoided the creaky floorboards as she made her way down the hall, scanning the rooms for any signs of an intruder. Nothing was amiss except for the silence, which just made her worry more.
She paused when she got to the kitchen. On the floor were the shards of a shattered plate. Clint was far more clumsy than she was, but he never dropped dishes. At least, not without cleaning them up and then rushing off to buy more before she noticed.
She looked around the kitchen quickly and bit back a curse. All of the knives were gone. The intruder, whoever they were, had prepared for her to come back. Did they know who she was?
She picked up the largest and sharpest of the shards and continued to search through the house. She prayed to whatever god was listening that Clint was alright; her mind kept running through all of the horrible things that could have happened to him, despite her best attempts to just stay focused on finding him.
How stupid she had been, to think this wouldn't happen. Why hadn't she prepared for it?
Right. She was selfish and didn't want Clint to see her any differently. Now, he was paying the price.
She pushed open the door to the bedroom and sighed in relief when she saw Clint. He was tied to a chair and gagged, and he had a cut on his head, but he was alive and seemed otherwise unharmed.
His eyes widened, and he started struggling against the ropes. As he stepped closer, he yelled something that she couldn't make out with the gag and looked behind her.
She barely turned in time to duck under an outstretched hand and drive her own fist into the attacker's gut. She quickly followed it with an uppercut to their jaw as they doubled over.
The attacker grabbed her neck and slammed her into the wall, and she gripped the shard tighter so she wouldn't drop it. Without thinking, she drove it into the attacker's neck, right into the carotid artery. Just like she'd been trained.
They stumbled back and sank to the floor, hand coming up to press against their neck. As they locked eyes with her, she finally got a good look at their face, and she froze. The person, a young woman, looked a lot like—
The woman scoffed, not looking at all afraid despite death looming over her. "That was easier than I thought it would be."
Natalia stared at her. "What?"
"You killed me… just like you killed Milana," the woman spat. "How does it feel?"
Natalia tensed, her heart hammering in her chest. "Who told you that?" No one was supposed to know about that mission.
"I was there." There was so much hatred in the woman's eyes. "I watched you murder my little sister, even as we begged you for mercy."
No. Of all the people that had to come for her— of all the people she'd hurt— "I didn't want to hurt her. I never did. I didn't have a choice."
"There's always a choice. You just didn't care." The woman was clearly fighting to stay awake, but she was losing a lot of blood. "You don't deserve a family. Now… he knows what a monster you are." Her eyes glazed over, her expression fixed in rage and disgust.
Natalia didn't look at Clint as she untied the ropes keeping him bound. He wasn't good at hiding his emotions; she didn't want to see what he thought of her in this moment. She didn't want to see the man she loved grow to hate her for all the horrible things he now knew she'd done.
She hated how she trembled as she stared down at her feet. She was Natalia Romanova, the best Widow in decades, yet she was so terrified of how this was going to play out.
Clint cupped her cheeks and brought her head up. His touch was surprisingly gentle, but she supposed it would only be a matter of time before he came to his senses and showed his hatred and disgust.
"Nat. Look at me." There wasn't any anger in his voice, just genuine concern. When she dragged her gaze up, his face mirrored his voice. "Are you okay?"
He was asking if she was okay? After everything that had just happened to him?
"I—" She bit the inside of her cheek hard. "You should worry about yourself—" She reached up to brush his hair away from the cut on his head, but stopped when she saw the blood on her hand. Now that the adrenaline was starting to fade, she noticed that she'd cut her hand at some point. Oh.
"You should know me better than that by now." He grabbed her hand and inspected it. "Let's get this cleaned up."
She let him pull her to the bathroom, not protesting as he cleaned and bandaged her hand. Even after all these years, she didn't understand why he was so insistent on taking care of her before himself. It was somehow still so foreign to her.
"I think we have a lot to talk about," Clint said as he tied off the bandage. "I need you to tell me what just happened and what you've been hiding." He cupped her cheek again. "But I won't force you to tell me now. I'll wait until you're ready."
Natalia had always known she didn't deserve him. He was too good to her, even knowing that she'd been lying to him all this time. But she was selfish and couldn't leave so he could find someone better than her, so she just wrapped her arms around him and held onto him tightly.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Characters: Clint Barton
Additional Tags: April is the Cruelest Month Whump Event 2026, Broken nose, blood stains, "You're taking it out on me", POV Clint Barton, Missions Gone Wrong, Hard of Hearing Clint Barton, Clint Barton Lacks Self-Preservation Instincts, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Possible Character Death
Series: Part 5 of Bre's April is the Cruelest Month fics
Summary:
Clint is supposed to be spying on a meeting between some really important bad guys. He crashes in on it instead. Literally.
@aprilisthecruelestmonth
https://archiveofourown.org/works/82573401
Clint had decided that this was probably one of his worst missions to date, and that was saying a lot, considering how many crappy missions he'd been on in his many years working for SHIELD.
About five minutes in, he discovered two things — one, there were about a dozen or so more bad guys than there were supposed to be, and two, the rickety old vents he was crawling through were not very sturdy.
Basically: he was traversing through the vents to spy on some super important bad guy meeting and fell through the ceiling, right onto the table that was also apparently not very sturdy, as it collapsed under his weight.
Naturally, the couple dozen guys in the room surrounded him pretty quickly, and he could only fight off so many considering he likely had a minor concussion from the fall and was, y'know. Seriously outnumbered.
As he was tied to one of the chairs in the room, he started to wish he hadn't taken the mission (well, he had been wishing he hadn't taken it from the moment he climbed into the dusty vents that threatened to send him into a coughing fit, but still). However, Nat was sick and he'd figured a little spying couldn't get him in too much trouble, yet here he was, in a whole butt-load of trouble.
Nat was never going to let him live this down.
Clint sighed. "Look, guys, I'm sorry I rained down from the sky and broke your ceiling — and your table — but why don't you just let me go? You won't see or hear from me again, and I'll even pay for the damage. Scout's honor." Was he allowed to say that if he'd never been a boy scout?
None of the guys seemed impressed. Tough crowd, huh?
A bigger guy stepped forward. Not the leader; that guy had probably already left. Safety concerns and all that. "Who sent you?"
Clint shrugged. "No one. I just like checking out old vents."
The punch to his jaw sent his head snapping to the side painfully. Man, that guy had a mean right hook.
"Who sent you?" the guy repeated.
"Are you deaf or just dumb?" Self-preservation? What was that? "I told you no one sent me. I'm just a vent enthusiast."
This time the hit landed right in the middle of his face, and he felt his nose crunch.
He let out a curse, eyes stinging. He hated being hit in the nose. Ouch.
"That wasn't very nice," he said, because he just couldn't keep his mouth shut. "I just washed this shirt, y'know, and now it's going to be all bloody." Seriously though. He'd just gotten out the bloodstains from the last mission he'd worn it on.
The guy predictably didn't seem to care. "Are you here to gather information? Are you a spy?"
Clint gave him an irritated look. "Did your girlfriend dump you or something? Because you've got a lot of anger and it seems like you're taking it out on me—"
The hit collided with his jaw again, but this time, his hearing aid came flying out. As the world became muffled, he watched another guy crush the aid under his boot.
That was a problem.
"Okay, that really wasn't nice. Who breaks a guy's hearing aid? Now I'm gonna have to get a new one." And he had no idea what they were saying. His head felt too foggy for him to properly read their lips, which was going to be very bad for him.
The guys talked to each other for a while before the big guy turned to Clint and pulled out his gun.
Well. This just went from bad to worse.
He caught the guy say something about being useless, and he flicked off the safety and pointed it at Clint's head.
Clint only had the time to close his eyes and pray that Nat was coming after all before he heard the muffled crack of gunfire.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Characters: Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Clint Barton, Nick Fury, Maria Hill
Additional Tags: April is the Cruelest Month Whump Event 2026, Anxiety Attacks, No Escape, "I wish I hadn't stayed", POV Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Natasha Romanov Is Called Natalia (Marvel), Claustrophobic Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug (Marvel)
Series: Part 4 of Bre's April is the Cruelest Month fics
Summary:
Natalia is reluctant to trust SHIELD, but she trusts that Clint will keep her safe.
He can't save her from everything, though.
@aprilisthecruelestmonth
https://archiveofourown.org/works/82494211
Despite everything that had happened in the past to make Natalia so mistrustful, she had allowed herself to believe that Clint had meant it when he said that he was going to get her freedom. He'd seemed so earnest in that moment; he definitely hadn't been lying, at least not on purpose. He fully intended to make good on his promise, as far as she could tell.
So, instead of going back to the Red Room, she stayed with him and did something she never thought she was capable of.
She fell in love with him.
The strange love she had for him was the only reason she got on that plane, despite all of her alarm bells ringing at the way the SHIELD agents looked at her and how she was going to be trapped with them for hours on the way back to America. This couldn't possibly end well. Something bad was going to happen, to her or to Clint, and she knew she would regret ever stepping foot on the plane.
But, she knew Clint would do his best to make sure she stayed safe, and that reassured her somewhat. After everything they'd been through to get to this point, he wouldn't just let something happen to either of them, and he certainly wouldn't let SHIELD finish the job he'd been sent to do.
When the plane landed, Natalia reluctantly followed Clint off. Immediately, they were swarmed by men in uniforms, and her stomach dropped as she was pulled away from Clint.
"Hey! What are you doing?" Clint tried to chase after her, but one of the agents stopped him.
"Protocol. You're going to be questioned separately," the agent said. "If you don't cooperate, I'll have to detain you and you'll have to wait even longer to see her."
Clint looked furious, but he stopped struggling and turned to Natalia. "It'll be okay. I'll sort this out, I promise. Just trust me."
Natalia bit back a protest and simply nodded. "Alright."
It wasn't him she didn't trust.
She didn't fight as she was pulled away from the only person she knew was safe, and she silently observed her surroundings as they went into the building, trying to memorize the path they took. Not that it would be easy to escape; there were agents everywhere, and she didn't doubt that they were all just as capable as Clint. Anxiety began to eat at her the farther down they went, but she didn't show it. She couldn't afford to, when she was around so many threats and unknowns.
She was led into a hallway two floors down from the main floor — they really didn't want her to escape, did they? — and then into a door. She quickly realized that this wasn't some interrogation room; it was a cell. She was being locked up.
She should have known.
She swallowed back the panic threatening to bubble up. This was probably just temporary. Clint was going to get her out of here soon… right?
She was shoved into the tiny room — it was smaller than her little bedroom in the Red Room had been, and that had barely been big enough for a bed — and she turned to look at the men that had brought her here. "This doesn't look like an interrogation room." She kept her tone light and not accusatory. She didn't want to anger them right now.
"You'll be questioned later," one man said flatly, but his eyes betrayed the lie. He didn't think that anyone was going to come question her.
She opened her mouth to respond, though she wasn't quite sure what she could say, but the door slammed shut before she could get a word out, leaving her in the too-small cell that didn't even have a way to see out.
Her breathing began to quicken, and she slowly sank to the floor, weakly tugging at the handcuffs they hadn't removed. As irrational as it was, she felt as if the walls were closing in on her, squeezing her tighter and tighter until she couldn't breathe and she couldn't even focus on the techniques she'd taught herself years ago to make the panic go away—
She wasn't going to get her freedom. She probably wasn't even going to see Clint again. She was trapped with no way out, and all because she'd finally let herself trust again.
And the only coherent thought on her mind was, I wish I hadn't stayed.
~*~
Fury watched through the cameras as the Black Widow had an anxiety attack — or at least, appeared to. Then, he turned his gaze to the other camera footage, which showed Agent Barton pacing his cell and yelling at the camera. Never before had Fury seen this man so angry.
Fury let out a sigh. What a mess.
He turned to Maria. "Barton needs to be evaluated as soon as possible. I need to know how badly he's been compromised."
Maria raised an eyebrow. "What if he's not actually compromised?"
His eyes flicked over to the screen again. "Then he's got a lot of explaining to do."
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Characters: Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Madame B. (Marvel)
Additional Tags: April is the Cruelest Month Whump Event 2026, Suspended by Wrists, "Why don't you trust me?", POV Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Natasha Romanov Is Called Natalia (Marvel), Red Room (Marvel), Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug (Marvel), Hurt No Comfort, Bad Ending
Series: Part 3 of Bre's April is the Cruelest Month fics, Part 3 of The Things We Do For Love
Summary:
Natalia tries to flee from the Red Room, but she fails. This has consequences.
@aprilisthecruelestmonth
https://archiveofourown.org/works/82393081
Natalia turned and bolted out the door, trying to slam it shut behind her. A gloved hand caught it before it could shut, however, and the guard threw it open.
She cursed and ran faster. She couldn't let them catch her. Not now. If she could just get to the trees—
A shot rang out, and she cried out in surprise and pain as a bullet hit her leg. She tumbled to the ground, panic beginning to quicken her breaths. She scrambled to stand, but it was too late; the guards were already on her.
They grabbed her arms and yanked her to her feet, and immediately, she tried to use one of the many moves she knew to get out of a hold like this. One jammed a taser into her side, and she bit back a scream of pain at just how high the voltage was. It stunned her enough for them to drag her back into the compound without much of a fight.
Madame leveled her with an unimpressed stare. "Tsk. You didn't really think I would let you leave, did you? You belong here."
Natalia gritted her teeth and glared with as much fury as she could muster. Which was a lot. "I will never be your obedient little pet. Not anymore. And there's nothing you can do to change that."
Madame raised an eyebrow. "We'll see about that." She waved her hand. "You know where to take her."
The guards both gave a single nod and dragged Natalia down the hall. She struggled weakly, but she knew it was pointless. There was no chance she'd escape now.
But, at least if they killed her, she wouldn't have to live without her love anymore. And if they just tortured her, well. What was a little pain compared to the torment she'd been in?
She was brought to a wing of the facility that she had never been to before. They turned down a hall with a few doors on either side, but she was dragged into the room at the very end.
There wasn't much in the room, but it was enough to make her uneasy. Right in the center were chains with thick cuffs hanging from the ceiling, and right next to those was a controller of some sort with wires attached to it. There was also a large screen on the left wall from the door.
Was this…? But it couldn't be. That was just a rumor to keep the girls in check.
The guards lifted Natalia up and clasped the cuffs onto her wrists, then let her go so she dangled by her wrists. Her feet didn't even reach the floor.
Madame stepped in front of her. "You shouldn't have tried to run again. If Dreykov finds out, he will have you killed."
"Then let him," Natalia spat, refusing to show her apprehension. "I will never be loyal to you or him."
"You will be when I fix you." Madame nodded to the guards.
They attached the wires from the machine to her temples, sidestepping her easily when she kicked out at them. She wondered how often they did this; they didn't hesitate at all.
"What are you doing?" Natalia tried to pull herself out of their reach, but one grabbed the ankle of her injured leg and yanked her back down. "Let go—"
"Why don't you trust me?" Madame almost looked hurt, but Natalia wasn't fooled. "I raised you, so I know what's best for you."
"You're a monster. A monster that took away the only person that truly loved me! The only person that actually cared!" Tears stung at Natalia's eyes, and she blinked them away quickly. She couldn't break in front of Madame. "The only person that I love."
Madame shook her head. "You will see reason, one way or another." With that, she and the guards walked out of the room.
Then, the screen flickered to life, and Natalia's punishment began.
~*~
Days later, when she was finally pulled down, she didn't fight. She obediently followed the guards to her room to await her next order, and not once did she consider running.
She was no longer Natalia Romanova, a woman who loved and was loved.
She was the Black Widow, a tool at the Red Room's disposal.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov
Characters: Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Clint Barton
Additional Tags: April is the Cruelest Month Whump Event 2026, Slapped Across The Face, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, cabin fever, "Don't you ever try that again", Hurt No Comfort, Dark Clint Barton, POV Natasha Romanov (Marvel), This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Abuse, Isolation, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug (Marvel), Abusive Relationships, The Author Regrets Everything
Series: Part 2 of Bre's April is the Cruelest Month fics
Summary:
Natasha is desperate to escape the life she is now trapped in. She doesn't succeed.
@aprilisthecruelestmonth
https://archiveofourown.org/works/82333916
Natasha shivered as she trudged through the snow, the cold weighing her limbs down and forcing her to go at a snail's pace. If it hadn't been for all the times she'd trained in the freezing cold of the Russian mountains, she was certain she wouldn't be able to withstand the weather. As it was, she was already considering turning around and going back — guilt and the cold both weakened her willpower, and she was sure that if she begged for forgiveness, she wouldn't be punished too harshly for this.
No. She couldn't go back. If she did, she would never leave again, and she would never be free.
She wished they hadn't moved so far from civilization. She'd been walking for a long time now, but she hadn't come across anything.
She had to press on, though. She couldn't give up now. She had to get away before—
A hand grabbed her arm and forced her to turn. Relief and dread filled her simultaneously.
"Natasha." Clint's eyes searched her face. "What are you doing out here?"
Natasha's resolve crumbled. "I—" What could she say? She didn't want to hurt him, she just—
He sighed. "Come on. Let's go home before you freeze."
All she could do was nod and let him pull her back to the cabin. He'd followed her tracks — of course he had. Why hadn't she thought of that? There wasn't enough wind and snowfall to hide them. But it didn't matter now. That was her only chance, and she'd let him catch her.
As soon as the door shut and the warmth of the cabin engulfed her, Clint rounded on her and slapped her cheek so hard it sent her stumbling back against the door. The pain was made worse by the cold, and tears stung at her eyes, though she wasn't sure if it was from the physical pain, or the emotional.
"Don't you ever try that again," he spat, his expression full of fury. It was an expression she'd come to know well since they'd moved here, unfortunately. But like the flip of a switch, his face changed, and he looked more concerned than angry. "I was so worried when I woke up and you were gone. I mean, did you even consider how I would feel when you were nowhere to be found and a blizzard was on the way? You could have died out there, and I don't think I could handle that."
Guilt made her insides twist. "I'm sorry," she said softly. "I just don't like being so isolated with nothing to do."
He cupped her cheeks. "I know it's hard, but you did choose to move up here. You wanted this, so now you have to live with it."
That was true… she had wanted to get away from the city. It was too chaotic for her in comparison to what she'd grown up with. But she hadn't wanted this. She hated the isolation and boredom. It had never been like that in New York, as unpleasant as it had been there.
"Natasha." Clint's hold on her face tightened slightly. "You're not exactly alone. You have me. So be grateful. You could still be stuck in the Red Room, murdering little girls like the monster you used to be."
He was right. She never would have left if it hadn't been for him. She never would have changed if it wasn't for him.
She just wished he was still the same kind man she had fallen in love with.
"I am grateful," she said quietly. "Thank you for coming to get me. I'm really sorry I left, but I promise I didn't mean to hurt you."
"It's okay. Just don't do it again and I won't have to punish you more." He wrapped an arm around her waist and led her over to the couch. "There will be consequences for today, but I'll go easy on you since you haven't done this before."
"Thank you." She sat down with him and leaned into his side.
He kissed the top of her head, but the action lacked any true warmth. Unless she was just being too harsh on him because she'd been caught… "Of course. I love you."
"I—" Before they moved here, she wouldn't have faltered. But now… "I love you too."
She wasn't sure how true that was anymore.
~*~
Elsewhere, Clint stared down a screen showing a blinking red dot. Finally, he had unscrambled the signal, after months of being blocked and redirected.
"I'm coming for you, Nat," he muttered and grabbed his bow.
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