resilientsovl:
there’s a part of him that wants to screw his eyes shut, wants to see nothing but blackness if this is where his story ends. that part of him doesn’t win out over the selfish parts of him that need to see her, the parts that need to memorize every feature in case the image fades between one blink and the next. he doesn’t fight, doesn’t lunge for the gun, and doesn’t react — not until the bullet fires from the gun and pierces his shoulder. he grunts as he staggers, pain shooting down his arm as it steals his breath. the pain’s confusing, the line between what he believes to be reality and to be a hallucination blurring. the pain feels real but it can’t be. she can’t be. he saw the life fade from her eyes, watched as she took her last breaths and became another casualty in the wreckage of his life.
HE HAD. HE’D SEEN IT WITH HIS OWN EYES. HADN’T HE ?
fingers reach up to press against the suit jacket. he feels the ripped fabric around the bullet wound and fingers come back sticky; red with blood. his blood. with the realization comes the reaction as his legs buckle underneath of him, dropping hard onto one knee as he sucks in a breath. bullet wounds are no joke. believe it or not though, the wound’s the farthest thing from his mind as he stares up at her. there’s shock on her features — a shifting of PAIN he knows too well — and when she says his name … it feels real. it reminds him of the person he loved, the person he thought he lost, and as much as he wants to believe it’s possible he’s AFRAID. he’s afraid to have hope, even a fraction, because if that hope got ripped away a second time ? he’s not sure he’d survive it. not again.
too many theories run through his head. there’s shapeshifters, demons, even leviathans — creatures that could take her shape even after she was gone. those creatures wouldn’t have the colt though, wouldn’t have shot him in the shoulder when they could easily go for the head. ( she’d hesitated once. he remembered that. she’d had the gun, had held it with a shaking hand, and she hadn’t taken the shot. azazel had laughed in her face before silencing her for good. ) he’d believed it was true, believed that she was gone, but the idea that maybe his memories told a story that originated in fiction terrified him. if she’d been out there all this time, if he’d known — BUT NOW ISN’T THE TIME TO GET HUNG UP ON WHAT IF’S. from outside the door, he can hear the distinctive sound of feet pounding the pavement and a dog barking. they’re at a crime scene. the place is crowding with cops and a gun just went off. within minutes, they’ll be surrounded. “ we need to get out of here. ” it’s the pragmatic answer, body moving on autopilot as he staggers to his feet. his hand seeks out hers, a shock washing over him when it connects with flesh. “ c’mon. let’s go. ” there’s a seperate entrance at the back of the warehouse and if they’re quick, they’ll be able to slip out while everyone runs to the front. it’s a messy plan, contingent on the predictability of moving pieces he has no control over, but the universe cooperates for once and they make it into the back alley without further issue. as the adrenaline pumps through his blood, he chances another look at her. she’s still her, still natasha, and he’s sure beyond all reasonable doubt that this isn’t a figment of his imagination, or a hallucination. she’s real. somehow.
he moves quickly as hands grip her shoulders, ignoring the stinging pain in his shoulders as he shoves her up against the wall of the building. it’s reckless, they aren’t home free yet, but he needs to know. he needs to. the angel blade presses under her chin, eyes trained on her face as he searches for any kind of sign. some clue that explains how this is possible. “ who the hell are you ? ” the words are yelled in a hush, only just managing to not draw unneeded attention to them. “ — because i know you’re not — ” he can’t say her name, can’t bring himself to. “ she’s dead. so drop the act. i know you’re not — you can’t be. ” even as he says it, his grip on the blade’s weakening. he’s not sure. he’s not sure of anything anymore.
natasha knew about mistakes, she also knew about reckless decisions. sam would never be one, however-- shooting him was surely getting catapulted to place number one. her words were caught in her throat after the initial shaky call of his name. a mix of GUILT and SHAME quickly wrapping itself around her throat like poisonous vines as she watched him fall. it wasn’t fatal like how she initially had intended it to be before she hesitated once again, she knew this. however, it didn’t take away the implications that it hurt or that it could become complicated. especially in the situation they both found themselves in.
it all might’ve as well had happened in a matter of seconds, the moment the realization crashed onto her, her feet carrying her in his direction, and finally, him grabbing her in search for an escape. UP to the point where he’s pushing her against a wall and demanding to know how she is. she should’ve seen this coming. that’s exactly the reason why her reaction is void, in general. one should’ve had to put close attention. the almost inaudible gasp as her back collided against the bricks, the way her free hand instinctively clutched his shirt, and finally, the colt that still was heavy in her free hand. in any other circumstances, she would be quicker. or at least they’d both do IRREPARABLE DAMAGE to each other.
IT’S ME. IT’S REALLY ME. it was easier said than believed. she knew they didn’t have enough time for her to be able to convince him. how long until authorities decided to take the same exit they did? how long until the dogs tracked down the scent or followed the trail of blood? “you’re bleeding.” she swallowed, wide eyes trailing from his face down to his wounded shoulder. it didn’t matter that only a shove of his hand and the weapon against her throat could end it. she didn’t matter at the moment. her hands clutched harder against the colt and his shirt, a cry of restraining as the heavy smell filled her nostrils. the veins under her eyes popped if only for a moment, because soon her eyes shut as she tried to control herself. “i need to heal you.” tears stung behind her closed eyes, as she could only wish he’d let her do at least that. “you don’t have to believe me,” the hold on the colt loosened until she let it hit the ground. “but please, let me.”
