#febuwhump2022

[morocosmos]

Febuwhump 2022 Masterlist

Late in the making for but for organisational purposes lol, the masterlist for my 2022 febuwhump pieces

Day 2: Failed Rescue Attempt

Day 4: Nightmare

Day 5: “I’ll Never Forgive You”

Day 6: Hypothermia

Day 8: No Anaesthesia

Day 10: “How Long Has It Been?”

Day 11: I Dreamt You Were Alive

Day 12: Spiked Drink

Day 13: Won’t Regain Consciousness

Day 14: Can’t Go Home

[whumpinggrounds]

Parts

CW: BBU general warning, references to noncon, caning, beating, threats of nonconsensual body modification, female whumpee, female whumper, pet whump, panic

Ann is lying flat on her face. Modified Position Twenty-One, her brain helpfully supplies. Then she hears Mistress Colette snap the cane against her hand, a familiar, white-hot, cracking sound, and Ann’s helpful brain goes completely and utterly blank.

Behind her, Mistress Colette clears her throat, and Ann imagines her owner’s face pinched into its customary frown, the way the woman’s skinniness serves to underscore her severity and belie her surprising strength. When she speaks, her voice is crisp, clear, every word over-pronounced as if she’s sure that her boxgirl will misunderstand even her simplest sentences. “So. Ann. What side of you does my husband like the best? Front or back?”

Swallowing hard, Ann turns the words over in her head, trying to be quick about it but not knowing what to say. It seems her mistress’s fear has come true, as it often does. Their boxgirl just isn’t very smart. Letting her eyes fall shut, Ann gives voice to her inadequacy. “I’m – I’m sorry, Mistress, I, I’m not sure I understand.”

An exasperated sigh behind her, and Ann feels the sting of the cane against her thigh. The angle is such that the wood only really contacts one of Ann’s legs, but the pain of it is no less significant for only happening on one side. It takes all of Ann’s focus, and much reliance on her training, not to yelp when that bruising impact cracks across her skin. “It’s simple, Ann.” Mistress Colette sounds irritated, and that doesn’t bode well. They’ve just started this inexplicable little exercise, and already Ann is proving insufficient, annoying. Above her, Mistress Colette raises her voice as if volume is the problem. “Does my husband like the front of you, or the back of you?”

“I-I-I…” Another crack, hard enough to bring tears to Ann’s eyes. When her voice comes, it’s a pitiful little squeak that makes Mistress Colette huff aloud. “I don’t know! I don’t know, Mistress. He doesn’t…doesn’t look at me, much.”

There’s a pause. Behind her, above her, Ann can hear level breathing. It’s hard to read emotion from just breathing, but at least it’s even, calm. Maybe that means something. Ann tries to cling to it.

“Hmph. What do you mean? My husband certainly looks at you enough when you’re around the house.”

Mistress Colette’s voice is dry and disinterested, but beneath her nonchalance there’s a dark turbulent current that Ann must be wary of. Swallowing, she tries to organize her thoughts. Ann hates thinking about the dark, oppressive, impossible nights when Master Gordon comes to her room, but her mistress is asking, and so she forces her mind back into that room with her Master looming over her and clears her throat to speak. “He doesn’t look at me, Mistress. It’s dark in the room, and he doesn’t turn the lights on.”

Mistress Colette snorts, a decidedly undignified sound. “My husband just walks in the door and gets on top of you?”

“Yes, Mistress.” Ann keeps her voice clear and neutral, though what she feels is shame, and distantly, disgust.

The tip of the cane traces over the backs of Ann’s legs, and then comes down again, the hardest blow yet, a brutal strike. Ann can’t help a broken teary gasp from escaping between her lips. Mistress Colette snorts at her again, and the way her breathing is audibly shaky now.

“If you had to guess.” Mistress Colette taps the cane against Ann’s thighs, first one, and then the other. “If you had to guess, which part of you do you think he likes best?”

Heat rushing to her face, Ann’s mouth shapes noiseless words into the floor. She doesn’t want to say it. She really doesn’t want to say it – but Mistress Colette is already angry, and Mistress Colette is holding the cane. “I believe that his favorite part would be…”

“Besides what’s between your legs.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Ann takes a few quick breaths to try to steady herself. “He seems to like my breasts, Mistress.” It’s more than a minor triumph that she keeps her voice clear and calm, though she wants to shrivel up and cry into the floor.

“Good girl.” Mistress Colette taps the cane against her leg again, and Ann lets her eyelids flutter shut in anticipation of pain. None comes, but there’s the sound of high heels pacing a slow circle around Ann’s prone body. “I suppose I should have assumed,” Mistress Colette muses with an airy sigh. “Gordon’s a simple man. Predictable.”

As Mistress Colette walks her circuit around Ann, she traces the cane over her box girl’s still body. Some people call them Box Babes, but that’s not Ann. She’s no one’s babe, no one’s pretty girl, no one’s prized pet. She’s just a maid. Just a house cleaner. As functional and inoffensive as a vacuum cleaner. That’s what Ann longs for. To be as functional and inoffensive as a vacuum cleaner.

The round end of the cane trails up Ann’s leg, over her back, down one arm. When she reaches Ann’s neck, Mistress Colette raps the end of the cane against the back of Ann’s head, knocking her nose into the ground.

“There’s a vet I know that Janice uses.” Mistress Colette seems to be talking to herself. “He does double mastectomies for anyone willing to pay for them.” She pauses in her pacing, pokes Ann in the shoulder, a hard jab. “Do you know what that is, Ann?”

“No, Mistress Colette.”

When Mistress Colette speaks, there’s a certain vicious pleasure in her voice. “That means cutting someone’s breasts off, Ann.”

That’s not a question, so Ann doesn’t have to answer. Good. Good, because Ann has no breath at all in her lungs. Cut…cut her breasts off?

Ann grows dizzy.

Because Mistress Colette is talking about her. All this talk about Master Gordon, and what he does at night, the envy that runs through Mistress Colette’s voice, as though Ann’s position is one to be envied…now this, using the word vet, talking about cutting off someone’s breasts, changing the very outline of their body. It’s not Mistress Colette’s own body she’s talking about, but another body that just as surely belongs to her.

“Of course, if the vet did it, it would have to be preventative. He’d check you out to see if you were at risk for breast cancer, and if he decided that you were…”

The cane runs over Ann’s shirt, her slacks, her skin.

Ann lies flat on her stomach and shuts her eyes and tries to regulate her breathing. You. Mistress Colette said it, flat out said you. She’s thinking about…she’s thinking about cutting Ann’s breasts off.

Ann wonders if she’ll be able to feel it when it happens. She hopes not, and then she wonders if maybe it would be better to be able to remember something like that.

The cane tracing over her skin, over her body, stops at Ann’s right arm, lifts off, and comes down again with bruising force on Ann’s thigh. She hisses through her teeth as it imperfectly snaps across an earlier mark, the old stinging doubled, worsened. “I won’t do it,” Mistress Colette announces, not a moment later, and between the pain and the relief Ann wants to weep. As is, she bites her lip savagely and waits, heart still thumping irregularly in her chest. Salvation seems so close. She’s not going to make a sound and ruin it now.

“I’m not going to cut your breasts off, Ann.” Mistress Colette says it with a sigh, as if the whole thing is too exhausting for her to even think about. “Even if the vet checked you out, even if I had the piece of paper to say it was medically necessary…ugh.” A groan, another hard blow to make Ann yelp. “No one would believe it. No one would believe it.” Another sigh. “Everyone knows that Gordon’s a dog.”

Good. Good. Good. Ann is weak with relief and glad, so very glad, that Gordon is a dog. Her breath is coming in desperate, having gasps.

“But I could.” Still sick to her stomach, still tense all over, Ann goes right back to being afraid, because Mistress Colette’s voice sounds so very self-satisfied. So certain, so casually curious. Ann’s owner is playing with the idea the same way she’s playing with the cane in her hand – rolling it between her palms, holding it up to the light. “I could always change my mind and do it if I wanted, Ann.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Yes.” Mistress Colette seems to be talking to herself now, as if Ann isn’t there, spread out on the floor, utterly at her mercy. “Yes, if I wanted to, I could.”

After that, Mistress Colette releases her. She bids Ann get up off the floor and for god’s sake, stop crying, no one hit her that hard. With a disinterested wave of her hand, Mistress Colette orders her shaky boxgirl to go make herself useful in the kitchen. Ann bobs her head, murmurs her thank you, and goes right away because there’s no reason not to, after all – no blood to clean up, no significant damage at all. There will be welts on her thighs for a few days, a few of them, scattered, and then they will heal and be gone. There will be no evidence that anything happened at all.

Ann’s lucky. She’s really quite lucky.

All evening Ann catches herself wrapping her arms tight as she can around herself. The tears come in fitful bursts, surprising her with their ferocity, like a monsoon in the dry season. Ann holds her own body in her arms and tells herself she’s okay, she’s alive, she’s fine. Here she is, standing shaking in the kitchen. Here she is, fine and whole for now. Here she is, forced to remember, on pain of mutilation, that her body is not her own.

[trekkiehood]

Never Again (Part 3) - SPN Fanfic

@febuwhump : Day 28 - Presumed Dead

Title: Never Again

Part: [1], [2] 3/?

Fandom: Supernatural

Words: 2.7k

Setting: Stanford Era, Brotherhood AU, 9/11/2001

Whumpee: Dean (Mentioned)

Caretaker: Caleb, Mac

Other Characters: Samuel (OC)

Ship: None

Ao3 Link

Summary: Dean is working a job with Caleb in NYC trying to distract himself from Sam’s departure for college, when the Twin Towers are hit in a terrorist attack.

Trigger Warnings: 9/11, fire, death, building collapse, medical talk, general 9/11 trauma

Authors Note:

Dean is 22 Sam is 18 Caleb is 30

TW: 9/11, fire, death, building collapse, medical talk, general 9/11 trauma

Authors Note:

I. Am a liar.

Hello!

Not only did I *not* post this on 9/11. This also *isn't* the last chapter!

I really thought it was going to be.

I really did.

But then I saw that I was almost at 3k words and went lol I haven't even gotten to the plot yet. So here we are! Another chapter!

Luckily it fit with another Febuwhump prompt because it'd be great if I could finish it sometime this year.

I had to switch POVs half way through which I didn't want to do but it was the best way to get everything done. And surprisingly, I like it.

Anyway, normal warnings apply.

And please forgive Caleb. He's going through a lot.

Enjoy!

~TH~

Doctor Mackland Ames had seen things in his life. He had seen death. He had seen debilitating injuries. He had seen evil men get away with far too much and he had seen supernatural beings on a scale that few would believe.

But he had never seen anything like this.

Downtown New York always had an air of chaos surrounding it. Businessmen running late for work. Parents trying to keep hold of rambunctious children. Street evangelists. Local venders. Everyone all at once. It seemed almost the entire world vying for your attention as you walked down overly crowded streets.

Today was different.

This was not the chaos of life in a big city.

This was the chaos of a world at war.

Of singed ties and ash covered suits. Of children crying in confusion and parents clinging to them as if they had any power to protect them from the horrors they were seeing. Cries and prayers to God coming from the strongest atheist. People handing out bottled water and bandages, not asking for anything in return. So many people and yet so few in comparison. It seemed that any semblance of normal had been ripped away and everything familiar was forever gone.

And the sky.

It was so empty.

The loss of the tallest, most prominent buildings in New York was disorienting. How often had he looked to the World Trade Center to find his sense of direction? It was always there. It was the staple of the city. And now it was gone. What could be seen through a gray ashen haze was less than what should be there. The emptiness of the New York skyline seemed to translate into what he was feeling.

The overload of psychic sensations would have been enough to drive him to madness if he didn't continually reinforce his walls.

And he wasn't even a strong psychic.

He thought briefly of his son and, as selfish as it was, hoped the psychic fog or "hangover" would keep him down for a bit longer. While it was possible that Caleb could use his abilities to help, it was more likely he would get overwhelmed and collapse again.

Mac's own abilities were better suited for this type of search and rescue but- but he couldn't right now. Everything was so psychically distressing. Any attempt to feel outside of himself - even trying to sort through his own feelings - would keep him from being an efficient doctor. And that's what was needed right now. He couldn't do anything to help those missing. There were too many. And he couldn't waste time on searching for people who were already dead when those who survived currently needed him.

And he was trying very hard not to place Dean in one of the two categories.

He didn't have the time or energy to deal with either possibility.

"Dad, do you have any more of this gauze?"

The doctor looked up, his son had a pinched look on his face, the migraine was clearly close to bringing him down. "Caleb, I told you to go lie down. You were unconscious for nearly three minutes." Mac had been concerned that the psychic backlash of the collapse had caused actual damage to his son's brain. Eventually though, Caleb had awoken with a headache and after a few moments of confusion, had sharpened to an almost unfortunate clarity.

Macklad had tried to convince his son to remain at home while he answered St. Vincent's call for help. He should have known better. Caleb was stubborn, and worse, worried. But the "psychic hotline" as the boys sometimes referred to it, had been offline since then.

Caleb was still clinging to hope. They had no confirmation that Dean was still in the building when it went down. There was enough time for him to get out. They had talked to survivors from up to the ninety-first floor. Dean had been on the eighty-eighth. It was possible. Mac thought this stretched hope was the only thing keeping Caleb from completely falling apart. If Dean was dead-

"Dad!" The doctor snapped his eyes back to his son. "You good? You spaced out there for a minute."

"Yes, yes I'm fine, just- just tired."

Caleb gave him a disbelieving look. "Maybe you should lie down for a minute."

"No, I'm fine. There's too much to do. And they'll be bringing in more people soon." Hopefully. So far there'd been discouragingly few survivors.

There had been a few minor scrapes, but overall most of the people who had come in were suffering from either asthma or panic attacks. There should be more injured people. Because if people weren't coming in injured then that would make them… dead.

Mac looked away, trying not to let his thoughts shine through his eyes. "Get some rest if you can. I still don't like that you were down so long."

A twitch of a strained smile. "You too, it's not all on you, Dad. There are plenty of doctors."

"All the more reason for the architect to sit this one out."

Caleb rolled his eyes, "Point taken and ignored."

Mac gave his son's arm a gentle pat. "The gauze is in the cabinet by the desk."

~SPN~

Caleb had never been interested in being a doctor. He knew how to suture and was extremely well versed in first aid, but his adoptive father's life had never been for him. His dad had been an architect and his mother a painter. He'd chosen their footsteps to follow and he'd never looked back.

Days like today reminded him why.

Putting buildings together was so much easier than people.

Not that buildings were all that reliable either it seemed.

But that was part of a long list of things he was trying very hard not to think about.

Trauma wasn't new to Caleb. He'd seen his own family murdered. If that wasn't traumatic nothing was.

But this was different.

This was trauma on a whole new scale.

The patients coming in - he knew there were way less than there should have been, they all did - were more mentally traumatized than physically. There had been nothing that a little gauze and an oxygen mask couldn't fix. But it was the panic. The hysterics. The emotional turmoil and chaos that made Caleb glad his psychic powers were currently offline.

The idea of sitting at home and watching the news while other people did all of the work was overwhelming. If he thought they'd let him downtown he'd be helping on a different scale. But he wasn't an idiot. That would cross a line with his dad. And he didn't know if the first responders had created a barricade to keep people back or not.

But if Deuce was out there somewhere-

And if that wasn't at the very top of the "under no circumstances think about" list.

Dean was out there. He was. And he was fine. He was stronger than this. He was healthy and young and if these middle-aged businessmen could make it down eighty plus flights of stairs then surely a twenty-two year old hunter could.

But he wasn't going to think about it. Dean would get in touch. Or meet back at Mac's. Or waltz in helping victims before rushing out to help more.

That was Dean.

And he was fine.

If Caleb could just bury himself in work- in usefulness- then maybe everything would stop reminding him of his idiot best friends.

Like that ugly bright orange tie.

The one just like he'd shoved at Dean the night before.

The one that Dean had not wanted to wear but Caleb had made him.

The Auburn tie that Caleb had gotten at graduation but never really worn.

The one like the man in a wheelchair was clutching like his life depended on it.

Caleb quickened his step.

"Hey!" He said too loudly. "Where'd you get that tie?"

The man looked at him with surprise. He probably hadn't even realized he was no longer alone. No one seemed to be fully with it today. Caleb knew he certainly wasn't.

"I'm sorry?"

"The tie. Where'd you get it?" And Caleb didn't know how he knew. But he knew it was his tie. He knew it had been the tie that Dean had left Mac's with this morning.

The man blinked at him. "Th-this I- The man- kid really- who saved me. It must have loosened because it fell when- and I used it to cover my mouth-"

"The kid, six-two? Lighter hair, shorter cut? Green eyes?" Caleb could feel his heart pounding. This was the first time he'd heard anything remotely relating to Dean since this morning. Since before the entire world collapsed around them.

The man stuttered for a moment. "I- he was tall. Strong. He carried me from the eighty-third floor. I think his hair was short. Could-couldn't really see his hair color. But his eyes- his eyes were definitely green." He was rubbing the tie almost obsessively. Trying to gather strength.

Caleb didn't care.

"Did you get a name?!"

The man bit his lip and nodded. "Dean. His name was Dean."

Caleb didn't know what he was feeling. It was all the emotions at once. Hope and fear and joy and terror. He didn't know what exactly he was feeling but he knew that his stomach was in knots over it.

"Do you know where he's at? Did he come out with you? You said that he carried you, did he bring you here?"

He watched as the man clenched his jaw, looking away, then finally shaking it. "He-he collapsed on the thirty-second. Some firemen came and one carried me out but-" His lip wobbled and he cleared his throat. "We made it out barely a minute before the whole thing came down. There's no way- I'm so sorry."

And with those words Caleb's world collapsed as quickly as the towers.

He took a step back, now it was his turn to shake his head.

No.

It was impossible.

Deuce couldn't be dead.

He wasn't allowed.

He was a freakin' kid.

Caleb had practically forced him into this case. Trying to keep his mind off of Sam.

He couldn't be-

He couldn't be dead.

Trapped under thousands upon thousands of smoldering steel.

Dead.

"-orry, I don't- I don't know why he even stopped." Caleb's mind broke from the water it had been shoved under and his hearing returned. "I couldn't get down on my own but he stopped when no one else did and he carried me even though- even though he was bleeding. And he carried me until he collapsed himself. He could have saved himself but he stopped for me instead and I don't know-"

Caleb stopped listening, ripping the tie out of his hands. He could see it now. The blood splattering across the neck of the tie.

And he felt hate.

A hate he hadn't felt in a long time.

Reaves didn't know who this man was but he knew that his life wasn't worth that of Dean's.

He didn't care if it made him selfish.

He didn't care if it meant another family would mourn.

So long as it wasn't his, what did it matter?

So long as it wasn't Dean.

But it was.

And this man was alive while Dean wasn't.

Because he had still been in the building.

And there was no way.

No one could survive that.

He stumbled back still holding the tie. Clutching it like it was a physical lifeline between himself and his best friend. His dead best friend. Like he could tap into some of his father's ability and track Dean and prove that he was alive.

Black was beginning to encroach on his vision. He put out a hand, catching the wall in an attempt to stay upright.

"Caleb, Caleb, son, can you hear me?"

The man in question blinked away the haze. He wasn't sure how much time had passed or what had happened. Standing in front of him was a very concerned Mackland Ames.

"You back with me?"

"Dad?"

The doctor frowned. "I want to get you in for an MRI. We're not busy at the moment and it won't take long-"

"He's dead." Caleb interrupted.

Mac stopped, mouth still parted. "What?"

Caleb shoved the tie at him. "He didn't make it out in time. Stopped to help people like a freaking idiot even though he was already hurt. Last seen on the thirty-second floor only minutes before the tower fell. He didn't make it out."

The great Mackland Ames was speechless. "How do you-?"

"I'm sorry," The man was back, had he left? Or maybe he had always been there? "I'm sorry but- I was- I was the last one to see him. He- he- collapsed and a fireman stayed with him and one left with me. I never saw him again and we made it out only moments before- I'm sorry. He saved my life."

And for a brief moment all other emotion was replaced with anger. He shoved forward, dislodging his father. "This is your fault!" He snapped. "If he hadn't stopped to save you-"

"Caleb!" Mac planted himself between the two men. "This is no one's fault but the men who hit the towers."

Reaves clenched his jaw and fisted his hands. He wouldn't throw a punch at his father but only years of hard earned respect assured that.

He turned on his heels and headed through one of the doorways. Mackland was close behind him.

"Son, stop for a minute, please."

Caleb did so, turning to meet his father. "What do you want me to say? I'm not wrong! If Dean wasn't such a self sacrificing idiot then he'd still be alive!"

"And that man would be dead."

"So?! Am I really supposed to be thankful that some random guy I've never met and never will again is alive? He's not important!"

"Dean thought he was. He was doing what he was trained to do."

Freaking John Winchester and his freaking training.

That caused Caleb to pause for a moment. Fine. He'd fight fire with fire. Storming away towards the closest exit may not have been the most mature response but it was better than some of the alternatives.

"Caleb, Caleb where are you going?"

This time he didn't stop or turn. "You were right. The ones at fault are the ones who started this war."

"What's that supposed to mean?" And he could hear the panic and couldn't help the twinge of guilt.

"It means fine. I'll take the fight to them."

"Caleb-"

"Johnny always wanted me to join up. Looks like he's gonna get his freakin' wish."

Today had been a day of unpleasant surprises and they continued, as he certainly was not expecting the psychic force that slammed into him, pressing his back against the wall. Mac rarely used his telekinesis to the point that even his son often forgot it was one of his gifts.

"He will not." His father snapped. Mac's eyes were bright as he held his son in place.

"Let me go!" Caleb tried to pull away but couldn't.

"No. I will not let you do something foolish out of grief or anger. You will calm down before I let you go. I will not let you dishonor Dean by running into danger in some twisted form of vengeance. I will not let you become another John Winchester!"

Reaves closed his eyes, letting out a breath. "And what if when I calm down I still want to join up."

"Then we will discuss it and if it's truly what you want to do then a few days won't change anything." A brief pause. "I have a feeling there's going to be a lot of enlistments in the coming weeks." He finished in a low voice. More of his inner thoughts than an attempt to portray information.

Caleb let out another breath. "Ok." he said firmly. "I'm calm."

Mac gave him an appraising look before releasing him.

"Now, I want you to go into the waiting area and wait."

"Dad-"

"Help people sign in. Direct gurneys. I don't care just- just stay out of trouble until we can sort everything out."

Caleb nodded despite himself.

"Dad-" He tried again.

"Don't Caleb. I can't right now. We can- we can work it all out later."

The doctor turned back towards the main hall. Caleb's abilities still weren't fully online but he pushed out his message anyway.

Mackland stopped. He didn't turn around but his shoulders slumped slightly. "I know, son. I love you too."

~TH~

haha

I am evil

I know

I take great pride in making Line scream after reading my ending at 2AM.

Again, forgive Caleb he's not doing so hot. And this is NOT a place to get into the US response to the attacks. I don't think Caleb has much care for the politics he's just "Dean is dead must avenge" in the same way he'd go after a supernatural attacker. So while I love discussion and will gladly talk to you about the events please do not throw around political accusations. Thanks!

Now that that's out of the way. What'd you think?

I really was planning the reunion this chapter. Had it in a different Febuwhump day and everything. But I got too into and decided to cut it off here.

Would absolutely love to hear your thoughts, ideas, predictions.

Much love and God bless,

Jamie

[xmaddestofhatters]

Febuwhump 2022

Day 28: I dreamt you were alive

Note:  so while it is definitely not February anymore, I have finally managed to finish this

Warning:  Endgame compliant (sorry)

Or read on AO3

“What… are you doing?”

Natasha turns around and crosses her arms defensively. “Nothing.”

Clint slowly places his bow and duffel bag on the ground, taking in the state of the kitchen. There’s pots and pans everywhere. Spoons are scattered across the kitchen counter and different types of batter are strewn everywhere. There’s a suspicious smell coming from the oven and Natasha is standing in the middle of it all.

“You’re baking.” It’s more of an incredulous statement than a question.

“No.” At Clint’s pointed look she relents. “Well, I was.”

A slow smile spreads across Clint’s face. “Now that’s something I never thought I’d see.” He steps towards her but is stopped when a dish towel hits him square in the chest.

“You don’t have to be a dick about it.” She scowls.

Clint laughs. “Ah, Tash, come on. I didn’t mean it like that. Come here.”

With a theatrical sigh she steps into his arms. He kisses her hair and inhales her scent. It’s a mix of coconut and… blood?

He recoils as if he’s been burned. Natasha’s vibrant red hair has been replaced by bloody strands framing a lifeless face. Hollow, unseeing eyes blink at him. She smiles and the sight of her bloody teeth is like a punch in the face.

He blinks and the image is gone.

Natasha sniffs and glances at the oven which now has thin strings of smoke coming from within. “We should probably do something about that.”

Clint blinks a few more times but nothing happens. Her eyes stay green and her hair is still bright red. Although the colour’s a little muffled with all the flour she’s somehow managed to smear in there.

When Natasha opens the oven door, smoke rolls out into the room. She starts coughing and waving her hands to clear the air. “So much for your welcome home cake.” She grumbles.

“What.” Clint finally manages to get out.

Natasha frowns. “I was just trying to do something nice.”

Clint shakes his head. “Right.” He’s probably just tired. No need to dwell on it. He grins at her. “You know, you’re actually kinda cute like this.”

She scowls at him. “ Shut up.”

“What, I can’t tell my beautiful girlfriend she’s cute?” He scoops a little batter from the counter on his finger and licks it off. Natasha’s eyes follow the movement of his tongue. “This is not that bad actually.” Her eyes snap to his.

“I can bake things.”

“I know.”

“You’re making it sound like I can’t bake.” She crosses her arms again. “I can.”

“I know.” He repeats. Natasha’s posture loses some of its defensiveness.

“It’s not my fault your recipes don’t work.” She mumbles.

Clint barks out a laugh. “Right, yeah. That must be it.” Natasha smiles too.

“Maybe we should just get some from that bakery you like?”

“Excellent idea.” He places his hands on the counter on either side of Natasha, effectively trapping her. “But how about I greet you properly first.”

Natasha’s sharp inhale is cut off by Clint pressing his lips against hers. He pushes his tongue inside and she nibbles on his lower lip. He moves to the underside of her jaw, then her throat. Natasha moans softly when he sucks on her sensitive skin. His hands slip under her shirt, moving to unclasp her bra and-

“No.”

Clint steps back immediately. “You okay?”

“This isn’t right. I shouldn’t be here.” She cups his cheek and smiles sadly. “And neither should you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Go home, Clint.”

“What?”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Natasha sighs exasperated. “What’s up with you today. I asked if you wanted to take this to the bedroom.” She smirks. “God knows the kitchen counter will suffice.” She swings her arms around his neck and leans in to kiss him again. He pushes her away.

“What’s happening? What was that?”

“What was what?” Natasha’s brows knit together in confusion.

“Just now! That thing you said.”

If possible, Natasha looks even more confused. “About the kitchen counter?”

“No!” Clint drags a hand through his hair frustratedly. “About me. That I shouldn’t be here. And with the- with the blood…” He trails off. Natasha looks worried.

“Are you okay?  Did you hit your head or something?” She reaches her hand out again. This time he lets her. When she’s satisfied he hasn’t got a fatal head injury she gestures to the couch. “Maybe we should just watch a movie tonight.”

Clint simply nods. God, what is wrong with him? Natasha sits next to him on the couch, one hand on his knee.

“You want to talk about it?”

Clint shakes his head but opens his mouth anyway. “It’s just… I don’t know. Something feels off.” He glances at Natasha from the corner of his eye. She still looks very much alive, but somehow now he knows that that isn’t right. He can’t believe he’s actually asking this, but “Are you dead?”

Natasha squeezes his knee and looks out the window, a sad smile on her face. “I am.” She turns to look at him. Her expression the most open he has ever seen. “But you already know that.”

Clint swallows. He wants to say no but knows that would be a lie. The memories have started trickling in. Thanos, The Blip, the stones, Vormir- “Can I stay here? With you?”

Natasha throws him another sad smile. “No.” She cups his cheek. “You have to let me go. It’s okay.”

Clint blinks away tears. His voice cracks at his next words. “No, Tasha, please.”

Her hand falls away. Let me go

 Clint wakes. Alone.    

[trekkiehood]

Never Again (Part 2) - SPN Fanfic

@febuwhump :  Day 18 - Forced to Watch

Title: Never Again

Part: [1] 2/?

Fandom: Supernatural

Words: 3.3k

Setting: Stanford Era, Brotherhood AU, 9/11/2001

Whumpee: Dean

Caretaker: Caleb

Other Characters: Mac, Sam

Ship: None

Ao3 Link

Summary: Dean is working a job with Caleb in NYC trying to distract himself from Sam’s departure for college, when the Twin Towers are hit in a terrorist attack.

Trigger Warnings: 9/11, fire, death, explosions, building collapse, injury or death do to disability

Authors Note:

Dean is 22 Sam is 18 Caleb: 30

TW: 9/11, fire, death, explosions, building collapse, general 9/11 trauma

Authors Note:

So incredibly sorry that I've been so MIA. Life has been... crazy and very very busy. I hate it but I'll probably disappear again bc finals are next week.

This chapter starts where the last chapter started but ends a little before last chapter. It's the same events but from Caleb's POV.

This is the ABC newscast that Caleb and Mac are watching: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hwiM_R9MR2M . Dialogue is taken directly from the live broadcast (yes I watched the whole thing).

I know this is out of order, bit I will explain in the end notes.

Anyway, please enjoy this and let me know what you think!

~TH~

Caleb woke up in a cold sweat. Something was wrong. He had… he had dreamt something. A vision? It was, it was important. It was-

Dean.

It was Dean.

Something was going to happen and he had to stop it.

But there was something else.

Not just Dean.

No, there was something else.

It was…

A tower?

Something about towers.

The Twin Towers.

That was it.

Dean, the towers…

Death.

He needed to keep Dean out of the towers.

Okay, easy enough Dean hated-

Which was exactly why Caleb had made him do it.

Cursing, Caleb reached for his phone, dialing Dean.

The phone rang, each ringing causing Caleb to feel more and more panicked. Finally the line connected. "I hope you're happy."

Sarcasm was dripping from Dean's voice. Caleb felt anything but happy.

"Where are you?"

Caleb could practically hear the eyeroll. "You know where I am."

"I'm serious. I want to know the exact place you are."

"About to go into the meeting with the guy from McLennan. And no I'm not late. The appointment isn't for a few more minutes."

Caleb felt oddly frustrated that Dean was not getting the seriousness of the situation."You need to leave."

"As much as I'd love to, we actually do need to talk to this dude."

"No. Get out of there. Now." He never should have let him do this. He never should have made him do this.

"Dude I just took two elevators ninety-three stories into the air just so you could make me come back down? If I leave I'm not coming back up here. You're on your own."

"Deuce, listen to me. You have to get out of there. Now. Something bad is going to happen."

There was a pause. Then an earnest voice, all sarcasm gone. "Did you have a vision?"

"More- more of a nightmare," and those were the worst. The visions were horrifically vivid but the nightmares left so little to go on. "But listen to me, you have to get out of there. I don't know what's about to happen but it's bad and you need to be as far away from the Trade Center as possible."

Dean sounded hesitant. Not disbelieving but not confident either. "Are you sure you're not just, I don't know, getting everything mixed up? I mean it was a dream not a vision. Maybe you're just feeling protective and remembering 93'-"

"Dean." He knew that the use of Dean's real name would catch his friend's attention. "It's not. I'm telling you something is going to happen. Not has happened. Is going to."

"Fine, fine. It's not that I don't trust you it's just that those elevators are-"

"Take the stairs." He couldn't explain why. It was an instinct. There was no specific point in the dream he could point to, but he knew elevators were out of the question.

"You're kidding. It's ninety-three floors, Damian." The incredulous tone was back. Like maybe Caleb was just playing some elaborate and cruel prank on him.

"You didn't- Listen I can't explain it. I didn't get the whole picture. I just know that if you don't get out of there right now you will die."

"And the elevator?" A mix between resignation and sarcasm.

"Please."

"Fine but only to seventy-eight."

Caleb stood, heading to the living room of his father's apartment where he and Dean had been staying. They'd been working with the Scholar and it was easier to crash here then to move back and forth between apartments. "Just get moving."

"Fine, I'll call you back when-"

Caleb's panic spiked. He couldn't lose contact. Not even for a second. "No! Just- just stay on the line, alright?"

"Dude how bad was it?" Caleb could hear a door opening and the echoing sound of a stairwell. He let out a breath.

"Bad dude. I'm really not even sure what happened but it was bad."

"Do we need to call someone?"

And say what? That a local resident had had a nightmare and that the building needed to be evacuated? If he wasn't arrested for "making threats", then he'd be locked up for being insane and a public menace. "I wouldn't know what to say. It's more of… just a bad feeling mixed with images I can't place. I don't know man, I just want you out of there."

"Yeah, yeah, and you want me to walk down over ninety flights of stairs to do it. Let me use the elevators and I'll be out in five minutes."

Dean was trying to lighten the mood and Caleb couldn't help a chuckle. "Get down to the express elevator and we'll talk about it. The one's near the top aren't near as fast."

"And here I thought you didn't like the business side of New York."

"Architecture, Deuce. It's the tallest building in the U.S. It'd be a sin not to study it." He relaxed slightly, enjoying the classic banter.

"Don't remind me."

A twitch of a smile before the anxiety set back in. "What floor are you on now?"

A pause. "Eighty-eight."

"Keep going." The feeling of panic was growing and Caleb went to the window, pushing back the curtain and looking across to see the Twin Towers in the distance. It wasn't a clear view, but you could still see them. The classic New York skyline. It was beautiful and so familiar. And yet somehow, he felt almost sick looking at them. A strange sense of pain and nostalgia washed over him. Strange for a building he'd seen thousands of times.

"I am." Dean's voice brought him out of the strange feeling. "You gonna call the office and cancel my meeting? They don't seem like the type of people to appreciate a no show. Especially before nine. 8:45 Damian. Who sets a meeting that early?"

Dean's forced levity caused Caleb to take a breath. He needed to stay calm. "They can deal with it. I'll call them as soon as you're out."

"Yeah yeah, which will be over an hour at this rate."

"Stop complaining, dude. Just think of it as one of Johnny's training exercises." He couldn't tear his eyes away from the towers. They were beautiful buildings. Ahead of their time.

"The difference being, Dad never sent us an unholy amount in the air! Mountains? Yeah? Skyscrapers? Never again."

"One day you'll thank me for breaking your fear of heights." But Caleb wouldn't never put Dean in a position like this again. Never. Caleb couldn't argue with his assessment. Dean's fear plus Caleb's vision equaled never again.

"Breaking them? You mean exploiting them?"

"Hey whatever works-"

Caleb's eyes widened as he saw an explosion rip its way through one of the towers. The sight coincided with a loud crash and muffled gasp from the phone. It was Dean's tower.

"Deuce?!" He screamed into the phone. "Dean, can you hear me?!"

There was no answer.

A spike ran through Caleb's head and he was suddenly seeing smoke and fire, debris falling down on him. A crushing weight was bearing down on his chest and his eyes were watering. He didn't know if he was connecting with current Dean or reliving part of his dream.

"Caleb?" A hand touched his shoulder and he gasped out of the trance. "Son, are you alright?"

There were tears streaming down his face and the gasping hadn't stopped when the vision smoke had disappeared.

"Caleb?" His father said again.

Shaking, he brushed off the hands, reaching for the television remote on the couch. The channel didn't matter. If what he thought was happening was happening, every channel would be covering it.

Diane Sawyer and Charlie Gibson appeared on the screen as "Good Morning America" played. Diane was speaking, "-ot a report that there has been some sort of explosion at the World Trade Center in New York City. One report said, and we can't confirm any of this, that a plane may have hit one of the two towers of the world trade center. But again you're seeing the live pictures here. We have no further details. And that we don't know anything about what they have concluded happened there this morning. But we're going to find out and of course make sure that everyone knows on the air."

"My-" Mac choked out.

Caleb slowly sat down on the couch as the two morning show hosts explained what they knew as footage of the Twin Towers filled the screen.

"Did-did you have a vision? Is that what-"

"Dad," Caleb stopped him, as he turned burning eyes towards his father. "Dean's in there. I was on the phone with him when it- he was still in there."

"No-" Was whispered on a breath.

Caleb retrieved his phone from the floor and redialed Dean's number, not getting anything.

Father and son sat side by side on the couch, watching live footage of the burning building. A building that currently held one of their friends. Part of their family.

ABC switched over to a Special Report as they went live nationally. More explaining of how little they knew. They continued to watch in shock, feeling a numbing fear.

The 93' attack was brought up. The same attack Dean had brought up earlier. Had Dean had his own hunter's intuition that something was going on or had it just been an ironic offhand comment.

"Do you- do you know if it was a plane like they think? Or a bomb?" Mac asked in an uncharacteristically shaking voice.

Caleb shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't- I mean I had a nightmare and I knew- I told him to get out but I didn't- I didn't know what- I should have-"

Mac placed a hand on Caleb's shoulder, drawing eye contact from his son. "None of this is your fault. Especially if there was no supernatural activity you couldn't have known-"

"But Dean-"

"It's a large building. He could have simply lost connection, or dropped his phone. We don't know that anything happened."

A discussion was continuing on the TV, Charlie was trying to reassure his viewers that there was no reason to believe it was intentional but Diane seemed convinced that this was an intentional attack.

Then a plane came from the right part of the screen, disappearing behind the North Tower. An explosion took over the screen.

"No-" Caleb choked. "No, no, no-"

"We're under attack." Mac whispered in a disbelieving tone.

The newscasters continued, saying that there was no way this could be an accident. Flames were pouring out of the building- buildings they now knew. The second plane had hit the South Tower.

America was under attack.

The phone was ringing. Caleb looked hopefully at his phone even though he knew it was the landline.

Caleb's hand tightened around his cellphone. His dad gave his leg a pat before shakily standing and going to the kitchen to pick up the phone.

Mac was speaking in low tones, whether he was intentionally trying to keep his words secret from Caleb or if it was simply a response to the mood they were all feeling.

Suddenly his phone was ringing and Caleb was on his feet flipping the phone open.

"Dean?!"

"No- Caleb? Are you alright? Are you safe?"

"Sam." The young man hadn't spoken to him since leaving for college.

"Caleb? Are you alright? Are you in New York?"

"Am I- Yes Sam. I'm in New York. A-and-" He let out a harsh breath. "And your brother is in there."

"Wh-what? Caleb you mean-"

"I mean he was in there when the first plane hit and I haven't been able to reach him since."

"Why was he- How could you let him go in there?!"

"How could- How could I?! I'm not the one who-" He dropped his voice, the anxiety momentarily overcome with burning anger. "Why do you think he was in New York, Sam? Why do you think he came up here for a few weeks? It's almost like his world got turned upside down and the person he cared most about cut him off."

"Don't make this about me!" Sam snapped. "You're telling me that you let my brother walk into-into a terrorist attack?! Let me guess, you were hunting! It always comes back to hunting! I always said that it was going to kill him one of these days!"

"We don't know that he's dead! And what was I supposed to do Sam? How was I supposed to know-?!"

"What's the point of being a psychic if you can't even save your best friend!"

And that was a good question. What was the point of him- of anything if Dean was dead. Nothing mattered if Dean was dead.

"I'll call you if I hear anything." He whispered, feeling his throat closing in. The phone was snapped shut just as his father reached him.

"Caleb?"

"Uh," He took a deep breath, "it was Sam. He's uh, he's fine. Who was-"

"Jim. He wanted to make sure…"

Caleb cleared his throat. "Did you tell him-"

"He says he's praying and to keep him updated." The smile was forced and honestly, not appreciated.

"Let me interrupt you for a second. We now have fire confirmed at the Pentagon."

Both of them turned to the TV as Don Hudson's voice caught their attention.

"The Pentagon?"

"How-"

"We wanna hold our breath here, it seems to me, just for a second and-and-and not get into a mode that the country is under attack. But we now have two attacks on the twin- trade towers- center. US buildings, city buildings, completely evacuated in New York City. We have this mysterious black smoke at the southwest corner of the White House which is to say that something is going on behind the old executive office building. We now have a report that a fire has been confirmed at the Pentagon."

"Don't- both towers? The Pentagon- How could he say that we're not under attack? What else-" Caleb was in disbelief. How could any of this- how was this even possible?

"I-I don't know." The emotion in his dad's voice was going to cause Caleb to lose any resolve he was holding onto. Mac cleared his throat. "I need, I need to make some calls. Let me know if-" He nodded as if that was all that needed to be said, then headed into the other room to make whatever phone calls he deemed necessary.

Caleb watched the TV, feeling numb. Feeling dead himself. Caleb was afraid to open himself up. He couldn't feel everything. If he opened himself even the smallest amount- he was already overwhelmed with just his own emotions and the backlash of his fathers.

He tried the phone again but it didn't even go through this time. The phones were down in the heart of the city, he knew that but he couldn't stop trying.

Time held no real meaning anymore. He had no clue how long his dad had been gone, how long he had been watching.

Then from the split screen, something caught his eyes. Something different. On the left side of the screen one of the towers was crumbling.

"Dad!" he cried out, standing and stepping closer towards the TV.

Mac rushed into the room, his attention already turned towards the news.

The building continued to crumble until there was only one tower standing.

"Wh-what did I just watch?" The doctor's mouth was open, his eyes wide with confusion and horror.

"We now have a… what do we have? We don't-" The reports seemed just as stunned.

"It looks like a new plume- a new large plume of smoke-" Someone else cut in.

Peter Jennings began speaking. "It may be that something fell off the building. It may be that something has fallen- we-we don't know to be perfectly honest. But that is what you're looking at. That is the current- that is the scene at this moment at the world trade center."

"That's all it was? Right? It was just- just something falling. Still not good but it's not-"

"I-I don't know, son. I can't-"

A grainy voice cut over the report with an eye witness on the phone. "The second building that was hit by the plane has just completely collapsed. The entire building has just collapsed as if a demolition team set off - when you see the old- demolish of these old buildings. It folded down on itself and it is not there anymore."

"No-"

"The whole side has collapsed?" Whether Jennings was unsure or simply hoping was irrelevant.

"No, the whole building has collapsed."

"The whole building has collapsed?"

"The building has collapsed."

"That's the Southern Tower you're talking about?"

"That's correct-"

"South Tower." Caleb breathed. "It-it's the South Tower. Dean's in the North. He was- he was in the North."

"Thank God." Mac sank onto the couch.

"Who would- this is war."

"We don't know anything yet."

"Is it- is it possible that there's something… supernatural involved?"

"Do you sense something?"

"No- but I mean I dreamt- could it mean it was Supernatural?"

"Or it could just be your connection with Dean." A pause. "Have-have you tried?"

Caleb took a couple shallow breaths, "I-I can't. There's so much. If I open myself up, if I try- so many people are- are dead and Dean can't be one of them Dad he can't be."

"I know. I can feel the panic as well."

They sat in silence, pressed into each other's side. Neither men were big on physical contact but the idea of putting any distance between them felt wrong. Somehow irreverent.

The North Tower was leaning now, the report came. Caleb couldn't even muster any extra fear for Dean's safety. He couldn't seem to feel anything at the moment.

There was no time. There was just smoke and fire and bombs and planes and terror and death. Jennings' voice was calm. How he delivered such horrific news in such a stable tone was beyond his viewers.

Then the North Tower was coming down. Jennings was talking about something with the Pentagon but none of that mattered. The building was- the tower was collapsing.

The Pentagon had been forgotten, everyone's focus solely on the towers. Or where the towers used to be. "The-the second tower." The exclamation was followed by silence. Only the beeping of phones and nonsensical chatter could be heard in the background as the news personnel sat in stunned silence.

Father and son watched, not knowing what they felt.

"It's hard to put it into words. And maybe one doesn't need to." Jennings' voice on the TV was quiet, barely above a whisper.

Caleb, propelled by some unknown force, quickly strode to the window, pulling back the curtain. The sky was empty. Where there had previously stood two skyscrapers, there was only gray emptiness. The Twin Towers were gone.

The last known location of Dean Winchester was gone.

Caleb's mental walls crumbled and everything hit him at once. He felt the pain, anger, sadness, confusion, grief, and death of thousands. He cried out as his knees buckled and he slammed into the floor.

He couldn't feel him. He couldn't feel Dean.

He couldn't feel anything but pain, pain, pain, grief, pain, pain.

It felt as though someone had pierced his brain with an icicle. He clutched his head, letting out a raw scream. Then the pain stopped as everything went black.

~TH~

I know, I know.

I'm evil.

But, I was already at 3k and I had so much more planned it just wasn't going to work in one chapter.

This was supposed to be day 16 but I didn't get to the part that was actually based on day 16...

So I moved this to day 18 and I'll go back and grab 16+17 later.

And yes, there is more to this story as to be seen in day 16. Hopefully the wrap up?

I really hope you enjoyed this. It was emotional to watch/write and I hope I captured the feelings well.

Comments much, much appreciated!

God bless,

Jamie

[xmaddestofhatters]

Febuwhump 2022

Day 27: Shower breakdown

Warning: rape/noncon mentions and aftermath

Or read on AO3

happy birthday

Clint blinks and reads the text again. It’s concerning for two reasons. First, it’s nowhere near his birthday. Second, the text is from Natasha. Which might not be that weird, except for the fact that ‘happy birthday’ is their code phrase for ‘please help me, I’m fucked’ and it’s sent from her private number, not a burner. And as far as Clint knows Natasha is not currently on a mission and they haven’t used this particular phrase in years. Hence, concerning.

thanks for remembering

He sends back. Another code phrase to let the other person know you’ve read it and are on your way. There’s no more replies after that. He quickly triangulates the location of her phone. She’s in a bar in Brooklyn. Just like she said she would be. She was going out for drinks with Maria and Pepper. So why is she texting him?

***

It’s a little over 2am when he enters the club. It’s crowded and it takes him a second to spot Maria and Pepper. They’re on the lounge in the corner laughing, but no Natasha. He searches the rest of the club while walking over to them but no sign of the redhead. 

“Clint!” Pepper exclaims excitedly. Maria giggles. According to their flushed faces they’re not going easy on the alcohol.

“Hey, where’s Nat?” 

Maria waves her hand in the general direction of a back door. “Went out for a smoke. We were just gonna check on her.” She moves to stand up but Clint raises his hand to stop her.

“It’s fine, I’ll go. You stay here.”

He pushes his way through the crowd. An uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Natasha only smokes when she’s not quite feeling herself. If she got triggered in this club, it’s not going to end well for any of them. He shoulders the back door open and steps into the alley. One hand on the knife in his belt. It’s dark, the only light coming from the street and a little moonlight through the clouds.

First he thinks no one's here but then someone moves at the far end of the alley. He slowly approaches, not knowing which Natasha he’s dealing with here. But then the clouds part and the moonlight shines right down on Natasha's huddled form. Clint immediately drops his careful stance and rushes to her side. His hands cup her face.

“Nat? Hey, Natasha.” 

Her eyes very slowly travel up to his. There’s tear streaks down her cheeks and her eyes are glazed over. She’s trembling between his fingers. Drugged, Clint thinks. He throws an arm around her waist to help her up. She flinches at his touch, but doesn’t pull away. When she shifts he sees that her dress is ripped and with a sinking feeling he knows what happened.

***

Getting her on the back of his motorcycle and not letting her fall off in her drugged state had been a challenge but they’re finally home. He’s brought them to his apartment in Bed-Stuy instead of the tower. Sensing that the well-meant concern of their teammates would be too much for her. She hasn’t said a word and Clint hasn’t asked yet. He only keeps up a running monologue of what he’s doing. He quickly sends off a text to Steve to pick up Pepper and Maria, just in case.  

Natasha’s shivering, arms wrapped tightly around herself. “Let's get you into something warm.” He rummages through his drawer and pulls out an old hoodie and some sweatpants. Natasha eyes him warily. Her eyes look a little clearer but she’s still not herself. He holds out the clothes to her. “You want me to help you?” Natasha nods slowly, but when he reaches for the zipper on her dress she flinches away.

“No...” She whispers. Clint backs away immediately. 

“Okay.” He goes to sit on the bed with his back to her. “How about I sit here and when you need help you tell me, okay?” Natasha looks from the clothes in her hand to him and nods. 

It takes a long time and Clint’s pretty sure she fell over a few times, but Natasha didn’t ask so he didn't turn around. He finally feels the bed dip and he slowly turns back. Giving her a quick once-over, he catches the edge of a hand-shaped bruise on her lower arm. Natasha follows his gaze and her breath hitches when she sees the bruise. 

“Hey, no. Natasha? Eyes on me, love. Come on.” The last thing they need right now is Natasha spiraling into a panic attack. He coaxes her into bed and moves to stand up but she stops him.

“Stay.” She whispers. “Please.”

He smiles softly at her. “I’ll be right here.”

***

He wakes to the sound of running water and a cold bed. He’ll give her a minute before checking on her. So he goes to the kitchen and starts on breakfast. When it’s almost thirty minutes later and the shower’s still running he knocks on the door.

“Nat? You okay in there?” She doesn’t answer. He slowly opens the door and tries again. “Nat?” He steps inside. She’s on the floor of the bathtub, furiously scrubbing her arms with a washcloth. Her chest and thighs are already scrubbed raw. She doesn't acknowledge him at all. 

"Oh, hey. Nat, look at me." 

She does. Her entire body is littered with cuts and bruises, but the bruising around her throat and chest concerns him a little. Clint thinks there's a good chance she might've cracked a few ribs. 

He kneels next to the bathtub and slowly grabs her wrist,taking the washcloth from her. He telegraphs every movement to give her time to move away. She just stares at him with bloodshot eyes. The now cold water hammering down on her head. He turns the shower off. Natasha opens her mouth to say something but nothing comes out. He waits patiently.

"I'm sorry." She bites down on her lip. "I shouldn't have- I didn't-" Her voice breaks and she takes a shuddering breath.

"Nat, it wasn't your fault." Clint says gently. 

"No, but I should've fought them off. I'm better than this. I should be better than this." The last comes out more as a question. Her eyes fill with tears. 

"It's not your fault." He says again. 

"Why me."  She asks in such a small voice that Clint's heart breaks. "Why always me." 

Clint doesn't want to think about the dozens of other times this has happened. On missions and off. It ignites an unbridled rage in him to see how the world has so very much wronged her. 

"I don't know, Nat." She chokes out a sob and throws herself against his chest. It's an awkward position with the edge of the bathtub between them, but Clint hugs her tightly nonetheless. 

Her sobs echo through the bathroom and her wet hair has already soaked his shirt but he doesn't care. She cries and Clint just holds her. Stroking her hair. Eventually the sobs turn into shuddering breaths and she pulls back, wiping her eyes. 

"I'm sorry." She croaks out again. 

"No, none of that." Clint turns the hot water on, letting it fill the bathtub. "Here, I'll wash your hair." She smiles gratefully at him. He grabs her strawberry-scented shampoo and applies a generous amount. He starts rubbing it in gently. Taking his time. He pointedly ignores the bruising around her throat. They'll take a look at that later.

While she soaks in the bath he tells her all about his new arrowhead designs. A few times he catches her gaze drifting to the bruises littering her chest and every time he grabs her hand and squeezes it to distract her. 

When the water's gone cold he wraps her in a towel and purposefully lets her stand with her back to the mirror. Natasha doesn't say much except for the occasional thank you. Clint knows the fallout from this incident is gonna be hard on Natasha, but he plans to be there for every step of the way. 

And he's already started the search for the men that did this. When Natasha feels up to it, she is so going to enjoy killing them. 

[xmaddestofhatters]

Febuwhump 2022

Day 26: Please don’t do this

Note: Some more Nat, Yelena and Clint because I love them

Or read on AO3

He wakes to a warm body pressed against his. Her arm splayed across his chest, hand clutched in his shirt. Her mess of red curls tickling his nose. He inhales the scent of her shampoo and sighs contently. If only he could wake up like this every day.

Natasha shifts next to him and next thing he knows she’s gone. He grumbles in protest. “Nat, come back to bed.”

When there’s no answer he cracks an eye open and takes in her tense posture. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed with her back to him, phone in hand. He sits upright. “Hey, everything okay?”

After a second she puts her phone aside and stands up. “I have to go.”

He swallows. “You found her?” He throws the cover aside and sits on the edge of the bed.

She nods without looking at him, walking over to the closet and pulling out the pre-packed duffel bag. “One of my contacts came through. She’s in Moscow.”

His stomach drops. Last time Natasha went to Moscow it took her nearly four weeks to come down from the mission. It was absolute hell for both him and Natasha.  “Moscow?”

She hears the reluctance in his voice and turns to him. Her expression is unreadable. “I know what you’re thinking, but it’ll be fine.” Clint thinks not even Natasha believes that lie.

“Please don’t do this?” She stares blankly at him. “At least let me come with you.”

Natasha sighs. “I can’t. I have to do this alone.” He drags a hand through his hair. Why does she always have to be so stubborn?

“I’m gonna ask this once and then I’ll drop it, okay?” He looks at her for approval to continue. She gives a single nod. “Are you sure? She might not be there.” She might not want to see you.

Natasha’s mask cracks and she looks away. “I have to try, Clint. She’s my sister.” He sighs.

“I know.”

 ***

 It’s been eight days since he’s last heard from Natasha and he’s getting worried. She usually tells him when she goes dark. And the nature of the mission combined with the place is not doing anything to calm his nerves at all.

He’s on his fourth cup of coffee when his phone rings. He almost trips over his own feet in his haste to pick up. “Nat?”

“No.” A Russian-accented voice answers. Clint’s anxiety immediately dials up to eleven again. He stays silent, waiting for the person on the other end to speak again. “Is this Clint Barton?”

“Who’s asking?”

“You need to come get us. Natasha is hurt and I cannot carry her alone.”

“Who are you?”

It’s silent for a second. “Yelena. Natasha’s sister. You do not know?” She asks incredulously.

Clint sighs in relief. “No, I do know. Is Natasha okay? Where are you?” He’s already listing in his head what he’s gonna need for a flight to Russia when-

“New York.”

“What.”

“New York.” She repeats. Then she mutters something to someone else, presumably Natasha. “Natasha said you were deaf, but I did not think you were also stupid.”

“Where exactly are you?” Clint asks, pointedly ignoring Yelena’s barb. Yelena relays their coordinates. It’s only a half our drive from their apartment. He instructs her to stay where they are and is promptly reminded by Yelena that she is, in fact, not an amateur.

He finds them in an alley. Natasha’s slumped against the wall, one arm clutching her stomach, but she’s still conscious. Yelena’s standing next to her. When she sees him she gives a little wave.

“Ah, Clint Barton.” He nods but he’s more interested in Natasha. He kneels in front of her.

“Hey, you okay?” Which given the fact that there’s blood seeping out between her fingers is probably a stupid question.

She smiles thinly. “Never better.”

“Great. Let’s get you in the car.”

With Yelena’s help he hauls Natasha in the car. Laying her down on the back seats, which leaves Yelena sitting next to him in the passenger seat. Every few minutes he checks if Natasha’s still conscious, but her ragged breathing tells him she is. He notices Yelena studying him out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t blame her. He’s been doing the exact same thing.

When they finally get Natasha out of the car and onto the couch in their apartment, the front of her suit is soaked in blood. Yelena gets the med kit while Clint tries peeling away the suit. Natasha hisses when the material sticks to her skin. She looks a little pale, but her eyes are surprisingly clear which makes Clint think the blood is not all hers.

He neatly stitches the gash on her lower abdomen closed and wraps it with some bandages. Sooner or later they’re gonna have to go to a hospital, but they’re good for now. In the meantime Yelena’s raiding the kitchen and comes out with a mug of tea a few moments later. She puts it in front of Natasha and drops down next to her on the couch.

“So, what the hell happened?” Clint asks when he’s finished with the last of the bandages.

Yelena shrugs. “We saw some people that do not like me very much.” Natasha snorts and then immediately winces when the action pulls at her stitches. Yelena throws her a disapproving look. Clint nods slowly, waiting for her to continue but she doesn’t.

“Right, eh… So I don’t know if you’re staying, but we got a spare bedroom if you want.” He glances at Natasha to see if that was the right move. She smiles gratefully at him. Yelena thinks for a second and, after sharing an indecipherable look with Natasha, grins.

“Perfect. Let me get some food first. I am starving.” She hops up and disappears into the kitchen again. Clint settles next to Natasha and carefully puts an arm around her. She leans into his touch.

“Everything okay between you two?” He asks softly.

Natasha sighs. “For now. We have a lot to talk about though. Tell you about it in the morning?” He nods and gives her shoulder a squeeze. Planting a kiss against her temple.

“Of course. Whenever you’re ready.”

They sit around for a while, hearing Yelena rummaging around in the kitchen. When a pan clatters in the kitchen followed by a string of Russian curses Natasha smiles fondly and Clint realises that he could get used to this.    

[xmaddestofhatters]

Febuwhump 2022

Day 25: muffled screams

Note: hey i’m back lol, thanks for your patience

Warning: mentions of child abuse and sexual assault

Or read on AO3

It’s cold. Too cold.

The scrap of cloth they call a blanket is way too thin. Especially in this cold weather. Natalia pulls it up to her chin, but that exposes her toes. She shivers. Maybe if they weren’t all handcuffed to their beds, they’d huddle together for warmth. Or maybe they wouldn’t. The paranoia that’s drilled into them wouldn’t allow it.

She can hear the other girls tossing and turning as well. Chattering teeth and some whimpers here and there. Natalia is used to the sounds by now. An occasional scream pierces the air. Cries for help. None of the girls respond or offer a word of comfort. They don’t know how. And making friends in this place is the dumbest thing you can do. Natalia learned that very early on.

The door of the dormitory creaks open. Two men with heavy boots step inside. The metal of their guns glints in the hallway light. Natalia scrunches her eyes shut and tries to deepen her breathing, pretending to be asleep. It wouldn’t make a difference but she likes to pretend it does.

She hears shuffling and a scream when they pick a girl. Natalia peeks through her eyelashes. It’s Ana. She’s the same age as Natalia but maybe half her size. There’s no way she’ll be able to fight them off. Natalia shoots up a quick prayer. She’s not religious or anything, but she heard some of the older girls do that.

There’s crying and cursing as the guards drag Ana out. Natalia shuts her eyes again and turns her back to the door. Not wanting to see the pleading look in her eyes. Every night the men come. And every night they take a girl. If you’re not strong enough to fight them off, well, that’s your problem.

The girl in the bed next to her begins to cry. Natalia doesn’t know her name but she knows she hasn’t been here for very long.

“Заткнись.” Shut up. Someone hisses. “Ты хочешь, чтобы они взяли тебя следующим?” You want them to take you next? It only makes the girl cry harder.

They haven’t come for Natalia all week. She likes to think it’s because they find her too difficult. She gave one of them a broken nose once. But it’s more likely Madame told them off. Dreykov’s coming and he doesn’t like damaged goods. She shivers again and this time not from the cold.

The door slams shut but Ana’s muffled crying can still be heard through the thin walls. The men love it when they scream and cry. So when they take Natalia she always tries to be as silent as possible. She’s not sure why none of the other girls have figured out that little trick yet.

The bloodcurdling scream that follows the sound of a small body being thrown on the ground chills Natalia to her bone. She pulls the blanket over her head to shut out the sound. Cold toes be damned. It doesn’t help.

The guards have made it a game to make sure they can all hear what they’re doing to the girls they take. The muffled screams can be heard all night long. It makes Natalia sick to her stomach. Some of the older girls told her to not be such a baby about it. She’s just gonna have to get used to this, but Natalia doesn’t know how anyone could ever get used to this.

She’s sure she never will.