Those Were The Days
Monster Hunter!Natasha RomanoffxMonster!Reader | Medieval Fantasy AU
*images are not mine, credit to its sources and creators
Summary: The life of a hunter has always been dangerous, each day potentially being your last. Natasha knew this when you started. And even so, she never thought that she would be standing at your funeral, burning nothing but your memories.
She thought she would never see you again. That you had been buried along with the ghosts from her past. Yet there you were, her blade pressed against your throat, eyes so familiar yet monstrously different.
Content Warning: Childhood friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, grief, dead parents, child abuse (briefly mentioned), funerals, abandonment issues, insecurities, self-hatred, slightly OOC!Nat, mild religious themes, kids being bullies, murder and death, POV Flips, not edited, everything is very on the nose guys, I apologize, narrative skips from present to past frequently, there might be some stuff that I missed, sorry
Word Count: 9,716
A/N: Here's my contribution for Spooky Season, I'll post more of this if anyone's actually interested in where it's going
Fun fact, the title is from a Russian folk song I found
Let me know if anything needs to be fixed
Main Masterlist | MCU Fics | Recced Fics | Spotify Playlist
The more Natasha thought about it, the more she realized she barely remembered a time before you.
She was eleven when she first met you. There, in the city’s orphanage at the end of the dirt road. She had trailed behind the two monster hunters the guild had sent to escort her and a small Yelena, who was desperately clinging to Natasha’s tattered and dirt-stained tunic. Alexei and Melina’s deaths had been unexpected but the circumstance had not been unplanned for.
Two nuns had been waiting outside for the girls’ arrival, their hands hidden away under the long sleeves of their tunic.
She had spotted a pair of curious eyes peeking out from the main entrance door while the adults spoke. You kept staring between the pair girls and the two monster hunters clad in brown leather armor and their black-colored pauldrons.
That was until the nuns were addressing both girls directly.
“Come along dears, we’ll show you to your sleeping quarters. Sister Margaret will then show you the chapel and the kitchens. You’ll be starting your mornings there, bright and early,” the sister said in a dissonant cheery tone.
By the time Natasha had looked back to the door, you were long gone.
It wasn’t until later that night that Natasha saw you again, hiding under one of the bed frames in the room she would share with eight other children. She sat atop her assigned bed, a small Yelena curled up against her side, fast asleep. She thought they were the only ones in the room until you spoke up.
“Are the nuns gone?” you had asked in a hushed tone, your face obscured by the shadows of your hiding spot. She stared strangely at you briefly, confused by the odd stranger hiding under the beds, before she looked over to the door. Seeing no nuns, her eyes settled back on you and she shook her head no.
A relieved sigh escaped your lips as you pulled yourself out from under the bed frame, your gray tunic looking worse for wear. Your hands smoothed out the bunched up parts of your clothing as you approached her bedside. Curiosity glimmered in your eyes as you regarded both her and Yelena once more, your head tilting to the side ever so slightly.
“Are you mute?”
Natasha had been caught off guard by your bluntness, yet she was not angry or annoyed at you. She shook her head once more, before noting the irony and speaking out the word, “no.”
You nodded your head in acknowledgement once, followed by a soft hum.
A beat of rather awkward silence passed before Natasha spoke up.
“Why are you hiding?” she asked, her tone laced with the same curiosity reflected in your stare. Her question was met with a mischievous smile, the look in your eyes taking on a playful shine.
“I hid earthworms in Mother Superior’s coif.” Your whispered words held a mixture of pride and smugness. Natasha’s eyes widened in surprise.
“Why?”
“She struck the Maximoff boy for giving food from the gardens to a homeless man,” your tone took on a defensive edge as you crossed your arms over your chest. It hadn’t occurred to you that this stranger would simply not understand.
Natasha’s brow furrowed in confusion as she stared at you, not understanding why the boy’s actions were met with such callousness. Surely, that act of kindness should have been met with some sort of praise at best, or complete indifference at worst. “But… why?”
The corner of your lip quirked up in an unspoken amusement. Natasha would soon learn that such a smirk was nothing other than a telltale sign of trouble.
“Because Mother Superior is a bi–”
Mother Superior’s loud and shrill voice called out a name from the hallway and Natasha quickly gathered that it was your own. Her suspicions were confirmed when she saw you tense momentarily, the swear word caught on your tongue as your eyes grew wide and startled. You promptly ran out the door and down the hallway, the accusing nun hot on your heels as she yelled threats and reprimands.
“Nat?” Yelena shifted, her head tilting upwards as sleep-heavy eyes stared up at Natasha. She looked down at the young girl, her arms wrapping around her protectively once more.
“It’s okay ‘Lena, everything is okay,” she whispered softly in their mother tongue, the words reminding them of the comfort of home.
It was soon after that first day that Natasha found out you were rather infamous around the orphanage. She also learned that you had been here for longer than most of the other children. Perhaps it was because you had been here for so long or maybe it was because the adults had gotten used to your mischief, but you always got away with whatever it was that you had set your mind to.
Almost always.
Mother Superior had not appreciated finding the worms in her headgear and you did not go unpunished for it. You had been struck with the discipline stick repeatedly, with the extended punishment of having to wash the kitchen pots after supper for at least a week. This had not dampened your spirits though, your internal sense of justice far outweighing the pain of your punishment.
Regardless, neither of you interacted very much after that first day. You shared a room and often got assigned to the same chores, but there was not much else that drew you together.
That was until you were both sent to the town center to retrieve a parcel for Father Nigel from Madam Hodge, the merchant’s wife.
The journey to the town had been made in relevant silence, neither of you really having much to talk about.
Natasha had spearheaded the conversation with Madam Hodge, your mind more interested in the group of children that were playing down the street. After a short conversation with the woman and the parcel in hand, Natasha turned to see that you had completely disappeared without so much as a warning.
She couldn’t help the annoyance that prickled under her skin. The instructions were clear and she simply wanted to get the task over with, yet you had to make it difficult by disappearing into the town for no apparent reason.
Her annoyance is interrupted by a blur of black and white whizzing past her. It took her mind a few seconds to register that it was a dog that had run past her, its tail caught between its legs. Her eyes trailed after it as it continued to run, her brows furrowed in confusion, before staring down from where it came from.
It was there where she spotted you, down at the very end of the muddied street, surrounded by a group of four kids around your age. Natasha first figured that perhaps you were friends with them, but the thought was quickly cast out as a boy, who had a good few inches on you, shoved you forcefully to the ground. You landed roughly on your back but quickly scampered into a sitting position, anger and defiance etched clearly on your face as you stared up at the bully. You tried to stand, but the bully that hung over you sent a kick your way, shouting something Natasha couldn’t understand.
The short altercation was enough to have Natasha running down the street towards you. You sent a kick of your own towards his shin, and the boy jumped back with a pained grunt. The taller boy sent another kick aimed at your stomach, harder than the one he had sent before. The other three boys laughed, one of them going as far as throwing a stone at you.
“You are worthless, that’s why your parents left you,” the boy sneered. Natasha reached the group of kids just as one of the boys threw another stone at you, hitting you squarely in the cheek.
“Hey, leave her alone!” Natasha yelled, her voice thick with authority and force, as she skidded to a stop a few feet away from the taller boy.
“Yeah, or what?” he hissed, closing the distance between them and shoving her back, her feet stumbling slightly. “You’re just as weak as her,” he sneered, curling his lips into a cruel smirk.
Natasha’s arms worked faster than her brain as her hand curled into fist and threw a punch directly at the taller boy’s face. The boy’s head flew backwards, his hands reaching up to cup his nose as he yelled in pain. He took a few steps away from Natasha, removing one of his hands to stare down at the blood that had begun to pour down.
“You bitch,” he exclaimed, renewed anger coursing through him.
“Maybe I’ll break your arm next,” Natasha threatened, her eyes narrowed and sharp as she glared at the taller boy, daring him to move against her. The boy fumed as he stared her down, but Natasha did not budge. The boy stared down at the blood in his hand, his shirt beginning to be adorned with the same crimson color.
He took a singular step towards the redhead, before the voice of a woman rang nearby, “Grant Ward, what are you doing over there?!”
“Nothing!” the boy answered back, her eyes piercing into Natasha’s with hatred, “The little orphans got lost.”
“Then come help your brother with his chores or neither of you will get supper tonight!”
“Coming, mother!” Ward yelled, before he lowered his voice, his eyes still trained on Natasha, “This isn’t over, bitch.”
He bumped into Natasha’s shoulder, hard, as he walked away, causing the parcel that she had forgotten she was carrying to tumble to the floor. She went to pick it up, but one of the other boys kicked it away from her reach. Another one sneered at her and stomped on the parcel as he walked away.
Natasha glared at the retreating boys, her hands clenching and unclenching into fists at her side. Part of her wanted to go after them, itching to pick a fight with them, until she heard a soft groan from behind her.
You were still on the ground, your arms wrapped protectively over yourself. She approached you, crouching down to your level and looking over you for any overt injuries. The stone thrown at your cheek had left a large scratch on your skin, small droplets of blood inking out.
“What happened?” she asked, her voice hard, but caring. Her hand went to wipe away the blood on your cheek, but you flinched away from her touch.
“They were throwing rocks at a dog. I told them to stop and the dog got away and they were angry about it,” you explained, your voice watery despite the clear anger etched onto your features. There were tears pricking at the corners of your eyes and your hands wiped them away furiously.
Natasha’s anger flared up once more as she recalled the mass of black and white that ran past her just minutes earlier. The urge to fight the four boys came back.
But her anger was quickly dissuaded when she heard another pained grunt.
“Come on,” she offered a hand to you, sending you a half smile.
You don’t accept her help, not immediately.
Your eyes traveled up to her own, your stare had been piercing and wary, as if you were searching for something. You had been assessing her, she realized, looking for any hidden intentions or a hint of betrayal.
But Natasha does not waiver under your scrutinizing gaze. She remained still, her hand still outstretched and her eyes never moving away from yours.
Several moments passed before you finally grabbed her hand and rose to your feet with her help.
“Thank you,” your voice was quiet as you spoke, your gaze falling to the ground, playing with your hands nervously. Natasha’s head tilted to the side at the small gesture. She had gotten so used to you being so confident, headstrong and rebellious. Seeing you so subdued and almost even ashamed was… strange.
Natasha opened her mouth to say something, but your head lifted slightly, staring at something behind her. She turned, half expecting the boys coming back, only to be met by the sight of the half destroyed parcel you were supposed to be bringing back.
She pressed her lips into a line, a sigh escaping her. She walked over to the parcel and picked it up. The package chimed, the sound of broken glass clicking against itself made Natasha cringe.
“Don’t worry,” you piped up, a humorless smile on your lips, “you can tell the nuns it was my fault.”
Natasha frowned at your assurance. “But, it wasn’t your fault.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“I’ll tell them the truth. Those boys destroyed the parcel, not you.”
“They won’t believe you,” your gaze fell to the ground, your hands playing with your fingers nervously once more, “They think the Ward boy is a saint.”
“But–”
“Let’s just go back, okay?” you sent her a half-smile, but she could see the forced nature behind the expression.
She pressed her lips tightly before sending you a nod. “Fine.” Natasha did not understand why you were so willing to take the blame for something you had not done.
You returned the gesture before leading the way back to the orphanage. Much like on the way to the merchant’s home, the journey back was made in relevant silence. Natasha would occasionally glance at you, making sure you were okay after taking the boys’ hits.
“Who taught you how to punch like that?” you asked, your tone rather dejected as you both had made your way back, your mind clearly still stuck in the events from the marketplace.
“My parents.” There was a faint smile on her lips, but you had not missed the sadness behind it, their deaths still recent.
“I’m sorry,” you winced, “I shouldn’t have asked.”
“It’s okay.”
“What…” There was hesitation in your voice, but the question had started to slip before you could stop it. “What happened?”
Natasha doesn’t reply, not immediately. Her mind briefly flashed to that night where two guild members showed up at their home, telling both girls that their parents would not be coming back and that they were to be taken to the city’s orphanage.
“Vampires.” Her one word answer was enough, and you replied with a singular nod, averting your gaze to the ground.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Natasha repeats, “it’s not your fault.”
“What about yours?” It was only fair for her to ask, too, she thought.
“I don’t know. The nuns say that they found me at their doorstep with a note and that was it,” you explained. Natasha glanced at you quickly, trying to gauge your expression, but your face showed no reaction nor emotion to your own statement. ‘That’s why your parents left you,’ the Ward boy’s words from earlier echoed in her head.
“I’m sorry,” her words echoed yours.
“It’s okay, it’s not your fault.” You sent her a small smile.
“Did the nuns ever give you the note?” Natasha asked, giving you a side glance.
“No.”
Silence settled between the two of you as you approached the orphanage. She was nearly at the door before she noticed you were no longer beside her.
You were standing a few feet away from her, your eyes wide as you stared at the building’s entrance. Your expression was stoic and unmoving, your head tilting to the side slightly.
“Are you okay?”
You did not answer immediately, not even acknowledging she ever spoke in the first place. Natasha was about to speak again until your gaze settled on her, noting the determination and resolve locked in your eyes..
“Would… you teach me how to fight like that?” you asked.
Natasha stared for a few seconds, almost as if she was expecting you to ask.
“Yeah, ”she sends you a half-smile and nods, “We’ll start tomorrow.”
It was soon after that day that the both of you had become inseparable. Wherever one of you was, the other was quick to follow, meaning Natasha had become your partner in crime when making the nuns’ and some of the townsfolk’s lives a living hell.
Natasha’s lips quirk into a small smile, a wave of nostalgia cutting through her. Those days felt so long ago now, the only thing tying her to them being the memory of you.
Her hands push through bundles of fabric and a set of daggers before finding your tattered, leather-bound notebook at the very bottom of your trunk. Her fingers ran over the worn material and for a while, all she could do was stare.
Part of her was curious, wanting to open it and flip through your thoughts, the idea of hearing you, in a sense, one more time becoming incredibly tempting. She feels the lump in her throat begin to form, a shaky breath making its way past her lips. As much as she would love to pretend that you were not gone by reading your words, by hearing your phrases, by feeling the rhythm of your speech, she still owed you your privacy, even in death.
She lays the notebook on the top of your bed, her eyes skimming over the rest of the room. The space is small and rather nondescript, filled with only a tall wardrobe, a trunk and a small bed. The lack of personalization made sense when she considered that you rarely spent your time in it, only resting whenever you were actually staying at the Guild’s lodging.
She rummages for any other of your personal items within the tall wardrobe tucked in the corner of your room, hoping to find anything else that could be burned at your funeral pyre in the following hour. She hates the idea of having to part with your things, of erasing the last reminders of you ever existing.
She would much rather keep them close, but tradition demands your items be burned, your personal connection to them meaning to ground you in the afterlife and remind you of who you were in the living realm. She always figured it was nothing more than folklore, a rite made in hopes of keeping the dead from coming back as ghosts, or wraiths or poltergeists.
Tradition was tradition, she figured, and it was meant to honor your work and memory.
Natasha manages to find a set of iron-and-wood daggers you had not used in years, but had never had the heart to get rid of. She smiles as the memory of how you got these flashes in her mind, before it was interrupted by the sound of an opening door.
“Nat?” the familiar timbre of Clint’s voice rings out from behind her, his tone subdued, “They’ve finished setting up the pyre. Yelena is getting the final elements of the rite ready.”
She barely looks at him over her shoulder, sending him a sharp nod before her gaze falls back on the daggers in her hands. “I’ll be there in a minute,” her voice came out hard and steady, a complete betrayal of the emotions that swirled inside her. She tightened her hold around the wooden handles of the daggers, her jaw clenched tight as another wave of grief crashed painfully against her chest.
Clint’s gaze was soft and understanding as he watched the woman in front of him, her back still turned to him. He knew her, knew that she would carry the burden of her pain silently, rather than letting anyone around her see her so vulnerable. He also knew that she would not accept anyone’s pity or sympathy, either. There seemed to be very little he could do for the woman, and that bothered him tremendously. He held back a sigh, nodding once as he began to leave the room.
“I’ll be waiting outside.”
The soft click of the door almost seemed to reverberate through the walls of the room, your room, until that too faded to silence. Natasha remembered a time where the man, her friend, had been a boy; irresponsible, reckless and impulsive, a stark contrast to the father of three. Ironically, had it not been for those qualities, perhaps she would not be standing where she was right now, alive and breathing.
A year after the two girls had been in the orphanage, Yelena had been taken in by a young couple who she had been sent to help with domestic chores. The Smiths lived a few houses down the street, allowing Natasha and Yelena to see each other, despite living in different places.
That was until the couple packed up and left, traveling to a city up north to take care of an elderly family member. Worst of all was the fact that neither of the girls had been warned, meaning they had not been allowed a proper goodbye before it was too late.
Natasha had disappeared for an entire day after Yelena had been taken away. You were almost convinced she had left town, determined to somehow track down the young blonde, until you found her sitting on top of one of the wooden beams of the orphanage’s roof rafters.
“Nat?” you called out cautiously. She did not answer your call, but you knew she had heard you by the way her body had tensed for less than a second. This did not deter you from getting closer to her, hopping from wooden beam to wooden beam, until you finally stood beside her.
You gingerly sit down, leaving a few inches of space between the both of you. Neither of you spoke a single word for a long stretch of time.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she whispered, wrapping her arms protectively around herself.
“Okay,” you replied gently. “Do you want me to talk? Or would you rather I stay quiet?”
She didn’t reply. You looked at her, almost timidly. Her stare was unfocused and dejected, but she sent a small nod your way.
“Well, Mother Superior found out I didn’t go to the Masons to finish my domestic duties. But I didn’t want to go back there, they kept saying that their talking mongoose didn’t like me. I just thought that was their way of saying they didn’t like me, but–”
You talked for a while, but Natasha hadn’t been listening. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and she sniffled involuntarily, prompting you to stop.
“I’m sorry,” you said gently. “Do you want me to stop?”
She didn’t reply. She simply launched herself into your arms and cried silently into your shoulder for a long time, mourning the loss of the last of her family.
Two years passed before Natasha heard from Yelena again.
“Ms. Romanoff, you have a letter,” one of the nuns had announced early one morning before meeting with the Fletcher family for her domestic chores.
A flicker of confusion had passed through her. Everyone she knew was here in town, or dead. Everyone, except for…
She damn near tore the letter apart when opening it up. It didn’t take long for her suspicion to be proven right.
It was her handwriting. A bit neater than she remembered, but it was hers.
Yelena described what her life had been since moving away. How the town was so similar yet so different. Her days had mostly consisted of chores and taking care of the couple’s sick relative.
That was until he passed a few weeks ago. Then the couple had abandoned her in that godforsaken town, surrendering her to the Kastelo city orphanage, no longer needing her.
Natasha could barely contain the rage that grew inside her. At how easily her sister had been disregarded and abandoned.
She would not let this remain as it was. Her mind was made quickly. She was leaving tonight for Kastelo and she would find Yelena, no matter what it took.
It came as no surprise then, when you agreed to run away with her. “They’ll be kicking us out of here soon, anyways. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather go on an adventure than into a domestic service,” you had flashed her a smile, a determined look glimmering in your eyes as you reached out for her hand, the warmth of your touch grounding her to the moment.
Natasha beamed at you, a mixture of gratitude and excitement bubbling in her chest, ignoring the strange jolt of electricity that prickled under her skin where your hand rested. “We leave tonight.”
And just like that, the both of you stowed away under the cover of the night with nothing but the clothes on your backs, a leather bag slung over your shoulder and a faint idea of where you were headed to.
The first half of your mission was successful. It took about a month before the both of you had found the town Yelena had been taken to. It took an additional week to find the young blonde and another week before the three of you could stow away from the town.
Finding and retrieving Yelena had been easy. Knowing what to do after had been the difficult part. Coinless and aimless, you merely traveled to wherever your legs carried you, hoping to stumble into a different town soon enough.
The three of you found yourselves camping out in the forest just off the main road. Night had caught you before you could reach any shelter, forcing you to brave the elements and any creature or person who would find themselves in the forest with you. An endless sea of stars dotted the moonless sky as the flame that basked the space in a warm, orange glow, slowly but surely began to die out. You had volunteered to stay up for the first few hours of the night, allowing the sisters to reconnect and rest.
Natasha woke up a few hours later, a particularly strong gust of cold wind rousing her from her sleep. She was first met with the sight of her sister, still very much asleep and hogging the scratchy wool blanket they had been sharing. No wonder she felt cold.
She inhaled deeply as she sat up, noting the dying fire that stood a few feet away from them, followed by you, swaying ever so gently as your eyes struggled to stay open. An amused smile curved her lips as she watched you struggle against sleep for a few moments.
She called out your name gently, but the soft gesture was enough to startle you awake, your eyes widening within a second as you drew in a sharp inhale. Your hands swiftly traveled to your sides with practiced ease, grabbing hold of two small daggers you had lifted off a mouthy merchant in Corbana, a trading town a few miles away due northeast.
Your eyes were wild as you whipped your head around in search of any potential danger. Natasha’s soft giggle made you snap your head towards her and your expression softened, the tension in your shoulders began to melt away.
“You scared the shit out of me.” Your hand dropped sheepishly from the place your daggers rested, instead rubbing your eyes with the back of your hands in attempts of wiping away the sleep that threatened to overtake you.
“I noticed.” Natasha’s lips curved into a teasing smirk as she stood up from the ground, wiping away any clinging leaves or bits of dirt.
“That’s not funny,” you send the redhead a pout, but you weren’t actually upset at her.
“Yes it is,” she still wore that stupid smirk on her face as she sat beside you. A yawn interrupted you before you could reply and you raised your hand to your mouth in an attempt to muffle it.
“I can continue watch, you should get some sleep,” Natasha’s tone shifted from teasing to caring as she took in the level of your exhaustion. She closed the distance between the both of you, taking a seat on the ground right beside you.
“I’m wide awake.” Another yawn overtakes you once more, the suggestion of getting some rest making you realize just how tired you really were.
“You were falling asleep,” she teases, bumping her shoulder against yours playfully.
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Yes, you were.”
“I’m okay, I can stay up a bit longer,” you grumbled stubbornly, and Natasha knew there would be no reasoning with you. She rolled her eyes at you as she bumps against your shoulder again, letting you know she’d relent.
Neither of you spoke for several minutes, choosing instead to stare down at the flickering fire’s rhythmic movement. Natasha snuck a glance at you and noted how your eyes were drooping once more while your sight was transfixed on the dying fire. She considered forcefully dragging you to go to sleep, but she knew your stubbornness was made of iron and she would not be able to break through it. Not just yet, at least.
It was one of the things she really liked about you. Granted, your stubbornness could border on frustrating, but she also recognized that it stemmed from a place of care.
“What are we gonna do now?” your voice pierced the silence that had dragged over the last few minutes, your face turning towards her. Natasha momentarily stared at you silently as she pondered your question, and eventually turned away to stare at Yelena’s sleeping form.
“I’m not really sure.”
Neither of you had thought about what you’d do once you got Yelena back. You’re pretty sure you would not be welcome in the town you had grown up in, let alone the orphanage, not that either one of you wanted to return there.
“I think we should stay in Kobo for a while. It’s the next town over and it's about a day’s trip from here.” You drew your legs close to your chest, wrapping your arms around your knees and resting your head against them. Natasha noticed how your eyes began to flutter closed while you desperately tried to fight it off. “Maybe we can earn some coin there.”
“Maybe,” Natasha agreed, but something about the town’s name felt familiar, like she had heard about it recently. It took her only a few more moments to realize why.
“Wasn’t Kobo overrun by wraiths?”
“What? Since when?” Your eyes suddenly opened wide, your head lifting a little as you stared at her.
“I heard it in Greshia’s market square. Some of the merchants were talking about it,” Natasha couldn’t help but inwardly cringe for interrupting the pull sleep was having on you.
A groan rumbled out of you as you rested your head on your arms once more. “Kobo’s a fishing town anyways…”
Nat did not reply to your comment, her eyes landing on you once more. You all had to figure out your next step. Wandering and passing through towns until something happened was not an option. It was a miracle in and of itself that you had not encountered any monsters yet, and none of you wanted to push that luck anymore than you already had.
The fact of the matter was that none of you really knew what you were doing. Would moving from town to town be the safer option? or would you be better off staying put? Surely you would find someplace to get some coin, right?
Another cold gust of wind blows past and Natasha watches as you shiver involuntarily, your jaw clenching tightly.
“We’ll figure it out in the morning. Just get some sleep,” Natasha urged once more, this time giving you no room to protest or argue. She went behind your back and firmly placed her forearms under your underarms and hoisted you up.
“Wha- Nat!” you startled, your arms flailing out in attempts to regain your bearings. Natasha chuckled at your reaction as you stumbled over your feet. All you managed to do was fall back into her, your hands gripping onto her arms for balance. You felt her breath hit your skin as she chuckled again, and you couldn’t help the fluttering feeling in your stomach and the heat that crept up your neck and cheeks.
“Are you okay?” She wears a wide smile as she helps steady you.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay,” you reply breathlessly as you turn to face her, your hands still lingering over her arms, “You are surprisingly strong.”
“Yeah, because I got some sleep,” she pressed on, her hands still wrapped around your forearms, the same way yours were wrapped around hers. You looked down at where your hands gripped each other and the fluttering feeling returned to your stomach. You cleared your throat as you took a step back from her, your hands dropping to your side as the heat on your cheeks returned.
“I can stay up a bit longer, you know,” you sent her a sheepish smile, your gaze flickering between the ground and her.
“Go. To. Sleep.”
“Ugh, fine.
“Here, take this, though,” you undid the scabbard from your waist and handed it to her alongside the daggers, “For just in case, you know?”
Twenty minutes had passed since you had finally gone to sleep, and the forest only seemed to get colder. Natasha shuddered as a particularly strong gust of wind hits] her, nearly extinguishing the dying flames. She rubbed the sides of her arms with her palms, trying to stave off the cold that was overtaking her. A sense of unease settled within her chest, and she couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was watching the three of you from just beyond the trees. Her eyes scanned the treelining, searching for any potential bandits or creatures that may be lurking.
Natasha quickly stands as something flickered in the darkness. The cold that had plagued you all seemed to reach its peak, her breath becoming a visible mist when she exhaled. She grabbed hold of the daggers you had given her, her eyes staring sharp at something that seemingly stood dead ahead. The tree branches had gone completely still and the wind no longer howled. The forest had gone completely silent, as if every creature had deserted the area, leaving only the three of you behind in its wake.
The complete and utter silence that surrounded her sent a horrible chill down Natasha’s spine. Her hands wrapped tighter around the daggers, the wood biting into her skin, as she waited for something, anything, to happen.
A sharp, piercing shriek rang out from the darkness, loud and all encompassing. Something akin to a black shadow emerged from the trees, its face no more than a hollowed skull, its long and skinny limbs covered by the plume of black smoke that surrounded its deathly visage.
Natasha’s heart dropped as she recognized the creature. A wraith, just like the ones that had destroyed the city of Kobo. The creature’s cry had seemed to rouse you slightly as she heard you shift under the shared blanket.
She yelled yours and Yelena’s names as loudly as she could, her eyes never leaving the creature that floated a few feet away from your group. Her cry was enough to wake you, quickly rise to your feet, your hands grabbing onto Yelena and pulling her up with you.
“Nat,” your voice held a hint of fear, your arm casted protectively over Yelena as you stared between her and the creature.
“Run.”
It let out another loud cry, and began its descent upon Natasha, the blackened smoke trailing behind it. “Run!” Natasha repeated again as she began to do so, “don’t let it touch you, run!”
You had run out into the woods in the opposite direction Natasha had gone, Yelena’s hand clasped fiercely in yours.
Her heart beat loudly in her chest, the cries of the wraith made her blood run cold, the oppressive darkness of the woods making it hard to gauge where she was going. But even so, she ran, hoping to put as much distance between her and it as possible.
That was until her foot got caught on a tree root, causing her to tumble to the ground harshly, the blades she forgot she had been carrying flying from her grasp. She flipped over to face the creature, crawling backwards away from it. Natasha looked around, panicked, hoping to find the small weapons somewhere nearby.
But the creature was hovering over her menacingly as she kept crawling backwards. Fear gripped at her heart terribly when she only continued struggling to get to her feet. Her breath came in ragged and panicked as she stared at the creature that threatened to end her and take her soul as it approached, the inky black cloud slowly encompassing her surroundings.
This was it, she supposed. This is where she would meet her end, laying on the forest floor as a monster lurked over her. Her mind flashed to her parents momentarily, and she wondered if this is how they felt before they were killed by that vampire they had been hunting for months. She wondered what they did and how they reacted when faced with their own mortality. She wondered if she and Yelena flashed in their minds the way you and Yelena were flashing in hers now.
Natasha cut off the stream of thoughts quickly, instead choosing to steel herself upon staring straight at the hollow, inky darkness where a face would usually be, ready to accept whatever would happen next. The thought that you and Yelena might have a fighting chance of surviving was enough to comfort her.
Until something whizzed above her, followed by a hollowed thud as it hit its mark. The wraith gave an ear-splitting screech, and Natasha’s hands instinctively flew to cover her ears. Her back hits the ground and she screws her eyes shut, certain she would meet her end right then and there.
But instead, the wraith flew right over her, its attention caught by whatever managed to hit it.
Natasha turned around just in time to watch as a shadowed figure with a bow shot another arrow at the creature that was quickly approaching them. The figure missed the wraith, overshooting drastically as the arrow lodged itself in one of the trees near Natasha. She scrambled to her feet as quickly as possible, a sharp pain flaring up in her left leg as she did so. The wraith let out another loud screech as it reached the figure, who rolled out of the way just in time.
The stranger let out a hiss as they stood upright once more, the creature already starting to descend upon them. They reached behind them and pulled out another arrow, but they didn’t have enough time to nock it on their bow. The wraith was impossibly, deadly close to them, letting out another piercing screech.
The stranger drove the arrow into the creature’s head, effectively cutting off its scream, before the plume of black smoke dissipated and the wraith fell to the ground in a cloud of ash.
Loud, ragged breaths are the only sound that resonated within the forest, the figure’s arm slowly dropping to their side, the arrow still caught in their tight grip.
“Your welcome,” a boyish voice emanates from the figure with a rather bumptious tone.
Natasha did not respond though, instead eying the boy’s silhouette cautiously while subtly testing out how much weight she could put on her injured leg.
“Right. Do me a favor, get that arrow for me? it’s the least you can do after I saved your life,” the boy continued as Natasha heard some ruffling of fabric and a gentle thud of a bag hitting the forest floor. Her gaze never strayed from the boy, yet she obeyed and limped as subtly as possible towards where she could see the arrow’s silhouette sticking out from one of the nearby trees.
A small burst of yellowish light sprang to life behind her just as she pulled out the lodged arrow. She spun around quickly, expecting the worst, her body tense and her guard rising. Instead, she was met with the sight of the boy, his dirty blond hair sticking up in odd places, his light skin dirty and scratched, while his light-colored eyes bore into her as if studying her in a similar fashion. He held a newly lit up torch in one hand, his bow still in his grip in the other.
Natasha began closing the distance between them, until a flash of something from the item in her hands caught her attention. She stops in her tracks as she stares down at the projectile, the arrow tip shining brighter than any other usual arrow.
“What, did it break or something?”
“This is a silver arrowhead,” Natasha realized as she twirled the projectile in her hand, watching as the light from the torch reflected off its surface.
“Correct.”
“Silver kills monsters.”
“Correct.”
“You’re a monster hunter, then,” Natasha’s eyes finally pulled away from the arrowhead in her hands as she stared up at the boy, who stood mere feet away from her.
“Also correct,” the boy wore a proud smirk but it was rather short lived.
“Not quite yet, he still has to survive his first solo mission.” A man emerged from between the tall trees, his weapons sheathed away on his back and at his sides. The man’s light colored eyes twinkled with mischief as his gaze settled on the young boy. His light skin was not as marred by dirt as the boy’s was, and his light brown hair was short and well kept.
The boy’s smirk quickly dropped, replaced by an annoyed look that was shot directly at the man. But Natasha had a hard time finding humor in the two men’s interaction, her body tense and ready to spring into a run if she needed to. She had to find Yelena, to find you and make sure you were both okay.
“Nat!”
Her head swiveled to where she heard Yelena’s voice ring out. Relief flooded her body as she saw the young blonde come into view from behind the older man, and you were not far behind her. Yelena cut the distance between them in a flash, her arms wrapping around Natasha with enough force to have the older girl stumbling backwards.
She suppressed the pained hiss that threatened to escape her, another sharp pain spiking up her injured leg. She pushed through it, her arms wrapping around Yelena tightly.
“You’re okay,” is all she could say, the tension in her body swiftly melting away.
“We thought you were dead.” Relief was evident on your face as you came into full view. Your hands wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her in for a hug, physical proof that she was okay. The slight shift sent another jolt of pain through her, a sharp inhale cluing you in.
“You’re hurt,” you whispered when you pulled away from her. One hand remained around her side, subtly allowing her to lean into you.
“Not now,” she warned, her eyes not straying from the two strangers.
“Who is he?” Natasha asked you, her eyes landing on the older man.
“That’s Coulson, he helped us find you,” you supplied, your eyes shifting from her towards the two strangers and back.
“He said he’s a monster hunter, like mom and dad,” Yelena chimed in, her hold around Natasha strong and unwavering. The thought of losing her sister just when she had gotten her back was at the forefront of Natasha’s mind, unease seizing her heart.
“The boy also said he’s a monster hunter,” Natasha supplied.
“Name’s Clint,” the blond
“Wait, your parents were monster hunters?” you asked, your tone hushed.
“Not now,” Natasha scolded again. You wanted to keep arguing, but you knew that it wasn’t the time.
Coulson must have heard you, because his following words were, “You’re Alexei and Melina’s girls, aren’t you?”
“You knew our parents?” Yelena unwrapped herself from Natasha’s hold and took a few steps closer towards Coulson. Natasha reached down, making sure to hold on to Yelena’s hand.
“We did a few missions together, way back when. They were good hunters,” he said, a hint of sadness in his tone.
“They were,” Natasha followed, her neutral tone tainted with emotion.
The man’s eyes observed the three of you carefully, his warm gaze holding almost a fatherly type of concern.
“You know, it's dangerous to be out here by yourselves, especially with only a set of daggers. Where are you headed?”
“We… were gonna go to Kobo, but…” you cast an unsure glance towards Natasha, whose eyes briefly met yours. A wordless conversation was had with little more than intense looks, furrowed brows and a singular nod. Natasha broke away from your gaze and looked up at Coulson.
“We don’t have anywhere to go.” It had been a gamble to tell the truth and Natasha was not fully sure if it was the right decision. She did not let her doubt show, instead choosing to hold herself up with a mixture of determination and confidence, her gaze unwavering as she stared at the two strangers before the three of you.
“Come with us. All of you,” Clint chimed in with little thought and without asking Coulson. The man looked at the boy before looking at the three of you. “What he said,” Coulson replied without skipping a beat.
“Where?” you asked curiously, still staring between Natasha and the pair of hunters.
Clint looked back at his mentor with a smirk before looking back at the three of you.
Natasha places the set of daggers besides your journal. In her search, she finds a whittled wooden mini figure of a dragon, its wings extended as fire shot out of its snout. You had gotten it when you had been sent on your first solo assignment, a gift from a young child you had helped when sorting out reports of a giant spider in an outpost of the town of Sortia. There was also a blue tunic within your trunk, one that you had once told her was your favorite.
She stared down at the four items she had laid on top of your bed, major parts of your life waiting to be burned. The rest of your things would be given out to anyone who needed them, a final, honorable act done in the name of fallen hunters.
Her chest feels impossibly tight as she tries to breathe. Emotion scratched at her throat and burned her chest. For a moment, she does not want to leave the confines of your room. To leave would make everything too real. To step outside and to light your pyre and commence the funeral rites would mean she had to accept that she would now be living in a time after you.
Guilt and anger gnawed at her, alongside the whirlwind of emotions that had followed your death. If she had been quicker, or more prepared, maybe everything could have been avoided. Maybe you would still be here.
But above everything was the horrid sting of regret. It was seeped into her very bones, dragging her down like a set of iron manacles.
She should have told you when she had the chance.
It had been one month since she last saw you. The king had outsourced various contracts to the guild and you had been assigned to one of them. The assignment sent you to the Walaki Trench, home of orcs, giants, and other large creatures and monsters.
Natasha trusted you to keep yourself safe. She knew you would come back, safe and sound.
Except that that was never a given.
Her anxiety was dissuaded the moment she saw you exiting the stables, your bag hanging off your side.
Natasha smiled. It was small, one only a few people would ever notice. She would not admit it out loud, but she missed you.
A lot, actually.
You, unlike her, grinned widely upon spotting her.
“Hey, red!” You shouted across to her, your tone almost teasing, “You miss me?”
“I’m sorry, who are you?” Her head tilted to the side, a familiar smirk spreading on her lips.
You chuckled lowly as you closed the distance between you, bumping your shoulder against hers in a familiar manner.
“You look like shit,” she smirked playfully at you. Yet despite her teasing, her eyes raked over your body, searching for any visible scratch or bruise that marred your skin. Dark circles clung to your eyes and there was a half healed cut just under your left eye and on your bottom lip. “Yeah, well, a month of negotiating and fighting with orcs will do that to you.”
You begin walking along the familiar, dirt path to the armory at a leisurely pace. The sound of steel against iron and of arrowheads piercing straw and wood rang throughout the outer dirt paths of the training grounds.
“Negotiations went well, then.”
“Of course they did, I wouldn’t be here if they hadn’t.” The gray, stone walls of the armory came into view across the bend of the dirt path. A lonesome guard stood in front of the doors, a look of clear boredom on his face.
“I still can’t believe the king outsourced a peace treaty to the guild.” You raised your sidepack to the guard’s view and shook it, the sound of iron clicking against iron.
“Well, I wouldn’t call our king the brightest mind of our generation.” The guard gestured with head towards the door.
“Saying a thing like that will get you hanged.” The walls were lined with a range of weapons. Long swords, short swords, daggers, crossbows, handaxes, and many more you wouldn’t be able to name.
“Are you gonna tell the king?”
“Obviously not.”
“Then I will speak ill of the king as much as I please,” your tone was lighthearted and teasing. A warm feeling filled Natasha’s chest. She had missed you.
“Besides, the king probably figured that a monster hunter would have a better shot at negotiating with orcs than his advisors or knights.” You began checking in your gear, gesturing for effect with the iron dagger in your hand.
“Bad mouthing the knights, too?’ She smirked in amusement. “I wouldn't let Carol hear you.”
“Carol’s a big girl, she can take it. Besides, the monarchy is ineffective at best and incompetent at worst, okay? Clint would have a better go at ruling than the current king.”
Natasha chuckled lowly, bumping her shoulder against yours again. You smiled, before bumping against her in response.
“How did your mission on Tuluk go?” You asked, distracting yourself from the flutter that rose in your chest.
“Well, whoever called the mission needs to know the difference between a poltergeist and a banshee,” she jokes, “but there were no losses, and the banshee is gone, so an overall success.”
You whistled. “Way to go, Romanoff.”
You were leaving the armory when you spotted a particular raven-haired woman, her stance as tight as the bun she kept her hair in. You smiled again, the type of smile Natasha had grown to recognize.
“Commander Hill,” you stood a bit straighter as you approached, “I have a surprise for you.” You began rummaging through the leather pouch at your side.
“That statement worries me, coming from you,” Maria said with her arms crossed over her chest.
“I have my report ready,” you replied, pulling out a few pieces of parchment.
Maria’s eyebrows raised in surprise as she took the pages from you, skimming over the top one.
“Not gonna lie hunter, it’s nice getting your report on time for once.” She sent you a surprised, approving look.
“I wouldn’t get used to it,” you simpered, crossing your arms over your chest.
“Wasn’t counting on it,” she shook her head and you could tell she was trying to not roll her eyes.
“It’s a good thing you came over. Fury’s looking for you.” She turns towards Natasha. “Both of you.”
“I just got here,” you groaned, your shoulders dropping in exhaustion that was not all that fake.
“That’s too bad,” she pouted in a mocking manner. “Get going, you know the old man doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
“I’m gonna tell him you said that,” you threatened as you and Natasha started walking towards the Administrations building.
“I’m shaking in my boots,” she shouted back, already tending to other matters.
“Do you think we’re being sent on assignment?” you asked as you cut through the grounds.
“I fail to see how you could’ve gotten in trouble without being here all month,” Natasha replies.
“I’ll remind you we’re both been sent to Fury.”
“It feels like we’re being sent to see Mother Superior,” you scrunch your nose as you thought back to when you were children.
Natasha couldn’t help but inwardly cringe as well. “Fury isn’t as bad as Mother Superior,” Natasha commented.
“Still as scary when he means to be, though.”
It wasn’t before long that you were waiting in Fury’s office. The man wasn’t there when you arrived.
The room was large, lined with shelves stacked with different leatherbound books. A large map of the continent laid across a large table, pins of various colors and wooden figures strategically placed on top. A dragon’s horn hung above his desk, a sort of trophy over the largest beast to have ever been taken down.
“You got my message. Good.” The man’s familiar low register filled the room when he finally showed up.
“It’s good to see you’ve made it back relatively unscratched, hunter,” Fury said when he saw you, “I expect your full report soon.”
“Hill already has it,” you reply matter-of-factly, a dash of smugness in your tone. “The orcs didn’t knock out your sense of humor, I see,” Fury joked dryly.
You rolled your eyes instead of replying. “Come on Fury, whatcha got for us?”
“I have two assignments sitting on my desk. Two missions, two teams. I’m allowing you the luxury of picking first.”
“Does that make us your favorites?” you asked, ploppling down besides Natasha.
“No.” Fury crossed the room before taking a seat at his desk.
“Fine, second favorites.”
Fury didn’t even send you a side glance. He rummaged through some papers before straightening up.
“We’ve received word of a newly created group of vampire spawn running rampant along Sarsha. It tore through a military encampment not that far from there. Krusto is the closest town to it and the locals are worried they’ll be attacked next. The mayor requested we send some hunters to help train them and to keep them safe.”
You felt Natasha stiffen beside you. He handed you a small roll of yellowed parchment. The cursive handwriting was neat yet hurried, written in the familiar Guild Watcher shorthand.
“Do you think it’s related to one of the vampire lords?” Natasha asked, her shoulders straighter than before.
He lets out a slow, measured breath, his jaw set.
“We believe a new lord has ascended. It would explain the new vampire spawn, and it’s a large group at that. He’s trying to make a statement.”
“A new lord? There’s no way the others would have allowed such a thing.” You handed the parchment to Natasha, eyeing her with concern.
“Not unless one of them was killed,” Natasha said as she took the letter from you, willing away the tightness in her chest.
“I have people looking into that,” Fury interjected, “but don’t get it twisted. Your job would only be to train the locals and to keep a lookout. Nothing more, nothing less.”
He sent a narrowed glare towards Natasha, one she missed. She read the note over and over again, as if it would reveal something new, something she had missed.
“Do the watchers have any suspicions about which lord is dead?” you pressed on, stealing another glance at the redhead.
“Nothing for certain.” It was moments like these where the Guild Master’s closemouthed nature proved why he was chosen for the job.
“But?” you drew out the word, your attempts at obtaining more information being nothing less than subtle.
“But nothing, hunter. The guild will be informed about the situation once we have confirmation about what is going on.” His voice was short and cutting, leaving no room for argument.
“Fine. I apologize for any disrespect,” your tone was not too dissimilar from the Guild Master’s.
A tense beat of silence passed before Natasha returned the Watcher’s message.
“What about the other assignment?” you broke the silence with a silent sigh.
“This might be a controversial one.” He reaches over his desk and hands Natasha the yellowed parchment.
“There’s a small town near the city of Corbana that’s been having their goats stolen. One of the affected farmers claimed to have seen a chupacabra when he was checking on the livestock.”
“A chupacabra?” Natasha raised her brow incredulously.
“That’s what the letter claimed,” Fury confirmed.
“Wow, chupacabras and vampire spawn? You’ve got quite the eventful week here, Fury,” you exclaimed while reading the letter over her shoulder.
“Don’t remind me.”
“Has this claim been substantiated?” she pressed as her eyes scanned over the letter again, her eyebrows raised in disbelief.
“Come on Romanoff, vampires exist but you draw the line at chupacabras?” you joked, already looking to annoy her.
“There has never once been a confirmed sighting of a chupacabra. It's a myth, it’s folklore,” she defended as she passed the missive to you.
“Yes, and so were Selkies up until three decades ago.” Your eyes scan over the chicken scratch handwriting, detailing the disappearance and massacre of their goats.
“That’s different.”
“How is that different?”
“Are you two quite done?” Fury interrupts, pinning you both with an unamused stare.
“Yes, sir,” you answer sheepishly, handing back the yellowed parchment to the man.
“It is not my job to tell you whether or not it truly is a chupacabra. It would be yours, if you choose this assignment.” He takes the piece of paper from you. “So, what will it be?”
Both assignments were laid out on his desk, the yellow parchments facing you almost tauntingly.
He waited expectantly.
“Well Romanoff,” you started, a small smirk forming on your lips.
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