#no. 7

[lostwhump]

@whumptober | Day #7: "Unconventional Weapon" Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2017) | Civil War Captain America: Civil War (2016)

[assortedcriminality]

Tell Me That You're Okay - no. 7

trapped with the enemy | elevator | pushed beyond breaking point

CW: swearing

Hero pushed the button for the holding cell floor and stepped back as the doors closed, careful to look anywhere but at their prisoner. The ancient elevator moved down at a snail’s pace, its creaking and groaning making Hero wince. In their right hand, they tightly held the remote that controlled the arrestee's shock cuffs. It felt like a weight in their grasp, heavy enough to pull them under if they let it. 

“Hero?” 

They ignored the voice to their left, focused instead on keeping their gaze fixed forward. 

“Hero.”

“You are not permitted to speak to me,” they said brusquely without looking. They couldn’t take this, couldn’t handle hearing that voice. 

“I just need to hear one thing,” the criminal persisted.

“I said, you are not-”

“Please, Hero.”

They fell silent, clenching their free hand into a fist. 

After a moment, the voice continued, tone firm, unrelenting. “Just tell me that you’re okay, and I’m fine. I’ll go quietly. I’ll behave. I’ll plead guilty, I’ll do whatever they want. As long as you’re all right.” 

Hero went perfectly still, their mind suddenly blank. What could they even say? Could they lie, pretend that this truly was their greatest moment, a long-awaited event to be celebrated? One of the city’s most powerful criminals was finally being put behind bars, after all. And it was because of them. Why wouldn’t Hero be thrilled? Yes, they should be. They were. They were fine—happy, even. This was the best day of their career.

Just when Hero opened their mouth to say as much, the lights flickered. They looked up, confused, and then the elevator jolted, rising suddenly before dropping a full foot, sending both people inside stumbling off-balance. Hero heard a deafening crack from above, and the carriage stopped moving entirely. They pressed the cell floor button. And pressed it again. And again. And pressed the button to open the doors. To close them. To go to every floor three times over. Each time, nothing happened. They went to the doors, attempted to pry them open, and found resistance so intense that it stung their fingers. 

Hero shoved the remote in their pocket, clasping their trembling hands together, trying to breathe normally. They couldn’t wear any kind of communication device to the cells. They had no way of contacting the agency. The elevator didn’t even have an alarm in it; this building was that old. 

They were trapped. 

“Hero, it’s going to be ok-”

“None of this is going to be okay, Vil,” Hero snapped, rounding on them. “Everything is falling to fucking pieces and nothing can stop it. You’re going to rot in prison for the rest of your life. I’m the fucking savior of the city, and I can’t even change that. Everybody loves me. You loved me, and for what? Just so I could turn around and put you in those? Like I didn’t have a choice? Like I didn’t have the chance to be with you, and I threw it away because I’m a fucking coward who can’t-”

“Hero,” Villain said, horrified, reaching out with cuffed wrists to take their hands. “You are not a coward. I love you for your bravery, your strength-”

“I wasn’t even strong enough to save you!” Hero cried. “I could have distracted Superhero, let you get away, but I-I just took you in like some petty thief-”

“There wasn’t anything you could have done,” Villain told them forcefully, squeezing their hands tightly. “Please don’t do this to yourself. It’s not your fault. I promise. It’s not your fault.”

Hero’s vision was blurring now, nose burning, throat tight. “I’m sorry.” 

Villain shook their head vehemently. “Don’t be. I’m not. We tried, and it was beautiful, and I wouldn’t change it for the world. Do you understand me, Hero? I love you.”

“I love you,” Hero whispered back, shoulders shaking. “I love you. God, Vil, what am I going to do?”

“You’re going to do your job. Make this city a better place. For both of us.”

Hero nodded before dissolving into sobs, sinking to the frozen elevator floor. Villain sat with them, holding their hands, letting their own tears trail down their cheeks. 

They had tried. And it was beautiful. 

And now it was gone. 

@macknus @whumplicity @whumpwritinglover222

[idyllictranquility]

maturing is realizing having "opps" is stupid and childish. there's nothing more elegant than moving on instead of wasting your time on someone who you won't even remember properly in the future! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

[quietlyimplode]

Everything in Transit

An accident leaves Natasha without her memories, without anyone to guide her, and the Red Room chasing after her, the odds are not in her favour… unless those that love her find her first.

Whumptober 2025: Day 7 - trapped with the enemy

Warnings: tbh I’m not sure/none I can think of

Word Count: 1.3k

Summary: Clint forms a truce with someone he least expects to. Some help in the form of another widow.

Whumptober Masterlist/Masterlist of Fic / ao3

.

LONDON / OCTOBER 02 / 11:47AM

Yelena drags him to the car, and unlocks it with his car keys.

She wipes at her nose expecting to see blood but is surprised to find it’s just weeping.

The exertion it takes to load him in the car, and tie him up in the passenger seat should put her to shame, but contends that she’s been awake for over 36 hours.

Handcuffs to the door now secure, she climbs into the drivers side and sighs heavily.

A part of her feels like hitting him to wake him.

She needs to tell him what she saw, what she’d done and ultimately to find out if he’s her enemy or a friend.

Instead, she grabs a water bottle from his back seat, and a chocolate bar that sits there too.

It’s something.

She should have got a coffee whilst she was waiting.

Her back hurts and leg but really she’s not doing too bad.

Sitting, she checks her makeshift stitches on her leg where she removed her tracker and covers it back up with the bandage she stole from the hospital.

Yelena looks at Clint, steals his hat, rolling her hair up and tucking it inside. She likes this disguise better, she looks more like a man driving a car, and feels less conspicuous.

She checks herself in the mirror and then on impulse hits Clint in the face.

“Wake up,” she growls.

There’s not enough time for him to be so easily knocked out and stay down.

She doesn’t know if they have her.

She only knew that she couldn’t stand around whilst they took her.

Yelena hits him again, this time he rouses.

“Hey, ow.”

Clint seems to realise his predicament and bucks against the ropes and the handcuff.

“What the fuck?”

He looks across, finding her in his hat and a knife in her hand.

“Where is she?” he asks viciously.

She taps her knife in her hand and points it at him.

“In what world do you think that I would help you?”

Clint considers her.

Suspicious eyes watch her and he doesn’t speak again.

“They’ve taken her.”

Pain and genuine fear pass across his face.

“I don’t know where.”

She doesn’t think she’s wrong, coming for him and him alone.

“And I think you can help me.”

.

Clint stares at the woman with his hat on.

If he knows anything from Natasha is that the other women from the Red Room were not to be trusted.

“What?”

He watches the knife and moves his weight left. She’s trussed him up and handcuffed him, but he’s sure it’s not inescapable.

“Don’t,” she warns watching him.

“Why, would you, want to help her?”

Clint wiggles again, and tries to talk his way out of, whatever this is.

She pauses at that.

It takes her a moment and she seems to consider him, who he is.

He watches her tells, the small bite of her bottom lip and frown of the eyebrows.

He thinks she’s preparing to lie.

“In the red room we tell stories.”

She begins.

It’s vaguely reminiscent of when Natasha is going to tell him a half truth.

“It’s the only way to survive sometimes. The stories we tell ourselves. The stories that matter. What they tell us isn’t always the truth. Or it’s lies with the truth. When we talk we can almost discern what the truth actually is.”

Clint rocks in annoyance, his head hurts, he’s hungry, tired and hasn’t slept and the last two days have been more than a shit show.

In fact, in recent memory, he can’t remember a time where so much has gone wrong so fast.

She takes him in, fixing him with a glare.

“Natasha is a red room ghost. They want us to hate her. Fear her. But, they’ve told us too much about her.”

Clint scoffs.

“Some of us are in awe of her. Of the things she’s accomplished. And some of us know, she’s a prize, that if she gets delivered to the Red Room then they’ll give us anything we want.”

She turns to Clint.

“They took the opportunity of her being out in the open. They planned it for months. The article? The one in your news sharing? That was the icing on the cake.”

Clint bristles.

“And you?” he spits.

“How much do you know about chemical manipulation? Brainwashing?” she clarifies.

He shrugs.

“The old red room, the one Natasha was a part of. That was old school. Easily, they’d brainwash you, torture you until you pledged allegiance and make sure it was only to the mother country you were loyal. Nowadays, it’s both. Blind you and make you unsure of who you are until you come out of it and realise what you’ve done in their name.”

She pauses again.

“Natasha was always aware. The widows, they knew what they were doing and made the choice to do it anyway. We… we don’t have that anymore. We are mind fucked every way, but continuous drugs.”

She stares at Clint and he knows she’s not lying.

“I came along. But somewhere along the way I became conscious of what they were doing. Of who they were going to do it to.”

Clint shifts.

“And I couldn’t let it happen. Not to her.”

She stares Clint dead in the eyes.

“She’s my sister.”

.

Clint stares.

“What?”

Natasha’s stories come back.

Her little sister.

Ohio.

Melina.

Alexei.

“You’re Yelena?” he asks incredulously.

She stares.

“You know who I am?”

“YOU’RE Natasha’s sister?” he clarifies.

“Did I stutter?”

“You’re dead,” he tells her, “we looked for you, for years. We found leads about where they took you, followed them, and nothing. We went back to the old red room. We went to Serbia, to Georgia and Odessa. You have no idea what that cost Natasha. And each time a dead end.”

He stares at her with disbelief.

“No. You’re not her. You can’t be.”

Yelena starts at him, she’s sure her face is one of shock, and consciously she closes her mouth.

If there was ever an outcome that she thought would happen, any scenario she played out in her head. This was not one of them.

She narrows her eyes.

“Natasha had a stuffed dog, a Dalmatian dog that she carried with her everywhere in Ohio. What was it’s name?”

Clint frowns.

“Lucky.”

She breathes heavier.

“What was mine?”

“Roly.”

Yelena stares dead ahead.

She can’t cry.

Not now.

Her sister looked for her.

Told this man stories.

About her.

She tried.

And somehow it made all the difference.

Swallowing hard, she pushes down her emotions into their neat box and turns back to him.

“I want to save her. Will you help me?”

Clint nods.

“We looked for you,” he whispers, as she uncuffs his hands, and cuts the makeshift binding.

“I swear. She didn’t give up. She looked for you until she couldn’t, she had to stop, otherwise she’d kill herself trying. It’s how we found out there were other widows that had defected. We set up safehouse like the one in Budapest, and Edinburgh and Tbilisi.”

Yelena nods knowingly.

The rumour of defected widows had been going around for years, mostly unsubstantiated but she knew it had to be true. How else did rumours like that come around?

To know it was Natasha, even to an extension, it was Natasha still holding hope that she would perhaps one day meet a widow that knew what had happened to her.

It put a few things in place.

Why she was only allowed to leave momentarily for the sharp shot missions.

Why she had two trackers instead of the usual one.

Why their commanders always took special interest in her.

The realisations come in moments and Yelena stares in shock.

“They have her,” she whispers.

“Will you help me save her?”

Clint doesn’t answer but she knows he will.

He takes her hand and squeezes it tight.

“Yeah, of course I will.”

.

[janetm74fics]

No. 7: “Tell me that you’re okay, and I’m fine.” Trapped with the Enemy | Elevator | Pushed Beyond Breaking Point

Jeff and The Hood

Breaking Point

@whumptober day 7: Trapped With the Enemy/Elevator/Pushed Beyond Breaking Point

Also based on this prompt by @creativepromptsforwriting

~

It was with an ill temper and bad grace that Jeff Tracy stomped down the corridor more like his youngest teenage son rather than a man in his early fifties.

He didn’t care, though he did mutter apologies as staff and visitors alike jumped out of his way. He could feel his Ma’s disapproving stare boring through his back but he was too angry right now…

Thankfully the elevator opened just as he reached it and he entered, resisting the urge to stay standing with his back to the corridor like a child. Instead he turned and immediately made eye contact.

His Ma smiled sadly and Jeff deflated on the spot. He suddenly felt an overwhelming urge to burst into tears and run back to her for comfort.

But he needed to be the adult here. His boys needed him to be their Dad. So he nodded and the doors closed.

‘Well…that went well.’

Sally turned and patted Gordon’s cheek with a grin.

‘Your Dad’s been dealt with but I think it’s going to require both of us to shift your brother.’ ‘YeP,’ Gordon agreed, popping the ‘p’ deliberately.

In the end though it was easier to get Virgil out precisely because their Dad had already gone. That and the man was practically asleep on the spot anyway.

Gordon helped his wingman back to the hotel where Alan, John and Kayo were already sleeping (Alan) or plotting (John and Kayo). Of their father there was no sign, not that that surprised anyone.

Virgil was asleep before he hit the pillow and, once Gordon had removed his boots, he went to join the schemers.

While all this was happening Sally sat at her eldest grandson’s bedside and continued to fill him in on what had happened since the last time she’d been there.

Scott didn’t wake up though. He was as still as he had been since they’d dug him out from underneath that collapsed mine.

No - not collapsed. While her mouth carried on talking what was effectively “white noise” Sally’s brain couldn’t help but dwell on what had happened.

It had been a trap carefully designed to kill Scott. If it hadn’t been for his Scooter Sense telling him that something wasn’t right he’d have been much farther in and most definitely dead.

Instead, he was languishing in a coma while his body healed. A coma he should have woken up from by now.

Whispers of “traumatic brain injury” and “facing facts” had finally pushed her son over the edge and Sally and sent him and Virgil to rest.

‘And we really need you to wake up soon, Scotty. Our family is falling apart without you.’

She kept one hand on his arm and settled down to wait.

A gust of wind threw rain against the window and the promised storm broke overhead with a blaze of lightning and a roll of thunder that had Sally wincing.

~

Jeff staggered out of the diner in time to get caught in the downpour.

He sighed deeply. Of course the rain would wait for him to leave…and boy was it raining! He’d forgotten all about the storm that had been forecast to hit.

Last time he’d checked the weather Jeff had had a sad chuckle that the tropical cyclone forecast to hit was called Grant…now he was cursing the timing of it all.

Dodging around the back of the hospital to avoid the encamped press, Jeff ignored the sympathetic looks of staff as he strode to the elevator.

He as relieved beyond measure when the doors opened and the car was empty. But that relief was short lived as on the next stop a doctor entered. His hand reached out to press the floor he wanted only to be withdrawn without pressing anything

Just Jeff’s luck the man wanted the same floor.

The man studiously ignored him and Jeff started to relax…only to stiffen when he caught the man glancing at him from the corner of his eye.

There was something about the doctor that made Jeff’s gut ache. And Jeff always trusted his gut.

The lights flickered and the elevator paused, and Jeff cursed. If the storm shorted out the power…no, he was being stupid. Hospitals always had backup generators for just such occasions.

Still, he breathed a sigh of relief as they moved again. But it was short lived as the power cut out completely.

The car ground to a halt with a jerk as the emergency brakes kicked in and the green emergency lightning flickered on.

They seemed to hang there for a moment before the generator kicked in white a whine that lasted for about 30 seconds before it too died.

Jeff pressed the alarm button but the line was dead. With a sigh he turned to face the Doctor.

‘Is this your doing?’

The man raised a quizzical eyebrow.

~

The man known internationally as The Hood was spitting fire as he charged through his ship.

That trap was perfect! The eldest son of his arch nemesis – and yes, he did view Jeff Tracy as such – should have been dead in the rubble and he should now be gloating!

Instead the man’s brothers had managed to dig him out and keep him breathing long enough to reach a hospital.

‘If you want something done right then do it yourself.’

He set his ship in stealth mode and made his way to the hospital, ensuring that his disguise was firmly in place. The rain didn’t help improve his mood, and he was just thankful that no one challenged him once he’d entered the building.

There was a task he needed to do before finishing the job completely - something that would keep security busy and by extension the Ear That Hears and his niece too - so he adjusted his disguise, made his way to the basement, snipped a few judicious wires, and returned to the lobby in his original look.

And then the lift doors opened and the last person on earth he wanted to see at this precise moment was already in the lift.

He ignored him, pretending to need to press a floor button as he got himself under control. It wouldn’t do him any good lose it here of all places.

The timings had been perfect but the lift stuttering and pausing threw that all out of the window so instead of lurking near the boy’s room when the generator died he was now stuck in the lift with him instead.

At least he hadn’t seen through his disguise.

One minute Jeff Tracy was stood at the control panel, the next minute he’s pinned the Hood against the lift wall, arm across the man’s throat and already choking him.

Belah Gaat could never match Jeff Tracy physically. The man towered over him at 6’3” versus his own 5’11”, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t fight back.

It took three hefty punches to Jeff’s kidney before he finally dropped Gaat to the floor where he scrambled to get as far away from Tracy as he possibly could. Jeff was no different, standing in the opposite corner and clutching his side while he watched Gaat heaving for breath.

‘How did you know?’ ‘How did I know it was you? Your watch. No doctor worth his salt wears a watch when on the rounds.’ ‘Ah. So simple.’ ‘So you thought you’d come back and finish the job, Hood?’ ‘Why not?’ ‘You’re not even denying it. That’s the worst part. Careful…’ ‘Or what? Are you going to give me another speech about how I’m a villain if I don’t change my ways? How’d that work out for you last time, Jeff?’ ‘I didn’t make you what you are. And neither did my sons. But I promise you this…’ ‘What?’ ‘You touch any of them…if Scott doesn’t survive this you’ll have pushed me beyond my breaking point.’

Gaat sneered.

‘Never did like getting your hands dirty, did you? Isn’t that why you send your boys out, day after day, to save mankind when in actual fact it’s just to stop feeling guilty yourself? Guilty that you couldn’t save her. So you sacrifice them instead.’

Afterwards Jeff wouldn’t remember if he had screamed or not.

All he knew was at some point the elevator doors had been pulled open and he’d had to be prised off the bloody body before him.

[vizuart]

Hilma af Klint - Group IV, The Ten Largest, No. 7, Adulthood (1907)

[anoctoberpepper]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

In which Terry jr refuses to give up on a research mission until he is absolutely incapacitated by a migraine. Luckily Grant is there to take care of him.

Both inspired by a @thepartyishere fic and bait for him. Grant/Terry for your viewing pleasure. :)

For the whumptober prompt "pushed beyond breaking point."