#CW: SA of an injured minor (non-graphic) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

voiceoffenrisulfr · 6 months ago

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Multitudes Chapter Eleven

... Comes Memories Best Left Behind.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton, James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov/Steve Rogers

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 -> Nat wakes up, and starts to remember.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 -> 8349

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 -> (E) Post-suicide attempt, graphic flashbacks of sexual assault via mind-controlled friend, guilt tripping, injury detail (SH), external and internal examination, forced hysterectomy, restraint, SA of an injured minor (non-graphic, predominantly verbal).

𝐀/𝐍 -> Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Please read the warnings, and proceed with caution. Check it out below, or on AO3 here!

The snazzy Black Widow divider comes from @/firefly-graphics and I love it <3 The Multitudes Universe one is our own!

<- Previous Chapter (10/72) Next Chapter (12/72) ->

I woke slowly, to a reluctant consciousness I immediately prayed was a dream.

The agony I was in told me otherwise.

I kept my eyes closed against the bright lights, a headache barrelling down on me without hesitation.

Silence.

Odd, blissful silence.

I became aware, over time, of a hand in mine. Only when the fingers clasped tight flexed could I notice their presence, and as soon as they stilled once more, I immediately forgot that I wasn’t alone.

Occasionally, voices spoke around me, but I didn’t have the energy to decipher the words. I had no idea how long I’d been lay there, being poked and prodded, before I finally opened my eyes.

The room was nondescript and light, an airy space intended to encourage healing and wellbeing.

I immediately wished I’d never bothered.

Turning my head with a groan, I froze when I saw the person with their fingers interlocked with mine.

Clint’s eyes were puffy, the space underneath a violent violet of sleepless nights and poor-quality food, lips chewed to rags and scabbed over, time and again. His cheekbones protruded sharply, hair lacking its usual healthy shine, and his fingernails were bitten to the quick, raw and angry.

Beautiful.

His lids were closed in twitchy sleep, and I took the opportunity to follow the line of my arm, wrapped heavily in sterile bandages between wrist and bicep. Glancing across, I found the other to be the same, and, if the discomfort spread throughout my body was anything to go by, there were many more wounds scattered across my skin – rips and tears I didn’t remember making.

“Natasha?”

My head jerked back around, finding Clint’s red eyes watching me hesitantly, dropping my hand quickly. “God, I… I’m so glad you’re awake. There was… I didn't think you'd wake up.” He stood, weaving slightly, his clothes wrinkled and malodorous. “You’ve been out for a week. The blood loss, the extent of the damage… They put you into a coma to give your body chance to recover. They… You wouldn’t eat enough, and we knew it. They had to make the choice.” He gestured to my other side, and I followed his gaze to the creamy IV situated above me, panic settling in.

“No,” I whispered, my eyes flicking back to him desperately. “No, Clint – Please, please don’t let them do this to me.”

He smiled weakly, stepping away from the bed, hands raised to protest his innocence. “It’s none of my business, Nat. I shouldn’t even be here – don’t you remember? I’m just a rapist, and you never want to see me again.”

I winced, recalling the words that flowed unheard from my mouth. “…What did it say?”

“It?”

“The Voice. It… It was me, in the beginning. But not – it didn’t give me a choice. But then I couldn’t, and it… It took over. I don’t… I couldn’t hear it. I couldn’t do anything,” I whispered, balling my mostly-numb fists and digging my nails into my palms. “I only woke up under the car.”

“’I remembered how you fucking hurt me, and now I can’t even look at you’,” he murmured, dropping into the seat once more. “That was you, wasn’t it?” I nodded reluctantly, and he pushed a hand through his hair. “After that… You were cold. You were… Nasty.”

“What did I say?” I whispered, trembling with fear.

He met my gaze slowly, with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I can’t, Nat.”

“I can’t move on until I know what I did.”

“You won’t move on when you do,” he quipped, throwing my own words back at me. “You won’t be able to live with it.”

“It was that bad?” I pressed, hands shaking. He looked away, deviating from a script we’d followed once before.

“It was worse.”

I winced and rested my head back against the pillow, drained and tired of life. “… I’d still like to know, Clint.”

He hummed and met my eye once more, hard and haunted. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

Clint tossed his knife from hand to hand, grinning wolfishly, his bright blue eyes sparkling with menace. “Natalia,” he crooned, the blade spinning between his fingers. “My dear, sweet Nat. Why don’t you come a little closer? I’ve missed you.”

“Leave him alone,” I hissed, fists raised and coiled loosely. “Clint, if you’re in there… You can fight this. I know you can.” He shook his head harshly, growling, and my hope flared. “Clint? Clint, you can do this. Come back to me, please…” My hands became open palms, offered soothingly as I inched closer, his eyes squeezed shut in a grimace. “Please, Clint, I-”

He jerked forward with a primal snarl, catching my wrists and securing them around the pipe with a zip tie. I looked up, stunned, into the brightest, most terrifying gaze. “Nat, Nat, Nat…” He tutted, walking around to kick my legs apart. “You love this one, don’t you? You’d do anything for him.”

I nodded sharply, heart racing in my chest. “Anything.”

He pressed the knife to his own throat, grinning sinisterly. “Prove it. I’m going to fuck you now, and you’re going to take it, or I will kill him.” He squatted by my side, trailing a finger across my cheek. “You’ve always wanted me, haven’t you, Little Spider?”

I flinched and recoiled, swallowing the bile in my throat. “I want Clint. Not you.”

He smirked as he straightened, undoing his belt. “This is the only way your precious ‘Clint’ will ever fuck you, Natalia. You may as well accept it.”

I blinked owlishly, then nodded, rigid and terrified. “Just don’t hurt him. I… I’ll do anything you want. Just please… Don’t hurt him.”

He grinned once more, trailing the knife along my body, cutting through my suit from breastbone to abdomen and ripping it from my skin. I shivered under his lustful gaze, writhing in an effort to hide my scantily clad body, eliciting a tut and pressing the knife to his throat. “Natalia, we’ve discussed this. You will behave, or he will die.”

I stilled immediately, muscles going limp as his rough hands dragged down my underwear, tossing it aimlessly over his shoulder and forcing my legs apart.

There was no hesitation as he pushed a finger inside me, making me cry out against the intrusion. “Fuck, Natasha… Do you like that, Little Spider?” He pumped himself mercilessly as I sobbed, caressing my walls in an almost tender motion. My tight ring of muscle burnt, clamping down against the intrusion. “You love the way I stretch you out and make you all ready for me. You’re so goddamn tight – I thought you were a slut?”

“You pretend like you don’t want this, but you’re so wet… Your pussy wants this, and you can’t deny it.” He smirked as a second finger prodded my hole, rubbing gently. “You want another finger, is that it? You’re squeezing so hard – so desperate. No, it’s not a finger you want, I know. But one more first, Little Spider. We have to make sure you can take it; I wouldn’t want to hurt my dear Natty, after all.” He forced his way inside me and I screamed, burning and tearing, fading to a soft sob as he worked me wider. His fingers drew out and came to his mouth, licking the blood from the digits with a laugh. “Well… Wet is wet.”

He crawled up my body, smelling of sweat and Clint, and I wept aloud as he poked at my entrance. “Clint, I’m sorry,” I whispered, fingers balling into fists.

He pushed inside me once more, setting fire to my nerves and burning away my last vestiges of sanity, muscles relaxing as I gave up. “God, Nat… You’re so fucking tight. I never thought you’d be this tight.” He stuttered out a groan as his hips shifted, his length moving inside me, but I could barely feel anything anymore, my unseeing eyes locked somewhere over his head as I jerked at his motion. “Natasha… Such a good little girl,” he crooned, hand smoothing the hair from my face. “Talk to me, my little slut. Tell me how good this feels… How long you’ve wanted it.” I simply nodded distantly, and he growled, slapping me hard. “Do as I say, Natalia, or your loverboy dies while you watch.”

“Please,” I whimpered, forcing my body to wriggle in faux arousal – something I had more than enough experience of, but never in such a heartbreaking way. “I’ve wanted it for so long – it’s so good. You feel so good, please…”

He grinned wickedly, pulling out long enough to flip me over, my ass in the air, entirely at his mercy as he pushed into my clenched, unprepared hole, making me scream once more, nails snapping as they scraped the metal ground. “You like it when I do it like this, don’t you? You like it rough…” He jerked his hips forward, another cry escaping my torn throat, followed by a desperate sob.

“Please,” I begged, wanting this to stop – needing this to be over.

“You like that, don’t you?” he breathed, reaching around to paw at me ineffectually. “Tell me how much you like it, Little Spider…”

Now. Left leg back, against his neck. There’s a pipe he will hit his head on. He’ll be out cold.

Wh… What?

“What did I say, Natasha?” he ground out as he rammed into me, body chafing against the grating. “Answer me. Tell me how much you love this cock in your ass; I bet Barton could never-”

My leg raised of its own accord, colliding with the side of his throat and sending him flying into the pipe I was secured to. He instantly crumpled, and I sobbed, curling my beaten, damaged body into itself.

Thank you…

You’re welcome, Natalia. I only want what is best for you – for us.

“I managed to get the knife and cut through the zip ties. I found a fresh suit, cleaned the blood from my body, and got you to the medical bay. I never spoke of it… Not until now,” I added, wincing.

Clint’s mouth worked wordlessly, tears flowing freely down his cheeks. “Nat…”

I shook my head, offering him a weak smile. “Your turn.”

Wiping his face, he cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. “It... Well, I feel like an asshole for comparing the two, now.” I reached out a hand across the space between us, and he hesitated before entwining his fingers firmly with mine, unable to hide his shaking.

“Like I said, I... I knew something was wrong. You said what you said about not being able to look at me, and then you just... Disappeared. You do it, sometimes; I think it’s when The Voice is talking with you. Sometimes you just go blank, staring off into the distance, and it’s almost impossible to get you back.”

“After that, things got... Weird. It was like you had a switch for your emotions, and you just turned it off. You... You looked me in the eye, and you said... You said that you only fucked me as test, to see if it was the same. To see if I was really under Loki’s control, or if it was just a lie to get away with doing whatever I wanted. You said that I failed.” He swallowed hard, looking away. “I tried for explain- to apologise- anything. But you – it – just laughed. It said that once a rapist, always a rapist. It said... ‘We never want to see you again. You’re a monster, Clint, and we wish we’d never met you’.”

He paused for breath and I rubbed his hand reassuringly, guilt settling like rock in my chest. “And then... Then it said that I was the reason for it all. The cutting, the starving. It said ‘we do these things because we can’t fucking live with what you did to us. But I bet you still touch yourself at night when you think of it, don’t you, Clint? You still come to the memory of us screaming and begging for mercy as you unmade us, wishing more than anything you could tie us up again. But we’re not going to give you the opportunity’.” He blanched and gagged, eyes growing wide. “I- I don’t, I would never...”

“I know,” I soothed, extending an arm to him, pulling him tight against my chest as he crawled on the bed beside me, sobbing uncontrollably into my gown. “I know... I’m so sorry, Clint.”

“I understand now,” he whispered, fingers wrapped firmly in my sheets as he curled against me. “I understand, vaguely, how hard it must be. How mean that goddamn Voice is.” I nodded and hummed, placing a soft kiss to his hair. “I’m sorry I hurt you,” he added, his voice a low murmur.

“I’m sorry too, Clint. I... Can we start over?”

He looked up, shocked. “You... Still want to be with me? After everything I did?”

I smiled affectionately, pressing my forehead to his. “You are my light in the darkness, Clint Barton. I will always, always love you.”

He grinned for a heartbeat, then winced. “Then... Why? Why did you leave me in the first place?”

I baulked and looked away, shame colouring my cheeks. “Basically? The Voice tricked me into doing something... Dumb. Intimately dumb,” I added when frowned, rolling my jaw thoughtfully as my face pinked further. “I... It convinced me I would get sick, and that I needed to be clean. I... Ate body wash. And... put it in other places.”

He winced sharply, hissing air in through his teeth. “Are you okay?”

I nodded dismissively, waving a hand. “Charcoal helped with the sickness, and it seems that the coma helped with the... Discomfort. I’ll be fine. But I felt stupid and embarrassed, and I knew I’d have to tell you about it. But... The Voice can be so persuasive. It made a fool of me, and then used that as proof that I needed it, and should listen to it. It… It made me feel like I didn’t have a choice.”

He leant forward, touching his forehead to mine. “You weren’t to know, Nat. You… You could have talked to me.”

Nodding quickly, I sniffed. “I know. But at the time…”

He clucked sympathetically, cupping my chin in his hand. “I know, my love. That Voice has a power and a way of making you believe things.” I hitched a sob, and his nose brushed mine before he hesitated. “I… Can I kiss you?” A few more tears leaked down my cheeks, touched and honoured by this humble, damaged man, and I nodded desperately, his lips brushing mine, sweet and chaste. “I love you, Little Spider.”

“I love you, too,” I whimpered, wrapping my arms around him as tight as the bandages and IVs would allow, clinging to him desperately.

I’m never letting go again.

That was how Bruce found us, curled around one another and crying softly, murmuring apologies and forgiveness into each other’s bodies.

“You’re awake?”

We looked up in unison, and Clint went to detangle his limbs from mine, but I held him fast. “She woke up only recently,” he offered, chagrined – I guess he was supposed to tell someone.

Bruce hummed, glancing between the two of us impassively, before a weak smile flickered on his lips. “I’m glad to see you’ve made up.” His gaze flicked to me imploringly, and I nodded.

“I told him,” I explained, wincing in shame once again. “I should have done that in the first place.”

The doctor grimaced sympathetically, moving closer, and I nodded when he gestured at the foot of the bed imploringly, settling himself by my legs. “I’m going to talk to you about the medical treatment you have received, and where we go from here. Would you like Clint to stay?”

I felt Clint’s eyes on me, questioning and unassuming, but I only chuckled under my breath. “Yes. I would always like Clint to stay.” His arms twitched around me protectively, and I smiled, burying closer into his chest.

Bruce watched us for a moment, his face a perfect blend of happiness and grief, before he shook his head. “Natasha, you were found in the parking lot seventeen minutes after you ran from Clint. Given the extent of the damage sustained and the lengths you went to in to try to hide, it has been assumed that this was an attempt on your life. Is that accurate?” I hesitated then nodded reluctantly, and he made a quick mark on his clipboard before placing it on his lap, meeting my gaze steadily. “You made seventy-three incisions, two of which involved major arteries. You were unconscious when we found you, already far into major hypovolemic shock. You were extremely tachycardic and tachypnoeic, with almost no capillary refill.” He flinched at a memory I couldn’t fathom, looking away before continuing. “You’re O-negative. While we always have universal donor blood on hand, it wasn’t enough. Without Clint - the only other O-negative member of the team, aside from myself – you’d have died, Natasha.”

I offered my partner a weak smile, noticing for the first time the heavy bruising that marred the curve of his elbow, and pressed my lips to his forehead. “Thank you.”

“It took four hours to stitch you up. Near the… End, you stopped searching for skin and just went through the clothes. There were fibres and grit embedded into your wounds. One of the IVs is a broad-spectrum antibiotic,” he added, nodding at the multitude of bags hanging above me, “and you’ve been responding well. You… You had four-hundred and twelve stitches, in the end. Stephen and I worked on you in shifts, and we weren’t optimistic that you’d pull through. When you somehow started trying to regain consciousness, you had a seizure, so we induced a coma to give your body chance to recover. The drug was withdrawn yesterday, but you didn’t wake up. We weren’t certain if you would ever wake up, or the… Condition you would be in, if you did.” He offered me a tight smile, meeting my eye once more. “We’ll have to run some tests, but… It seems that you haven’t suffered significant impairment of your faculties, at least.” He gestured down at my arms, swathed in white. “Stephen did what he could to salvage your nerves, but… Natasha, you have to be warned. You may never regain full sensation or function. The damage was significant, and any healing will be slow, but there’s no guarantee you’ll ever be back to how you were before.”

“Your weight was at an all-time low, and you had a violent infection from the lacerations to your ribs, which were beginning to turn septic. You were severely anaemic, and deficient in almost all essential vitamins. I don’t know how you’re alive, Nat,” he finished simply, something akin to wonder and intimidation flickering across his face.

I shrugged half-heartedly, looking away. “Just lucky, I guess; or unlucky, depending on your interpretation,” I added with a snort, sending Clint’s head jerking up from my chest with a frown.

“That’s not funny, Natasha.” I rolled my jaw and nodded tersely, and his eyes widened infinitesimally. “Are you… Do you still feel that way? Like… Hurting yourself?”

I shrugged again, picking at my bandages absently. “Everything isn’t suddenly fixed because we talked a little, Clint. It’s better, but it’s not… Better. I still…” The lump in my throat made my voice crack, and I squeezed my eyes shut before continuing. “I still hate who I am. The things I’ve done.”

His fingers found mine one more, filling the spaces between. “Then we’ll keep talking,” he replied simply, my eyes opening to meet his sympathetic gaze. “For as long as it takes. Right, Doc?”

Bruce sighed, drawing our focus back toward him. “Actually… It’s my professional opinion that Natasha should be transferred to a dedicated facility.”

My blood thrummed in shock and devastation – no, don’t send me away, he is the only thing that makes this endurable and I won’t survive without him – but Clint merely stood slowly, stepping closer to the seated doctor and looming over him. “Do you make that choice?” Bruce shook his head, skin tinged with lime, and my partner smiled emotionlessly. “If she is not under non-voluntary admittance, as required by law, then she goes nowhere. And if you know what’s good for you – and more importantly, what’s good for her – you won’t seek out that order. Not only will it likely kill her, but it’ll mean I have a lot of free time on my hands to make your life a living hell, Bruce.”

I blinked vacantly, startled by the flat fury in Clint’s voice, his eyes dark and intimidating. But Bruce, the mottling of his skin growing more evident, only stood, his chest close to the other man’s as his height increased steadily. “Don’t make me angry, Barton,” he whispered, barely perceptible. “You won’t like me when I’m angry.”

“Boys!” I snapped, sending both heads whipping around to me, the doctor deflating slowly. “That’s enough. Clint’s right – I’m not going anywhere. You can try and force me if you want, but it will be the death of me. I’m an international spy; do you really want to test my ability to commit suicide in a locked ward?”

Bruce blinked and paled, then turned his gaze back to Clint, still vibrant green and furious. “Don’t ever insinuate that I don’t want what’s best for her. She was on a strict no-exercise order for a reason, and you fucked her. She could have had a heart attack. You could have killed her for your own pleasure – and even though you didn’t, what good has come of it?” Hands raised and open, he gestured to the surrounding room. “You are the last person who can ever question my motivation, Barton. Not when your own is clearly so selfish.”

Bruce’s words rung in the silence as he left, Clint stood loosely beside the bed.

“Clint-”

“He’s right,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair frustratedly. “God, he’s right. I could have killed you, Nat.”

“Clint, I-”

He turned to face me, the blue of his eyes made ever deeper by the redness surrounding them as he held back tears. “I’m so goddamn selfish. I’m so sorry.”

I shook my head, shuffling toward him as best I could despite the various leads and tubes attached to me. “Clint-”

“Why would I do that? Why am I so fucking self-serving? God, The Voice was right, I’m no better than-”

“Clint!” I interrupted fiercely, my tone clipped and harsh. “That is enough. I will not listen to this. You are nothing like Loki. And you are not selfish. I made a choice – it might not have been the smartest one, but neither of us was fully aware of the risk. And I do not regret it, not for a second. It’s a choice I’d make over and over, because it was worth it. It…” I flushed, my passion overridden by my embarrassment. “It was the best I’ve ever felt. In every sense – physically, emotionally, and goddamn spiritually.”

He uncurled his fists, inching closer uncertainly. “But-”

“No.”

“I just-”

“Shut up, Clint.”

He sighed, moving back to lay beside me and pressing a gentle kiss to my nose. “… It was that good?”

I met his gaze slowly, a tremble of static shooting through my body and the memory of him; his teeth, his tongue, his hands. “I’ve never believed in God before, but… I’m pretty sure I did then.”

He smirked, brushing his lips against mine affectionately. “Glowing praise. If it’s any consolation, I’ve never…” Flushing red, he scratched the back of his neck shyly. “It’s never been that quick. Not by far.”

I grinned, rubbing my nose against his jaw. “I’ve just never, so I think I win.” He chuckled, his fingers finding the curve of my hip, shaking his head as I shimmied closer.

“Bruce was right, though. We should… I mean, we need to take it easy. At least until you’re stronger. I don’t want anything to happen to you, hon.” I pouted playfully, but paused when I caught sight of his serious expression, and sighed.

“Yeah. But hey… It’ll give me something to look forward to, right? A reason to improve?”

He smirked again, peppering kisses across my cheeks. “I’ll start planning it out. It’ll be the best night… Day… Weekend of your life.”

I swallowed at the implication, the connected ECG obnoxiously betraying my thrill. “I guess I’ll have to try and eat more, then."

Stephen rapped on the door before entering, and I hurriedly pressed a finger to my lips, inclining my head at the slumbering archer curled against my chest. He smiled wanly, moving to sit on the chair beside the bed. “I need to check your sutures, Natasha. All being well, you can get out of here today – but you’ll be on bedrest for the next few weeks, at least, and we’ll be checking on you several times a day. The perks of being an Avenger with a dedicated medical team,” he added, chuckling.

Nodding, I placed a tender kiss to the forehead of my sleeping love, caressing his cheek. “Clint, honey? Dr. Strange is here.”

Clint grunted as he stirred, blinking in brief confusion before his gaze cleared. “Huh? Oh. Hi, Stephen.”

The wizard dipped his head politely, hands tented in his lap. “Mr. Barton.”

“Stephen’s here to check my stitches. I may be able to leave later,” I added, grinning. But Clint frowned, glancing at the surgeon.

“Is that advisable?”

“It’s only upstairs, Clint. She’ll be in a wheelchair the whole way, and on bedrest for a few weeks. If we can find someone who is willing to wait on her hand and foot, that is,” he added, an eyebrow raised in self-amusement.

I muttered in Russian under my breath, then raised my voice. “I don’t need a wheelchair.”

“It’s not negotiable, Natasha. It’s the only way you’re leaving this room,” he replied smoothly, and stood. “Now. This is likely to be somewhat uncomfortable, Nat. You have stitches over most major swaths of skin, and examination will, unfortunately, require nudity, though I will provide a courtesy sheet to be moved around as needed. Do you understand?”

I nodded tightly, any humour lost from the situation at the idea of the doctor’s eyes on me. Hesitating, I met his gaze slowly. “While I’ve been unconscious?” I whispered, horrified when he nodded stoically.

“Not through choice, Ms. Romanoff. Life-saving measures were required, and there was no other option.”

“Who?”

Clint frowned at the question, but Stephen tipped his head, instinctively understanding the question. “Bruce did not feel able to work outside of your arms and legs. All other sutures were performed by myself. I’m sorry, Natasha.”

I swallowed dryly, cringing at the thought of the wizard looming over my naked, empty body. Stephen’s a professional. He did his job, and nothing more.

Are you sure?

I resisted the urge to groan aloud, hanging my head in my hand. Not you. God, please, not you.

The Voice laughed harshly – a grating sound that scraped the flesh from my brain. You didn’t say that when I got you away from Clint. Both times, it added meaningfully, and I flinched against my palm. raising my face to the doctor.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

Stephen nodded, glancing at the man still sharing the single bed. “Would you like Clint to stay?”

“… No.”

Both men seemed shocked as I spoke, sharing a look before Dr. Strange recovered, nodding. “As is your right, of course.”

I could feel Clint’s gaze on my face, and winced. “I’m not… I don’t want you to see me like that. Not yet. Please.” The archer nodded and kissed my cheek, murmuring his understanding before standing. “But… Will you wait outside? In case I need you?”

He offered me a reassuring smile as he turned, his hand on the door. “Always, Little Spider.”

“Okay. I… I’m ready.”

I lay on my bed on my back, covered from collarbone to thigh with a thin sheet, littered with bandages and tubes. Dr. Strange edges around the sheet, taking me in without a reaction – for which I was deeply grateful.

He flicked on his glasses, moving to lean over my left arm. “Are you ready to proceed?”

I hesitated, and he raised a curious eyebrow, silently prompting me. “Could you… Can you sit?” I stammered, intimidated by his looming figure. He nodded, immediately sliding onto the chair beside the bed, offering me a reassuring smile.

“If you need a break at any point, Natasha, or you begin to feel uncomfortable – you just let me know.” I nodded gratefully, and he took a deep breath as he began to unwrap my bandages, beginning at my wrist, the hush of the fabric the only sound in the silence.

Those bandages would be a good way to tie you up. I wonder how the good doctor-

“Can you… Talk? About anything, just… I can’t sit in silence. Please.”

“We used braided nylon for your sutures,” he responded immediately, his soft, steady tone bringing me back to focus, The Voice hissing angrily as I concentrated on his words. “It comes in clear and black dyed – while less attractive, I opted for the black. With the amount of work to be done, visibility trumped aesthetic, I’m afraid.” His fingers gently poked at my wrist, light but sure. “Absorbable materials are de rigeur for an individual wound – but considering the amount of bodily fluids involved, we opted, largely, for non-absorbable. There’s a significant number of sutures, and we didn’t want to compromise integrity in any way. You had four hundred and twelve stitches in total.”

His hands reached my elbow, and I swallowed as I felt the skin there tingle, tight under his handiwork. “… Do you want me to tell you how the wounds are doing, or would you rather not know?”

I shrugged, swallowing. “Anything. Just keep talking to me.”

“Your sinister – left – brachial artery was approximately 70% severed. Ironically, this caused more devastating effects; complete transection of the vessel would have allowed for proximal retraction and constriction, though repair would have been more difficult. We internally sutured the vessel, followed by soft tissue repair through the layers.”

“That sounds like a lot of work,” I murmured, my gaze still locked on the ceiling, and I felt him look at me.

“I’d do it every day if I had to, Natasha. While I wish it wasn’t needed, it was a task I had no qualms about performing. I care for you, as I care for the rest of the team,” he added, continuing his way up my shoulder, my muscles tightening involuntarily as his knuckles brushed my throat.

“Stay down, slut.”

I blinked in surprise and stammered, the ECG verbalising my distress, and causing Stephen to pause until I nodded tightly. “Keep going.”

He raised a bandage on my shoulder, the latex of his gloves catching on my skin dryly. “Here, there was only superficial damage. Four sutures – Bruce’s handiwork. He is more adept at cutaneous stitching than more invasive procedures. Fortunately, you have a surgeon on your side,” he noted, a smile in his voice as he rounded the bed to repeat the process.

I was counting the tally in my head, and Stephen hesitated at three hundred and nine, halfway up my left leg. “Natasha…”

“I have another one hundred and three stitches to be examined, Stephen. I know.”

He swallowed audibly, the faintest tremor in his hands. “Would you like me to break them down?” I nodded gratefully, squeezing my eyes shut, and he exhaled sharply. “There are... Seventeen stitches in your left breast, and three on the nipple. Fourteen and four on the right, respectively. Thirty-six on your abdomen and ribs; the pre-existing wounds were cleaned and treated, but suturing was no longer possible. A further twenty-one on your pelvis – six on the left, nine on the right, and six in… On the pubis.”

It was the first time he stammered with embarrassment, and I couldn’t help but smile wanly. “And the last eight?”

“Internal.”

My eyes snapped open, locked on his apologetic face, his brow furrowed in pain. “I’m sorry, Natasha. We… I had to stop the bleeding. I was as perfunctory as I could be, I promise. I haven’t checked those sutures since they were applied.”

“What did I do?” I whispered, horrified. He swallowed again, looking away.

“The tissue was already thin and inflamed as a result of the… existing cleanse trauma. You also have extensive internal scarring from historical injury. The serration of the knife was such that, when you removed it, there was significant damage sustained. I repaired the area in as efficient and swift a manner as I could.”

I felt myself go red, breath hitching in my throat. “You know about the… The soap?”

He nodded tersely, jaw set. “Bruce thought I should be aware of the pre-existing risk of infection. But even if he hadn’t, I would have assumed something similar upon examination.”

My head dropped back, shame flowing through me violently, causing my stomach to churn. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Where would you prefer that I start?”

I gestured to my chest reluctantly, jaw clenched. “May as well work our way down.”

He nodded again, moving wordlessly to my side and lowering the sheet slowly, his motions considerate and careful as he smoothed it across my ribs. “I’ll make this as quick and painless as I can.”

I could only nod wordlessly, eyes latched on the ceiling, the machine by my side matching the staccato beating of my heart. His delicate fingers peeled back the adhesive bandages, gently probing at my chest and murmuring quietly. “The sutures are healing well. I was particularly concerned about this one – the positioning, close the breastbone, makes healing problematic, as it is prone to rubbing. But it has settled well, with no sign of infection or irritation.”

“The larger wound on this side was easier, but the nipple was almost completely severed. I did what I could to reattach the nerves, but you may experience some loss of sensation.” His fingertips were timid but my body clenched at the contact, his breathed apologies doing little to still my anxiety.

Mercifully, his hands left my chest, skirting the wounds of my ribcage, both new and old. “The existing lacerations were of most concern, both due to depth and existing infection. We performed a minor debridement, removing some infected tissue. You seem to be responding well to the antibiotics, however. The infection is still present, but receding.”

His hands paused by my navel, entirely uncertain. “Would… Would you rather I move the sheet? I’m not sure what… Where you would prefer to be covered.”

“Leave it,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “Please.”

He hummed affirmatively, his gentle touch pulling back ever more bandages, tenderly probing at the space between thigh and abdomen. “This… This is why you can’t walk anywhere, Natasha. It seems you were aiming for the femoral, or perhaps the iliac. But this was almost the last set of injuries, and you had grown weak. If you had moved directly from the brachial to here… Well, you barely survived as it is.”

His hands were barely felt now, moving to the soft skin of my pubic mound, a low tremble settling into my bones.

I bet he’s loving this.

“This one is fine, too. A relatively simple suture chain, it should heal cleanly with minimal scarring – perhaps a minor interruption of the hair growth.” He smoothed the sheet back up to my collarbones, and I met his eyes, a quivering, heaving breath escaping me. “Are you okay?”

“No,” I replied with a desperate sob, wiping my tear-stained cheeks. “No, I’m not. But we should continue. If we stop now, I… We can’t stop now.”

He nodded, offering me a terse, sympathetic smile. “In that case, I shall continue.” His feet dragged on the floor as he moved, lowering the end of the bed and sitting down. “I… I have to look. I’m sorry.”

I only cried.

He took his own deep, preparatory breath, his fingers brushing my ankle. “Okay.” He cleared his throat, shaking off any emotion, separating himself from the guilt of what he had to do. “Natasha, I’m going to need you to shuffle down a little, if you could.” I obeyed silently, tears flowing freely as my knees slipped from the end of the bed. “That’s great, thank you. Now, bring your feet up – as close to your behind as you can – and let your knees fall apart.”

A ragged sob escaped me as the balls of my feet met the soft cotton, thighs seized and glued together.

“Take your time, Nat. I’m here.”

My legs shifted slowly, the muscles contacting and fighting for every inch.

“That’s excellent, Natasha. You’re doing so well.” My breath hitched in my throat, fingers curling into my palms and breaking the skin. “I’m going to insert a small speculum now, okay? You may feel a little pressure, but it shouldn’t be painful.”

There was a hesitation, both infinite and brief, before I felt the pressure.

“Stay still, Natalia, or it will be worse.”

The feet and hands were chained down.

The bar between the knees, digging into the flesh.

The tearing, tugging, cutting, dragging.

The feeling of having the core ripped out and snipped away.

The wet thud as it landed.

The screaming, and writhing.

The punishment, the blade twisted inside.

“You’re done. Now there is no risk. No distraction.”

The pain. The blood.

“He will be in to see you shortly. We need to make sure you can still perform, of course.”

“-sha? Nat? Natasha, you need to relax, okay? You are still weak. I’ll stop, but I can’t get it out if you don’t release me.”

“Если ты когда-нибудь снова прикоснешься ко мне, я отрежу твой член и скормлю его тебе,” I snarled, pulling tighter on the arm pinned between my legs.

“Sorry, Widow, my Russian is rusty,” he gasped, my foot pressing firmly on his throat.

“’Touch me again, and I will cut off your prick and feed it to you’,” I hissed, broken accent spitting past bared teeth.

“Natasha, I just needed to examine the-”

“Natalia,” I growled, bending his wrist back. “You examine nothing. You touch nothing. You are not authorised.”

“Authorised?” Pale blue flashed between my knees, his free hand held up imploringly. “I asked your consent, Natash- Natalia. I… The sutures. Your injuries.” He gasped again, the air audibly painful in his compressed throat. “I am Doctor Stephen Strange – an Avenger, and a Master of the Mystic Arts. I was a surgeon. I attended to you after you received a great number of lacerations.”

“Strange,” I repeated at a mutter, the sound sparking something distant in my terrified mind.

“Yes. Myself and Dr. Bruce Banner administered care. You received over four hundred stitches. Clint Barton, your partner, is waiting just outside this room.”

Clint.

I gasped, muscles relaxing immediately, and Stephen backed away, coughing, one hand clasped to his quickly darkening throat. “S… Stephen…”

He glanced up at me, his other hand raised imploringly. “That’s it. It’s just me. You’re safe, Nat. I promise.”

Trembling fingers touched my mouth, stunned and horrified. “S-Stephen, I… I don’t…”

He shook his head, his own hands lowering. “Natasha- Natasha?” he clarified, and I nodded once. “Natasha, you had existing, extensive damage, and I would have been a pretty terrible doctor if I didn’t notice you were missing some stuff down there. I don’t know exactly what happened, but I imagine it was not a pleasant experience. I should have predicted that this may be a triggering event.”

I whimpered softly, nodding my head. “I never remembered before… But now I remember.” I looked up once more, mortified. “Stephen, I… I’m so sorry.”

He rolled his shoulder and neck in turn, then smiled weakly. “No damage done. Though I may be drinking my meals for a few days,” he added playfully, touching a finger to his throat with a wince, before meeting my gaze seriously. “Natasha… The speculum is still…” I flinched and clenched instinctively, and he raised his hands. “No, no… Be careful. Without it being steadied, there’s a chance it’s caught on your stitches. If you try and push it, or remove it yourself… I… I need to get it out. Ideally, I need to re-examine you, to make sure there’s been no further damage, but I understand if you can’t do that.” He took a deep breath as he moved closer, eyeing me warily, like a flighty animal. “But at the very least, it needs to be removed. And if you’d prefer, I can put you under to do that – but I’d really rather not, given that you took so long to come out of your induced coma. There’s a slim, but very real, risk that you won’t wake up again.”

I hesitated, watching him carefully. “… Restrain me.”

Startled, he paused, one foot comically suspended above the floor. “… Why?”

“I can’t die. Not now. And I can’t… I can’t risk hurting you again – hurting you more. So use your glowing whip thing, and restrain me. It’s the only way we’ll get through this.”

“It’ll hurt.”

“I don’t care.”

“It’ll likely make the… You’ll probably remember more.”

“Stephen.” I met his gaze steadily, the ECG slowing as an eerie calmness set in. “Just do it.”

Slowly, his hands began to move. “You’re sure? Once I start… I can’t stop suddenly if you change your mind. I don’t think we’ll get another shot at this.” I sighed in acceptance, resting my head back against the bed, letting my knees part once more, wincing at the pain inside me.

The lash burnt against my skin, and I cried out, gritting my teeth against the scream as it wrapped under the bed and secured my other wrist, tight and immovable.

The binds around my legs snaked up to my knees before they grew taut, holding me still.

Helpless.

Stephen met my eyes, and I nodded around the trembling of my body.

“Well, well, well. I’m glad I could be the first.”

The HYDRA man, with his dark eyes and tangled hair, was one who favoured me.

I cried, trashing against my bindings, but they held fast.

His rough hands on my thighs, pushing and parting, made me freeze. “You’ve always been so good to me, little girl. Let’s hope they didn’t ruin that perfect hole.”

“Please… Please. I’ve always been good, like you said. But I can’t… Not now. It hurts. It hurts so much.”

“It’s okay, little girl. I’m going to make it feel better.”

It hurt. God, it hurt so much. It felt like he was fucking me with a hot poker, burning everything away. Unmaking me.

Maybe now you have learned your lesson.

You? It was… It was you? You did this?

An insurance policy, in case you survived. I wanted to make sure nobody would ever be able to touch you again.

“Fuck you,” I hissed aloud, vaguely aware of the faint sensation of pulling between my legs. “Fuck you. I’ll heal, and I’ll screw him again. I will make love to that man every day.”

Not if it hurts too much, you won’t.

“You wanna bet? I’ll scream and cry and do it anyway. I’ll let him put it somewhere else. We will find a way, together, because the Red Room will not fucking win. The Soldier will not fucking win. And you – you will not fucking win.”

“Nat?”

I opened my eyes, squeezed shut as I had shouted, to find Stephen hovering over me, his blue-grey eyes full of concern. “Are you with me?” I smiled weakly, and nodded.

“I’m here. I’m with you.”

“I’m all done. Are you… Can I remove the restraints?” I nodded again, and the tension released from my limbs, leaving me to slide myself into the proffered gown as he averted his gaze. Sighing, he removed his gloves, slumping into the chair beside me, a haunted look in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” I murmured, dragging the thin blanket back over myself with a wince.

He glanced up, nodding slowly, scrubbing a hand over his face. “The sutures are intact, and healthy, for the most part. They’ll finish dissolving over the next few days. There was some minor bleeding during our… Interruption, but it should be fine. If there’s any issues, you know where I am.” He sighed again, leaning forward onto his knees. “Are you okay?”

I shook my head, then nodded, then shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“That last part… You spoke aloud. It sounded as though you were arguing with someone.” He smiled weakly, standing once more. “It also sounded like you won.”

My own grin was hesitant, thin and painful. “Maybe not the war… But I think, maybe, the battle.”

He waved his hand, a circular seal over the door brightening and then snapping from existence. “Oh, that - I had to block the door,” he explained, when my eyebrow arched curiously. “You started screaming, and Barton tried to get in.”

On cue, the door flew open, and my archer bolted into the room, his knife brandished and ready. “Nat?” he questioned sharply, his head turned to me, but his gaze firmly on the wizard, who simply began to circle his hands to open a portal.

“I’m fine,” I murmured, and then, inexplicably, I sobbed. “I’m not fine. But it wasn’t him, Clint. It was… It wasn’t him.”

Strange turned to us briefly, his sympathetic gaze flicking between us both. “I will take my leave. Natasha… You know where I am, and I shall see you later this evening – no examination required, I promise. Don’t forget; no walking. Clint… Take her home. And look after this one; she’s been through enough. If you harm her, it won’t just be her you have to contend with.” A last long, pitying look at me, and a rub to the bruise forming quickly on his pale throat, and he was gone.

Clint was gentle as he could be as he manoeuvred me into his bedroom, but that didn’t stop me wincing at the pressure.

“I’m sorry, my love,” he whispered, bundling me into his arms. “Are you okay?”

I nodded hesitantly, leaning into his chest. “I’m okay,” I answered softly. “…Wait.”

“Hm?”

“Can you take me to the bathroom?”

“Ah. I forgot about that,” he admitted, chuckling, and placing a tender kiss to my hair. “Sure thing.”

He kept me in his arms, nestled lovingly against him, and I couldn’t help the soft purr of contentment that built in my chest. “What do I… Shall I leave? I’m not supposed to leave you alone, but I can… Stand outside?”

I rolled my eyes playfully as he placed me lightly on my feet, kissing his cheek. “I need your help. With my gown,” I added, as a panic-stricken expression crossed his face.

“Doesn’t it… Go up?”

“I want to see,” I explained softly, smiling weakly as he winced. “You don’t have to, but… I need to.”

He hesitated briefly, then placed a chaste kiss to my shoulder blade as he moved to stand behind me. “Together, Little Spider. Always.”

Fingers brushed my skin as he moved my hair away, slowly undoing the bow at the nape of my neck. I held the gown to my front as his arms slipped inside, hands gingerly finding my hips, his chin against my shoulder. Our eyes met in our reflection and he nodded gently.

I flinched as the fabric hit the floor, taking in the macabre map of black sutures wound like rivers across my body, the flesh around shaded with blues and yellows. Between old and new, there was barely an inch of skin left unmarred and unmarked. The inside of my biceps were a furious red between the stitches, my abused arteries protesting their forced closure. The curve of my breasts were intersected by dividing lines, the nylon knotted beside each discoloured nipple. Further wounds trailed by abdomen, ending in a crooked, three-inch line where my pubic hair used to be. And beneath all that, there was bones. Miles and miles of sharp, protruding bones, my ribcage on display and hips sharp enough to cut glass.

You’re a fucking horror show.

I am what you made me.

I winced again, gaze flicking to my partner uncertainly.

His face was a mask of impassive emotionlessness as his eyes roamed my body, hesitating only briefly on each new stitch, before finally meeting my own once more. “…Well?” I prompted, throat bobbing in the mirror before us.

His hands traced my abdomen lightly as they snaked around, holding me in his arms as gently as he could. “What do you think?”

“I think…” I swallowed dryly, a low, fearful tremble working its way through my muscles. “I think I need help.” He nodded slowly, patiently, leaving me the opportunity to continue. “I think… It’s a terrible thing, what I’ve done to myself. And I think…” I took a deep, steadying breath, the shakes subsiding slowly. “I think I must be really strong to survive all of this. Stronger than I realise.”

He smiled at last, placing a gentle kiss to my cheek. “I agree… But there’s something you forgot.”

I frowned, turning in his arms carefully, my suture-tight muscles refusing to raise further than his waist. “What’s that?”

Hand finding my jaw, his lips brushed mine, sweet and loving. “As I believe I’ve said once before… You’re beautiful, Nat. You will always be beautiful to me.” His thumb skirted my cheek, catching a tear shed unconsciously, before kissing the damp spot.

“Now… Let’s get you to bed, little one.”

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