It is days like this that lead me to believe I've finally lost it.
I wake up with a newly relocated knee and no immediate memory of what happened except red shapes and pain and cave walls. The sky is as dark as it gets in New York, city lights blinding me through closed shades and it's either too early or too late for anyone to care about being awake and someone needs to just turn off the lights.
The lounge is where I find myself, sitting on a couch that is sucking me into its depths. The television is on, but at the same time it's not. The screen is black, but I can hear them. I can hear the news casters, though its not midnight where they are. It's afternoon and there's rubble and dust.
"The Avengers," they are saying, three people at once. "That's what they call themselves, and they saved the world today."
We are the Avengers. But no, that can't be right because we saved the world in the summer. Or is it summer now?
The channel changes and two men are whispering in my ear.
"It's time," they repeat. "It's time, it's time, it's time." Over and over in my head.
"Superheroes in New York?" says a man. His voice is slow and deep. I'm not a superhero. I'm murderer.
But something of that makes sense. Am I in New York? The light outside gets brighter like a sunrise but the News says its night now.
"It's time," the men say in perfect synchronization and their mouths are locked in full toothed smiles and they don't blink. Red blood drips from their lips. Red, red, red until it consumes the world. "It's time, it's time, it's time."
My eyes are closed so tight it hurts but the TV is still on. A man in a grey suit without eyes opens his mouth. "It's time," he says but it's not his voice.
The world erupts in fire and it is hot and I can't breathe. A white coat over a body walks from the flames. He has a face, but not much and a mask conceals part, looking at me as if I've become an insect. Am I an insect? I don't remember becoming a bug and I think I'm human but I can't see my hands.
"Don't worry, Little Natalia," he says with a smile and no teeth. "You won't remember this at all."
Something sharp pokes my side and it doesn't hurt. But it's poking my back and side and legs and head and arms all at once, a thousand tiny knives tearing me apart. The fire glows brighter and it reflects in his goggles.
"You won't remember," he repeats. "It's time."
And the TV is too loud and the lights are too bright and the fire is too hot and the knives are too sharp and I cover my ears. Someone is screaming and I think it might be me, but the man is laughing while the News repeats "it's time, its time."
None of them have faces anymore.
Doors open all along the various floors of Avengers tower, men groggy with sleep standing pajama clad in the hallway.
"Tony, what is that?" Pepper asks from the bed, sitting up. She is afraid.
He looks from the ceiling to her and back in the direction of the noise. "Stay here," he says before he runs.
Steve is standing in the entrance to the lounge when Tony arrives, but he isn't moving. Tony is about to ask what's wrong, covering his ears because of the screaming, when he sees for himself.
"Oh God," he says, lowering his hands and freezing.
She sits on the couch with her hands over her ears and eyes closed tight, knees pulled to her chest as if trying to protect herself from something. Red runs down her arm and the two men realize its blood and its covering her fingers. And she screams.
Tony is about to ask of someone has called Clint when a door behind them bangs open, the force leaving a dent in the wall. He runs toward them and through them and slows to a stop when he sees her.
"Shit," he says. "Shit, shit, shit." He walks slowly to her. "Tasha," he says. "Tasha you have to fight it." The panic in his voice radiates terror throughout the room. Because if Clint is scared, Steve and Tony have no doubt that whatever is happening is bad.
Bruce has joined Steve and Tony at the doorway and he winces at the sounds. They all three watch as Clint sits and pulls the screaming woman onto his lap, rocking back and forth while he holds her. He stares straight ahead and rocks and mumbles.
"It's okay Tasha," he says. "Everything's okay. I'm here. I'm here and you're safe."
When she stops screaming, she cries. Her form relaxes and her arms drop from her ears. Clint catches her hand in his and stares at her arm.
"Can one of you get a wet towel?" He asks in the direction of the doorway. Bruce is the one who responds, walking hurriedly into the kitchen and reappearing with a watered down cloth. Clint begins to wash off the blood, revealing claw like gashes along her pale forearm. He continues to whisper in her ear.
Tony can see the scars, the scars that say this has happened before. But he can't move, can do nothing but watch the two of them in complete horror.
"Do...do you need anything else?" Steve whispers.
Clint shakes his head and holds Natasha tighter to him, continuing to whisper in her ear, "You're safe, Tasha. They can't hurt you here."
The three men are silent and the fear between them is so thick it could be cut with a knife.