Heed warnings for this one. Mentions of non con touching and thoughts of going further. No rape but it's slightly implied that someone wouldn't mind doing that to someone. Graphic violence and torture, blood etc. Let me know if more warnings need to be added.
Hey everyone welcome to this angst filled one shot, aka day 7 of the prompt challenge. Enjoy.
Translations: may be wrong
my proydem cherez eto – we will get through this
net, Klint, ne govori - no, Clint, do not tell
kotyonok – kitten
moya zvezda – my star
GUILT
When Natasha came to, her body was screaming at her. Wincing, she listened for a few seconds. Just the sound of her own breathing, and there close by, another person.
Natasha blinked and slowly lifted her head, trying to piece together what had happened.
She didn't remember much, just her and Clint, dancing together. They were on a mission and the dancing thing was a typical cover for them. It wasn't supposed to be too brutal of a mission so she had actually just been enjoying their time together. As the months had passed and turned into nearly a year, Natasha's feeling had slowly been coming to a head.
Clint had been looking at her like she was the most beautiful thing in the world and she'd ducked her head, her cheeks flushing. It was the closest she'd ever gotten to kissing him. She knew neither of them would jeopardise a mission by doing something like that, especially not in front of a room full of people. If it ever happened, Natasha would want it to be completely private.
Anyway, they had been dancing and sizing up the room and then...and then, Natasha had no clue what had happened next.
She knew that she was bound. Her wrists were together and tied up above her head, just enough that the rope pulled painfully on her shoulders. Her feet were also tied, attached to what looked like, from what she could see in the dark, were metal shackles. She gave soft tugs, followed by stronger pulls on her bindings but nothing budged.
Cursing, she lifted her head to look around the room and that's when she saw Clint. She blamed whatever head injury she'd gotten for the fact she forgot she heard the breathing if another person.
"Clint?" She called, straining forward. She coukd just see drops of red matting in his hair, blood dripping down his forehead and into his eyes. "Clint?" She shouted now, her heart racing.
Slowly, her partners head lifted some as he began to come around. A soft groan escaped his lips as he forced his eyelids open.
"Clint, hey, look at me." Natasha demanded, her wrists burning as she tried to pull herself closer towards him.
Slowly, he obliged, his eyes dragging from the floor to meet her gaze. "Natasha-" he said thickly, his eyes wide. He immediately began yanking on his own bindings, his different to hers. He was sat on a chair, his hands tied behind him and his ankles bound. Metal shackles attached the bindings to metal loops on the floors.
His gaze was slightly stricken as he realised the gravity of the situation.
The difference in their bindings sent Clint's hair on end. It suggested that they weren't going to be treated the same. His musings were cut shut when he heard the clicking noise of a door opening.
Both their heads shot up, Natasha silently lifting her head whilst Clint growled and pulled at his bindings.
"Black Widow and Hawkeye..." the man who walked in chuckled, another two men following behind him.
"At least give us the courtesy of knowing who you are." Natasha ground out.
"You can call me...Anton. pretty soon you're going to be screaming it."
Both Clint and Natasha snorted, and the man's smiled dropped.
"Really, man?" Clint chuckled, shaking his head. "Really?"
'Anton' gestured for the men to step forward, one sliding up behind Clint and yanking his head back, the cold feeling of a knife settling across his throat.
Clint's laughter instantly dried up and his eyes found Natasha's.
He had no idea if these men were going to torture them, kill them straight away or kill them after torturing them. This hadn't even been the man they'd gone to the party to find, he'd never seen this man and by the look on his partners face, she'd never seen him either.
The other man headed for Natasha, his hand tangling in her red locks as he yanked her head back too. This time a knife was pointed over her chest.
"Either of you decide something I say is funny again," Anton raised an eyebrow, "and you get to watch the other bleed out."
The men released their grips and Natasha glared at them. "What do you want?" She spat out.
"Oh, really? I'm disappointed." Anton tutted. "I thought you would have realised that already." He sighed. "I want information, darlings. Do you honestly not know how I am?" He looked around expectantly.
"No such pleasure." It quipped, his eyes dark.
"Hmm, Shield is keeping even more secrets than they used to. I worked for Shield, you know, before I got cast out. They hunted me when I left. Spent years trying to kill me."
Clint and Natasha looked equally as blank. Clint knew that Shield wouldn't have hunted him if he'd just been an agent that had wanted to leave.
"Very well," Anton sighed, "It doesn't matter. I want what I want and you're going to give it to me."
"Are we?" Natasha smiled, her eyes hooded with anger. "I don't think so."
"I do." Anton grinned. "Believe me, I've been watching you two. I see what you're so desperate to hide." He cooed, stroking a finger down Natasha's cheek.
"You're in love." He simpered, his finger reaching the top of the dress Clint had chosen for her, just brushing over the top of her breast. "I can see why, Clinton, she is oh so beautiful. I wouldn't mind that myself."
Natasha swallowed, her gaze now glazed over as she fought back the memories in her head.
Clint growled and pulled himself forward. "Don't fucking touch her!" He shouted.
Anton turned to face him, his eyes lit up with glee. "Thank you for confirming it." He grinned, clicking his fingers and taking a step back.
The man nearest Natasha walked over to the door, typing in a code that Clint couldn't see, pulling open the heavy metal doors. He reached outside and pulled in a little cart on wheels. He dragged it over to them and peeled off the cover.
There lay a myriad of weapons. Different knives, guns, whips with different ends, scissors and something that looked like a doctors scalpel.
"Wow what a party." Clint deadpanned and immediately regretted it when the man next to the cart turned and slammed his fist into Natasha's ribs.
Clint's shoulders screamed at him as he tried to get to her.
Natasha didn't make a sound, just bit hard on her lower lip. Her face was screwed up with pain, and despite her best efforts, water leaked down her cheeks.
She inhaled raggedly before lifting her head defiantly.
Clint wanted to apologise, his own cockiness had caused that. He would be quiet.
"You see what happens when you misbehave?" Anton chuckled.
"Alright boys, pick your first thing to play with." He gestured at the cart.
Now, he looked between Natasha and Clint. "You're going to tell me about Shield. About who is in charge, who gives the orders, the missions you have going on. All of it." He smiled.
The two agents caught each other's gaze and they both blinked three times in a row. They wouldn't betray Shield.
They'd gone through this many times, it had been in Natasha's training. Believe it or not, it was common if agents were captured, the captors would use the agents against each other. It was why relationships between Shield agents were not allowed. They might care more about each other than they did about protecting Shield.
Whilst Natasha knew she did care about Clint more than Shield, she knew that Coulson would be trying to find them. They just had to hang on until help came. That in itself, Natasha hated, having to rely on others for help.
They could hold out until then.
When neither of them spoke, Anton sighed and nodded at the men.
They each walked to the cart and picked up an item. The man next to Natasha went for a small, three headed whip, what looked like barbed wire around the points. The man next to Clint went simple, with a wicked looking knife.
Anton looked between them. "He will break before her. The redhead first." He grinned.
Natasha's man picked up the scissors too, walking over and pressing the blade to the dip between her cleavage. He looked back in question and Anton nodded. With a sick glee in his eyes, the scissors began cutting into the material of her dress. In seconds, the material was pooled on the floor and Natasha was left in her under garments.
She made no sound, her head lifted in defiance as she stared the man down. Clint on the other hand, was livid, growling and lurching in the chair.
Anton whistled as his eyes roved her body. "Damn, no wonder you love her." He purred.
"Alright, let's get started."
The first time the whip came down on Natasha's bare back, she closed her eyes, biting hard enough on her lip to draw blood.
Clint was shouting now, his wrists near bleeding as he pulled against the shackles.
The whip came down again, and again. Natasha still made no sound but Clint could see the tears on her cheeks.
From his angle, he couldn't see her back bt he could imagine the blood, the barbed wire getting caught in her skin and then yanked as the man pulled the whip back.
Five more times the whip came down, the redhead jerking and starting to squirm, her lips bloody and bitten as she fought the keep quiet.
When Anton gestured for him to stop, Natasha let out a shaky breath, her eyelids fluttering open. Her eyes were glazed over and her breathing ragged but Clint could feel pride burning in his chest. She hadn't made a single sound.
Are you ready to talk, Hawk?" Anton glanced away from her body to him.
Clint just growled in response, his face flushed with anger.
"No? Oh well. Let's see if your pretty redhead will decide to talk." He clicked his fingers and the man with the knife advanced on Clint.
Natasha looked pained as she struggled, her eyes dark with unshed tears.
The knife first cut up his dress shirt, the material coming away like it was butter.
As the shirt fell to the floor, the knife pressed against his chest, digging deep as it cut into his skin. Clint grunted but otherwise stayed quiet as the man continued is ministrations. Soon it was almost impossible to see the knife through all of the blood, cuts littering his chest and torso. The man hadn't caught any veins but he didn't have to with the sheer amount of cuts he'd inflicted. Clint was decidedly paler when the man pulled away, his hands covered in Clint's blood.
Anton looked over at Natasha, raising an eyebrow in question. Natasha pulled her gaze from Clint and jutted her chin out, defiant.
"Very well." Anton sighed, reaching forward to swipe his finger through the blood. He then walked to Natasha and drew a simple cross across her stomach in Clint's blood. His hand flattened against her skin, his warm, sweaty grip roving over her neck and shoulder and down her breasts. Natasha inhaled sharply, trying to pull back, her breath coming in sharp gasps.
Clint shouted expletives, his face a storm as he threatened to rip out their spines.
"Natasha, my proydem cherez eto." He breathed, trying to catch her panicked gaze.
Slowly, Anton stepped back, a sick grin on his face.
Natasha frantically struggled to catch her breath, in the midst of either a flashback or a panic attack, he couldn't tell.
He was helpless to do anything to help but continue reassuring her in Russian.
"He's definitely going to break first. Continue with her, he's the weak one." Anton grinned and Natasha's man smiled.
He picked the whip back up, this time hitting her where Clint could see.
The whip landed between her breasts and across her stomach, Clint watching as her muscles tensed beneath the blood. The barbs often got caught in her skin and would tear even more when he pulled the whip back.
When Natasha let out a breathy moan, Clint knew things were going downhill fast. It wasn't like the redhead was screaming but just that, the admission of pain and fear tore Clint's heart apart.
" Natasha, my proydem cherez eto!" He repeated, but he was certain Natasha could barely hear him.
Her breaths were harsh and rapid, and Clint had seen it before. Her skin drained of colour and her eyes began to lose their life.
When the man had grown tired of the whip, he reached underneath the covers on the cart and pulled out something that looked like a brand. On a metal stick, there sat a word Clint couldn't make out. On the letters sat tiny little spikes.
The man lifted it and slowly walked over, examining her skin and deciding where he wanted to out it. He chose just above the waistline of her underwear and he silently jabbed the spikes into her skin, he repeated it twice before pulling it out and stepping back to let Clint see.
'D O G' had been carved into her skin from the repeated use of the spikes. Clint spat in his direction, threatening them all anew.
"You can stop this if you just talk to us. She doesn't have to be hurt any longer." Anton cooed.
"net, Klint, ne govori." Came Natasha's soft, weak voice.
Clint blinked at her voice, amazed to find her staring at him, fire in her eyes. Clint just nodded in return, swallowing the taste of bile in his throat.
"Go to hell." Clint muttered, shaking his head.
Anton growled, annoyed at their tenacity.
"Keep it up. He will break if I have to kill her first."
The man next to Clint rolled his eyes. "What do I get to do?'' He complained.
Anton thought for a moment. "It wouldn't hurt for both of you to have some fun. Do what you want, just don't kill her." Anton shrugged.
The two men spent the next ten minutes pummelling the living shit out of Natasha.
Natasha was so close to passing out that she was making noise now. Soft whimpers and moans ripped themselves from her throat.
Bruises instantly appeared on her pale skin, and from her hitching breaths, something was very very wrong.
"Natasha, talk to me!" Clint shouted, his heartbeat roaring in his ears.
With another whimper, Natasha's eyelids shut and her body went limp, only standing from the ropes attaching her wrists to the wall. Her head fell forward against her chest and Clint couldn't see her move again.
"Stop!" He shouted, faintly feeling his wrist popping out of place as he lurched forward again.
Their fists slowly stopped and Anton sighed. "Tell me what I need to know and they'll stop."
"I'll tell you." Clint breathed, feeling like he was about to be sick. "I'll tell you, just stop."
Anton nodded and clicked his fingers, the men stepping back from Natasha.
"Good. Let's talk."
That was when Shield burst through the door.
Phil and Maria were at the forefront, numerous other Shield agents behind them. Vaguely, Clint realised that this was the most agents he'd ever seen on a rescue mission. He was sure he even noticed the dark hair of Agent Melinda May besides Hill.
In seconds, the three men were down and Clint shouted for them to keep Anton alive. He would have the pleasure of watching the life fade from his eyes himself.
Hill stepped forward, sliding out a knife and silently cutting away his bindings. He stood immediately, stumbling a little but still heading straight for Natasha.
He watched Phil cut loose her own ties, catching her limp body is in arms as she slumped forward.
He gently pressed her on her side on the floor, gesturing for the agents to scan the rest of the building. Only him and Hill remained, Phil rushing to pull off his jacket, laying it over his prone agent.
Clint crashed to his knees beside her, watching the shaky rise and fall of her chest.
"Tasha?" He whispered, almost frightened to put his hand on her.
Coulson pressed two fingers to the side of her neck as Hill stood guard.
Phil looked up at Clint for a second. "We're just waiting for the all clear. There doesn't seem to be any body else here but we have to be sure so when we move her, we get her straight out and to the quinjet." Coulson said quietly, his eyes appraising Clint's shaking form.
Clint just nodded, reaching to push her hair out of her eyes. Her red locks were matted with blood and stuck to the drying blood in her eyes.
"I think...they whipped her, a lot. But when they hit her..." Clint stammered. "She's going to be bleeding internally." He mumbled, remembering the dark bruising across her torso.
Phil nodded, "her pulse isn't great." He murmured lowly, "weak and fast. Her breathing is off, punctured lung maybe." He clarified, glancing up as someone spoke in his ear.
Phil nodded and pushed himself to his feet. "We're clear. Time to go." He lifted and pulled Natasha into his arms whilst Hill wrapped and arm around Clint's waist and helped him stand.
He would've insisted he was fine if his vision had been swimming from blood loss. How they made it to the quinjet, he had no idea. Coulson's account of what had happened went in one ear and out the other.
With Natasha in the safe hands of the medics, Clint let himself calm down soon. As the adrenaline began to fade, he felt the burning of his injuries. He was grateful when he sank down on the floor, and the darkness crept into his vision. It was with pleasure that he passed out.
Clint woke with the familiar white walls of Shield medical around him. Blinking, he turned and took stock of the IV in his hand, trickling some sort of clear liquid into his body.
Phil caught his attention and very quickly got him up to speed. Clint had lost a lot of blood and had had a blood transfusion, the liquid going into him now was some soft of sugar saline water. He had a concussion but other than that, he was okay.
Clint felt guilt gnaw at his stomach. Of course he was okay, Natasha had taken the brunt of their ministrations. He remembered bright blood and dark bruises, the fear when Natasha slumped and went still.
"Tasha?" He asked quietly.
"Well, you've been out for almost half a day. They gave you some strong drugs when they did your stitches. They took nearly an hour."
"I don't care. Natasha?" He asked again.
"She had surgery," Coulson started quietly, "She had internal bleeding. It took a long time to get it to stop. She's on blood still, but they're certain they got it all. She...coded on the table. They brought her back."
Clint swallowed hard. It was his fault. If he'd just told the men what they wanted to know.
"Some ribs were broken and one punctured her lung. They stitched the hole but she's got a tube in her chest to make sure it doesn't collapse. Concussion. The...the whip marks were hard to stitch but they managed. The…the brand will heal. We can try laser removal at a later stage, but she will be stuck with it for a while."
Clint simply growled, the word dog etched on his brain.
"She's asleep and on heavy drugs but she's gonna be okay now. She's stable." Phil murmured. "And yes, you can see here, and yes you're going in the wheelchair again and no, you can't take the IV out. By the time we got to medical, you'd lost about Three and a half pints of blood." Coulson shook his head.
Clint just blinked and nodded. "Noted." He looked down at his wrist, a plain white cast there.
"Oh, you broke your wrist." Coulson murmured.
"Yeah, I was tryin' to get to her." Clint sighed, closing his eyes for a moment.
Coulson nodded and pursed her lips. "We'll debrief tomorrow, for now, we'll get you to Tasha."
After a couple minutes trying to set out what wires he needed, Clint was on his way to his partner. Phil left him once he'd pushed him to the bed.
Natasha woke up surprisingly lucid, her eyes hooded as she watched Clint.
"Hey." She said quietly, her voice betraying how weak she felt. She absently scratched at the oxygen tube up her nose, wincing.
"I can get them to give you some more pain meds-" Clint murmured, moving to stand.
"No, no its okay. I just...need some more rest. I don't need to be completely out of it." She grimaced.
Clint was afraid to touch her, even when she shuddered and her eyes clouded with memories. The way he'd touched her...she had thought he was going to...
"Clint." She gasped softly, licking over her chapped and cracked lips.
"Natasha." He whispered.
"Talk to me, Kotyonok." She mumbled, rubbing at her eyes. From the look of things, she was close to sleep.
"It was my fault." Clint breathed, shaking his head. "I could have stopped them. If I'd just spoken."
"I didn't talk when thy cut you." Natasha argued, sighing. "I told you not to talk. It wasn't your fault, Clint."
"But-"
"No." She ground out. "It wasn't your fault." She said firmly.
Clint only rubbed the back of his neck and stared down.
Natasha's surprising strong grip touched his chin and forced him to look at her. "Believe me, Clint, it was Anton. You did what we'd been trained to do. We both did." Her grip dropped and her hand rubbed over her stomach, a deep sigh escaping her lips.
"I'm sorry. You need to sleep." Clint said quietly, his hand hovering, unsure.
"I don't mind you touching me, Clint. I know I jump away a lot but I would really appreciate a hug right now." She whispered, her big eyes filled with unshed tears.
Immediately Clint was very carefully situation himself beside her on the bed, his arm wrapping around her neck.
She sighed happily and closed her eyes, leaning her head against his shoulder.
''Moya zvezda." He whispered. "Sleep now, I've got you."
He looked down at her and as she drifted, pressed a kiss to her hairline. There would be plenty of time for real kisses, he promised himself. Now wasn't the right time.
That night, he stayed next to her, rousing her when her nightmares became too much, shushing her back to sleep. The nightmares did nothing to assuage his guilt but Clint knew that if Natasha didn't blame him, he shouldn't blame himself. He just helped soothe her, reassuring her that he was there.
He loved her, he knew, but there would be time. He would always make sure they had time.