Author's Note:
I'm not exactly sure why I wrote this to be honest. The idea just sort of came to mind. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it, but I know some other people wanted to read it. Also weird style is weird?
Based off of one Loki's lines that come up while he is talking to Natasha. When Loki mentions that he will have Barton kill Natasha in every way that he knows she fears. Sort of a "what if" oneshot.
His hands move slowly, expertly. Every movement is precise. Each stroke leaving a fresh a crimson trail in its wake. At first he isn't even aware, as if guided by an invisible force. Suddenly he feels exhausted, sore. He can't explain it. His field of vision blurs and his fingers tighten around something – a foreign object. He looks down; the floor beneath his boots has blood splattered on every inch. His hands and the knife which he holds are also stained red. He doesn't understand. Not until he looks up.
No more than a few feet in front of him is a body, held up only by a pair of rusted old shackles. The face is hidden, pressed against the cold stone in front of it. He doesn't need to see the face though. He sees the red hair. Now matted and tangled, but there's no mistaking it. That's all that he needs to see. Something inside him twists; it feels as if his lungs are collapsing in on themselves. He reaches out to touch the marred flesh before him, but stops. Withdrawing his fingers as as if he had been burned before he'd even made contact.
The knife clatters to the ground, snapping him out of his trance. Suddenly it's real. He can see clearly. Somewhere behind him he can hear a faint laugh, but he can't find it in himself to turn his head. He can't move, can't breath. Something inside him is crumbling by the second while something else works to fill the void.
Anguish, fear. It fells like he's drowning in it.
Suddenly he hears it. The screaming. The pleading.
He'd never heard her beg before. She was too stubborn. She would have let someone cut off her dominant arm before she'd beg to be spared. But for him, she'd begged.
Over and over again, until she couldn't any longer. She had choked out his name between each scream and strangled sob. He'd broken her in every way possible. He could hear it, echoing in his mind.
His knees give way underneath him as he bows his head, as if by not looking at the body before him he could somehow block it out entirely. But he can't. He can feel it, everything that he did to her. All of it.
He stares into a pool of blood before him. The reflection pushes him over the edge. Blood splattered on his face to match the rest of the room. There's a scream then. Strangled, desperate, infuriated. The sound is coming from his own throat but it doesn't even register in his mind. Shock and denial have taken over.
It doesn't make sense. Why would he do it? All he could remember were the things - the terrible ways in which he hurt her. He couldn't recall why. She'd trusted him, maybe more than she'd ever trusted anyone. He wanted to call out to her, as if his voice could somehow bring her back to life. But before he could so much as move, a shadow filled the room. Darkness invading every corner.
He let out a low, guttural grunt. It felt as though his head were in a vice grip, tightening fast. His world went black. Suddenly her mangled body was gone, the blood, the room. It all faded until there was nothing left. He knew what it was, death.
And he welcomed it like an old friend.
What else could he have done? Fight? No. This was what he deserved. This was his penance for what he'd done to her.
So? What did you think? Please R & R if you can! I would love some feedback on this :)