Natasha Romanoff did not like to celebrate her birthday; all the Avengers knew that, Clint was the only one to know why...
The last true memory Natasha had of her family; her real family, was from her birthday.
They lived in a small, run down house in Stalingrad. It was modest and sometimes they struggled to get by, but Natasha loved it; she was happy.
Her mother was there; a small red haired lady with a warm smile, and her father too; he was a gentle man who always kind. She had an older brother and sister too; both dark haired like their father, but Natasha could no longer remember their names...
She remembers the fascination at watching the four birthday candles; she loved how the flames danced, and could have watched them for hours.
Her brother became inpatient and blew them out for her, so she watched the four pillars of smoke swirling into nothingness instead.
Her fascination with fire quickly disappeared when she woke to the sounds of her sister shouting; there was smoke everywhere.
A man appeared at their bedroom door
"Papa?" Natasha whispered, the smoke clouding her vision
But it wasn't her father who had come for them, the strange man grabbed her from her bed and slammed the door behind them; trapping her sister inside. Natasha begged and pleaded with the man to go back and save her family, but he ignored her and ran from the building.
She struggled against his grip, fighting to get away from him; shouting and crying for help. She was shivering at the cold winter night, dressed in nothing but a night gown. Covered from head to foot in soot, she wept.
"One more word Natalia and you'll be just as dead as your family" he told her harshly, placing his hand over her mouth. He pressed so hard and her throat hurt so much from the smoke that she struggled for breath and has to fight not to pass out.
She watched helpless, as everything she had ever known and loved was taken from her in fire and smoke and ash. She was glad when she finally fell unconscious.
After all those years, the hours of programming and reprogramming; that memory had always stayed with Natasha.
She didn't celebrate her birthday anymore.