Natasha walked into the house, looking around quickly, squinting in the darkness.

"Clint!" she whispered sharply, having not seen anything out of the ordinary. "Clint!" Exhaling slowly, she continued through the house, ready to strike at any second. There was a sudden crash coming from the kitchen, glass shattering to the tile floor causing her to freeze, holding her breath.

"Tasha?" Clint's breathy voice sounded from the dark kitchen.

"Oh, thank god," she sighed quickly in relief as she jogged into the kitchen. "Why did you leave the…" Natasha's voice trailed off as she stopped in the doorway of the perfectly lit kitchen. "...door… open…. Did you just turn the lights on?" She looked at Clint, confusion all over her face. Clint simply stared at her, his mouth hanging open, his eyes slightly widened.

"Oh, god," he breathed out before clearing his throat quickly, glancing at the light switch a few feet away from where he stood, a plate of food smashed at his feet. "Yeah, I…" he cleared his throat again, quickly going to grab the paper towels to clean his mess up. "was just getting something to eat. Didn't bother with the light. Bumped into the counter and dropped it," he said, chuckling quietly. Natasha's eyebrows furrowed as she watched him, wondering why he felt it necessary to lie to her.

"Why did you leave the front door open?" she questioned again, pointing behind her towards the hallway.

"The front door?" Clint stopped, looking at her for a moment before quickly continuing cleaning the food from the floor. "I left the front door open?"

"Yeah, wide-" She stopped short, looking behind her shoulder to the now lit hallway, seeing the front door shut. Pausing a moment, she quickly made her way down the hall. Making sure to stop in each room she passed, she looked for signs of an intruder, finding nothing in the normally-lit rooms. Reaching the front door, she opened it quickly and stepped out onto yard. Her car was missing. Breath hitching in her throat, she span on her heel, jogging back into the house, the door closing behind her.

"Clint! What's going on?!" Natasha's voice trailed off as she glanced around, seeing now only moon-lit rooms, stripped bare of all their furniture and possessions. "Wh- Clint?" Her eyes were wide as she ran back to the kitchen, finding it completely empty. She quickly went to the light switch and flipped it up, but the light refused to turn on. Breathing quickly, she flipped it quickly several more times, the light still remaining off.

Her mind suddenly went to her daughter- probably terrified and alone upstairs. Bolting out of the room, she found the stairs and went up them two at a time.

"Lucy?! Clint?!" She paused at Lucy's closed door. She was just over tired. Or maybe she had gotten home and had a few drinks with Clint and she was drunk. Or maybe, just as she originally planned, she got home and found Clint asleep on the couch. She cuddled up with him and fell asleep, and this was a nightmare. That had to be it. This was a nightmare. But if it wasn't a nightmare and she was just overtired- or drunk- she shouldn't scare Lucy. She took a few deep breaths to calm herself and swallowed the lump in her throat. She would find Lucy asleep in her bed, the covers pulled up just above her shoulders, the nightlight shining dimly through the darkness, just like normal.

Natasha grabbed the doorknob, her fingers trembling slightly as she slowly turned it. Pausing again, she held her breath as she opened the door to her daughter's room. Poking her head inside, she felt her heart drop. Empty. The entire room- just like the ones downstairs- had been stripped bare. All of Lucy's furniture was gone; all her toys, her books, the posters had been torn down carelessly from the walls, some of the tacks still remaining. Natasha flung the door open wide and tried calling for her family again. Quickly tearing through every room upstairs and trying the lower floor again, she still could find no sign of them- or any sign they had lived here in months. The house was cold- without electricity, plumbing or heating. Clearly this wasn't real. She was dreaming.

Natasha slammed her back against a wall, her breath coming in short, small gasps, her hands pressed to her head. Sliding down the wall, she brought her knees to her chest.

"Wake up," she commanded herself. "Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake. Up."