Okay, so two people asked for the same prompt, unless it was the same person being impatient and asking twice, which i doubt. The point is, it was supposed to just be Natasha's struggles. It really was, i promise. But it wasn't really coming together, so I scrapped it all yesterday and started over. SO...I wrote this all in like, two hours. It's a paradox between the feelings all the female Avengers have for nightmares. For comparison purposes. Warning! This is so angsty, I just about cried. Writing this was just...wow.

Anyway; read, review, and try not to drip tears on your computer screen.

For: Guest and Guest...

Natasha (Everyone) has PTSD and doesn't wanna tell the team: But nothing happens, and no one comes, and there's no happy ending because I don't deserve those.

Jaq

The tower is silent. Everyone is asleep, even James. I suppose I should be glad he's resting more, but I can't. I wander the halls aimlessly. I'm not sure where I'm going, but I guess if I end up in a room that can divert me, I won't complain. Anything to chase away the images flashing in my eyes every time I close them.

A syringe; a glint of silver and a mangled scream that sounds exactly like James. Gashes and stabs healing over; growing new skin right in front of my eyes. Pain, burning into rage; a knife and fire everywhere. Another scream, this time, a child's. And under all that, the overwhelming urge to lay down and cry.

I pad into the kitchen, walk to the freezer, and dig out the rocky road. (If I have to eat my feelings, they might as well taste like chocolate…) I move to the drawer and get a spoon, then sit on a barstool and stare into space.

Wanda

"Wanda" Pietro says. He walks up to me, his face twisted in agony, his torso riddled with bullet wounds that blossom with his blood. Horrible flowers in a field of pain. I look up as he stands over me and I reach for him, but he hovers just out of my reach. He grimaces down at me and his eyes roll back in his head and he falls. And once he falls I can finally reach him but when I touch his neck, feeling for a pulse, he reaches up and grabs my throat in a vise grip. I choke and claw at his hand; no, Ultron's hand. I use my power and pull out his metal heart, but then it isn't metal anymore. It's Pietro's and my parents' and the Avengers' hearts and they all stand before me, with bloody holes in their chests and dead eyes, reaching for me with cold, touchless fingers…

I wake suddenly, sweating and frantic. Watching everyone I love fall again and again in vivid clarity hurts more each time it happens. I crawl out of bed, curl up in a ball in the corner and shiver. Usually, I would go to Pietro's room and check that he's still alive, but usually I don't dream that I've killed him. So I stay, and I shiver, and I think about nothing to keep from thinking about everything, and eventually I cry because there's nothing else I really can do.

Salina

I run my hand over the marks on my shoulders and neck and sigh. Another night; more nightmares. I sit on my bed and stare at the wall that I never put anything on. Every night, I tell myself that I'll hang something up, to make it seem less like a lab; but every day, I ignore any thoughts of my nightly struggle. Eventually, my promise to personalize became less of an appointment and more of a mantra to get me through the day.

I love Dante, but he wants to protect me from his issues. I wish he'd let me help him. Maybe if I could focus on him, I wouldn't struggle so badly myself. I feel alone, even though I'm fairly certain that at least Jaq suffers too. But she's always had it together, and she's always hated when people unload on her. So I sit in my room, alone. Just like always.

Rosalinda

I dream of my father. I always do. There's no other image that could scare or sadden me, so my body (traitorous as always) uses that to torture me. One night it's my father carving me up, another night it's him carving up my friends. When I think hard enough, I positively burn with jealousy. (Although that may just be the poison in my system burning through my bloodstream.)

I hate Jaq sometimes, because she has someone who loves her to talk too. Sal too. She has Dante. I hate Natasha because she's unflappable, and I hate Wanda because I can't get the only person I thought could be mine. (Because he's always belonged to her, before they were even born.) I pace the room, trying to banish the thoughts that tempt me from the dark side.

I could consume this entire compound and never look back. Let them live in the darkness that covers my world and see how they like it. But I don't, because to do so (to knowingly enjoy causing pain to another) would be to please my father. And I'm not my father. So instead I pace until I collapse, and sob until I pass out.

Such a jolly life have I.

Natasha

Blood and fire. That's all I ever see when I fall asleep. Except when Wanda spirals out of control in the night. Then I still see blood, except that of those Wanda cares about. I never tell anyone about the nightmares. They've always been there, but to me, they don't exist. If I try hard enough, I can almost convince myself.

Black Widow, the mistress of deception.

Of course, it's always harder to fool yourself, but I can do it. In the light of day, I can convince myself that I never have any nightmares. In the dark of night, however, it's much harder. But I can still do it, as long as I don't fall asleep.

So I stay awake. It makes me feel strong. In the Red Room, they told us that nightmares are the body's way of admitting remorse for part deeds. But admitting remorse is weak, and the Black Widow is strong.

Strong, indeed.

Lying to the others is easy, but lying to myself is hard. Every time someone asks how I slept and I smile and lie in their face, a piece of my heart withers; but every time I convince myself that I'm not lying at all, a piece of my soul dies.

If this were one of the sappy movies that Sam likes, someone would come and save me. Someone would help me stop lying to myself; make me admit that I have nightmares too. They would stop my heart from withering before I turn heartless; they'd save my soul before I lose it, and there would be a happy ending.

But this is not one of Sam's movies. I continue to lie to myself and everyone else and they believe it. In fact, I'm preparing today's lie right now. I wait and wait for my savior to come, but nothing happens, and my heart withers, and my soul dies more every day. More importantly, there's no happy ending. Because I don't deserve those.

So much angst. I know.

If you guys like, I can do a part two later on with the guys' thoughts on nightmares.

Keep sending in prompts. Unless i get more, there won't be a chapter next week. Bye!