So, I don't really know where I'm going with this story, but I really wanted to write it, so here we are.
I'm using Natasha's real name, the one she originally had, which is Natalia. Sorry for any confusion.
The man who sat at the table was battered and scrawny. Tattered and threadbare clothes covered his frame. At some point it could have been a sweater, but as worn and grimy as it was, it was impossible to tell. Scars littered the skin revealed by them. His long hair streaked with grey, and clumped with grease. He smiled at the mug of tea that he was drinking from, but it was a forlorn expression. It was as though he was remembering something important. Mixed in with the sad expression was a bit of bitterness, some sort of regret.
He was calm, which is surprising considering how he had found.
He had appeared, as though he had been thrown, out of thin air. Somewhat singed and trailing smoke, he had hit the ground, carving a path for a couple of meters. Despite this, this didn't seem to harm him all that much, or he had some sort of healing factor, which isn't all that surprising, considering how he showed up.
After the initial confusion and hubbub of a random person appearing from nowhere and obliterating a street, they got him to SHIELD. And now sat, sipping on a mug of tea. That is, sitting and sipping, after sleeping for sixty hours straight, then devouring enough food that could have fed several people.
Natalie Romanoff, agent code name Black Widow, enters the room, and sits down across from the man. The man kept on staring at the mug of tea in his hands.
When a cleared throat doesn't get a response either, Natalie decides to dive right in. "Alright, I have a couple of questions for you."
"Yes, I know. And I have some answers." He spoke with a British accent, his voice soft and resigned. Despite this exchange of words, he still didn't look up.
The entire thing was pretty unnerving, but this was SHIELD; unnerving, paranormal, supernatural, and the unexplainable was an everyday occurrence. Besides, not only was Natalie one of them, she had personally encountered many of them herself in the field. But that didn't stop an uncomfortable feeling, the feeling of being watched, that made Nat stay on guard, ready to strike.
"But before you start, I'd like to know something."
"Depends."
The man before her tightened his grip on the mug, bones and veins protruding, scars stretching. An emotion might have crossed his face, possibly hope, but it was difficult to know.
"Was there... No... Was I... No, no..." He fiddled with the mug, twisting it in his hand. He opened his mouth a couple more times, seeming to struggle to find the words to ask his question.
Nat leaned back in her chair, observing him as he considered either what to ask or the phrasing of the question. Finally after some silence, he reached a conclusion.
"I was hoping that you could tell me if there was anyone else who appeared with me." He stated it, rather than ask, but there was a quaver of desperation, behind the careful words. It sounded desperate and hopeful.
"I can't tell you that."
"Did... No, no..." While his voice had started out with an urgent and demanding edge, it softened and grew resigned. With a sigh he leaned back into his chair, still looking down at his cup, which was now empty.
"Alright, ask your questions."
"What is your name?"
"Huh?" He stared at her with a blank look, as though he couldn't fathom someone not knowing his name.
This was the first time she had been able to see his face properly, and while it is true she had already seen a photo of him, taken while he was asleep, from the very slim file that SHIELD had on him, it was worse than the picture. It also wasn't the worst she had seen. His face was lined, creased from use and hardship. A scar at his throat suggested someone had threatened him with a knife at one point. Circular scars pockmarked his skin, their origin unknown.
He blinked a couple of times, stupified. "Oh, OOOH, my name, right. Jonathan Sims, the archi... no, never mind. I'm not used to not being known by people."
Nat raised an eyebrow at this. Something more to ask about. "Where did you come from"
"What, the accent didn't give it away?"
"No, but we've looked for any possible matches for your likeness, and we haven't found any leads. So either you completely changed your appearance, you lived off grid your entire life, or you appeared from some alternative dimension."
The man, Jonathan Sims, snorted at the last one.
"Look, laugh all you want, I've seen things and it's entirely-"
"No," he said, in the same soft tone as before, but abrupt enough to cut her off, "it's the alternate dimension. I am not from here, this dimension, just surprised I won't have to do anything to convince you. Yes, I came from a dimension that is fairly similar to this one."
"Well then, why did you come here?"
"Why did I come here?" It was as if he was tasting the question. "Why, did I, come here?" Jon snorted, and leaned back and looked up at the ceiling.
He let out a chuckle. It was bitter, angry, and devoid of joy, with the exception for the small spark of amusement at the absurdity of the question. "I don't want to be here, I really, really don't want to. You probably don't want me here either, you just don't know it yet." There was such bitterness in his voice, so much anger. All for what? The reason that he was brought here? This world?
He started to balance on the back two legs of his chair, mug dangling from his fingers.
"And why is that-"
BANG!* All four of Jon's chair legs were back on the ground.
"Because I'm a fucking monster." The response had been so immediate, so sure of themselves. Jon looked at her head on, the lines creasing into the expression that must have been his most used: a scowl.
And his eyes… His eyes were different. More unsettling. Tired, to be sure, but more as though he had seen too much. As though he was seeing too much.
"Could you elaborate?"
"Oh, sure!" It was bright, full of snarky, scowl gone and replaced with a tight smile, lacking any joy or amusement. "You see, I was made into a being that feeds off fear and trauma! Simple really! Just sort of tricked into it, really!" Immediately the not-really-a-smile vanished, replaced with a toned down version of the previous scowl. He looked away again, off to the side this time.
"Uh huh." She kept her voice flat, clinical. If he was telling the truth, then he was indeed dangerous. If he was hyperbolizing or struggling with some sort of mental illness, then... Well, it's not pleasant but they didn't provide any support, and in some ways, it would be crueler to dump the guy into a hospital. This was America after all.
Maybe she could bug Stark into getting him some proper treatment. An ID, some money will help him get started out.
"No, this isn't some sort of delusion, though if I do get out, the whole money and ID thing would be nice."
Ice entered Natalia's stomach. How had he known? He couldn't have known what I was thinking.
Jon continued, as though he hadn't said anything out of place. "And yes, I know I sound insane, I thought others were as well. Well, some of them weren't sane, and some of them only gave us a rubbish story, but honestly? I was in denial for a while. I really didn't want to admit to myself, or anyone else, for that matter, that these things I read and heard about were real. And once I accepted it, once I took it all seriously... Well, I had to know the truth, didn't I?" The last part was said almost as though it was a joke, grim and bitter smile gracing his lips.
He crumpled forward, returning to his original position, all the tension leaving his body. "And then once I knew enough, it was too late. Far, far too late." The way he said it would be heartbreaking for anyone else, it was tired and self hating and resigned, but Natalia was too well trained to let it get to her.
She still let him have a moment of silence, to mourn or wallow in sorrow, because it didn't seem like he was going to answer any more questions right at that moment.
But sooner than she thought he would, though, he resumed speaking.
"Then, after all that. After figuring it all out, and thinking I was safe, that everyone was relatively safe, relatively okay, because none of us were ever going to be completely okay ever again... I ended the world."
There was another solemn pause, Jon tightened his grip on the mug, causing the scar that looked like a large burn on one hand stretching in strange ways.
That didn't sound good, and it seemed so impossible. It didn't seem like he had wanted to do it, it seemed like he regretted all of it. "So you killed a bunch of people?" Nat was very careful to keep her tone even.
"No. God, no. That would have been a mercy. I was trying to do that, at the end. No, I just threw everyone into their biggest nightmare, crafted to squeeze as much terror and pain out of them as possible. That's all."
At this point, Jon was shaking. Whether it was from grief, terror, or perhaps the shock of it all.
She hesitated before the last question. "Did you mean to end the world?"
He looked at her, eyes filled with sorrow. "No, but I did and then I tried to make it right. Tried to kill them. Didn't end up working, obviously"
He looked so drained now, so much smaller.
"This ends my questioning for the day, I'll let you have a bit more rest. We are putting you in a higher level security, just as a precaution, but you'll be treated alright." Nat moved to get up, but then froze as an intense feeling of being seen, of being known.
She looked up. Jon was Looking at her, intently, his eyes back to looking like they've Seen too much. She felt pinned, uncomfortable. While plenty of people looked at her, investigated her, scrutinized her, she'd never felt so naked. She couldn't hide anything from him.
"Just be careful. If you feel like you have a sudden change of behaviour, try to keep yourself in check, and resist it. I was going to warn you against any spider related, because of your code name, but now that I Know you, perhaps it's better to warn you against loneliness or any... Voyeuristic inclinations." Jons gaze softened, and the feeling of being watched disappeared. He seemed drained, and even more tired. "Sorry, I know it must be unpleasant, but it helps to be careful." He then set the mug, the one which he had been fiddling with the entire interrogation, firmly but carefully on the table.
Nat got up from the table and walked to the door. Just as she was about to close the door, Jon spoke once more.
"I know I have no right to ask this, especially after doing that, but if you find a man named Martin Blackwood, keep him safe? Let him know that I'm alright? That is, if I am alright? Or just keep an eye out for him?" The voice somewhat desperate, the words edged with a tenderness. "He'll probably be a bit angry with me." He sounded sheepish now, almost embarrassed.
"Please, Ms. Romanoff." Despite the soft and pleading tones, Nat was filled with dread.
She never told him her name, much less her code name. It felt like icy dread was the only thing in her veins.
Nat said nothing, only closing the door behind her. She didn't know what to make of him. Jonathan Sims. Tattered, worn, weary, terrifying, and sheepish.
In spite of her training, Nat didn't want to face him again, or at least for a while, not after that feeling of being inspected and Known.