Hey everyone. New chapter coming today. Im suffering badly with my chronic illness so this fic and all my others will be a little more sporadically updated until I get over this slump. TW for parental abuse and violence.
/
Natasha stiffened, sitting bolt upright, very very awake now.
"Huh? I haven't seen you for years and you're not even gonna say hello?" The man stepped towards the bed and Natasha flinched, drawing her knees up to her chest.
"Still quiet, hmm?" Another step towards her.
Her nails dug into the flesh of her knees, eyes locked on him.
"I guess you finally learned some manners. So, Natalia, I think it's time you stop this childish behaviour and come home."
Natasha shook her head, voice shaking. "No."
"Excuse me?" He snapped, voice low.
"I said...no." She whispered, cringing as he came towards her without warning, grabbing her wrist.
"You may have been gone, little girl, but you'd do well to remember that you never speak to me like that." He growled.
"I..." Natasha stammered. That was when two years ago, Natasha would have apologised. Begged him to forgive her.
Instead she closed her mouth and tipped her head back, defiant.
Her father's lips pulled back in a snarl and he twisted her arm in his grip.
Natasha gritted her teeth against the pain but made no noise.
"Get up." He spat. "You're coming with me."
"I don't think she is." Clint hissed from beside Natasha.
"And who the fuck are you, hmm? Her boyfriend? Nah, Natalia is too damaged for that sort of thing."
"Natasha," Clint growled, "is nothing to you anymore. She's done with you. I suggest you leave, before I make you leave."
Her father laughed, grinning. "Okay, kid, and how are you gonna do that?"
Clint stood off the bed, eyes dark. "Take your hand off her."
His grip stayed.
"Fine." The boy hummed.
He punched her father and the man stumbled back a step, hand slipping from her wrist.
Natasha was off the bed in an instant, heart in her mouth. "Clint, no-" she choked.
Her father laughed, teeth bloody. He lunged at Clint, knocking him to the floor.
He was on him in seconds, fist slamming into his face.
Clint grunted, hands digging into the man's shoulders as he bucked up and kicked him.
His kick sent the man onto his arse and Clint, nose bleeding, stood and moved in a moment.
Clint kicked again, at his stomach this time. He did it twice, three times.
Then he hovered over the man for a second before spitting on him and slamming his foot down onto his face.
He then turned, grabbed the phone off the table, took Natasha's hand and pulled her to the door.
"Run." He murmured and she put one foot in front of the other, and soon they were both running.
Natasha felt like she was moving through water, every step was a struggle and her chest ached.
She was still sick, but more than that, she was terrified.
They ran through the hall and to the door, someone shouting after them as they got outside.
With his hand firmly in Natasha's, Clint led her off to the side and then they were running through the dark.