Posting a few hours later than usual, but that's because I literally had an all-day competition and I want to crash now lol. Enjoy! Or suffer! Either one works!

The science geniuses make last-minute adjustments as Natasha leans against the wall next to Thor and just watches them.

"Asgard is doing well," he tells her, unprompted.

"I'm glad," she replies, genuine in intent if not in tone. She's not sure what she's feeling right now: a weird mix of exhilaration and excitement and nervousness and dread?

Thor gives her a small smile. "I left Valkyrie in charge in order to come here. She's not too happy."

Nat snorts. "I think not." But then Thor's smile fades, and she frowns.

"The work doesn't end, does it?" he says. "After this...if this works, then I will have twice as many people as before, and I think I will still feel the same."

"Why?"

"Because the most important people in my life have already been lost, and I cannot bring them back even with this time heist." Thor shakes his head sadly, and Nat places a hand on his shoulder and tries to be there for him as he had been for her. "Is that selfish of me?" he asks.

She shakes her head. "Many families will be reunited, but that doesn't erase the fact that yours won't be," she tells him. "Other people's happiness shouldn't make your grief invalid. After this, you can rest, have a break."

"If I do, then I fear I'll never stop," he whispers.

"Burying yourself in work isn't a long term fix," Nat warns, but she's not sure Thor will listen.

"Then how do you get through it?" She glances at him. His eyes are distant, clouded over; he looks lost.

"You live for them," Nat tells him. "That's the best thing you can do, because living is so much harder than dying, but it's worth it. We have to believe it's worth it."

She has to believe that this will all be worth it, in the end.

Natasha is quick, she has always been (it had been a necessity in the Red Room), and it seems like someone shares her penchant for efficiency, 'cause when she gets back to the hangar after changing into the weird time travel suit, the only person there is Nebula.

(Or maybe it's because both of them don't really have anybody to say goodbye to.)

"Hello," Nat says cautiously.

Nebula tilts her head and it definitely feels like she's being studied. "Hello," she greets back after a few seconds of slightly awkward silence.

"How are you feeling about the mission?"

"My feelings are irrelevant. We're going to be doing it whether I want to or not, and I do. I do want to." Nebula frowns. "But, well, this is unprecedented territory."

Nat knows the feeling. "We'll get them back," she says, because if she's already dipping her toes in the water of hope, then she might as well jump right in.

"How can you be so certain?" Nebula asks her, and to be honest she has no idea.

"If we don't, then what's the point?" Nat asks her in return.

"That's not an answer."

"It wasn't meant to be," Nat says with a wry smile.

"Thanos killed Gamora, killed the only family I really had," Nebula tells her suddenly, and Natasha has the feeling that she is the first person being told this. "He killed her before he killed half the universe. He killed her after she had helped him. It's not fair."

"Life isn't," Natasha whispers.

"If we succeed in this, we will be able to reverse what Thanos did. He had been looking forward to this for years, and to foil his plans after the fact would be an amazing feeling, but I realize that I am doing this more for revenge than for anything, while you all are doing it out of the goodness of your hearts." She grimaces. "I don't even have a real heart. Thanos took it out years ago."

That's a horrifying thought.

Natasha shrugs. "Revenge is as good a reason as any. You owe Thanos nothing. He owes you a sister back."

"But I won't get her back," Nebula points out. "And she wasn't even my flesh and blood. I'm not sure if I ever had a flesh and blood sister. Gamora and I had been the last of our respective species after Thanos had gotten through with them."

That is also a horrifying thought.

But Nat decides to focus on something else.

"Just because Gamora wasn't related to you biologically doesn't mean she wasn't your sister," she says, voice firm, and Nebula stares at her as if she's said something novel. "It's the experiences that bind you together, not your genetics."

"Thanos brought us together."

"No," Nat says, because she can't just believe that the Red Room had brought her and Yelena together, not after everything that they've been through. "Thanos may have brought you two physically together, but he couldn't control your feelings, your care, your love for one another."

"Love got Gamora killed," Nebula whispers.

"Love saved you," Nat tells her, and Nebula can say nothing to counter that.

"Whatever it takes," Steve tells them all.

His words echo in Natasha's head when she says, "See you in a minute," as if it'll be that easy, as if they'll come back and everything will be automatically alright.

Natasha is used to growing up too quickly, having had to mature years ahead of her time in the Red Room in order to survive, having had to become an older sister with no time to prepare. She's used to it, but that doesn't mean it didn't hurt when she'd aged five months and half the world had not. (It has been five months, but the grief has aged her several years.)

Even so, nobody could have prepared her for what will happen next in this one single unit of time. (To them, it is much more than a minute.)

"We're a long way from Budapest," Clint says with genuine humor in his voice, and Natasha glances at him for just a second as she pilots the spaceship through, well...space. It's surreal. She could have never imagined being here when she had been a child dreaming of freedom.

"Further every second," she tells him with a smile, and they keep it together for maybe about 10 seconds before they break, bursting out laughing at the insanity of it all.

"Don't say it!" Clint warns.

Nat's smile turns into a self-assured smirk. "Reminds me of Budapest, is all," she tells him, gesturing out at the void they are surrounded by, where the light of an infinite number of stars can be seen right outside the windshield.

"Fuck you. Can't be Budapest, no Hungarians in sight," Clint protests, but he doesn't mean it, not really. This is a little game of theirs, has been since things were simpler.

Natasha is, for once, more than fine with reverting back to the old days, just for a bit.

The climb is long and arduous. Natasha is starting to think she should have opted to go to Asgard instead.

As if reading her thoughts, Clint says, "Really starting to regret my choice here."

"Yeah," Nat responds, a bit breathlessly. "I'm gonna bet the raccoon didn't have to climb a mountain."

"I don't think he's technically a raccoon..."

"Whatever. He eats garbage—"

Footsteps. Oh shit, she thinks before they whirl around as one, pointing their weapons at a creepy dude, head covered by a hood.

"I assure you, you have nothing to fear from me," he says, which is not reassuring at all.

"Creepy," Clint mutters in response. Looks like the two of them do share a brain cell, after all.

"Welcome Natasha, daughter of Ivan. Clint, son of Edith."

"Creepier," Clint mutters. And maybe Natasha should be more shocked by the sudden announcement of her father's name in the middle of nowhere, but to be completely honest she doesn't care.

The Natalia who was his daughter is gone now. The Red Room stole her, made her into a weapon. She recognizes only one father now, and his name is not Ivan.

"Who are you?" she asks the hooded figure, in lieu of all the thoughts swirling around her head. How does he know all of this?

"Consider me a guide," he responds serenely. "To you, and to all who seek the Soul Stone."

Natasha really wants to grab the stone and get the hell out of here, so she says, "Great. Show us where it is, and we'll be on our way."

And well, she's seen pictures of and read reports on the Red Skull, AKA Johann Schmidt, AKA the guy who'd been in charge of HYDRA back in Steve's day. She's analyzed his actions, his words, and she's known about his transformation, but it really is a whole 'nother experience to see it in person.

He disappeared from Earth. Now she knows where he disappeared to.

(But still, how the hell did he get here?)

(She's so telling Steve all about this once they get back.)

(If they get back, that is.)

"If only it were that easy," Schmidt is saying.

She hadn't expected it to be easy.

She had hoped, maybe, but she hadn't really believed it.

Now they are paying the price for her willful ignorance.

"A soul for a soul," is what they are told.

Natalia had been very good at doing what she was told. She had killed classmates just to please her teachers, assassinated diplomats under orders, hurt herself all for the good of Russia.

Natashka had been less good at doing what she was told. She had been a rebellious pre-teen—as is the norm for that age group. She had listened to her parents only on a whim. But she had taken care of her younger sister, and that had been enough.

Natasha has never been good at doing what she's been told. That tends to be what happens when you defect from the organization that had brainwashed you since you were a child in order to join the organization you had thought was the enemy just a few moments before. That tends to happen when you find friends and family you are willing to fight for and sacrifice yourself for. That tends to happen when your friends and family split up, and you are forced to choose sides but instead straddle the line in between. That tends to happen when you love too much.

"Maybe he's full of shit," Clint says hopefully from where they're sitting on the ground, deliberating. It doesn't really matter how long they take, seeing as when the Soul Stone gets back to the present, only one minute will have passed.

Natasha snorts. "Do you really believe that?" she asks.

"Nope."

She stares down at the ground for a few seconds, the wind coming from somewhere blowing through her hair. "Thanos left here with the stone, and without his daughter," she reminds him. "You really think that's a coincidence?"

"That's morbid," Clint mutters. "From Nebula's stories, you'd think Thanos didn't love anyone."

"That's not love," Nat protests.

"Well, he got the Soul Stone, so..."

"It was a delusional sense of love," Nat amends.

"Sure."

"Well," she says with false levity, looking Clint in the eyes, "whatever it takes, right?"

"Whatever it takes," he agrees with a nod, and they stand, clasping hands.

"If we don't get the stone, billions of people are going to stay dead," Natasha tells him. And she wants him to know, wants him to translate just from a look, what she means. They've always acted like one unit, so they can surely agree on this one thing in this one vital moment, right?

Of course, Clint doesn't get it. He's an idiot like that sometimes. Instead of acquiescing, he says, "Then I guess we both know who it has to be."

"Yeah," Natasha says shortly, keeping the acidity out of her voice (now is not the time). "Guess we do."

Clint pulls her close and they press their foreheads together. They both know what this means.

It's an apology and forgiveness all at once.

"I'm starting to think we don't mean the same person," Clint says slowly, and she smiles mirthlessly at him. She's always been willing to wait for him to catch up.

Not this time.

"For the past however many years," she reminds him, "I've been trying to wipe the red off my ledger."

"Overused metaphor."

"Hush. This is it. Bringing everybody back has been my end goal for the past five months."

"I thought you gave up on hope," Clint croaks out, pressing his forehead more insistently against hers, on the borderline between comfort and pain.

"I thought you did too," she says back, voice wavering just slightly.

He frowns. "Do not get all decent on me now. We've got so much to do."

"You think I want to do it?" she asks him, starting to get heated. She's never been that self-sacrificing; at least, she doesn't think so. That had always been Matt. (Matt is gone, but he will be back.) "I'm trying to save your life, you idiot—"

"And I don't want you to," Clint says, eyes wide. And then, "If you hadn't stopped me in Hell's Kitchen, I would've done a lot more, in Mexico and Japan and wherever. I would have."

"But you didn't."

"I've already shed a lot of blood," he protests, shaking his head just slightly, and she can feel his harsh breaths on her face, his arms wrapped tightly around her. "You know I have. You know that's all I am now."

"That's not true—"

"I am. I'm nothing without my family, without you and the rest of the team. But you've always been so independent and so capable." Capable of beating your ass, Natasha thinks, almost hysterically. "Your life's worth ten of mine."

"What the hell?" she asks incredulously. "Are you really phrasing your argument this way? I don't judge people by their worst mistakes."

"Maybe you should—"

"You didn't," she says, voice firm, reminding him of the past.

She wouldn't be here without him, either.

He sighs. "You're a pain in my ass, you know that?" he asks with a tired smile, and that expression usually means he's given in, but something in Nat is telling her that it's a lie.

She trusts her instincts, so she is prepared when Clint sweeps her legs out from under her and pins her to the hard, dusty ground. "Clint," she growls out.

He is unapologetic, saying, "Tell my family I love them."

She pushes him off of her and says, "Tell them yourself."

They fight, and it is not like their famous weekly spars back in SHIELD headquarters, nor is it like when Clint had been mind controlled. Because this is about the good of the universe, and every hit is fueled with love.

Clint knocks her off her feet with a frustrating arrow. Natasha tackles him to the ground. "Damn you, Nat," Clint says, rolling them both around so that he now has the upper hand, but she wraps her arms around his shoulders and refuses to let go.

They are at a standstill.

"You have a family," she tells him. "You need to be there to greet them again."

"Fuck you!" Clint says, breaking free of her hold. He tries to run towards the cliff again only to stumble on her strategically placed foot. She stands up and tries to run for it, too, but he intercepts her and now they are giving each other cuts and bruises, and there is a trickle of blood trailing from the side of Clint's head that Natasha does not feel guilty for, because this is all for him.

"Laura, Cooper, Lila, Nate," she gasps out as a hit lands on her shoulder. Clint has never lost to her in hand-to-hand before but maybe this will be a first. "They need you."

"I need you," he says. "And you just told me! You have family too! You have to be there for them too!"

"I don't have kids," she tells him.

"That shouldn't matter," he says, knocking her to the ground with a hit to her stomach, right above the scar the Winter Soldier's bullet had left on her skin all those years ago. Honestly, dirty move. She would be proud if she wasn't so devastated. "I'm not letting you die for me, Nat."

He runs off for the cliff again, and Natasha recovers a bit too late, gets up a bit too late, she's always been too late. She scrambles after him and watches as he leaps over the edge of the damned cliff.

She follows him, of course she does. They've been through hell together.

She grabs onto him in mid-air and shoots her grappling hook into the rock face, slamming them into the hard surface. And then she quickly attaches the other end of the line to Clint's belt, because she's done this so many times before, on mission after mission where Clint has fallen and she has caught him. Saving him is muscle memory now.

She tries to let go but Clint grasps her fingers in his own and holds on tight.

Saving her (from the world, from herself) is muscle memory for him, too.

"I love you, Clint," she gasps out, tears in her eyes. The moments before death is a good time to be vulnerable, she thinks.

"Fuck you!" he says again.

"That's not a nice thing to say to someone about to die," she tells him, and he laughs at her dark, dark humor. They've always been like this, the two of them, two peas in a pod.

There are tears welling up in his eyes, too, but she doesn't regret the pain she is doling out on him.

Living is harder than dying.

She's lived through so much already. Maybe it's about time she figure out what the other side is like.

Is it like the Heaven in Matt's Bible? Would she even end up in Heaven, considering...everything? Or would it be like a backyard garden in suburban Ohio during the early evening, with the fireflies blinking in the trees and two girls laughing, one upside down?

"It's okay," she whispers.

"Love you, too, Nat," he forces out, voice wavering and weak and so unlike Clint but he'll recover. He will. He's strong like that. "I love you so much. That's why I can't..."

"You can't hold on forever," she tells him ever so gently, because she isn't afraid. "Let go. It's okay."

"No, please..."

"STOP!" a voice from above bellows, and they look up. Nat's breath catches in her throat.

"What?!" Clint screams. "What the hell do you want now?!" Tears trail down his cheeks like the blood on the side of his head. Her shoulder is aching, her wrist feels strained, her fingers are bruised. Everything hurts.

"The price is already paid," Schmidt says mysteriously, his red face cautiously peeking out at them over the edge of the cliff.

"What?!" Clint screams again. "The wind down here's really loud!" There is no more wind. "Repeat what you just said!"

"Stop being an asshole to the guy trying to lead us to our deaths," Nat mutters, and he smirks at her, far happier than he had been just moments before, face alight with dangerous hope.

"THE PRICE HAS ALREADY BEEN PAID!" Schmidt screams, entirely exasperated at them.

"Well why didn't you say so earlier, before we beat the shit outta each other?!" Clint screams back up.

Nat groans. "Can we please settle this on land and not on the side of a very tall cliff with a very steep drop?!" she says.

Clint frowns down at her, and then looks up again. "How are we supposed to get back up?" he asks.

The two of them collapse on top of the cliff with scratched up hands and fingers. Natasha's shoulder is definitely sprained, but at least they're alive.

Holy shit, they're alive.

They help each other up and simultaneously glare at Schmidt, who looks a bit sheepish at the moment, but his supernatural aura returns as he clears his throat and stares steadily back at them.

"Well, where's the stone?" Clint asks, crossing his arms over his chest. They're still leaned against one another.

Schmidt frowns at them. "I'm getting to that," he says shortly.

This has been the most surreal experience in her life. Nat really wants to go home now.

Where is home?

Well, if they can get half the world back, she won't have to worry about that.

"Natasha Romanoff," Schmidt says.

"Yes?" she responds hesitantly. Clint grabs her hand and squeezes tightly.

"You have given up yourself already. I did not see it before."

"...What's that supposed to mean?"

"You are a product of your past, but the past is not all you are made of. You are no longer Natalia Romanova. You gave up that part of yourself long ago. You have forged yourself into someone better, someone new."

Natasha grimaces. "I don't need a reminder of my past mistakes," she tells him.

"Natalia Romanova was loved by her parents for her laughter, loved by Mother Russia for her skill, loved by herself so much that she snuffed out the lives of others just to keep her own. You loved her. You loved who you used to be."

"But I'm not her anymore," Natasha tells him. Why is she trying to prove herself to this person who should be dead, this person who should not know so much?

"Yes," he agrees. "And that is why...the stone is now yours."

Everything disappears as she is enveloped in white light.

"At some point, we all have to choose between what the world wants you to be and who you are," Yelena quotes. Her messy hair falls out of her ponytail as she hangs upside down from a tree trunk in the backyard of a quaint Ohio home. Her arms are unscarred, and her hands lack the callouses that they will gather. "Isn't that what you told me, once?"

"So what?" she asks defensively, except her voice is higher, her hair is shorter. If she had a mirror, she would see streaks of blue. "Yelena, what are you talking about? What is happening? Is this really you?"

Yelena (or not-Yelena) shrugs, still upside down. "Does it really matter?" No, it doesn't. "Why were you so willing to give your life up for the stupid stone, anyways?"

"Because I needed to save you all," she answers.

"But why you? Why not Barton?"

"He has a family that is whole."

Yelena frowns. "Does that make ours worth less?"

"No, of course not," Nat protests.

"Then why?"

"Because I needed to save you all," Nat repeats, "including Clint, and I didn't see any other way."

Yelena smiles mirthlessly, an unusual expression on her child self. "Whatever it takes, right?"

"Whatever it takes," Nat repeats, closing her eyes for just a moment. When she opens them, they are in the Red Room: the bland walls tower over them like prison bars and the hallway continues endlessly on both ends. A red braid hangs over her left shoulder, and her hands are hovering over Yelena's blonde hair, as if she's about to braid it, too.

But this is a lie. They had been torn away from each other as soon as they had entered the Red Room. Yelena turns around, and Natasha sees that her features are more mature, like a teenager's. She never got to see Yelena at this age.

They stare at each other for a few moments. Natasha has no idea what's going on.

"You left me here," Yelena tells her.

"I'm sorry—"

"But it wasn't your fault," Yelena finishes insistently. "You don't owe the world anything. You don't owe me anything."

"I was supposed to protect you," she whispers, cupping Yelena's face in both hands and bringing her head forward so that their foreheads can touch. This gesture has always been a comfort to Nat.

Yelena grasps a hand with bruised knuckles gently around Natasha's wrist. "You tried your best," she says gently. As far as Natasha knows, Yelena has never been gentle in her life, at least not to her only sister, so she thinks she's going slightly insane.

Besides, her best has never been enough.

"What is this?" she asks.

"Shhh..." Yelena smiles, and her eyes are slightly wrong, though Natasha cannot pinpoint the reason why. "Just rest, for a little bit."

Natasha stares into her blue eyes as their surroundings shift and merge, and suddenly they are sitting on a park bench, and they are both older but Yelena's eyes have remained the same.

She remembers this place. Her own ice cream is gone, but Yelena's vanilla is still intact. Natasha clasps her hands and presses her lips together, hearing the sounds of children who are not there.

"You haven't saved us yet," Yelena tells her.

"I know," Nat says with regret.

"I didn't mean to shame you." Yelena rolls her eyes. "I'm just saying that there's still a job to be done, and for some reason you think you have to be the one to do it."

"If not me, then who else?"

"Anyone. I seem to recall a whole team of superheroes at your disposal, and you're only human."

"That's why I have to try harder," Nat insists, "to make up for my faults and for my past mistakes."

"Yeah yeah," Yelena says. "Wiping the red off of your ledger, I know."

"So you understand why I was so willing to jump off of that cliff."

Yelena smiles. That's not an answer. "Here," she says, holding out her ice cream that has not melted despite the sunny day.

"Thanks?" Natasha says, cautiously wrapping a hand around the cone as if it is a trap. All of this feels like a trap.

Yelena (or not-Yelena) nods at the ice cream. "That's your ledger," she tells her.

Natasha looks down, expecting some sort of optical illusion in this fever dream. "This is a scoop of vanilla ice cream," she says flatly. And then, "Wait, I thought you had two scoops of mint chocolate chip on this day. You wanted to try it out for the first time in years."

"It tasted like toothpaste," Yelena confirms. "I don't know how little me could stand it. And vanilla is my favorite, you knew that, you know that. You know me, you know your people. And that is enough."

"I don't get it," Natasha says helplessly, trying to keep her hands from trembling so she doesn't drop ice cream onto the ground, never mind that this is all happening in her mindscape, or whatever.

"That's your ledger," Yelena reiterates. "It's plain, clean vanilla ice cream. All these years, you've been trying to clean up after others and make up for mistakes that aren't yours. Maybe now's the time to live for yourself."

Natasha stares at her, then glances down at the ice cream. She sighs, and takes a lick of the ice cream, lets the sweetness melt on her lips and bloom on her tongue.

Nat wakes up to the sound of Clint's voice, slightly breathless from exertion. "Now would be a great time to wake up," he mutters, and she stiffens and opens her eyes, registering that she is in Clint's arms, being carried across Vormir back to the spaceship.

They're both dripping wet with what Nat hopes is water, or at least the equivalent of it on Vormir. She decides not to question it.

"Clint?" she asks instead.

He sighs in relief, and presses a kiss to her forehead. "Thank God," he whispers.

"Do we have the stone?"

"Yeah," he says with a small laugh. "Yeah, the damned stone is in my pocket. You're alright."

"I'm alright," she repeats. "Please put me down now."

He knows when he's been defeated (the earlier fight for the soul stone was an anomaly) and sets her down on her feet. As soon as she's settled, he pulls her into a long, desperate hug.

"I've already lost so much," he croaks out. "Don't ever do that again."

"I won't," she promises him, seeing a ghost of blue eyes and blonde hair in the distance. "Trust me, I won't."

Can't believe next chapter is already the last!