Mercy

The clearing again, the monster still stalking her. Red eyes in the shadows.

"You should have stayed in bed, little girl."

From behind her this time, but the red eyes kept watching. Trapped between two of them—the one with all those teeth, and the one whose face was a slash of terror in the moonlight. Cold, pale and cruel.

"You should have listened, little girl. This is no world for you."

Utter darkness, her senses as good as broken, and the same scarlet eyes from years before waiting up ahead. If she turned, the pitiless one would be waiting too.

"I'll do whatever I have to," she replied to the shadows, and she almost sounded brave.

The laughter that echoed around her definitely belonged to the merciless man.

When Asta woke, the world was a changed place. Or at least, her world was. Instead of the peace of her room, the thrum of engines vibrated up through the floor and the cot she lay on. She had no window, though the walls were the same industrial-white, and she'd lost space, reduced to just the cot and room to pace. It wasn't a cell, or so Coulson promised, but she doubted she had any more control over her circumstances than she did before.

Sleep had taken a long time to come. When they seemed to be reaching the edge of the desert Coulson had offered her a choice: a blindfold or a needle full of something that would knock her out for hours. She'd picked the blindfold, but it wasn't the kind you could peek out the bottom of—the world had been utter black from the moment it was on until she was deposited on this cot. She couldn't know, even after all these months, where they were taking her. Coulson believed her, Romanoff believed her, hard as that was to swallow, but the wider organisation had yet to be convinced.

All she knew was they were on some kind of ship, and they'd got here by helicopter. Whether the ship was aerial or nautical, she wasn't sure—sometimes she could feel the Earth rocking below her, the telltale motion of waves, and then sometimes she felt the pressure building in her skull as if she were on an airplane during take-off. She wasn't going to get answers, even if she asked. Even if there were anyone around to ask. She had a teeny-tiny en suite to take care of business, and meals came through a hatch in the wall. Books did not come with breakfast around here.

She missed the clock and the calendar she used to have, keeping her anchored to the here and now. The calendar had been replaced with the change in year—a Christmas gift—and Coulson had permitted her a personalised option. She'd plumped for fireworks. This month featured Catherine wheels pinwheeling above a harbour, marking a celebration of some kind.

Those images of exploding gunpowder were now ashes in the base they'd left behind. Without Coulson to ask, she had no idea if everyone had made it alive. Maybe this was better. Did she really want to know if anyone hadn't?

She did jumping jacks and jogged on the spot when pacing became too monotonous, just to keep herself moving. When it was time for the tray swap at midday, she yelled through the hatch. "Could I get a magazine or something?"

She didn't really expect her request to be fulfilled, but when dinner came, it came with a batch of reading material.

And so the hours passed, marked this time around only by the change in magazines. They were obviously whatever was left lying around on this ship they were on, the choice of the people who worked on it rather than handpicked for her. Still, she couldn't complain. Something was better than nothing, and it amused her that the same people who'd kept her under such close guard for over a year now handed her back issues of Ammunitions Monthly without blinking. Reading was better than sleeping, because the dreams just twisted round each other now, a snarled mess of black and blacker. That face, the one she couldn't even picture when she woke, lurked in every dark corner.

On the third day, the world went to hell again.

At first she thought it was a storm or insane turbulence, and she sat down on the cot and closed her eyes to calm her stomach. The wild rocking of the ship made it hard to stay on her feet anyway, and only when the cot began to slide across the floor did she panic, throwing herself into the bathroom and slamming the door shut. Everything in here was nailed down. It'd be safe until things calmed.

Except it didn't seem like anything would be calming soon. She could hear explosions in the background, gunfire and a banging that reverberated up through the floor and into her skull. Whatever she was trapped in the middle of wasn't just a little trouble with the weather. It felt a lot like war.

Above all that noise, the approaching footsteps were louder. She peered out of the bathroom, making sure nothing was going to crush her, and crouched by the hatch. She hoped it was Coulson, come to initiate yet another evacuation, and she was about to move to somewhere with a window. If this was a battle, there was every chance it wasn't even her side coming to fetch her, but there was no point panicking. She had nowhere to retreat to, no weapons, only a wish and a prayer to rely on.

The door swung open, and it was Coulson alright. He looked as grim as she'd ever seen him, but rose from the crouch, ready to follow him wherever they were going. When his companion stepped into the room, she faltered, skittering back until her back hit the far wall, as far away as she could go.

He took up the full doorway, a grotesque shroud of leather body armour adding girth, though the height was all his own. His gaunt face was pale, choppy black hair slicked back, eyes fever bright, expression tight. She'd never been able to grasp the memory of his face outside her dreams, and now she remembered why she should never have tried. He wore cruelty so casually, and it twisted what should have been handsome features into something altogether more repellent.

He held a staff in his hand, the sharp tip aimed at Coulson, and Coulson turned apologetic eyes towards Asta. In turn, she could only open her mouth to scream. All her nightmares had found her.

I made a YouTube playlist (queen of procrastination here!), and a Tumblr post with a few details about it, which I've linked to on my profile page.