Preface
you can be the beauty, and I can be your monster.
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at /works/55333348.
by amithegamer1
Summary
it's funny how the whole world could be connected and they wouldn't even know it. Maybe they were too blind to see it. Or… they just didn't dig deep enough. The redhead thought, tilting her head towards a mysterious person soaked in blood standing in photo in front of her, stamped against a map on the wall, her eyes scanned down her board, in confusion. who are you?Notes
See the end of the work for notes
you can be the beauty, and I can be your monster.
She was young, but not too young.
Maybe, early or mid-twenties.
23-25?
She had pale blueish skin and dark reddish-brown hair. There were patches of skin on the side of the temple, showing that her hair was yanked from her roots. She had amber or hazel eyes, the outer white line of them was bloodshot red, from screaming, or crying. She couldn't tell.
She also had cuts and dark bruises on her cheeks, and a broken or fractured nose. Her neck wore reddish and purple fingerprints, she was choked to death.
There was no other show of obvious harm, besides her fingers being cut off. And not her whole fingers, just the tips, her nails.
They got the call around midnight and didn't arrive until 1 in the morning, but the body looked like it's already been there for hours.
"Do you think it's gang-related?"
She raised her head, from the young girl, her brows furrowed, as she pointed her flashlight in the direction of the noise. It landed on her partner, Detective Barton, who stood there, with his arms crossed, frowning at the bright light, beaming in his eyes. He titled his face away from it, as he continued, "She probably did or said the wrong thing, so they had to you know."
Natasha shook her head, brushing her hand against her pants leg, as she stood up, "or boyfriend got mad, jealous?"
She doesn't want to immediately blame it on gang violence. They stood in a decent house, former white walls, bottles, and needles laid on the floor. Maybe, she had a too wild of a night. Or she was sexually assaulted? She would have to remind herself later to ask them to do a rape kit on her.
"What did you get from asking around?"
"Not much, they all say the same thing," He paused, briefly, sighing through his nose, eyes glancing towards Natasha, who arched a brow, "they didn't see anything."
She let out a breath, looking around, 8 people were standing around the room. Former 12 but the four were still too drunk or drugged up to help, so they were outside, getting checked on.
"Have you talked to everyone?"
He hummed, "Yeah. Well, almost," He said, shaking his head, slightly, before turning, "I haven't talked to them."
He nodded his head, towards a pair, a man and a woman. A blonde, and whitish hair, platinum? Both of their hair were neck length, she frowned, they stood closely beside each other, almost defensively.
She believed that she had been staring for too long because eventually, the blonde turned to her.
She whispered something to the man beside her, causing him to look towards her as well. But his eyes didn't stay on her for too long, he nodded his head, before walking away from the woman.
"Come on."
She didn't have to look back, to know he was silently following her. He didn't come into her vision until she stopped in front of the blonde, and he moved beside her.
The blonde offered them a lopsided smile, "Hello, detectives," She greeted them, with a heavy accent, a Sokovian accent, to be exact. Natasha could tell from the way she pronounced her tek as a tac.
Natasha had been raised in Russia, which is beside Sokovia. So while growing up, she had heard the accent a couple of times. Which means she could understand the accent like her own.
"Just want to ask you a couple of questions," Natasha stated, as Barton pulled out of his notepad, which the blonde woman had looked him up and down for, before turning to Natasha and nodding.
"Did you know the woman?"
The woman shook her head.
"Not really. I think her name was Jean, she was talkative, could handle her own," The blonde listed, Natasha hummed, glancing at Barton's pad, her eyes on a specific part.
"And do you know where the owner is? Scott Summers?" She asked, her brows furrowing. He was an average-height male, with blue eyes, and dirty blond hair.
She looked up towards the Sokovian, who shrugged her shoulders, "I don't know, and honestly I never met him."
Natasha frowned, tilting her head, as Barton hummed, quickly jogging it down, "Did you see anything? Or something off with her?"
"Honestly, sir, you are asking the wrong person, I have worse eyesight than a cat in the dark," The blonde said, smiling, getting at least one of the detectives to laugh and the other to send them an unconvinced glare. The blonde nodded her head towards the man, who was formerly beside her, with broad shoulders and platinum hair, "he's the one who sees everything."
The male detective nodded his head, closing his notepad. Barton goes to move on, but Natasha speaks before he can, "But you're at his house? How don't you know him?"
She shrugged her shoulders again, too careless. The blonde bends down, picking up a folded sheet from the table she was leaning against, Natasha watches her closely. She offered out the sheet to the detective while furrowing her brows, "Do you know the host of every party you went to, detective?"
Natasha frowns, taking the paper from her fingers.
She opened it, silently, to meet with the face of Scott Summers, smiling widely, with his thumbs up, and the words, come get funky with Summers, underneath him. Her nose scrunched, as her eyes went down to his number and address plastered on the bottom.
Natasha sighed, handing the paper over to Clint, with her eyes glued on the blonde, who had the nerve to chuckle. Her lips curled up into a crooked smile, "We aren't as bad as those idiotic Russians made us out to be," The woman offered, Natasha frowned.
"I am Russian," She stated, aggressively, for some reason. The blonde's brows rose, "well, my apologies."
Finally, her eyes left the redhead, she hadn't looked anywhere else since she landed on the detective, "Pietro," She called out, towards the white-haired man, she guessed, the guy's head raised in their direction.
She nodded towards the detectives, and almost immediately he stood, stopping whatever he was doing, and walked towards them. Her lips went downwards, as Pietro moved like a robot during command.
Barton decided to take the lead this time, repeating the questions they already asked the blonde.
Pietro just answered blankly and robotic as he looked.
He offered little to no help, saying the same thing as the others. He didn't see anything, he didn't know the owner. Natasha's brows furrowed, a house filled with people, and no one sees a thing? And has no idea who's the missing owner.
This was odd.
She looked up to find the blonde's green eyes following her. She was odd, and he was as well. They were all stupid for partying at someone's home they didn't know, they all say they have poor observation skills.
Natasha shook her head, they were all copying each other, and they had to know more than they were saying.
The blonde leaned back in her chair, watching as the redhead pushed back her shoulders, straightening her back. Her eyes darted up and down, "At least I know where your negativity comes from."
Natasha immediately turned towards her, glaring, which would cause any sane person to shit their pants, but the blonde just smiled.
"What is your name?"
Natasha narrowed her eyes, towards the blonde, who just never looks away. Her partner spoke up before she could decide whether she wanted to, "Detective Clint Barton, I—,"
The blonde waved him off, as if he was nothing but an irritating fly, "Yeah, yeah. Your name is?" The blonde asked, directly at Natasha.
She rolled her jaw, "Romanoff."
"Just Romanoff?"
Natasha didn't say anything, just nodded. She turned her head to tell Clint that they had gotten everything they needed from them when the woman decided to speak again.
"What's your number?"
Her brows furrowed, as her sharp gaze snapped to the blonde. Who immediately raised her hands, a light smile curling on her lips, "you know, in case I remember anything."
She tilted her head, squinting her eyes, did the woman think she was funny? Natasha blinked, wetting her lips, or this situation was?
Natasha sighed, before humming, while nodding her head slowly, "Well, if you remember anything..." She leaned forward, invading the woman's personal space, which the blonde didn't seem to care about.
Natasha smiled slightly, causing the Sovokian's stare to go down to her lips, "call the police department and ask for Detective Romanoff and if you need our number, google it."
The woman's eyes darted upwards, as Natasha leaned back, "Sovokia can't be that bad. You know what the internet is, right?"
She could feel her partner's hard gaze on her, but she ignored him, as she stared at the blonde, who seemed to be speechless. She opened and closed her mouth, with a surprise look on her face, but then in a split-second? it faded into a smile like it never happened.
"I know what the internet is, Detective."
They left the building with what they came with, absolutely nothing. Before leaving the property, she asked one of the officers there to tell the medics to use a rape kit on Jean, and that they will meet them at the hospital.
The officer nodded and went to do what they were told. Then Natasha turned and followed Barton to his car. When she made it to him, the detective was leaning against his car, frowning.
Her brows furrowed, "what?"
She moved around to the passenger side, causing Barton to turn and open his door. She entered the car, as Clint did, he shook his head, "Don't what me. Why were you acting like that?"
Natasha closed her door, before moving to put on her seatbelt, "like what?"
He rolled his eyes, "Aggressive. They were trying to help, Romanoff."
Natasha shook her head, "they were lying, pretending... all of them, especially the blonde."
"Wanda."
Her brows furrowed, her eyes snapping towards him. He shrugged his shoulders, "Her name is Wanda Maximoff, and the Pietro guy is her twin."
She doesn't even try to ask where he got that information from. She just nodded, as he started to the engine.
They rode in silence, the car's old radio crackling and popping, distorting Amy Winehouse's voice. Only fragments of lyrics were decipherable through the static.
"You need a new radio."
"Okay, you're going buy it for me?"
It didn't take that long to make it to the hospital. After a few minutes, they stepped out of the car and walked towards entrance of the building.
They greeted the receptionist, before moving down the hall towards the morgue. They only knocked on the door twice, before twisting the knob.
They opened the door to be met with a Korean doctor, Helen Cho. They walked into the morgue, and Dr. Cho turned them, offering a tiny smile, as Barton shut the down behind them, "Detectives."
They both nodded their heads in greeting.
Natasha sighed, glancing down at the pale-skinned woman, lying on the table, body being covered by a white sheet. Barton crossed his arms, as he looked down as well.
"Cause of death?"
"cervical fracture, brain damage," Dr. Cho stated, pointing her finger towards an area underneath her chin, "the aggressor had torn her windpipe, fractured her C5, which wasn't what killed her, there's multiple injuries to her head, fractured skull, bruising to the lesions."
"They paralyzed, then beat her to death?" Barton asked, furrowing his brows.
The doctor hummed, "I assumed she had scratched them, and that's the reason why, they cut off her nails." Pointing to the fingers, Natasha nodded her head, silently.
"What did the kit say?" Natasha asked, frowning.
Dr. Cho sighed, moving to a desk in the room, Natasha's eyes followed her, as sat down in the chair, before tapping away on the computer.
"There was nothing delivered, nor sign of forcing, vaginally or anally," Dr. Cho told them, before turning the computer towards the detectives, multiple x-rays were found on the screen, showing the fractured skull, the nose, and neck, but the doctor was pointing at a specific area, "but they were some orally."
"there's damaged and scarring inside of her mouth, her lips are swollen, he had forced her to..." Dr. Cho trailed off, and Natasha nodded, already knowing the next word. She swallowed, she always hated this part of the job. When the assumptions become facts, she has to realize how sick the world could be.
"I already sent out a DNA sample for you."
A board of photos laid in front of them, as they now stood in the middle of the precinct.
"Jean Grey, 24, an honors student at Harvard?" Stark listed, as Banner scrolled down the woman's bio, his brows furrowed, "says here, she's an orphan."
Natasha sighed, leaning forward in her seat, "So no parents, how about friends?"
Banner shook his head, "There's nothing on Instagram, except pictures of her cat."
Her shoulders slumped, so it was a dead end. Her jaw clenched, "Did you find the location of the owner?"
Bruce looked up at her, and she could see the disappointment in his eyes, as he opened his mouth.
"B$GP1P1," A voice interjected before the detective could speak. A tan folder came into vision, as Detective Wilson slapped it down against Bruce's desk, before leaning back on hers. "Is his weird ass license plate."
Bruce's brows rose, and he turned back to the computer and began typing and searching for the car through the cameras posted on streets, or highways.
"the car was last seen heading down Brooklyn in the direction of his second mansion."
It was night by the time they arrived. Neighbors were crowded outside, frowning, at police vehicles surrounding the building.
They burst through the front door, with their guns raised. Her brows furrowed, as she searched around the room, eyes darting towards the flipped furniture, broken glasses.
Natasha looked up to see Odinson shaking his head, as he left (what she believed was...) the bedroom, letting her know nothing was over there. She, silently, nodded, before walking through the kitchen, searching around.
"Romanoff."
A voice whisper-shouted her name, Natasha raised her head to the sound, her eyes turning, to see her partner waving her over. She walked in his direction, causing him to step back, his hands opening something, as he did it. He flashed his light, down some hollow stairs. If it wasn't for their lights, the area would be pitch black.
"You first."
She felt a shoulder nudge her back, causing her to shake her head. Before turning her light down the stairwell. Natasha slowly walked forward, footsteps creaking against the wooden steps, letting her know her team was following behind.
As she entered the basement, a stale and damp scent lingered in the air, and her nose twitched. The sound of plopping water hit her ears, as she looked towards moldy walls, the house smelled and looked like death.
A loud whimper, causes her head to snap towards the side. Her eyes darted, looking around, before a large figure lying on the ground, caught her vision. She points, causing a male's body to light up. His pants and shirt were ripped, and the body was covered in dirt and blood, she was unsure if it was his own or someone else's.
"Scott Summers?" She slowly approached him, the man was shaking, practically clinging to the floor.
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to hurt her!" Summers stammered. She frowned, raising the flashlight to his face, as he cowards away, pressing against the floor, squeezing his eyes shut.
"they did... they told me to," He cried, Natasha's brows furrowed.
"Who?"
His skin peeling from his cheeks, fingers were red and bruised. Summers pulled into himself as if he was trying to force his body away from existence. He looked up and she could finally see his eyes. His wild fearful eyes were staring at her, no, beyond her, like he had just seen true darkness. Honestly, like he saw the devil.
He sobbed, and screamed like a mania, his body shivering as if they stood in Antarctica, and his wet body was being buried in snow, but he wasn't, and the room was almost as hot as hell.
Maybe, he did see the devil... or something close to one.
"The Scarlet Witch."
Afterword
End Notes
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