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Natasha had always been the only one who could find her.
Yelena ignored Natasha as she pushed the door to their treehouse open, instead slinking further back into the corner, tiny fists clenching as fat tears rolled down hot cheeks.
“You can’t keep doing this,” Natasha sighed, hoisting herself into their wooden fortress, too big in the small space. Yelena didn’t need to look at her sister to see how the light shone through her bright blue hair, bringing out its red undertones; she knew who Natasha was beneath her many masks. How many masks had Yelena worn?
Yelena was supposed to kill her, now. She could feel it, the forged connections in her brain firing, creating the urge that she wouldn’t be able to resist. She could never resist.
Natasha moved closer and Yelena scrambled as far back as she could, wooden walls roughening the soft fabric of her favorite dress; the one Mom had bought her during their special shopping trip.
“Why do you always run, Yelena?” Natasha’s voice met her ears, muffled, far away through a viscous medium.
She didn’t run. Natasha was the one who ran; onward, always away from Yelena.
Cold fingertips pressed against flushed cheeks, urging Yelena to look. She stiffened her neck and clenched her teeth, tongue pressing against their backs, partly poking through the one she’d lost, taken by a fairy--Yelena used to believe in fairy tales.
There was a knife in her hands; warm and impossibly large but at home. If she’d just look at Natasha, everything would be over. The fingertips grew insistent but Yelena resisted the pull with everything in her weak, insignificant body.
“Look at me, sestra,” Natasha pleaded, urgently, and now she was close--too close, inside her head. “I need you to look at me.” She could never resist.
The muscles in her neck quivered from sudden release and Natasha filled her vision; red hair matching the red running in a rivulet from the corner of her mouth. The knife was cold and she looked down to where it connected them, Natasha’s gut and her trembling hand.
“Why?” Natasha’s question ended with a wet rattle and Yelena looked back up, finding streams of crimson pouring from her eyes, meeting the blood from her lips in a river that ran down her neck and dripped onto Yelena’s hand.
Yelena choked on the horror, compelled instead to twist the knife and press deeper, feeling Natasha’s body surrender against its serrated blade.
Glittering red smoke filled the treehouse, blocking out the sun and tilting the world on its head. Yelena blinked, clearing her vision with the back of one hand, feeling a sticky heat smear against her cheek at the action.
Yelena couldn’t remember what she was doing here. She got to her feet and the smoke cleared, giving way to her sister slumped on the floor, a pool of blood growing beneath her on the treehouse floor--their sanctuary, the one Dad had built for them during their first summer in Ohio.
She looked down at her hand, knife glistening in her grip, mocking her. “No,” she gasped, suffocating with sudden realization. The knife thudded to the floor and Yelena dove to her knees, gathering Natasha’s limp body. She wasn’t young anymore; this time it was Natasha who was small in her arms.
“Please,” she shook Natasha, feeling no resistance. “No, please” she sobbed, shaking harder. “It wasn’t me,” she choked out.
“Your pain only makes you stronger,” Mom’s voice echoed around the treehouse as Natasha’s eyes opened, black pits pulling her in.
“No!” Yelena’s voice was hoarse with sleep as it ripped from her throat. Something was surrounding her and she fought against it, flailing her arms--it was stronger.
“Yelena,” Natasha’s voice soothed, next to her ear, but Yelena could barely hear it above the pounding in her chest. “You’re okay,” she murmured, closer this time.
Natasha.
Yelena willed herself to relax but instead a sob bubbled up. “I’m so sorry,” she cried, burying herself into her sister’s neck. Hands smoothed Yelena’s hair, giving her space to expel the demons that haunted her sleep.
“I know,” Natasha whispered, pressing a silent kiss to the side of her head. “Everything is okay now. It was only a dream.”
It had been a long time since someone soothed Yelena’s nightmares; it had been Natasha then, too. As the panic receded and the violence in her chest calmed, Yelena was able to breathe. She made to move away from Natasha but her sister--forever stubborn--wouldn’t give in, so she breathed a sigh and settled onto her shoulder.
“You’ll stay?” Yelena asked, hoping that she’d be able to sleep. She needed to be ready for the mission ahead.
“For as long as you need me.”