Scared of the Dark

by GhostShayde

Summary:

After saving the city from the Void and being unexpectedly proclaimed "the New Avengers," the Thunderbolts team is sent back to Alexei's house to spend the night while arrangements are made for settling Earth's new mightiest heroes into the Avengers watch tower in New York City. This is the team's first glimpse into their future living together as a ragtag group of former assassins and washed-up loners, and while their histories and personalities make for an oddly unique family dynamic, they grow to realize just how important they are becoming in each others' lives. But, with the torment of their past traumas and the terrifying first experience with the Void still fresh on everyone's minds, settling into their role as heroes and teammates does not come easily. They know no sleep without nightmares, no safety without isolation or violence, and no peace of mind with the guilt they each bear. Around each other, however, the emptiness they all know so well begins to feel a little lighter.

Notes:

Hi everyone! Thank you so much for reading!! This is the first fanfic I've ever posted, so I'd love any constructive feedback! The Thunderbolts* team means a lot to me, and I can't seem to read enough about them haha, so I thought I'd add my own writing to the collection. There are so many powerful dynamics and relationships within the team, and one of the first ones I wanted to explore in this story is the father-daughter bond between Alexei and Yelena. But don't worry, there will be more coming, including Boblena :)

Chapter 1: Alexei's House

Yelena’s eyes squinted involuntarily at the sudden onset of the yellow bathroom lights. Muttering under her breath, she shut the door behind her and leaned over the small and grubby sink, resting her hands on the edge of the countertop. She exhaled a drawn-out sigh at the view of her reflection in the stained mirror. Alexei’s house was certainly in rough shape, but she couldn’t say that she was doing much better.

Turning on the hot water, she leaned down and scrubbed her face until the water rinsing off her skin was no longer noticeably dark with blood and dirt. Yelena had been so exhausted on the jet ride over from Manhattan that she hadn’t even bothered to clean off the day’s damage from herself until now. The thirty-four-year-old looked back up to examine her work in the mirror, letting the faucet’s warm stream trickle through her cupped fingers as she became lost in thought, water droplets every so often falling gently from her long lashes.

Just as she was moving to put her face back under, a loud knock rapped on the door, (to her silent humiliation) causing Yelena to jump.

“Yelena, not to be a bother, but this is the only toilet here and Walker might kill Bob if he has to wait any longer,” Ava Starr’s heavy English accent sounded through the door.

“Yeah, yeah, all right!” Yelena shut off the water and grabbed a wrinkled towel off the counter before quickly wiping her face and opening the door.

She looked past Ava to scowl at John Walker, who had somehow already changed into a pair of grey sweats and a close-fitting white T-shirt in the ten minutes since the group had arrived at the house. “You couldn’t have waited, what, another 2 minutes Johnny?”

“First of all, don’t call me Johnny, and second of all, you try holding it in all day because you didn’t have the time to try and get out of that stupid suit,” John grumbled, shoving a toothbrush in his mouth and pushing past Yelena to get to the bathroom.

“Oh gosh,” Ava groaned, walking away in disgust.

Yelena threw the damp towel over her shoulder and followed Ava into the kitchen. “Just don’t take forever in there, Walker, some of us still need to take a pee!” She called over her shoulder.

“Oh my—TMI!” He yelled through the door.

In the small kitchen space, Yelena’s father Alexei was bent over at the waist, rummaging through the fridge in the corner while Bucky sat backwards on one of the only two chairs, his elbows resting over the top of the chair’s frame. He massaged his temples in pure exhaustion as Yelena and Ava wandered through the doorway, Bob tentatively following a little further from down the hall.

“Dad. Hey, Dad!” Yelena raised her voice slightly in order to be heard over Alexei’s enthusiastic humming. “Do you have, like, ibuprofen or anything? I think my head’s about to implode.”

Red Guardian huffed a laugh as he straightened up, “Ibuprofen! You should know I don’t meddle with American pharma, Yelena, I have something even better!” He announced loudly, slamming the refrigerator door and waving a bottle of vodka triumphantly in his hand.

“That’ll do,” she muttered tiredly, stepping forward and accepting his offering.

Alexei turned and grabbed a few stray shot glasses from the mess around his kitchen sink. “Ahhh,” he drawled dramatically, “for the first time, we shall drink as victorious team!”

Bucky grunted from the corner of the room. “Sure, whatever you want to call it.”

Rubbing his hands together softly, Bob gave a nervous grin, somehow having appeared in the kitchen without making any noise of arrival. “Sounds kind of exciting to me. Usually, I only drink as un-victorious, lonely me.”

“Well, Bob,” Yelena answered with the bottle’s glass cap between her teeth, “No more un-victoriousness, not anymore.” The young Russian filled one of the small shots to the top and slid it across the table to him.

He lifted the glass quietly and gave a thankful nod. As Yelena poured another, Alexei motioned toward Ava lingering silently against the doorframe. “You drink, Baba Yaga? Or it—uh—it go right through you?”

Ava raised an amused eyebrow and said nothing. Nevertheless, she took the glass Yelena offered her and downed it quickly.

“Okay, this is fun and all, but we really should get some sleep,” Bucky rose from his seat, grabbing the chair in his metal fingers and swinging it around to sit properly against the table.

“Oh, okay, I get it, leave all the fun and drinking for when John’s not in the room,” Walker responded suddenly, waltzing into the kitchen and waving an accusatory toothbrush at the others.

Yelena flinched away and grimaced before swallowing another glass in one swift motion. “Walker, I swear, if you flick that on me, you die.”

She turned and placed her glass bottom side up on the counter. “Anyway, though, Bucky is right. Daddy, where are we all sleeping?”

Alexei froze, his hand halfway inside a bag of Doritos he had found lying around. “Uhhhh, how many of you can fit on couch?”

“Yeah, not happening,” John immediately objected, drawing murmured agreements from the others and a “definitely not” from Ava.

Crumpling up the now empty chip bag, Alexei exaggeratedly cleared his throat. “Well, I would say there is room in limo for some people to sleep but, uh, you know…”

Bucky raised his hands in fake apology. “Okay fine, that’s fair. I’ll go lay my 110-year-old body on the cold, hard floor in a corner and sleep there.”

“So, I take it that the couch is free then?” John asked, following Bucky out of the kitchen and laying a hand on Bob’s shoulder to lead him out, as well.

Alexei grabbed the towel draped over Yelena’s shoulder and wiped up some of the alcohol droplets they had spilled on the countertops. “There is an attic room. I mostly use it for storage, but you ladies can sleep up there.”

“Works for me,” Ava sighed before turning and disappearing out of the room in a much more normal fashion than her typical phasing exits.

Yelena yawned and ran a hand through her blonde hair, frizzed and messy from the day of fighting and catastrophic events. “Thanks, Dad,” she mumbled softly as she ambled toward the hallway.

“Oh what?!” He threw open his big arms partially in disbelief and partially in welcome. “You no give a hug good night, huh?”

A small smile formed on Yelena’s lips as she hung her head back just enough to look in his direction. She let out a massive sigh and spun on her heel before tramping over to Alexei in defeat. “Ohhh, all right.”

The Black Widow dropped her head against his chest, and he embraced her tightly, raising his hand to roughly tussle her hair like she was a little golden retriever puppy. “Nooo, Daddd, now it looks even worse,” she moaned, her voice muffled from pressing her face up against his suit.

“Ha! I can give you Russian prison cut if you want, consider it on-the-house courtesy!” Alexei squeezed her and planted a kiss on her head.

“I think I’ll pass,” Yelena grunted, pulling away from his embrace so she could head upstairs, despite secretly wanting nothing more than to be held like she was his little girl again.

Chapter 2: Roommates

Summary:

Yelena and Ava begrudgingly agree to be "roommates" in Alexei's attic and sleep on an old air mattress despite having tried to kill each other just days before. However, despite their bickering, they start to realize just how much they might have in common and grow more comfortable with the sisterly bond slowly forming between them.

Yelena’s watch read 0341 when she finally sank down into the air mattress that she and Ava and had found tucked away behind countless boxes in Alexei’s attic. It was large enough to fit both of them, and although Ava tried to argue that she was just fine lying on the hard floor, Yelena insisted that her new teammate use the mattress. Both women still felt the discomfort of not knowing each other overly well but also recognized the first foundation of trust the day’s events had laid among the whole team; therefore, they felt inclined to play nice, at least when it came to their rooming situation.

Having finally showered, Yelena could see the effects of the fighting on her body that hadn’t washed away with the water. Her feet were swollen, her lower back and ribcage badly bruised, and the skin of her face marred with multiple abrasions and clotting lacerations. Everything ached and throbbed, and she slowly laid down flat as the dull headache she’d developed over the past few days sloshed in the back of her skull.

Anxious to get comfortable, she kicked off the boots she had slipped on after showering and pulled the hood of Alexei’s XL-sized sweatshirt over her head, allowing herself to snuggle into its cozy interior and relish in its softness and familiar smell. When she moved her arm back down from adjusting the hood, she accidentally bumped her wrist against the side of her head, sending a surge of pain through her face. Wincing, she raised a hand to gently finger her right temple and brow, which were currently colored a dark maroon and shadowing the outskirts of a forming black eye.

“Is that from when I kicked you?”

“Ох, черт возьми!…” Yelena exclaimed as Ava suddenly phased into the attic entrance, wearing only a pair of leggings and a black sports bra, and in the process of drying her long, dark hair. “Would it really kill you to knock?” Yelena questioned in frustration, dropping her head back down onto the mattress and rubbing her aching eyelids.

“Well, normally I’m not rooming with a little Russian or really anyone at all for that matter, so it would seem I’m not overly accustomed to knocking,” Ava answered, giving Yelena a cutting but brief glare and then striding over to her side of the bed.

Moving her fingers from her eyes to her hair, Yelena chortled. “Okay, so we’re cutting this ‘little Russian’ thing right now.”

Ava hummed as she grabbed the smallest shirt she could find in Alexei’s clothing pile and tugged it over her head. “Oh really? I think it to be a rather fitting description,” she replied as she slid her lean arms through the gaping sleeves and let the shirt fall down over her rather muscular abdomen.

“Okay, please shut up,” Yelena yawned as she rolled over onto her side to face away.

“But that is from when I kicked you though? It looks like it hurts,” Ava continued anyway after a moment of silence.

Yelena turned her head over just enough to stare at Ghost. “Oh wow, I hadn’t noticed that it hurts!” Ava rolled her eyes and tossed her towel onto an old chair in the corner. “Look, it’s fine though, really, I probably would have done the same to you.”

After a moment of thought, Ghost shrugged. “I suppose that’s true. It’s just, I don’t know, I don’t usually see the effects of the pain I’ve inflicted on others actually lived out. Usually everyone I hurt ends up—”

“Dead?”

Ava glanced over and locked eyes with Yelena, whose expression had softened to the point that Ava struggled to believe those large brown eyes could really belong to a trained killer.

“Yeah,” Ghost cleared her throat as her expression fell.

Yelena swallowed and slowly sat up. “I get that. Buuuut, lucky for you, I’m not dead, and for that, you are most fortunate, Ava,” she braved a grin and slapped the mattress as a signal for her teammate to join her for a well-overdue night of rest.

“We’ll see about that,” Ava groaned, yet she shook her head as the Russian’s playful spirit evoked a small smile from her usual cool demeanor.

After switching off the dim lamp beside the bed, Ava slid down under the old, lumpy comforter and allowed her eyes to envelop the deep darkness of the room. Normally, every muscle in Ava’s abnormal body would be rigid at the presence of another human being right beside her, but the weariness of the last few days was crushing, and somehow, Ava felt confident that Yelena no longer posed a threat to her. There was only one person in the whole world that Ava genuinely trusted, but he had been gone from her life for years now. However, this new group of “thunderbolts” and “Avengers” was stirring something deep inside her she had not fully experienced since being a six-year-old girl in Argentina—some faint, far-off feeling of belonging, of safety, of home.

No. Ava had no home. She had lost that precious thing long ago, and she could never earn it back. How could she? How could she possibly feel the joy or accept the comfort of a family and a home when every night the faces of those she’d killed filled her dreams? For years, Ava had spent her waking hours haunting the people in the world around her, spent her every moment as a Ghost whose presence meant certain death. But at night, they haunted her. Their eyes, their screams, their bodies crumpling to the ground before her feet. She had tried justifying it to herself—she was only a girl when it all happened; all she had ever known was excruciating, deathly pain; she was only trying to survive; she was only afraid of dying. But it never worked. Sure, she was healed and in control now, but her hands would never be clean. Her past could never be erased. And any trace of that feeling of safety and love that came from Bill Foster—it felt so unreachable now.

Deep down, her heart ached and hurt worse than the molecular disequilibrium ever had. Knowing that Bill was out there alive, thanks to the Avengers, and that he had no idea what she had let herself become during the Blip. That she had taken the freedom her healing provided her and turned again to shadow ops, to killing for other people, to hiding away. There’s one thing Ava was sure she couldn’t bear—seeing disappointment in her father’s eyes. Watching the man who had cared for her as if she were his own daughter turn away from her in shame and rejection. And so, she would continue to do what she knew best—disappear. Wait, but how does a new Avenger disappear with all the cameras and publicity and Valentina shoving a façade of heroism down their throats and—

“Ava?” Yelena’s muffled voice interrupted her thoughts, “Can you sleep?”

Ava sighed and turned onto her waist so she was facing her roommate. “No, how long has it been?”

“No idea, but it feels like it’s been forever,” the Widow drawled, snuggling her face into the pillow in attempt to hide from her own exhaustion. “Are you, uh, thinking about the Void?”

Silence. The whole mattress sunk in slightly as Ava shifted in discomfort. “Trying not to. You?”

“Every time I think I’m about to fall asleep, I can hear it. Feel it. And if I do fall asleep, I’ll just have nightmares about it,” came the Russian’s tired answer.

“Mhm,” Ava droned in acknowledgement. “What do you normally do about night terrors?”

Yelena sighed. “Drink. Usually until I’m too blacked out to dream about anything.”

Even in the dark, Yelena could tell Ava was raising a playful eyebrow at her. “Not sure how the public would feel about their New Avengers being a band of drunks.”

“Ha, well, I don’t know how I feel about the New Avengers, period,” Yelena groaned, raising her hand to cover her face from the nonexistent light in the attic. “I swear, Valentina thinks she can get away with everything. One second, she’s sending us to kill each other, the next, she plays all her lies off to the whole world like she’s been making us heroes all along.”

Ghost stifled a yawn. “Well, if she thinks we’re going to be following her orders, she certainly has something else coming.”

“Yeah, like my fist in her face,” Yelena huffed. “Or better yet, your fist through her face.”

This evoked a choked cackle from Ava, and Yelena uncontrollably giggled herself, fully welcoming their sleep-deprived delirium and inwardly praising herself for getting the cutthroat, English assassin to laugh out of something other than cold sarcasm. Something about the whole situation, something about Ava’s hesitant yet lingering company, something about the hint of connection in her sharp eyes tugged at Yelena’s memories of Natasha.

Her mind drifted to the sleepovers she’d had in Natasha’s twin bed years ago; tucked under the sky-blue comforter, dotted with butterflies, Yelena would snuggle into her sister’s side and nod off as Natasha played with the blonde’s hair and hummed their favorite lullaby until she, too, dozed into a peaceful sleep. Although over twenty years had passed since then, Yelena could still recall the older girl’s voice perfectly, especially how it could always seem to soothe any fear or pain Yelena was experiencing. If only Natasha were here now, to soothe the pain that wracked her body and ate at her soul—the pain that, however, seemed just the slightest bit lighter after the last few days.

Next to her, Ava stirred and jolted Yelena back into the present, where she silently scolded herself for letting this night remind her of Natasha, of their sacred, precious time back in Ohio—a time that still existed somewhere hidden and safe in Yelena’s mind. This woman beside her was not her sister, and her somewhat unfamiliar presence made Yelena yearn for Natasha more than ever.

But at the same time, the soft sounds of Ava finally falling asleep and the knowledge that neither of them or any of the men downstairs would be spending tonight alone—that odd comforting thought was the last Yelena remembered as the fatigue finally won and her eyelids drooped shut. As her body finally relaxed, her fingers accidentally brushed against Ava’s. Out of instinct, Ghost’s hand phased involuntarily at the unexpected contact, but, after a moment, regained its structure and rested in her teammate’s unconscious grasp.

Chapter 3: Dead or Dreaming?

Summary:

An exhausted Yelena finally falls asleep, but she is met with...the afterlife? Or one of the worst nightmares she's ever had.

The first few hours were only silence, quiet bliss in an ocean of black. The still peace was so overdue, Yelena almost didn’t believe it was real. Certainly, she must be dead for her mind to be so…calm, so clear…not simply a heavy fog of amnesia after a night of drinking herself unconscious? Maybe she had been injured more badly than she had originally thought; of, maybe Ava had slit her throat in the night and run off with Yelena’s batons or “widow bites” as some sort of assassin’s prize. Either way, if she really was dead, death seemed to be serene, of all things, no matter the manner of her arrival. Distracted by the endless shadows, Yelena thought nothing at all of how she was alone in the dark abyss—at least, until she wasn’t.

“Sestra?”

The voice behind her seemed to awaken Yelena’s senses into existence, as if she had just suddenly materialized within the void. Chills shuddered up and down her spine, causing the soft hairs on her neck to stand up and her shoulders to stiffen. But as she spun on her heel in the voice’s direction, she grew increasingly aware that the tingling over her skin wasn’t an involuntary reaction to fear, but an emotional response to the figure standing a few yards off.

Yelena’s lips drooped ever so slightly as she fought back the instant tears, scrunching her nose and inhaling sharply through gritted teeth. “No, no, this isn’t real, it isn’t you.” The emptiness surrounding her seemed to engulf her words the moment they left her mouth, but the other woman tilted her head as if she understood them anyway.

“What makes you say that? You didn’t think I’d come to meet you when it was time?”

Yelena released the tension in her clenched fists and allowed the question to seep into her soul. So, I am dead…but you’re—

Natasha’s rich tone was so gentle, and the warmth in her green eyes so sincere. “Yelena.”

At the sound of her name in her sister’s mouth, Yelena crumbled, her cold wall of aggression and hesitation dissipating as she sprinted toward Natasha in quickening strides. She hardly noticed as the eternal black around her melted into the subtle glow of their old Ohio bedroom, instead focusing her vision on the simply dressed woman before her.

Natasha reached out her arms, a joyful smile breaking across her features as Yelena barreled into her embrace, tears trickling down the younger’s neck as she buried her nose into Natasha’s shoulder.

“Natalia…” the blonde gasped, clutching onto her sister’s gray hoodie with absolutely no intention of ever letting go.

Cradling the back of Yelena’s head, Natasha rubbed a hand up and down her back and shushed her gently. “Oh, sweet girl, you’re safe, I’m here, I’ve got you now.”

Yelena sniffed and ran a hand down her tear-streaked face before proceeding to dig her fingers back into the folds of Natasha’s hood. “I hope you don’t like this sweater too much,” she mumbled into the material, shutting her eyes and absorbing the precious sound of Natasha’s resulting chuckle.

“Consider yourself lucky that I like you more, sestra.”

“Natasha?” Yelena’s voice cleared up slightly as she tilted her head to the side and rested her right cheek on the Widow’s shoulder, tracing mindless patterns on Natasha’s sleeve with her finger.

“Hmm?”

The younger Russian swallowed with difficulty. “Do I get to stay with you? I can’t—I can’t watch you leave again.” Opening her red eyes, Yelena watched as thick snowflakes fell lazily from the sky, dampening any noise in the shadows of the surrounding—forest?

“Yelena,” Natasha’s voice affectionately scolded her, and she lifted her sister’s head in her cold hands to bring them face-to-face. Yelena’s blood froze as her breath stifled, a white cloud of mist escaping her mouth and evaporating into the now freezing air. Words escaped her as she met Anya’s emotionless stare, the young girl’s complexion whiter than the snow crunching under their feet. “I’ll never leave you.”

Yelena’s trembling hands released Anya’s sleeves, and only when she tried to step back did she notice her legs felt paralyzed as if they were rooted to the forest floor. Mind racing, the Widow shuddered as the embodiment of her first victim moved closer, now only inches away from Yelena’s face. “I know you haven’t forgotten about me. I follow you wherever you go.”

The glint in Anya’s eyes was a disturbing blend of expectant innocence and vengeful malice, the two manifestations of the little girl who entered the Red Room and the ghost that haunted Yelena’s memories. Finally, Yelena’s shuddering jaw steadied enough to stutter the girl’s name, but her voice was cut short by a sharp crack that pounded the air several feet behind them. Gasping, Yelena’s hand flew to her mid-chest as a sickening tingling spread throughout her torso. She expected to find scarlet droplets dripping between her fingers from a fresh gunshot wound, but there was no mark on her whatsoever. While her gaze was fixed downward, however, she noticed a pool of red growing on the freshly fallen flakes from an injury that evidently wasn’t her own.

Snapping her head back up, Yelena caught a glimpse of Anya’s face, blood streaming down one side as she simply stared into the Widow’s soul. Despite the overwhelming number of graphic scenes Yelena had witnessed, many of which were her own doing, the assassin involuntarily flinched away, a strangled cry escaping her throat as she heard the younger girl’s body collapse into the snow.

A trapped sob shook Yelena’s shoulders as she bit down on her lip until she could taste blood under her tongue. “Stop this, no more…” she moaned, swaying as the gravity seemed to suddenly increase around her.

“Yelena.”

Her clamped eyes shot open at the sound of her name resonating in a throaty growl she knew all too well, and the nausea already eating away at her inner stomach travelled up into her mouth. Her instinctive muscle memory firing before she could even mentally process the motions, Yelena drew the Glock 26 from her holster and whipped around, gun fixed on the human monster glowering just a few feet away.

Longer strands of her platinum blonde hair fell over her eyes, but she stood still, fiery gaze transfixed as she spat at the man calmly approaching. “Get back! Or I shoot out your brains, you piece of s—"

The unfinished curse hung stagnant in the air as another gunshot, more violently ear-splitting than the last, rang out in the haunted forest. Gasping for breath, Yelena watched as the gun fell slowly from her frozen hands, as if the earth itself had stopped rotating and time was winding to a stop, and her body locking away her mind and control. The Russian coughed as a bitter, metallic taste rose up from her convulsing throat, and without the mobility to wipe it away, Yelena whined as dark blood trickled through her dry lips and down her chin before falling to the snow in scarlet beads. Just as she realized that blood had also begun to coat the inside of both her ears, her knees gave out without warning, and she collapsed face-first into the freezing powder by Dreykov’s feet.

“Natalia, please,” she whimpered mindlessly, watching flashes of the human faces in her memory taunt her racing thoughts, reminding her she could not, would never reach them. No one could ever reach her.

“Mama, Daddy, please, please help, Daddy…” Yelena’s face contorted as the cold of the snow under her left cheek bit relentlessly into skin, which was turning a blotchy red from the harsh temperature of the Russian winter. An attempt at a shaky breath blew snowflakes away from her nose and cracking lips, and she strained to see past the flakes that clung to her eyelashes in clumps, almost blinding the image of approaching footsteps that stopped too close to her head. The rancid smell of cigarette smoke coupled with an overpowering scent of Тройной wafted over her, and she involuntarily retched at the onslaught of related memories that surfaced, memories her mind had tried so desperately to bury with the rest of her traumatic childhood.

She tried to protest as the older man crouched down beside her, but any attempt at words left her throat as a gurgled moan followed by coughing up dark red clots into the snow. After a moment of silence, Dreykov roughly seized a handful of her hair and yanked back her head just enough so she could see his hideous smirk in full. She hated how afraid she felt and how her heart was pounding so quickly it might burst out of her chest. She hated the feel of his grubby fingers in her hair, his short nails digging into her scalp. She hated the sound of his raspy chuckle as he leaned in closer to her discolored face, wet all over with a mixture of the tears spilling from her swollen eyes and blood leaking from her mouth and ears.

“You really thought you could escape me, little one?” His hot breath evaporated into the air, and Yelena flinched as he clicked off the safety of the shotgun in his free hand. “You know what happens when you do not comply,” Dreykov hissed, shoving the short barrel into the soft flesh of her neck beneath her bruising jaw.

Every muscle in Yelena’s body cried out for her to shut her eyes and run—run away, get away, but her limbs wouldn’t respond, and the Avenger couldn’t tear her wild, glazed eyes away from her captor’s horrible face. Instead, she trembled like a hunted rabbit in a dog’s jaws, silently praying that the gun would just go off and it would all be over. But it was never over, she should know better that her torment would never come to an end.

The Russian general cocked his head slowly, lips peeling back in mere pleasure as he traced the gun along her jawline. “Not just anyone can escape me. I always knew you were special, just like your sister.” Yelena jerked in his hold, cursing him with her eyes and willing her lifeless hands to squeeze his throat. “But, where is she now, hmm? Where did all those heroics land her, your sweet Natasha?”

Red spittle escaped her mouth as she clenched her teeth, a furious squeal being the only noise she could physically muster. Behind Dreykov, a dark silhouette shifted among the nearest trees, dropping Yelena’s heart through her ribcage. Of course it was him—it, it was always here wasn’t it? He was always there, in the dark, in the emptiness, in the threshold between Hell and her own mind. Just watching, just lingering, just the outline of Bob’s tall figure without any of his warmth or gentleness or life. If there was anything worse than the overwhelming shame of his penetrating gaze, it was his voice—the deep, haunted echoes of his scoffing tone that reverberated inside her skull, causing her head to pound and her stomach to flip.

“And here you are again. Ensnared, controlled…” the Void’s empty shadow of a face tilted to the side as if to mock her. “Helpless.”

Dreykov’s grip on her head tightened, and she yelped as he forcefully lifted her from the ground, her snow-soaked body now dangling pathetically from his hands. And worse, she was now on face level with the shadowy presence observing just far enough away for Yelena to see the pinpricks of his cruel eyes. He watched patiently before hunching his shoulders in a low laugh that shook the whole forest, burning Yelena with the humiliation of having every regret and weakness exposed to his ravenous soul.

“Does this remind you of something, little one? Someone that you trusted with your whole being…simply standing by and watching as you were left to tread on the blood of the innocent lives you took to save your own?” At his words, a prickling feeling spread across Yelena’s colorless skin, and she moaned miserably in attempt to shake off what she knew was coming next. “Your daddy watching as you were led away to the Red Room to be tortured and to torture? Abandoning you to the will of evil men, without a second thought, handing over his precious daughter to be a puppet for the world’s most twisted puppet master?”

The Void grew quiet for a moment as Yelena choked on her own tears. When her eyes blinked shut, he spoke again. “Did he know everything they would do to you? Did Mama? Did Natasha? All alone with no one to protect you, Daddy’s little girl, Dreykov’s perfect weapon, Valentina’s washed-up toy to be thrown away…it’s a shame they wouldn’t save you then, and certainly a shame that they won’t now.”

With that, Dreykov’s fist smashed into her frostbitten face, and the ground met her head with a deep crack that rung through both of her bloody ears. Every scream she had been unable to let out escaped her then in an unearthly sob, a tormented yell filling the woods around her with the agony of a lost child, crying and begging for help that wouldn’t come, for wounds that wouldn’t heal, for a trauma she couldn’t escape. Mobility finally returning to her limbs, her numb hands flew to the sides of her head as she wailed uncontrollably, waiting for the moment she was to be dragged away again and—

“YELENAR!!”

Firm hands pinned her shoulders to the floor beneath her, and Yelena’s eyes snapped open from the jolting movement only to see Ava Starr’s face inches above her own, the older woman’s expression twisted with confusion and fear. Only when Yelena felt a crushing pain in her wrist did she realize Ava’s knee was pinning her arm down, and when she flicked her eyes behind Ava’s head, she swore she could see his burning eyes again, could hear his menacing laugh again, his evil presence just calmly watching. An overwhelming sensation of panic coursed through every vein in her trembling body and sent her spiraling into a fit, writhing and gasping and cursing at Ghost to get off.

Yelena didn’t hear whatever words Ava started shouting back as she attempted to hold the Russian in place: instead, Yelena whipped her head back into the ground, almost knocking herself unconscious again, and cried out the only word that her mouth could form.

“DADDY!!”

Notes:

Thank you all so much for the kind comments! I know this chapter was kind of dark, but don't worry, protective Dad Alexei is coming up soon :)

Chapter 4: Night Light

Summary:

Alexei wakes up suddenly in the middle of the night to the sound of Yelena screaming for him.

Alexei startled awake, gasping as he came to his senses and yanking the heavy sheets off his legs. He reached over blindly in the dark and found the wadded-up t-shirt on his nightstand, giving it a single wipe over his face before quickly pulling it over his head. Sleeping under these layers might have kept him just warm enough to fall asleep back in his country, but every night in America leaves him covered in sweat by the time he wakes up.

For a moment, he almost forgot what had woken him so abruptly out of a dead sleep when he heard it again: a terrified wail coming from upstairs, Yelena’s voice crying out for him, for Daddy. His heart swelled just a little every time she called him that, helping to mask the thought that arose whenever Yelena showed him affection, the one that reminded him he wasn’t really her father and just how undeserving he felt of that title.

Above him, Yelena’s voice grew weaker from what must have been exhaustion, and Alexei immediately rose from the undersized mattress and fumbled over to the door. Fortunately, the Soviet super serum had enhanced his natural night vision over the years, and he was soon taking the rickety stairs two at a time, wincing with each loud creak that squealed from each step.

By the time Alexei reached her door, Yelena’s screams had waned into a desperate whimper, leaving him to wonder if she had heard his heavy footsteps coming or if she had given up hope that anyone would hear her crying. Either way, he rapped his knuckles on the door softly as he entered her room.

“Lena?”

Even in the darkness of the small bedroom, Alexei could make out the shape of the figure curled up on the twin-sized bed, knees tucked under her chin and arms wrapped tightly around the plush dog she carried around absolutely everywhere. Still sniffling, she raised her head as the towering man approached her bed calmly.

“Daddy?”

“Hey, little one, whatcha doing awake, huh?” He reached out his arms to her, and Yelena immediately scrambled into his embrace, hiding her face against the soft shirt over his chest before he had fully sunk down into a seat on the side of her bed.

“—addy, I want churn night on,” she mumbled quietly.

“You want what, sweetheart?”

“The night—nightlight,” came her tired response.

“Oh, right, here, here’s something better,” Alexei grunted, keeping one arm around Yelena’s shuddering shoulders and reaching over with the other to switch on the bedside lamp. “There we are, how’s that? Better?”

There was no audible answer, but her body slowly grew less tense as the warm yellow light filled every corner of her room. Finally, her eyes fluttered open, and she turned her face to the side, resting her cheek on her father’s shoulder while she stared quietly at the lamp shade, embroidered with the fat shapes of cartoon bumblebees.

After a minute or two of sitting like this in silence, Alexei gently pulled back the thick curls from her forehead and tucked them behind her little ear. “You wanna tell me why you were awake, little one?”

Yelena swallowed before turning her head back the other way to gaze up at him, her opposite cheek now lying against his chest. “I was in the dark room again, the one that’s in nightmares when I sleep, it scares me…”

“A dark room? Are you alone in there?”

“No,” the little girl murmured. “First there’s always Mama, and she tells me to sit and wait in the corner. But then I can’t find her anymore, and I can’t find the corner, and I can’t see anything. Then some people start yelling. Some of the yells are angry, but some sound like they’re afraid or sad. I think the mad people are going to come find me and they’ll hurt me,” Yelena’s voice breaks, “but I’m still lost in the dark and I can’t find anyone, and no one comes to find me, Daddy, and I woke up alone in the dark and my nightlight wasn’t on and—” She fully dissolved into tears once more, hiding her pink face in his wrinkled shirt.

His heart sinking at the sight of her so upset, he drew her in closer and planted a lingering kiss on top of her head, the sound of his soft shushing muffled by her hair. Eventually, he picked up his feet, scooted back, and laid down with Yelena still cuddled to his chest and his broad shoulders resting up against her pink headboard. The bed had to be at least two sizes too small for him, but the super soldier stayed right where he was, engulfing the mattress and stroking his daughter’s hair until her sobbing subsided.

She was so unbelievably small compared to him, and he laughed inwardly despite himself at the way she slowly rose and fell with each breath that passed through his lungs. Of all the assignments he had imagined accomplishing as the Soviet Union’s only enhanced soldier, watching over his daughter after she recovered from a nightmare had definitely not been one of them.

“I’m sorry about your nightlight, kiddo,” Alexei mumbled quietly as he swept her soft cheek with his thumb to wipe away any lingering tears. “Mommy’s a lot better at remembering those things, huh?”

She moved her head in a motion that appeared to be a half nod. Folding her hands under her chin, she lifted her eyes to meet his. “When do Mama and Nat come home?”

“Tomorrow. I bet going on Natasha’s school trip sounded a lot more exciting than staying home with Dad,” he yawned loudly, exaggerating a double arm stretch that made Yelena giggle and lay her head back down on him, her face now nestled comfortably under his chin.

“I like getting to stay with you, Daddy,” she answered, closing her eyes and splaying out her arm to comfortably lay across him, her tiny hand happening to find a resting place over his heart.

The oddly touching symbolism caused the slightest of smiles to tug at the corners of his mouth: she was, after all, the little girl that somehow when he wasn’t looking, when his guard wasn’t up, when he was lost in the forsaken fantasies of his heroic mantle, had stolen his heart. Somewhere in his mind, the reality of the mission was trying to slap him in the face and tell Alexei that she wasn’t his, this love wasn’t real, sooner or later she’d be whisked away at the wave of Dreykov’s hand to become a lethal force to be reckoned with.

But here, in the lazy glow of the bumblebee lamp atop a fuzzy, pink comforter with Yelena sprawled over his chest as her eyes threatened to shut into a deep sleep—here those thoughts couldn’t reach him. Here, this little girl was all that mattered. His little girl, his little light, his Yelena.

The feel of her weight on him relaxed every muscle in his body, and with one last affectionate glance at her peaceful face, he closed his own tired eyes. He didn’t realize he was half asleep until he was suddenly brought back into his full consciousness.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“You won’t leave me, will you?”

“No, little one, I’ll stay right here, I promise.”

Notes:

Sorry this chapter is a little short, but it hits home! Thank you all so much for the love and support you've shown this work so far!!