Chapter Text
IT ALL STARTED WITH VOICES.
Harsh orders that were barked out in the distance, carrying biting undertones that echoed around the dock, seeming to silence the surrounding area. Then there were the gunshots.
Usually, Natasha tended to steer clear of the docks, adhering to the unspoken boundary line that had been established by the vigilantes of New York- she knew better than to lurk without reason in a place that was frequented by enhanced beings in costumes that could break her like a twig if they were inclined and her back was turned. But Natasha reluctantly owed Nick Fury a favour that outweighed her caution so she’d dutifully followed the coordinates he’d sent, only giving a slight eye roll at the lack of specifics. Natasha would dig around through Sheild’s systems for answers later.
The building in front of the assassin appeared old and rundown. Her eyes zeroed in on the rusted hinges and the metal that been warped and beaten by nature and the passage of time.
A set of double doors loomed in front of her as she stepped out from her hiding place, the shadows seeming to melt away from Natasha as she settled comfortably in a wide stance, simply observing. The gravel beneath her feet was silent and her gaze narrowed minutely in concentration, ears straining to hear past the walls- another round of sharp gunshots punctuated the air, breaking the almost tranquil feeling of the docks so late at night. If Natasha hadn't grown up with the familiar sound ringing in her ears, she’d have flinched back from the offending noise that shattered the quiet around her. However, only her fingers twitched- more in preparation than surprise- the movement was masked by the dark while the familiar surge of adrenaline flooded through her.
With one fluid movement, Natasha’s leg struck out and her heavy boot connected with the metal door. It screeched hideously in protest as it swung open on impact, startling the occupants inside.
Surprise flitted across the closest man’s features but Natasha hardly spared him a glance as she marched inside. Once over his initial shock, the man’s face reddened with anger at her sudden and unwelcome entrance. “Bad time?” Natasha asked, almost sweetly despite the cold air that radiated around her and the hard look in her eyes that was enough to make smarter men surrender. He rushed forwards on instinct, eliciting a cry of outrage before he clumsily attempted an assault- Natasha huffed at the clear inexperience and merely stepped backwards, avoiding the blundering punch he had aimed in her direction with ease. She clenched her jaw and swung out her leg; it impacted with the man’s stomach, hard enough for him to double over.
He stammered out a breathy curse while Natasha withdrew her usual handgun; it fitted comfortably against her palm. Her eyes flicked to the man as he dropped to the ground in a heap of his own limbs.
The recoil of the gun didn’t deter Natasha’s aim and the bullet buried itself in its target with a scary accuracy. Letting out a small breath, she glanced around the rest of the interior of the warehouse, eyes trailing over the bare walls with disinterest before they rested on her next target- she cocked her head to the side, amusement dancing in her eyes when he flexed his fingers as if to intimidate.
There were thirteen enemies within the building. All of them poor excuses for fighters.
A case of cash had been discarded on the floor, forgotten in the firefight that had broken out.
And a teenage boy- bloodied and bruised- with a collar around his neck.
Finally, the man came within reach, (Natasha didn’t see reason in wasting a good bullet), his chest heaving with exertion already. She waited for him to strike first- his fists clenched until the knuckles had turned white before he struck out but Natasha was faster. Dropping into a defensive crouch on the cold concrete floor, she threw a single kick to the man’s exposed legs and knocked him off balance. It sent him stumbling backwards from the force; a murderous look glinted in his eyes for a moment as he growled at the woman who only stared calmly back, almost taunting him with the way the corner of her lips curled upwards in an unspoken challenge. He lunged.
Natasha expected the sudden weight, had pre-empted the move, but he twisted his body awkwardly at the last second and threw off her predicted angle.
Before she could correct their course, the pair were sprawled out on the hard ground that had rushed up to meet them. Pain ricocheted through the assassin’s skull as it collided harshly with the floor- the world was a blur for a moment while Natasha was pinned beneath the new weight; she gritted her teeth together and struck out. She could feel the impact reverberate back through her first- his jaw cracked. Heaving in a breath, she kicked him off and grabbed for her gun that had skittered away in the scuffle. Natasha flicked her hair back as she turned around, shooting the man in a half crouch.
He twitched and then stilled.
When Natasha looked back over her shoulder, a scowl contorted her features as she stubbornly ignored the painful away her head thudded from being slammed. The remaining men were grouped in the centre of the room, uncaring of the woman behind them; her eyes darted to the dead bodies on the ground that hadn’t died by her hand before discarding them for the time being. Instead, her attention was dragged back to the teenager standing in the centre of the chaos that was steadily unfurling around them. He didn’t cower away from the armed men, but seemed to grow more rabid- his shoulders hunched up by his ears and his eyes flitted back and forth with a cold and calculated glint in them as if assessing where he was going to strike first.
Natasha had been raised to know who was dangerous and who wasn’t by a single glance, and her instincts screamed to get the hell out of that boy’s way.
Her stare was pinned to the teenager, not wanting to let him out of her sight as she cautiously rose to her feet. There was a manic air surrounding him that the armed men seemed oblivious to as they continued to corner the teen; he looked like a trapped animal. Natasha decided in that moment that the best course of action would be to leave, her favour to Fury be damned yet her feet remained stationary, planted to the floor as if she some immovable object.
She cursed herself internally and her eyeline dropped to the collar the teen was wearing. Human trafficking was common on the docks...
The boy transferred his weight between both legs for a moment before striking quick- Natasha almost didn’t see him move- his opponent dropped back instantly from the shock, disoriented and off balance. Drawing in a deep breath, Natasha approached the man who turned to face her impulsively and she was greeted by the sight of blood gushing down from the garish cut on his broken nose. Her own nose wrinkled in distaste.
“Who the fuck are you-”
“Language.” Natasha muttered, silencing him with a swift kick to his groin.
He groaned, crumpling to the ground as his hands moved to cup at the offended area. Natasha paid him no attention and simply shot; the bullet rang through the warehouse, bouncing off its walls.
Once again, her attention was drawn back to the boy when he pushed himself off a wall and vaulted over the line of attackers. He did it with an ease that even she couldn’t achieve after years of training in the Red Room- Natasha’s grip tightened on the handgun when he landed only a few feet away.
With the closer angle and despite the grungy lighting, Natasha’s keen eyesight couldn’t miss the way that the fresh cuts the teen had received only minutes ago were slowly starting to clot and knit themselves back together like the process was on fast forward. Her heart spiked as her brain supplied an answer for what she had just witnessed- enhanced trafficking then- he spared her a single, sharp glance that left Natasha feeling as though he had cut her open, seen every inch of her insides and was left unimpressed by what he had found. She shivered. Upon noticing her lack of immediate intent on killing him, the teen proceeded to ignore her and turned back to the two men. She was grateful.
He reached forwards and slammed their skulls together, emitting a disgusting crack.
Curiosity and concern clashed together in Natasha’s chest, warring against one another as she checked the remaining bullets in her handgun before aiming at a stray guy who was attempting to sneak up on the teen. Though he seemed to sense their presence and kicked out without looking back at the target; Natasha arched an impressed eyebrow at the display of awareness. Despite the clear and suffocating air of danger that seemed to surround the teenager, Natasha couldn’t simply walk away- he was young. His features still carrying the tell-tale signs of baby fat and a distinct lack of facial hair. The assassin knew what it was like to rebel against captors and handlers, to finally want out of the life you had been trapped in where fighting came as easy as breathing.
And Natasha liked to think that she was a good judge of character and that the glimpses of grief and horror in the boy’s eyes were signs that he wasn’t too far gone.
Men surrounded the kid again, only a stray going after Natasha. He knocked her backwards when she was too distracted by her thoughts and aimed for her left leg at the same time that she went for his injured shoulder.
Behind Natasha, the boy let himself be circled.
He could easily evade their blundering attempts at offense, but instead he chose to let them gather close as he gathered his thoughts. His broken breaths rattled through his chest and caused a slight wince to flit over his face as his healing ribs were jostled, protesting his essential need to breathe. When he looked out at the snarling faces, red with anger and fury he was only reminded of darkened cells and phantom pains that ached despite the healed skin. The teen was aware he had nothing in the world but those memories and permanent scars across his back; not even his powers could erase what they did to him. Could erase what they had made him to be. Now though, he could have revenge.
A slither of retribution that would soothe the wounds that left him hollow and empty.
Natasha looked up once her enemy had been subdued- choked until he turned blue- to see the men scattered across the floor with various injuries. The small widening of her eyes betrayed her surprise before her gaze fell back on the boy, her ears tuning into the shattered sobs that were tainted by heartache and misery that escaped his lips as they tore at his throat on their way out.
He continuously threw a random man to the ground- creating an indent in the floor from the force- despite them already being dead and limp. The life had left them a while ago.
Eventually, he pulled himself away from the body. A display of self-control Natasha didn’t think even she possessed. She followed his movements with her eyes; exhaustion clung to his shoulders as he slumped back a few feet away, hands now lax at his sides and stained a bright scarlet that clashed harshly with the pallor of his skin. All of his clothes were soaked red, and the assassin couldn’t determine whether it came from him or his victims or a disgusting mix of both.
“Who are you?” He croaked out, forcing the words past his chapped lips.
Natasha shifted slightly on her feet. “Romanoff. You?”
There was a beat as he frowned. “Peter- I think. I’m fairly sure.”
The mumbled response was slurred from tiredness and Natasha crept forwards, feet light as a feather on the concrete- but then Peter's eyes were suddenly focussed and honed in on the woman with a deadly precision that made her itch for the gun she had tucked away in its holder seconds before.
“Stop looking at me like that.” Peter gritted out, gaze hardening.
She barely blinked; face turned to stone under his scrutiny. “Like what?”
“Like I’m some kind of a tragedy. Just, stop looking at me like that. Do you hear me?” He seethed.
Despite the red rimmed eyes and the now shaking hands that projected the image of a scared teenage boy, Natasha could sense the danger that rolled off him in low, constant waves. Like the calm before the raging storm. She constructed a mask of indifference before meeting Peter’s eyes again.
“Why do you wear a collar?”
He blinked at the sudden change of topic. Peter’s jaw clenched, clearly debating whether to expose the truth or tell a well-crafted lie before his exhaustion won out. “I’m a mutate. It, controls me.”
A burst of anger surged into Natasha’s throat at the open-ended answer. Her mind ran with the possibilities, (each more gruesome than the last because she knew the lengths people went to in an attempt to control others), she wondered for a moment if Peter had left his answer so broad because the reasons for him wearing the collar were too long to list.
“Let me take it off.” She insisted, eyes hardening at the idea of someone controlling another being through a collar. Natasha felt sick at the mere thought.
When she stepped forwards Peter scrambled back, making her pause.
“Kid.” Her words softened slightly and she struggled to force out the hard look in her eyes, to replace it with something kinder so that Peter didn't think her angered feelings were directed to him. “I’m not going to hurt you.” She swore, ensuring he could see the truth in her expression as the words carried in the air between them. “No one is. Not anymore.”
She spoke the words with such strong conviction that after another beat of silence, Peter hesitantly nodded and let the assassin come closer. Though his eyes remained fixed on her every move.