Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Mia is ten.

At ten she should be out with friends, giggling in the back of a classroom and gossiping. The beginning of her teenhood. Family trips and secretly trying alcohol then spitting out the bitter liquid that burns her throat. Frolicking around fields on a summer day and chasing around a dog. Going to carnivals with her sister, her mother braids her hair as her father complains about his day at work and makes her laugh.

Mia is ten and that was just a dream.

Too young to feel as if each passing day felt like wadding through pools of molasses, bruising around her neck covered by makeup and a turtleneck sweater despite the boiling heat. Too young to feel as if she needed to die to make herself feel better.

The evening is damp, the hot weather sticking her long clothes to her skin. A Silver moon shone above her as she walked across the abandoned streets. Only dogs barked in the distance as she shrugged her thin, pathetic excuse of a jacket around her to keep her warm.

Wouldn't matter in an hour anyway.

There was a macabre sense of acceptance that willed up in Mia's small body, a kind that hit her when she woke up from the lumpy mattress in the smallest room of the house. It made her mind fuzzy, limbs acting on their own accord as she took in the life that was left. The sad little life that she lived anyway.

And yet, she hated herself for hating it. A white house at the end of a cul-de-sac, plush green gardens and beautifully planted flowers act as a trim. Their neighbours are friendly, especially Elaine. Mia liked Elaine, the old lady who would cook her cupcakes and tend to her wounds without any questions. The old lady was her grandma, Mia liked to think, the closest one she'll ever have to one anyways

"Someone pushed me at school today." She would say as Elaine put in a plaster of her cut knees.

Except she didn't go to school, never had.

Mia decided she'd miss Elaine, so she went other to the old lady's house and helped feed her cats before setting off into the night. Her whole body shuddered, as she fought her mental challenges. One last look at her 'home' made her realise what she was about to do, and oddly enough she didn't feel afraid for the first time in her life.

She thinks of herself as a selfish, cruel girl, as he father would call her, and maybe she is. Yet he made it much more difficult to hear his words as she fell further away from the real world and into the deepest pits of her mind.

Mia would walk, she didn't know how long, the city appeared, the loudness was so overwhelming it made her genuinely reconsider. But then she'll be a fool, a foolish little girl that knows nothing of the world. Backing out of something that she was supposed to do.

Her hands went into her pockets, to stop them from getting stiff. Balling them up into tight fists to feel her nails dig into the soft flesh of her palm. Smiling as a stranger smiled at her, patting the head of a stray and giggling when its wet tongue touched her hands.

Coming to a halt under a purple neon light, looking around the unknown city, a small flicker of uncertainty bubbles in her but she presses it down with as much force as she can.

Come on Mia, you're strong. You can do this for me.

The whisper in her head chimed as she found a tall building, wandering down the alleyway. Cringing as rats scurried into the boxes of food that had just been dumped.

With her heart thumping around, banging a loud song against her rib cage, she found a door that had been crooked and open. The green light shone through the cracks, almost telling her this way.

Taking a deep breath as she followed it, looking above her to see a spiralling staircase that led her to her knowing fate. One step at a time she walked up the stairs case, each footfall echoing was her only companion.

The walk had been hard, thighs burned as she got to the top and her chest felt as if it was caving in. She's had nothing to eat or drink all day, black spots coated her vision as she leaned on the cold brick walls.

As she walked to the ledge, looking other the beautiful view of the city. A mirage of bright lights and darkness, so full of people yet she felt the most alone than she ever did.

Sitting down on the ledge, letting her legs hang over it. Just for a moment, Mia let herself soak in her last moments, just her and the city.

I'msorryI'msorryi'msofuckingsorry.

Her words whispered to herself and an unmarked grave. The cold grips of death that are waiting for her to fall them.

Fishing around in her jacket before flinging it off, her fingers brushed the cold metal of the broken blade that she'd stolen. Her teeth chattered as the air bit her skin through her fine top. The winds picked up, causing goosebumps to riddle her arms. Holding up that sharp blade to the light, admiring as it shone and sparkled in an oddly captivating fashion.

Mia thinks back, as far back as her mind would be willing to share. The dreaded feeling of being dead, as the air tipped from her lungs and the world tilted on an axis. That time she didn't know, didn't wish for it to happen but now, but now she was to embrace it. Crawl into the skeletal arms of death as it welcomed her after just managing to dodge it for ten years.

Mother forgive me please, I'm just so fucking tired.

The unwavering knowingness stilled for a little bit, Mia realised what she was going to do, and came to terms that she wouldn't live past sixteen. But it never truly occurred to her that it was going to happen.

Yet, for some reason, she thought as clear as a summer day amid her misty haze of thoughts. Passing the tip of her blade on the pads of her fingers, watching it draw the tiniest drop of blood.

For the tiniest little bit she prays, prays to whatever god that people clamber around, that maybe someone would stop her. Take her in their arms and tell her everything will be alright. That she is safe, that she's a little girl and this was all such a terrible, terrible nightmare.

But no one came, no one would. No one knows her, and no one cares for her. She's better off dead anyway, less of a burden on her father and fewer ways to make her mother tear herself apart.

Gripping the blade, the blunt side made a dent into her right hand, looking at the soft, unblemished skin on the inside of her left wrist. Her veins stood out against the sickly pale skin that stretched over the bone.

Swallowing the sour bile that rose in her as she pressed her wrist upright against her trembling knees. The thumping in her chest grew as the world around her faded into a haze.

Don't be such a coward, Mia, do it already!

Mia was used to pain, the coldness of blades that dug into her skin. As if her father had prepared her for thirteen years for her unconditional fate. Her back, her legs, and her chest were all covered in silvery, pinkish-raised scars. Now all that was left was her arms, unscathed from her trauma.

Yet here she is, drawing a blade across the inside of her wrist. Watching as the ivory skin split and beads of blood pooled out. Beginning to gather in her palm and lap. She did it once and felt an odd sense of relief and confidence.

One would have been enough.

But she carried one until there were four thin lines across her wrist. Open. A small lake of crimson poured out of her body as she watched with a faint fascination with blurry eyes. Every time she moved the marred skin seemed to rip further open, allowing more stinging to well up. A guttural pain, as she let out a gasp into the air, as a panic seems to settle in.

Standing up in shaking legs, using as much energy as she could to stand on the ledge and watch as the would spins by. Hoping that she would faint and fall off the edge. Add to the pool of blood that dripped off her hand and down onto the streets below.

Mia couldn't tell how much time had passed, but she stood in a woozy pain, swaying in the spot. Her threadbare skirt fluttered around her legs, battered red trainers inched over the edge. Her matted hair batted around her face, sticking in the sweat that began to appear on her forehead.

"My name is Mia Quinn'" She said to no one but her mind, her body almost tipping over the edge as her eyes threatened to shut.

"I'm ten years old." She didn't register the footsteps behind her.

"Daughter to Henry and Claire Quinn." A voice trying to talk to her, she didn't respond, she couldn't even if she wanted to.

"And I'm so fucking tired, please just let me die."

Then she was falling, or so she thought. Passing out mere seconds before someone pulled her back, gathering her body into their arms. Before a frantic call for help. A cold hand clamping around her left wrist. Mia could only briefly catch red hair before she fully fell into the bliss of her inky consciousness.

Mia only wished that she'd fallen.

Chapter Text

It was midnight when she went out.

It was three in the morning when she came back with a blooded-up little girl, hanging limp from her grip as she bled through the torn fabric of Nat's top.

She's been so lucky, so damned lucky that she's gotten to the top of the building just in time to catch the tethering girl. It took her a moment to process but when she sure the seeping lines on the girl's arms, the fleeting moment of knowingness passed by her, her heart dropped sending her into a moment of panic. Ripping off a part of her shirt to press down on the wounds. It made her sick.

Nat was sure she'd seen worse wounds, no doubt about it. Bones sticking out legs, many forms of torture, but this...this made her gut roll as her hands shook. A girl, a small girl. She seemed too tiny in Nat's arms, still and pale like a dead body. Only the small rise of her chest was like a ticking time bomb. Moments, that's all she had.

Pressing the girl close to her chest she rushed back down her stairs, and out into the street as it started to pour down with rain. Not carrying if she pushed anyone.

Don't die, please don't Зайка. I'll be here for you.

Natasha didn't know what was compelling her, but then again she wasn't a heartless fool who would let someone kill themselves - not anymore. She wanted the girl to wake so Nat could tell her it would be alright, to be the person that was never there in her childhood. The girl had a hard life, Nat knew that for sure speaking from her own experiences, like calls to like, something that had been chosen for her by some sick twists of fates.

The tower. That's where Nat had thought of firstfirst, it was closer. But she'd be a fool to let a girl who no doubt tried to fall from a height even near the tower. Risk of being caught by the unyielding cameras that surrounded them at all times of the day.

SHIELD was the last place she thought, but it was most definitely better than the tower. A secret entrance in and out, figure out what the girl is also. Nothing good can come of it, Nat was sure, no one decides to do that off a whim. A past with layers and some suspected trauma.

Natasha knew, from where her car was parked and where the SHIELD base was located, she broke a few laws. But that will become Fury's problem and not hers. She was running out of borrowed time, keeping the girl close to her as she pressed the injured arm between them both. Soaking more clothes that it touched.

How can someone so little bleed so much?

The base was small, only meant for a drop-off place, but it will serve a purpose. Hearing a few agents bustling around, managing to dodge them as much as she can with a bleeding girl in her arms. Just about managing to scan herself into one of the small medical rooms, letting her arms free of the girl once, Natasha made sure she was secure on the bed.

Taking a deep breath in, ignoring the tremor in her hands she tore off her jacket and threw it across the room. Rummaging around the room for anything, anything that could be of use. Sighing a relief as she found the suture kit.

As she sewed the cuts together, not as deep as she had suspected which was a brief sigh of relief. Wrapping the pale white bandages, thicker than probably needed to be, around the girl's too-small wrists. Agree that she let herself rest, slumped in the chair as she listened to the soft beep of the heart monitor she attached.

Natasha observed the girl, probably between the ages of six and ten. Her porcelain skin had a grey twinge to it, taking on a shine from the bright fluorescents that reflected off the layer of sweat that coated her body. Swarmed in the mountain of pillows and the itchy blanket. It gave her a sort of deathly ethereal look, with honey blonde hair splayed out, which Nat had taken to tucking behind her ears.

Taken to Sitting in silence, hands clasped tightly in her lap, that if she was fiddling with the wires and the girl's hair, whispering mantras in her head like a mock prayer. Nat wasn't for religion, where was 'god' where her childhood happened? 'All life is precious' What about hers? What about the little girls? If their life was so precious, why did they have to suffer tenfold more of a lifetime than that of one of an 'average' person?

Natasha hates the world, rightly so, everywhere in the world they hurt little girls. Small vulnerable girls to be torn apart and put back together tougher and stronger. And that's only for some, some grow up jaded and hate the world and others...

Others such as the girl in the bed-

She doesn't want to think about it, she can't. Nat was a tough woman, cold to most that surrounded her, cruel to those who passed her blade. But to little girls? To children? She would never, not in the many lifetimes she will live. No, a child's life was precious, more than her own.

A child deserves a parent...but will the parent deserve a child?

Natasha had concluded, very much believed deep down, was the case for her little warrior that lay cold in the bed.

It's like a loop, a vicious cycle of hatred and violence. Natasha would never what it was like to have parents and now she would never know what It's like to have a child. It was all she wanted, but she couldn't. A dream, so far-fetched even, was stripped away from her. Pulled bloody from her own body without her consent. Only forced to believe that's what it was. All life was going to be. To become better, as children make a mother weak.

'Lies' Natasha would find herself at night saying, mind clear of the drugs they would give her, 'Mothers are strong, they are fighters. Mothers would do anything for their children.'

Only when she got out, free of the lies of everything. She found herself realising that the lie that she would whisper to herself was all a rouse. Some people don't love their children. Even go so much to hurt them. Natasha believed only that sort of stuff would happen in the place where she grew up...but no.

If she wasn't a spy and a pretty messed up person with more red coating on her hands that stained, Natasha would have been a lawyer. One is fighting for the rights of children, To protect the innocent from going through her own. She does the same even now, yet more brutally and illegally. But it works, it's proving a point.

Yet now her only focus was pulled towards the little girl in the bed, her heartbeat slow but steady. It was odd to feel such a pull, an understanding towards a girl not much younger than she'd been. It was going to be hard, but she'd not let this girl go back to where she came from. No matter what, even if it turns bloody. She'll be this girl protector, even if that means keeping her from that tight grips of Fury and his always meddling ways.

Looking back at the girl, her heart still broke, the skinny arms and slight sunken features. A suspicious bruising that appeared under the girl's high neck top made her blood boil, letting out a huff of anger.

But she was safe, for now, that's all Natasha cares about...physically at least.

Please wake up, Зайка. You're safe, I'll protect you.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Alive

She lived.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck

Mia didn't feel dead, she felt like utter shit, but not dead. Why? Who cared enough to save her? How she wished to kick and scream herself bloody. She wanted to die, she needed to die, and that's why she was there. She wanted to shout, how very much she wanted to shout, but all she could get out of her mouth was a strangled gasp followed by a massive buildup of an underlying panic.

Her breathing picked her, her chest rapidly rising as flailing and she couldn't fucking breathe. Oh how she wished to die, yes, but not like this. She wanted to fall, and meet a quicker death, whilst bleeding out.

"You need to calm down, okay, breathe for me okay." Someone said, in a soft voice, warm and gentle. Mia didn't know anyone that sounded like that. She found herself forcing a nod that the lady's words. That was until she touched her, causing Mia to finch.

Donttouchmedonttouchmedonttouchme

The voice in her head was a rapid succession, screaming as it pulled at every corner of her consciousness. Everyone that touched her hurt her, this lady would do the same. Mia did not doubt it, soft voices always hurt her. Her father proved that.

This unknown lady pulled always, Mia couldn't see her, everything was a blurry mess. All squeezing together to confuse her.

Finally, when she stopped, calming down as she sunk into the bed and a wave of chemicals hit her.

A hospital...fuck.

She couldn't be here, her father would come she was so so sure of it. He always did. His false smiles as he spun some tale of her being clumsy. Anyone would believe the man who was a lawyer, causing abusers to serve sentences. Only to come home and become the people he believes are the bane of his existence.

"Who..." she manages to croak out, her throat squeezing that felt like a thousand knives clawing against everything in her body. Her eyes looked around, the bright room. More higher tech than she would suspect a normal hospital. Buzzing and beeping of monitors around her. White sheets, the soft gown she was probably tied into, and her blooded clothes lay underneath her beloved red Converse which caused her to flinch when she saw them. Right hand clutching the heavy bandage on her left wrist, heat rose in her cheeks, feeling more of a cowered and a failure as shame built up.

There was only one person in the room, a woman in a grey jumper and sweatpants. Lounging on a plastic chair that looked over the bed. Only Mia noticed the shocking red hair that fell in between this lady's chin and shoulders. And for that fact, she was very beautiful.

"You shouldn't talk yet." The Lady said, putting her elbows on her knees, blue eyes observing her, "You've woken up after four days and lost a significant amount of blood. Not to mention the obvious starvation you went through. You're very lucky to be alive." She spoke softly again, moving to sit at the edge of the bed which made Mia bring her stiff legs up to herself. Balling in on herself, something she would always do when she saw new people. The redheaded woman only held a cup, the glass misting up on the outside which made Mias' mouth water. Betraying her.

"Do you mind?" She moved closer and the little girl flinched back, it only took a soft look from her for Mia to cave and let the glass meet her lips

You trust too easily Mi, it would get you killed one day.

Ignoring the sour voice she truest the woman enough not to poison her. The lady had to be a doctor, though she didn't dress like one. Completely shed from the horrible blue scrubs. Who else would she be?

The cold water tastes like a liquid form of 'heaven', soothing her dry throat, and making her feel that little bit more lucid. Only if it wasn't for the sharp-clawed hunger that dug away in her stomach, clenching in on itself. Mia wasn't a stranger to the feeling of hunger, very much used to the usual aches that battled away in her stomach. Nevertheless, it was an uncomfortable pit in her, making her feel ready to devour anything that came close to her. No matter if she could hold it all in.

"Who...are-"

The red-headed woman silenced her again, letting herself fall back into the mound of soft pillows. Groaning as she sent the woman a glare, picking at the edge of the blanket.

"Who are you?"

"I asked you first." Mia but back, ignoring how her voice sounded raspy and changed pitch, scratching her throat.

"You're more important, currently."

"Why, because you saved me?" And I think I hate you for that. The woman's face fell before it picked up an impassive expression. The changes made her flinch, it reminded her so much of people that she'd rather not think about. Laying down as she looked up at the ceiling, weariness coming back to her again. Feeling more tired, she shouldn't be sure. Mia had an idea that she was probably asleep for a while because she was hungry and thirsty, but then she always was.

"Precisely, you tell me your name and I tell you mine."

"Like a game?"

"Exactly like a game."

Mia thought for a second, her father didn't like her telling things to random people, specifically one that saved her. She could almost feel his suffocating presence behind the closed doors.

"Mia." She grumbled slightly, picking at the edges of the bandages that covered her wrist, fraying the edges slightly.

"That's a pretty name."

"I guess."

Mia turned her face away so the woman couldn't see her cheeks burn up and the tears that brewed in her eyes, threatening to fall. No ones called my name pretty before.

The red-headed woman smiled, it was small and warm, like Mia's mother when she was lucid enough to care.  It also reminded Mia of the social worker who came around when she was six, that lady would give her sweets and say 'Everything will be alright soon.' A neighbour had suspected abuse, but of course, she didn't find anything.

Only strangely the social worker and neighbour had seemingly moved town a few weeks later.

Mia never questioned it, but the sinking guy feeling did, however.

"Nat." The redhead lady, now Nat, had said, leaning closer to her. Like the terrified instinct in her, pulled back slightly. Nat only resisted a tiny bit but ended up tucking in the itching blanket around her. Usually, Mia would find such restrictive, keeping her in place raised anxiety in her- drawing her to the brink of a panic attack, but she found herself not caring.

For once it brought her a slight comfort, an odd feeling that warmed her chest. A bitter serenity fuelled a moment of pity for herself. She never felt something like this before.

Mia prayed as she will, to the 'false' gods again, that Nat wasn't a false protector or simply a figment of her fractured imagination.

'Nat was real' She had to believe in it, that's all she now has left. A foolish imagination and a childlike belief, still hanging on by a loose thread of a shattered childhood.

───※ ·❆· ※───

Natasha never left Mia's side, never left the four days she was asleep, never left for the few hours she was awake. Only really slinking out of the room to go to the vending machine and press out another energy drink.

There was just someone about the damaged little girl, lying vulnerable in a mound of pillows and tucked tight in the blanket. Just achingly so, like invisible strings tugging at each corner of her consciousness, telling her that this is what she was made to do. Become the protector of little children she told herself she was, that looking after this girl was made her.

It was a weird notion, all the same, Mia's guardian angel, but it was like a long faded dream. Nat knew why she was doing this, but she didn't also know. Sure she can protect her from the outside but she has no idea how to look after one. Nat wasn't sure if she was ever able to, now the opportunity was served to her on a silver platter she had no idea what to do. Stilling each muscle, nervousness clawing at her insides.

You'll be good Nat, You can do-

"Nat?"

It was a timid voice, Natasha didn't even recognise it for a second as she was trapped in her thoughts. But she looked to the source, Mia had woken up and propped herself in the pillows, and her wide blue eyes stared back at her, almost unblinking. Wild but yet so devoid of emotion.

"Why did you save me?" Her voice came out shaking, almost a whisper as she looked down at her lap, almost ashamed of asking it. Natasha wanted nothing more than to bring Mia into her arms and whisper her sweet nothing until she felt better again.

"Anyone would have done it Зайка, You're a child-"

"I'm Ten." She huffed back petulantly as if her embarrassment had suddenly gone.

Still a kid.

Nat smiled, she never smiled. Mia doesn't know that though.

"Anyone would have done it Mia, your safe now. We'll make them pay, you understand?"

Mia didn't look at her, Nat didn't care but she could see a whisper of a smile under the curtain of blonde hair. That made it worth it.

"Really?" It was a timid voice, broken slightly by what Nat assumed but the threatening tears. But it was filled with so much hope, Natasha wished she could, and she will.

"Of course we will, Зайка, of course we will." Nat extended her hand towards Mia, she shrunk away instinctively but after a second she stayed still. Small frame tense but still allowed her touch. Mia was like a caged dog, wearingly allowing touch and would bite or shiver in fear afterwards.

Nat tucked a small piece of hair behind Mia's ear, her bottom lip trembled at Nat's feather-light touch. It was a sad thought to the older woman, how she was scared and fleeting from each touch.

A tear dropped onto Mia's cheek, Nat wouldn't be surprised if one had appeared on hers as well.