Summers' Purpose

A/n : Trigger warning with parts briefly describing self-harm. Proceed with caution.

She didn't know how long she was out there. An hour or 2? Maybe more? Natasha couldn't tell. She just knew that the sun disappeared, and the moon had taken over its place in the sky. She sat on the bench overlooking the lake with her arms wrapped tight around her knees as she pulled them to her chest. Her gaze was empty, the complete opposite of the turmoil in her head. The mess of questions and doubts that she had before came back in the most horrible way. Flashes of a particular moment refused to leave her, returning time and time and reminding her of what happened.

Natasha could still feel Y/n's hand burning hot on hers as she gripped her collar. She remembered holding on tighter the hotter it got. She could still recall the look in Y/n's eyes; how her fear was barely hidden beneath her determination. She remembered the way she fought to hold on as Y/n made her let go. Natasha frowned at that memory, unsure if she was more devastated than angry. She didn't realize someone approaching her until she felt someone touched her shoulder. She jolted, looking back to see who it was.

Clint apologized and stood some distance away to give her some space. "How's your hand?" he gestured to her bandaged hand. "Did you get that changed yet? Looks pretty bad." He reached over to check on her, shocked when he touched her hand. "Jeez! You're freezing, Nat. How long have you been out here? Come on, let's go inside." His voice was gentle as he tried to coax her.

"I can't," Natasha whispered, her voice slightly hoarse.

"What do you mean, you can't? You'll catch a cold out here, at least come inside and warm up for a bit, huh? Then we can come out here again if you want. I'll join you." Clint removed his jacket, draping it over Natasha before he sat next to her when she spoke again.

"I can't. I keep thinking I'll see her in those corridors. Walking around. Training. Alive—like she should be." Natasha avoided Clint's gaze and kept staring across the water as a distraction.

Clint was quiet as he thought of what to say. "I know what you're thinking, but it's not your fault. What happened and how it happened is—" he paused, shaking his head. "Y/n understood the consequences and she made up her mind. As much as it hurts, we have to respect it. If it was anyone else in her place, you, me, or anyone; we'd want the team to do our best with what chance we have. I'm sure she'd want the same."

"Don't say it like that. You're making it seem so simple–it's not. The thing is... I knew she wanted to live. I saw how scared she was. I felt how tightly she held on to me before she let go. She made me let her go, Clint. She promised she wouldn't do it again, but she did." Natasha shook her head as her heart broke again, her tears traveling the path down her face as they did before.

"She wanted to live. She deserved a chance. But I don't think she believed that, even until the end. She thinks she's beyond help. It should've been me, Clint... Why didn't I see it coming? Why did she break her promise?" Natasha's guilt overcame her once more and her voice gradually came down to a whisper, knowing there was no use saying all those words out loud because the person she wanted to say it to couldn't hear her anymore.

.

Red wisps tipped the mouth of the liquor bottle and the contents came spilling out into the glass, which Wanda gladly retrieved. She downed her drink and grimaced at the burning sensation. She was never a heavy drinker, but then again, she was never in this position before. Lonely and hurting, and at the precipice of losing touch with her sensible side to get what she wanted or needed. Feeling more powerful but at the same time, more helpless than before. The red wisps refilled her glass as she traced the date at the back of the picture she held, her heart aching a little more than usual—if that was even possible. "Happy anniversary, my love," she clinked the glass on the bottle before she poured the liquor down her throat.