the unraveling of natasha romanoff

sam and bucky's boat

The thumping that comes from punching bags has always comforted Yelena. Something about it is therapeutic for her, but she could never explain it.

Maybe it's because it can't feel any pain but she can express hers, maybe it's just simply because it's fun.

Either way, she's not surprised that this is the scenery for her dream.

(She's more shocked that her dream isn't a nightmare, to be honest.)

That thought is thrown out the window when something comes from behind the punching bag, holding it steady as she steps back, ready to punch whoever it is in the face instead.

The hands holding it have fingerless gloves on with padding over the knuckles and Yelena knows from experience they're made for punching.

Yelena steps back, fists still out in front of her. Dream or not, she's not going down without a fight.

"It's just me."

The voice sends chills down her spine and she readjusts as the person reveals themself.

"You're dead," Yelena says affirmitavely.

Natasha shrugs, smirk played on her lips and arms crossed over her chest, "I'm here anyway."

"In a dream ," Yelena bites back, frustration flowing rapidly through her veins, "you're not real. You're not the real fucking Natasha, so leave me alone!"

"How would you know if I'm not real?" Natasha asks, and its now that Yelena notices how different she looks. She no longer has the blonde hair Yelena last saw her with, and even though she's smiling she looks depressed. Like the life's been drained from her.

(Well, she is dead, so that makes sense.)

"What the fuck are you doing here, then? Since you seem to know everything," Yelena retorts, mimicking her stance now.

Natasha shrugs, "You tell me. It's your dream, sestra."

"ты такая сука," Yelena mutters, shaking her head. She breaks eye contact, wanting to get as far away from this Natasha as possible, but it's impossible. Her feet won't move no matter how much she wills them and this all just feels like a fucking joke.

"Yelena-"

"No!" she exclaims, arms flying, "You don't fucking get it, Natasha. You don't get to come to my fucking dream and try acting all high and mighty when all you are is fucking dead and I'm the one that has to live with it. You're dead!"

"Yelena!"

Yelena jolts up, eyes adjusting to the room around her and slowly coming back to her senses, heart thumping wildly in her chest.

Kate's with her, they're in a hotel currently because they were both too tired to continue the drive to Louisiana. Delacroix, to be exact.

"Hey," Kate's hand is rubbing up and down her back and she doesn't realize that she's practically in Kate's lap until now. Kate kisses her temple, "We're still in the hotel, Lena. You had a dream. And before we fell asleep you were bitching about the cold, but you seem to be doing okay now."

Yelena leans closer into Kate, trying to regain the ability to breathe normally and reveling in the way Kate traces small circles on the palm of her hand, somehow grounding her faster than anything.

(Kate's actually a master at grounding her. It's kind of magical.)

"Feel better?" Kate asks, and Yelena nods slowly.