Southern Drawls and New York Fist Fights

Just... Exist

"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize kid."

-Harley-

My hands were shaky as I yanked my suitcase out from under my bed, then my back pack.

Something I had hoped I wouldn't have to do for a long time.

I stuffed clothes in the suitcase, not paying attention to what I threw in. Cords, shirts, jeans, the book Bucky had given me on the History of the World Wars, hoodies that had collected in my closet over my short stay - not all mine but they felt like home so they went in.

I sat down on the floor at the end of my bed heavily, my hands gripping at my hair as tears obscured my vision. Why the fuck did this have to happen to me? I couldn't go back there. Back to that house, that room.

I didn't hear the knock on the door over my gasping for air, only realizing someone was in my room when my hands were pulled from my hair. I could barely make out red hair with my blurred vision. Natasha, it had to be Natasha. She was the only one here with hair that shade of red.

I tried to focus on the words she was probably speaking, to pull myself from my haze of panic but it was impossible. My body was shifted and arms were wrapping around me. I leaned my head against her shoulder, her hand rubbing my back gently.

Slowly, my senses began to come back as the panic lessened.

"It's okay." Natasha was speaking quietly, voice comforting and calm. "It will be okay. We will get you out."

"I'm sorry." I mumbled into her shoulder. The second voice startled me enough to pull back from the hug.

"Don't apologize kid." Clint was folding the clothes I had been throwing in the suitcase haphazardly, as if it were a simple load of laundry. "It isn't your fault." I shifted my gaze to my suitcase, which already had been organized in a better way. "Also is this Peter's hoodie?" He held up a dark green sweatshirt, and I couldn't help the small smile that crept onto my face.

"I think a few of them are in there." I replied. Clint snorted, but folded it and put it in anyways.

I didn't want this moment to end.

Yet, half an hour later with my suitcase and bag packed I was standing in the common room saying goodbye to the team and promising I would be back soon. Peter had clung to me for the majority of it, as if he could stop me from leaving. It took everything in me to not break down crying again. Tony had to physically pry Peter off me so that I could get into the elevator with Nat and Clint and be taken to the airport.

The two spies hugged me in the airport terminal, getting quite a few odd looks from passing people. I promised I would call them if anything serious happened, Natasha checked I had all of their numbers in my contacts and Clint reminded me to go to the police the moment something happened before they finally let me go through security.

I didn't feel like I was living as I stared out the window as the plane took off. More like I was existing, simply on this Earth wandering. Looking for a place to call home.

I had found that place. At Avengers Tower, with a vigilante and a group of superheroes and the owner of a company that was worth billions of dollars. I had been ripped away from that home and sent back to wandering until I could find it again. A single face in a crowd of cruel strangers.

My mind was racing, but there were no coherent thoughts there. I couldn't focus on one thing, one problem that I could fix. I finally tore my gaze from the window after we were well above cloud level when my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I pulled it out and opened the message, one from Peter.

Bi-der: How many hoodies do you have of mine?
Fuckin' Southern: I don't know, maybe three
Bi-der: Harls, half of my closet is gone

I smothered a smile, knowing very well that Loki, MJ, Shuri and I all stole his hoodies on the regular. They were really comfy.

Fuckin' Southern: Ask the others
Bi-der: Stop stealing my hoodies!
Fuckin' Southern: They are comfy
Bi-der: You four will be the reason I go bankrupt, all because you keep stealing my hoodies

I shut my phone off after that and stared at the ceiling of the plane, before digging out the book Bucky had given me that Clint had put in my back-pack instead of my suitcase and trying to distract myself with that.

It worked until the announcement that we were landing happened, and a new spike of anxiety was sent through my body. I put the book away after a moment and picked up my phone to check the time, 5:21 am. Brilliant. Just brilliant.

I opened my messages next.

Ironbitch: Message me if you need anything
Potato Boi: A plane ride back?
Ironbitch: I wish I could kid, have you arrived?
Potatio Boi: Landing right away

I switched onto Nat's number after seeing that she had also texted.

Nat: Remember what Clint told you to do if something happens
Harls: I know

A notification from Tony brought me back over to his messages.

Ironbitch: You'll be back here in no time

I put my phone away after that so I didn't start crying on the plane.

As soon as we were cleared to leave I was off, going through security as quickly as I could and ignoring the panic in my chest as I got a taxi to Rosehill. I stared out the window the majority of the drive, ignoring the world around me and trying to think of anything but what awaited me when I arrived home. I purposely avoided eye contact with the driver as I paid and got out, staring at the house in front of me. The taxi drove off, I seriously considered turning and walking away but I knew that it would probably end up with Tony in trouble. Instead, I headed up the stairs and rang the door bell. It felt wrong to just walk in. This wasn't my home anymore, it never was.

The door opened to reveal my father, looking extremely annoyed and pretty pissed off. He looked around wearily before grabbing my arm and dragging me in, slamming the door shut. No words were spoken as I was dragged towards the living room, my suitcase left at the door. I managed to drop my back pack in the hallway.

Panic strummed through my veins as I was forcefully shoved onto the couch. I swallowed, looking up at my father who was glowering down at me. Did he want me to speak first? I took a deep breath.

"Dad-" My head whipped to the side and I stared at the floor in surprise. My cheek stung, burning. He had never touched my face before.

Then the yelling started.