It's was Natasha's first day at her new school. She wasn't nervous, her father moved her around a lot so this was almost routine for her. She caught guys staring and girls whispering. She rolled her eyes as a group catcalled before opening her locker and shoving her books inside. As she was doing so the whole corridor fell silent. A large group were waltzing down the hall, the students parting like the Red Sea. She peeked her head up and caught sight of the popular group. What she was expecting was the football team with cheerleaders hanging off of their arms. What she didn't expect to see was just five guys ranging from bulky hunk to skinny dweeb.
Someone tapped her on the shoulder and she whirled around. In front of her stood a tallish gangly boy with sandy blonde hair and hearing aids. His crooked grin almost matched his crooked nose. "Hey, Tasha right?"
"Natasha." She eyed the boy warily but he just waved her off.
"Sure whatever. I'm Clint Barton and I'm here to protect you from the monstrosity that is Brooklyn Heights." He held out a hand and she took it cautiously. Immediately she let go as a sharp spark of electricity ran up her arm.
"Really? A joy buzzer?" He shrugged and continued to grin.
"I've got reg first in 21b? Then I've got biology so hurry up Barton before I shove that buzzer somewhere I know it won't be welcome." He grinned wider and offered his arm.
"Right this way m'lady. I fell like we're going to be the best of friends." She shook her head disbelievingly but never the less, took his arm. She shut her locker and he pulled her into the jostling crowd of students. She was pushed and pulled and pinched and practically trampled alive. Until some strong sort of force yanked her backwards and she cut through the stampede like a warm knife through butter, straight into the back of one of the populars.
They both stumbled but he managed to catch himself whereas she hit the floor hard. He turned around in surprise and looked down at the red head. He offered her a hand and she gladly took it. His eyes widened at her beauty but hers narrowed at their wrists. Warm light was glowing softly from their soulmate marks. Suspicious, she ripped up her sleeve and sure enough the small inked name in scrawly writing shone with a pulsing light. "Hi, I'm Bucky." He held his hand out for her to shake and she did so, but inside she felt only disappointment. The name on her arm was James, not Bucky.
"Natasha." Similarly he felt the same. The neat loopy writing on his wrist read Natalia, not Natasha. "I'm sorry for running into you."
"Hey it's no problem. How about you make it up to me by meeting my friends?"
"Only if you meet mine." He grinned.
"Sure. Why not?"
***
A couple months later and Natasha was lounging on the sofa in her sweat pants with her boys. They were all sprawled out in Bucky's basement, having just finished a Harry Potter movie marathon. They'd been outraged when she admitted that she'd never watched them, Sam seemed to have taken it as personal offence. Now though they were stuffed full of popcorn and other rubbish with blankets tossed everywhere. She had a leg slung over Bucky and was leaning against Clint's shoulder.
Steve was sat on the floor with a boyish smile. Sam lay next to him, a bowl of kernels balanced precariously on his stomach. They were happy and content. That is until a shrill ringtone broke through the slumbering silence. Natasha recognised it as her own and rolled off the two boys, digging through her bag for the nefarious noise. Once she found it she checked the caller ID. "I've got to take this one." She smiled weakly and practically ran out of the room. She was pale and shaking yet no one seemed to notice apart from Bucky. He frowned in concern and followed her to the bathroom.
Natasha's hands shook as she answered the call. "Come home now." She was in trouble. His voice was calm, scarily calm meaning he'd passed all stages of rage and was now simmering in cruelty. Tears dripped down her face as she nodded. She was in for a world of pain tonight. Her father was merciless. Ivan Petrovich wasn't even her real father, she was adopted. Yet for some reason she couldn't leave him, couldn't escape. He'd moved her all over the globe, whenever someone got suspicious or caught a glimpse of her permanently purple ribs they would pack up and go. Then she would be punished for giving them away.
