THE DEATH SEASON ▹ final avengers ✓

27 | assembled

chapter xxvii of the death season :
" I WANT TO AVENGE THEM . "

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" Doesn't matter what you did, or what you were. If you go out there, you fight, and you fight to kill. If you step out that door, you are an Avenger. "
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january 25th, 2023
tokyo, japan

THEY STILL HAVEN'T MOVED .

Natasha Romanoff stands across from them, red hair braided behind her back and an umbrella over her head. Her face is cautious and solemn, having watched the entire massacre occur, having watched two of the people she loves most in what's left of the world slaughter a hundred men strong.

Her familiar green eyes widen at the sight of her bloody daughter, shocked not at the sight of the gore covering her precious child but at the fact that she hasn't aged.

Not one bit.

The girl who used to be Svetlana Barnes looks barely eighteen.

"You shouldn't be here."

"Neither should you." Natasha responds strongly, her eyes remaining on the girl she hasn't seen in three years, "Either of you."

Loose red ringlets of hair hang wet and tangled around Svet's face, and her morning sky eyes are blank and cold amidst the midnight rain. Her gun still lays limp by her tall combat boots, and blood drips from her suddenly shaking hands. Svet can't say anything while she stares at her mother, her tongue weighing heavy in her mouth and her mind burning with apologies she can't quite choke out.

Clint Barton slowly turns to face his best friend, years of pain and loss and murder evident in the tired wrinkles on his face.

"We've got a job to do."

"Is that what you're calling this? Killing all these people isn't going to bring our families back."

Svet swallows hard, those tears she doesn't understand beginning to fall down her cheeks. Each and every droplet burns her skin, like tears of acid shredding through layers of skin.

"We found something." Natasha approaches them cautiously, like wild animals that she isn't quite sure won't lash out, "A chance... maybe."

"Don't." Clint sighs and his voice breaks, slowly shaking his head.

"Don't what?" Natasha pushes.

"Don't give us hope."

The woman's heart breaks within her chest, and her face has never reflected her emotions so clearly.

"I'm sorry I couldn't give it to you sooner."

Natasha slowly reaches forward and takes Clint's hand, holding it tight, promising that she's here for him, that this can be over now. The man crumbles under her touch, eyes squeezing closed in silent agreement that it's time to stop. But Svet is somehow still too far to reach.

The girl stands a few feet from them, seemingly numb to the rain and the emotions pouring out all around her. Her full lips are still parted from where she mouthed her mother's name, but her eyes are dull.

Natasha reaches for her, hand extending when she croaks, "Svetti-,"

The girl flinches back, feet splashing in the blood she spilt.