#After the snap | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mrspasser · 22 days

Text

After the snap - Chapter 2

Sterek fanfiction

Chapter 1

A03 and Wattpad

How the pack deals with being back.

After the snap - Chapter 2

"My son is back. Stiles is back." The words parade through Noah's brain as he tries to weave his way through traffic. There's chaos everywhere, though until now it seems to be a good kind of chaos. A hell of a lot of confusion, yes, but Noah has seen a lot of happy reunions already. Like how deputy Parrish suddenly materialised next to him at the coffee machine, wondering where in the world his mug had disappeared to.

"I was just holding it!" were his first words, while Noah tried to push back the heart attack he was about to get. Said mug had fallen to pieces when Jordan Parrish turned into dust five years ago.

"You can use mine," he'd said and pulled his dearly missed deputy in a bone crushing hug.

As soon as he was able Noah had pulled himself away from the station. Stiles is back. His son is back! When he reaches the loft he takes the stairs two at a time, racing towards the heavy sliding door that seals off Derek’s apartment. It’s not locked, it hardly ever is. Werewolf hearing makes for a good alarm system. As do claws and fangs, for that matter.

He finds them on the floor by the large window, holding on to each other for dear life. Noah would like to do the same, so he just falls to his knees and reaches out.

"Hey dad," Stiles says like it’s just been yesterday that they saw each other and Noah cries heavy tears. His son is back. He is really back.

It's Stiles who directs them all over to the sofa, who arranges them to sit with him in the middle, holding both their hands firmly as they lean against him. "How long was I...?" he asks carefully.

"Five years," Noah answers in a thick voice. His face is still wet with tears, but they're happy tears.

Stiles sucks in a breath with a hiss. "Holy shit." He squeezes their hands hard, his brain probably barely wrapping around the idea of having been gone for so long. It’s a testament to all the weird shit he has been through since he was 16 years old that this new fact, him being gone for five years, doesn’t warrant a bigger reaction.

"The others?" he asks a few minutes later. "Scott?"

"Scott was fine," Noah reassures him. Their friendship was a bit rocky in the few years before The Snap, but Scott would always be his son's oldest friend. "The others, well," he swallows heavily, "they were all gone."

Stiles whips his head around to look at the man next to him. "Oh, Derek," is all he says, but it sounds broken and Noah knows that Stiles understands what it means. What it meant.

Derek never liked to talk about it, yet Noah is good at putting bits and pieces together to form a whole story. That is his job, after all. So he knows how Derek felt the packbonds disappearing one after the other, like someone cut the invisible lines with blunt scissors. He lost all of his betas, along with his human packmates, until he was left with a True Alpha who had always been unwilling to form a real pack with him and a Hunter’s daughter. And there was Noah, who was pack by proxy, courtesy of his teenage son who never knew how to leave well enough alone.

And break down he does, in a truly heartbreaking manner.

It was a good thing Noah knew about werewolves before that dreadful day, because nothing could have prepared him for the desperate Alpha werewolf he found in his living room a short week after the Snap. Derek hadn’t been able to change back to human for at least six days. Six days in which Noah was fairly certain he hadn’t slept. Or ate. What he did do in those days was unknown; he doubted Derek would be able to tell him, as he was pretty out of it. When he turned up in Noah’s house he was at his wit’s end and after Noah talked him down somewhat he’d crashed in Stiles’ bedroom to sleep for 28 hours.

Derek looks equally lost now, his facial features bordering on werewolf constantly. It’s a strange sight, with the eyes flickering between red and his normal colour, and the workings of his jaw when he pushes back his fangs. Still, as lost as he is, he’s not dangerous. In danger of breaking down, yes, but not dangerous to his surroundings.

Stiles figures it out first. “You can feel them?” he questions urgently, grappling for the werewolf as Derek suddenly howls desperately and tears new holes in the sofa with his claws. “Derek, it’s okay, do you feel them, are they back?”

The boys end up on the floor, Stiles mostly lying on top of Derek. He makes shushing noises and is petting Derek’s hair, his face, his shoulders. The werewolf has his arms wrapped around Stiles’ back, holding him close, with his face buried in the crook of Stiles’ neck. Noah guesses the weight on top of him is comforting. He’s just grateful there’s no claws threatening to pierce his son’s vital organs.

Not long after that, there are four werewolves added to the pile. Just like Stiles, they had no idea they were away, but they can feel their Alpha’s desperation. Isaac is the first to arrive, looking bewildered but otherwise okay. Derek whines in the back of his throat and his Beta shoots towards him like an arrow from a bow. Derek releases Stiles to pat down Isaac, make sure he’s real and in one piece. When Stiles scoots over to give them some room, Derek’s hand clamps down on his wrist, making it clear he can’t go anywhere. It goes the same with the other kids. Boyd and Erica arrive together, closely followed by Jackson. Derek doesn’t have enough hands and arms to hug and touch his pack; judging by their faces the kids have never seen him like this before. They take it in stride though, because the need to be close is evident even to Noah, who doesn’t feel it like the werewolves can. Even the Whittemore kid joins in on the group hug, which is a little surprising to see.

Noah takes it upon himself to get everything in order for the pack. It soothes his need to do his duty as a sheriff now it’s at war with the need to stay close to his only son. He convinces Derek to let Jackson go so he can pick up Lydia, which the Alpha allows begrudgingly.

“Here, kid,” Noah says, handing Jackson some cash, “pick up some pizzas on your way back. I doubt anyone will be up to delivering right now.” They might even have to get frozen pizzas from the supermarket, because Maria Torelli lost her husband and two sons in The Snap, so he guesses making pizzas isn’t the first thing on her mind right now.

“I don’t need your money,” Jackson answers, every bit the cocky kid he was five years ago.

“You’ve been away for a long time, kid,” Noah says gently, pressing the money in his hand. “I don’t think your credit cards are still working.”

The young werewolf frowns, but he takes the bills and disappears out of the door without another word. A moment later there’s the sound of a car speeding away.

They work together in near silence, with Stiles happily muttering under his breath when he finds the cups in the same cabinet they were in five years ago. His son came back into a world that changed a lot in the time he was away, he can be happy about something small such as finding the coffee cups in the right place.

With food taken care of, Noah busies himself with making drinks for the pack. He figures a pot of tea and a pot of coffee will do the trick. Derek doesn’t drink much soda anyway, so there’s not a lot of that around. That will soon be different now the pack is complete again; Noah has a feeling the pantry will be stocked with soda and junk food again in no time.

While coffee runs through, Stiles joins him in the kitchen and quietly moves underneath Noah’s welcoming arm. “Good to have you back, son.”

“Yeah, I guess they aren’t the only ones who will have such problems.” Noah rubs a hand over his jaw. He really ought to get back to the station, to help sort things out. All those people who are returning to find their lives have changed… “This is gonna be a mess.”

Lydia and Jackson arrive with frozen pizzas, which is fine, because Noah already preset the oven to heat up.

When he informs if Lydia’s parents were willing to let her go so soon again, she shrugs. “They were both gone too. I guess it feels like we just saw each other yesterday. I left them arguing with the help. Apparently she and her kids moved into the house when we were gone.”

“A mess that will still be there tomorrow,” Stiles remarks, coming to stand next to him. “The town will be fine without you for tonight, dad.”

He wraps his arm around Stiles’ shoulders and presses a kiss to the boy’s temple. “I guess you’re right.”

When all the pizza is eaten and Noah has to defend the fridge to keep any food left for breakfast tomorrow morning, he strongly suggests the idea of going to bed. It’s well after midnight by now and everybody is starting to look a little worse for wear.

The pack settles in for the pizza, swapping stories about what or who they found when they returned. Boyd and Erica returned inside Boyd’s bedroom, to find that his grandmother had turned it into a laundry room in his absence. She was very happy to see her grandson again, and even more pleased to have her husband back. Erica had a similar situation as Lydia, with both her parents also having been gone. So after making sure everybody was okay, they’d come to the loft.

Isaac had been staying with Scott five years ago, but the pull to come see Derek had led him here first. He’d found himself outside the old coffee shop on Main Street: “Which is now an ice cream parlor. Is it any good?”

Jackson returned behind the wheel of his car, the Porsche sitting in the garage underneath a tarp. He’d just parked it there when he vanished and his parents had left his beloved sports car in the garage, underneath a protective cover. “I had to cut my way out,” Jackson smirks, showing off the sharp claws on his right hand.

“Puppy pile?” Erica suggests coyly, although Noah suspects she’s a lot more serious about it than she sounds.

“Puppy pile,” Stiles confirms with a nod and then they all scramble off to search for pillows and blankets. For a single man living alone, Derek sure has a lot of those.

A look of doubt crosses his face, but his son nods. Then he gets up from the nest and plods over for a big hug. “You can’t leave without a patented Stilinski hug,” he says with a smile and hugs his father extra hard. “Love you, dad.”

Noah eyes the large nest they build around the sofa. Most of the kids discard their shoes and jeans and dive in, finding a place close to their Alpha. It should look ridiculous, seven young adults cuddling together in what looks like a sloppy version of Big Bird’s nest, yet he can definitely see the appeal.

“My back is not gonna survive that,” he says with a frown. “I think I’ll sleep at home.” His words are met with a chorus of disagreement, Erica somehow the loudest until she sees Derek glare at her. There’s little heat behind the glare, Noah suspects there will not be for a long time. “Stiles, you’ll be staying here, I think?”

“Love you too, kid. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Noah says, trying his best to not let his voice waver.

Stiles nods against his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere, dad.”

They hug some more and then Noah leaves, wishing them all a good night. He makes it to his car and even gets in, but he can’t make himself turn the key in the ignition. After twenty minutes he gives up and lets himself into the building again. When he opens the large sliding door the apartment is quiet and dark, except for a small light by the iron wrought staircase.

“You can take my bed, upstairs,” Derek says from somewhere in the middle of the ‘puppy pile’ and it’s the most Noah has heard him say all evening. Solemn red eyes blink at him in the dark.

Noah nods, knowing Derek can see him just fine even though he himself can’t see much more than dark shapes. He finds his way to the staircase, tells them good night again and goes to find that Derek has a very nice mattress.

***

When Scott finds his mom she is livid. “You sold the house?!”

A moment later, she’s hugging him breathless. She returned inside the hospital, wearing the same scrubs she had on when she disappeared in The Blip. He can’t believe he’s hugging his mother again, he was convinced he would never see her again.

“Noah Stilinski?” Melissa asks, pleased to hear about him. “He’s always been a smart man. I’m happy he was still around to keep an eye on you. And Stiles?”

When people started returning left and right, Scott had run to the hospital, only to find that his mother wasn’t there anymore. He’d found her on the stoop of their old house, staring angrily at the front door with her old key in her hand - no longer fitting the lock.

He takes her back to his apartment above the ice cream parlor in town and explains to her how he’d sold the house to pay for college. “I’m gonna be a certified veterinarian in little more than a year,” he says and she’s so proud that she immediately forgives him for selling their home.

Of course it helps that he also tells her about the storage unit that houses the stuff he couldn’t fit into his apartment. “Noah’s idea,” he says with a self conscious shrug. At the time, he was trying his hardest to move forward, to get on with his life. He’d broken up with Allison and was determined to follow the new path he’d set for himself.

***

Scott shakes his head. “It was just me and Noah. Oh, and Derek Hale. And Ally, but she’s living in Europe now.” He spends most of the night getting his mother up to speed about all the things that happened in the past five years.

He also calls Noah and gets Stiles on the phone. The whole pack is over at the loft, but they understand that he stays with his mother. Scott promises to come see them tomorrow, after he’s dropped his mom off at the hospital. She wants to help out, even though her old job might no longer be available.

“I had not expected to see you so soon already,” Melody says when she opens the door of her roomy office to Derek. “And you’ve brought a friend.”

The young man next to Derek gives her a finger wave. “Hi,” he says cheerfully, “I hope it’s not a problem that I’m tagging along?”

“I’m guessing that’s Stiles?” she says, smiling at Derek in his usual seat across from her.

She looks at the way their hands are entwined between them and smiles. “No, not a problem at all. Come in.”

Inside she pretends not to notice how Derek lays a heavy hand across his friend’s neck, to which the younger man responds by rubbing a hand down his arm before they part and he moves over to the large windowsill next to her desk. He sits down on the sill and takes out his headphones, seemingly intent on giving them privacy for the session.

“I’m so happy for you.” She means it. She has come to know Derek as a gentle soul, scarred by the pain of his past; she sincerely wishes him all the best.

“It is,” the werewolf confirms, his eyes locked on the figure by the window. She recognises in his gaze what she still feels herself, little over a week since that joyful day: happiness and disbelief over the return of loved ones.

“They all came back,” Derek says, looking at her. “My pack.”

“Your sister?” Derek asks, uncharacteristically chatty. She tells him how her sister, her husband and their daughter have all returned, just like his pack members, his family.

The boy in the window is silent, although she bets the werewolf can hear the music that’s playing on his headphones, or the movements of his head and foot in time with the music. “Why did you bring Stiles?” she asks, because even though she can guess why, it will be good for Derek to put it into words himself.

To his credit, he only has to think for a moment before he says it. “I have a hard time letting him out of my sight.” The werewolf watches the boy, the corners of his mouth curling up slightly, the lines in his face softening. “I want to keep them all close, but…”

“Him the most,” she finishes for him, reading it from his eyes. “Have you talked to him about why that is?”

His shoulders hunch up slightly, yet he answers anyway. “A little. He understands, I think. I guess Noah told him how - how I reacted when he disappeared.”

They talk a bit about communication, how important it is for Derek to talk about his feelings and his needs with his pack. The werewolves will be able to sense a lot from each other, yet Melody has always been an advocate for open and honest communication between people. “If you want, I am also willing to do group sessions. It might help with finding balance again.”

Derek promises to think about it and as quickly as always their thirty minutes are over. When Derek stands, Stiles shoves his headphones off and comes over. He holds his hand out to Melody. “Thanks doc,” he says earnestly, “Derek told me you’ve been of great help.”

She smiles and shakes his hand. “Take good care of each other. But something tells me you will.”

***

The large table in Derek’s loft is filled with people. Everybody is talking over each other and wine and aconite laced beers are consummated generously. Their plates are polished clean, as are the oven dishes. Learning that Derek cooked from his mother’s cookbooks did funny things to Stiles’ insides, as did discovering that his dad and Derek were fast friends. He’s eternally grateful they had each other for support after the Mad Titan decided that the universe was a better place if he cut its population in half. Stiles hates to think what would have happened to either of them if they were all alone.

It’s weird to think he’s been away for five years. To him, it doesn’t feel like that. Yet it is undeniable that a lot has happened, the world he knew is a different place now. His father has more grey hairs, more wrinkles, yet his eyes and mind are just as sharp. Derek also has grey hairs, that had been a fun discovery. He also has some lines in his face that weren’t there before, worry lines instead of the happy crow’s feet Stiles would’ve loved to see there.

It’s been three weeks since everybody returned and although there are still a lot of things to figure out, the pack has fallen back into place, spending a lot of time together. It feels good. When they disappeared, some of them had been in college, others had jobs that took a lot of their time. That was all gone now. His studies at Berkeley had been cut off abruptly and it was still unsure whether or not he would be able to pick up where he left off five years ago. A lot of his professors had disappeared as well and just like any other institution or company, the university had to adapt, then and now. Stiles doesn’t worry about it: they will figure it out in time and then he can decide what to do. Right now, he isn’t going anywhere. Except the kitchen maybe, to get the pie for desert.

He puts the pie - another one of his mother’s recipes - on the table in front of his father, handing him the large knife and therefore putting him in charge of serving a pack of hungry werewolves their pie. On his way back to his seat across the table, he walks behind Derek, trailing a hand over the man’s shoulder. The werewolf catches his wrist in his hand, pulling him in, his fingers settling on his pulse point so he can not only hear but also feel Stiles’ heartbeat. He leans easily against the back of the Alpha’s shoulders, his hand settling lightly on Derek’s chest, over his heart. He can feel how he relaxes, Stiles’ touch grounding him. Their absence - his absence - has been hard on the werewolf and it still overwhelms him to have them all back.

The first few days Derek couldn’t bear to have them all out of his sight for longer than a few minutes. He didn’t articulate it, not like he should, a few years of therapy had not been able to change that yet. Luckily, werewolves do not rely on words alone for their communication. And Stiles may not be a werewolf, he’s been running with the wolves for long enough to know how they tick.

He’s practically living at the loft now, which comes in handy because Melissa has moved in with his dad for now because Scott’s apartment is tiny. Besides, like Melissa said, her son is used to living on his own, he doesn’t need to have his mother around all the time. Isaac alternates between sleeping over at Scott’s and at the loft, Lydia is staying over at Jackson’s house until her parents have fixed things with the help, and the others sleep at home but spend a lot of their time at the loft. Still, Stiles is the one who is there every day of the week.

Stiles has been low-key in love with Derek since he realised his obsession with Lydia was nothing but that: an infatuation with a dream girl. He’s never acted upon it, never actively pursued anything; nothing beyond building a steady friendship with the werewolf, recognising that it would be best to let things take their natural course.

The first couple of nights they all slept together in a puppy pile in the middle of the living room. After that, they all took to spending the nights in their own beds, with Stiles taking the sofa in Derek’s loft. That only lasted for half a night, when Derek kept coming out of bed to check if Stiles was still there. No matter that he could hear Stiles from his bedroom, he needed the visual and tactile confirmation. The solution was simple: they’re sharing a bed now.

The Alpha prefers to go to sleep with his head pillowed on Stiles’ chest, listening to the tattoo of his heart. And for all that Stiles moves in his sleep, they always wake up connected, even if it is just their feet touching. When Stiles vanished five years ago they weren’t at this point in their relationship. They were friends, good friends, friends that relied on each other and listened to what the other had to say. Their current status is just an extension of that, if you ask him; a rapid, painless change for Stiles and one that inflicted a lot of heartbreak and hurt on Derek’s side.

Derek loves him, he knows that even though they haven’t talked about it. Not in so many words anyway. It’s not necessary. Not yet. They’ll get to it, they have time. Because Stiles isn’t going anywhere.

#sterek fanfic #after the snap #thanos snapped his fingers #marvel au #teenwolf fanfiction #tear jerker #happy ending #stiles x derek #ilse writes fanfiction #chaptered fic #derek hale #derek got left behind #stiles stilinski

4 notes · View notes

cryinginsidebecauseofbrutasha · 1 year

Text

Day 1: Exhaustion

It used to be the conference room, but none of them used it. Most of the time, none of them were even there.

It’s been almost a year since Thanos killed half the population off with a snap of his fingers. Natasha and the team had failed to prevent it. They had lost a fight and half of the world.

Thanos said it was for the better of the world, and every day, Natasha tried not to see the positive effects of the Snap. Even as every inhabitant of the Earth has food and adequate shelter. People being supportive of one and other. Less pollutants in the air.

And 3.8 million people had died for it.

Nat sighed and checked the calender.

The date for first full year since it happened was coming soon.

The rest of that morning, until the sun rose, Natasha had tried tracking down her best friend, to no luck. She sat back and decided to get up. She had to start prepping for the meet-up the surviving of Avengers agreed to have.

Natasha was checking the rooms with a list of people who were coming on a clipboard.

Tony and Pepper with their newborn, Morgan.

Nat smiled at the prospect of seeing Morgan again. The last time was her one-month anniversary, where Tony told her that she would be his daughter’s godmother.

Thor and company.

That meant she would need to get more beer.

Steve.

Natasha rolled her eyes. The old fossil, always alone.

She paused at the last name, pen hovering over it.

Bruce Banner.

Nat shook herself off.

She always seemed to have these weird feelings whenever she thought of the scientist. Sure, he ran away after she kissed him, and yes, he came back warning them of a space Titan with magical rocks that could kill everyone, but he was still something. Not quite a friend– they had definitely moved past friend– but not anything where they could’ve picked up from when he came back.

It feels like drinking whiskey without the burn in her throat, just the warmth in her chest, like a furnace. Sometimes, it was her heart, getting arrhythmia, which was something she might need to get checked out.

“Ms. Romanoff, there’s someone at the door,” FRIDAY said.

Natasha pulled up the security footage and sighed. Of course he was early.

She buzzed him through the gates and walked out to meet him at the front doors, one hand in her pocket and the other hurriedly tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“Natasha,” Bruce said softly. “Hi.”

She looked at him petulantly, without meaning to. “You’re early.”

He chuckled. “I was told that’s a good trait,” he said.

“Not when you’re early a day and a half.”

Bruce held up a bag. “Well, then, I’m sorry. Do you want me to camp out in my car until everyone else comes?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Just… hmph. Come in. I guess I could use some company,” she conceded.

Bruce grinned.

She led him through the hallways into the wing she occupies. “Your room is through here,” she told him.

“Is that yours?” Bruce pointed at the door next to his.

“I tried to assign everyone away from me and you were last on the list,” Natasha said. “Don’t think anything of it.”

“Got it.”

They walked together in silence.

“I need you to cook,” Natasha blurted out, just as Bruce said–

“Look, about us–”

They stopped in unison and blinked at each other and tried again.

“You go–”

“No, I interrupted–”

They stopped again.

Natasha crossed her arms and tried to look annoyed while Bruce just smiled at her nervously.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Nat sighed. “What did you want to say?”

Bruce gazed at her with his coffee eyes. “I wanted to ask you. About where we stand.” He shifted a little uncomfortably. “Since I ran away after you pushed me off a cliff and came back telling everyone that a big purple asshole was going to come kill us all.”

Natasha stifled a smile. “Well, you did do that. We never really had that conversation.” She glanced at the clock. “Why don’t we have it right now?”

She sat down with her legs crossed on the floor of the hallway against the wall.

Bruce copied her.

“How do you feel?” he asked quietly. “I… honestly, it— when I came back, it felt like it’s only been a week, and since then only a year. I never had a reason to stop… ah, liking you, so… there’s that.”

Nat fiddled with her pen and clipboard. “Well, Bruce, for me it’s been years. Three. Almost four. 1,403 days, actually, but who’s counting?” She smiled slightly and sighed. “After you left, I never gave myself the chance to ever think about this. My feelings… this—” she wiggled her pen between the two of them— “whatever this is… I never let myself slow down and think about it.” Natasha looked up at him. “For all I knew, you were on an island somewhere drinking martinis on the beach.”

Bruce has this weird sort of half-smile on his face. “Do you still… feel—” he sighed in frustration— “how to articulate this…” he shook his head. “Do you—”

“—maybe,” Natasha said, interrupting his stumbling with some of her own. “Maybe I— shit,” she mumbled softly. “I can’t talk.“

Bruce smiled wryly at her. “With all that, you can be a diplomat and bring down entire regimes,” he teased.

Natasha glared. “It’s different. I’ve never…” she sighed. “Not like this. You… you matter to me. More than I’d care to admit.”

“So you feel the same? After all this time?”

Nat nudged his foot with hers gently. “Maybe. I’m not sure.”

Bruce smiled. “Would you like some time to think about it? I can lock myself in my room,” he offered.

“Ha. Very funny.” Natasha shook her head. “Let me just try something. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Bruce nodded and Nat leaned over, hand reaching to angle his face better. She closed her eyes and kissed him, ignoring the roar of her heartbeat.

After a second, she pulled away, watching Bruce’s eyes open and studying them critically for a pupil reaction.

“Fine,” she sighed. “Yeah. I still feel the same.”

Bruce smiled wider.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Don’t do that.” She kissed him lightly again. “Or you aren’t getting any more of these. Now help me out with the cooking because I don’t want to burn anything on accident.”

Two years later.

“Tasha!”

Natasha padded to the lab slowly. It was 4 am and the wing was still in darkness. “Bruce?” She stuck her head through the doorway. “What’s wrong?”

She and Bruce took turns on doing the calls with the other remaining Avengers now, and he usually took the early ones because he wakes up early.

“Rhodes wants to talk to you,” her boyfriend said quietly. “About Clint.”

Natasha swallowed almost imperceptibly to anyone else but—

“Are you okay?” Bruce asked. “Are you up to it? I know it’s been a rough week.” He brushed his thumb over her knuckles softly, looking at her with concerned eyes.

Natasha brushed him off, linking their hands. “I’m fine,” she said, knowing that she still had eye bags from a few all-nighters she pulled and a bruise from a fight she had to break up. She tapped the keyboard. “Rhodes, talk to me.”

Rhodey popped up on the screen. “Hey, Nat.”

“Good morning,” she said dryly.

“We spotted him in the full costume again,” the man said. “Mafia.”

Natasha sighed. “What do you think, is he ready? Are we ready?”

Rhodey looked at her. “Are you ready?” he asked.

Natasha gave him a withering look. “Let’s talk about this later, after my morning coffee.”

“Yes ma’am,” Rhodey said. “Talk later, Bruce.”

Bruce nodded and Rhodes signed off.

Natasha gripped the edge of the counter with white knuckles, not even noticing until Bruce gently pried her fingers away.

“You okay?” he murmured, putting his chin on her shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her waist as she sighed.

“I’m just so tired,” Nat said, leaning into his embrace. “So fucking tired. I just want to stop everything and take a week, you know? Try and relax before coming back to manage this mess again.”

She turned and watched Bruce study her. “I could just fall asleep right now,” she mumbled, falling face-first into his chest. “Just close my eyes and drift away.”

Bruce held her like this for a minute or so. “Do you want to go back to bed?” he asked.

Natasha nodded.

They walked with their fingers entwined back to their room and fell asleep until Morgan ran in and jumped on them.

Natasha blinked awake as her goddaughter squealed and tackled her again. “Hey, Tiny Dancer.” She mustered a smile. “Whatcha doing here?”

Just then, Tony came striding in. “If it isn’t the love-birds,” he said, smiling at a newly groggy Bruce.

“What are you doing here, Tony?” the scientist asked.

“I was in the area,” Tony said, picking up his daughter. “Morgan wanted to see her godmother, or her, uh, ‘Natty’, technically.”

Natasha smiled at the little three year old. “Really, now?”

Morgan nodded seriously.

Natasha held out her arms and Tony deposited the toddler into them.

“Thank you. I’ll be back at six,” he said.

Bruce frowned at the billionaire. “You could’ve called ahead!” he called.

Natasha nudged her boyfriend with Morgan’s arm. “Will Uncle Bruce hug me?” she asked in a baby voice.

Morgan pouted. “I miss uncoo buce!” she said, agreeing with her godmother.

Natasha grinned. “There you go. Hug your niece.”

Bruce gave in and gave Morgan a hug.

Natasha looked at the girl. “You know what would be fun? If we all took a nap together.” She toyed with the toddler’s hands. “What do you say, Tiny?”

“Nap!”

Nat grinned and laid back down, waiting for the inevitable flop of Morgan onto her diaphragm.

“Id auntie Nat tied?”

Natasha nodded. “Very.”

Morgan patted Natasha’s face gently. “Sleep,” she commanded.

They slept.

9 notes · View notes