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Written for howaboutadance on tumblr :)

The world was spinning around him, getting closer and closer until he could barely see straight. He stumbled unsteadily and dropped to his knees as they buckled weakly, trying to regain some kind of grounding as to where he was.

He bowed his head, breathing deeply and stalled at the familiar coppery scent that filled and overwhelmed his highly tuned senses. He gagged and choked on the stench, cursing under his breath, as he wondered what exactly he had done.

He could see the red lining his hands; feel the stiffness as it began to cement into the curves and grooves of his well used hands. He flexed his hands experimentally against the grey backdrop, and watched as dried pieces flaked.

Peering around beadily, he searched for the source.

There was a leather combat boot, standard issue at S.H.I.E.L.D, a small distance in front of him. He followed the lining of the navy jumpsuit along the bent leg and the splayed arm. It had been ripped in the middle, stopping at the waist, bearing the pale skin beneath. The blood from the neck wound – a precise, horizontal incision, from left to right, he noted vaguely – and seeped into the floor, almost blending with the fiery red curls that framed her pretty face.

In that moment, his heart skipped a horrid beat before continuing on a heavy rampage. His eyes widened in disbelief and horror. His hands shook uncontrollably. His stomach churned with violent disgust.

No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…

He scrambled to her side, slipping more than once on the spilt blood – her spilt blood. His hands hovered over her, not daring to touch. Her chest shuddered violently, an obvious struggle to breath; the wound wept and he joined it, tears escaping in the corner of his eyes.

"I'm sorry Nat, I'm so sorry, I…fuck…I didn't…"

Green eyes, almost glassy now, rolled in their sockets to look at him. He selfishly hoped for some kind of forgiveness for what he had done; some kind of understanding that he wasn't in his right mind; some kind of fight to say the Black Widow was still there, in her gaze but no. Fear, pure unadulterated and desperate fear, stared back at him.

"You'll be okay," he found himself whispering, more pain ridden than soothing, "Yeah, you'll be okay…god, Nat, I'm so…" his breathing trembled, "…you'll be okay, just fight it Nat! Just…stay awake…"

Finally building up the courage, he pressed a bloodied hand firmly against the slice, trying frantically to stem the blood flow. He ignored the pathetically weak whimper that broke through her dry lips, despite the pain and anguish that filled him at the broken sound. He peered distraughtly into the emptiness around them and called out as loudly as he could manage, his voice cracking and his throat aching, "Hey! Is anyone there? Can you hear me? An Agent is down – do you hear me? We have an Agent down! Just…please! Anybody! Somebody! Please!"

In the depths of his mind, a familiar throaty laugh, cruel and sickeningly amused by the turn of events, rose and his skin crawled. He hissed quietly under his breath and shivered when he heard the words as if they were spoken right by his ear.

"Can you really wipe out that much red...?"

If you have any prompts for Avengers stories, anything you want to see in print, I am open for requests. You can either send me a private message on here, or leave me a message on my tumblr: WhatIMustWrite