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Chapter Text

Natasha was falling.

As she tumbled down the chasm of Vormir, she thought of Clint. How he had begged her not to do this. How he had fought her to save her life. Yet although this would be her last moment, she had regrets only for him. That the agony of losing a loved one had been demanded as a price to retrieve the Soul Stone and set right what once went (or, rather, would go) wrong. But it was better that only one person suffer than five. If she had let Clint go, she would have been condemning Laura, Cooper, Lila and Nathaniel Pietro to the loss of their husband and father. And that would not do. She, on the other hand, had no family. She had red in her ledger to wipe out. She knew who needed to lay down on the wire and make the sacrifice play. She and Tony had often shaken their heads at Steve’s trying to solve every single problem by getting himself killed, but sometimes there really was no way to cut the wire.

Natasha kept falling.

Just how deep was this chasm? Surely she should have been crushed at the bottom by now. Not that she was exactly looking forward to being crushed, but it was a suitable end for an assassin who kept doing evil even after she’d tried to go straight. She didn’t need the question of her worth answered. She knew it, and ever since she and Steve had been forced to burn SHIELD, the whole world knew it too. What she didn’t know was what awaited her after she landed. As a Red Room girl she’d been taught not to believe in God, but she’d seen more than one. She even knew how they dressed. But she didn’t know what, if anything, all the powers of the universe had prepared for her. Thor had told her of Valhalla, home of the heroic dead, and Helheim, home of the dishonorable dead. But with Hela’s power broken, Helheim may not exist anymore. At this point, she wouldn’t rule out anything. All she could do was hope that if anything awaited her, the powers of the universe would show mercy. That, if Steve was right and purgatory existed, she could finally wipe out the red in her ledger once and for all.

She was falling through all that red now. The fog was so thick she couldn’t see, but she could feel the air around her swirling. An orange light began to glow. Was this it? Was she falling into the inferno after death? As the orange light reached her suit, lightning began to arc from the quantum regulator, and the whole suit began to emit orange sparks. And then--black.

When Natasha came to, there was no fire to be seen. Instead, there was water to her left, trees and grass to her right, and a wooden dock underneath her sprawled body. However, she did have a blinding headache, and when she checked her head she could feel a bump, so she figured she needed to rest for a moment and figure things out. Was she in the afterlife? None of the ones ever described to her were supposed to look like this . And they all included judgment, which hadn’t happened to her; her memories hadn’t even flashed before her eyes. Maybe she was just waiting in line. She did see people all around her when she looked up, but they were spread around, not appearing to be waiting for anything. They were eating at picnic tables, walking their dogs, and throwing frisbees under the partial cloud cover.

Wait a minute! This place...looked familiar. Was the afterlife playing tricks on her? After being a professional handler-of-weird-and-dangerous-stuff for years, she knew she needed to be prepared to respond to anything. Relax. Remember your training , she told herself. When in doubt, blend in . She looked down; she was still wearing her red and white quantum-travel suit. So much for blending in visually. But she could still act the part. She hopped up, shook her hair out of her suit, and began to walk around. She looked at the lake and the paths and the patterns of trees and stonework, taking it all in. Then, it dawned on her: this was Central Park! She was in New York (or at least an illusion of it). But the illusion was so good that she decided to keep exploring. What could she find? Where did she need to go? What was waiting for her? As she walked, she kept observing. The people seemed happy, not at all in mourning of all of their loved ones lost to the Snap. Maybe they were the ones lost , she realized. They died by the Infinity Stones, and I died for an Infinity Stone. So it’s appropriate that I’m in the same place as them, probably some sort of limbo built by the Stones. But she couldn’t be certain. This might look like New York, but there was only one way to find out whether it really was. She had to ask for help.

She had done this many times during her years as a spy. Pretending to be a hapless civilian to get information out of people was one of her bread-and-butter techniques, at least until the Avengers made the news and everyone knew her face. But this time, she didn’t have to act. She walked up to a businessman sitting on a bench reading a newspaper and tapped him on the shoulder. “Sir, I’m sorry to interrupt, but where am I?”

“Why, this is Central Park, New York, of course. How could you not know it?” Then he turned around and winced. “You must have hit your head pretty hard to not know where you are. Let’s get you to a doctor. What’s your name? Can you remember it?”

“Natalie Rushman,” she blurted out. Then she wanted to kick herself. How stupid am I? I’m always the one reminding people to never use the same alias twice! But it was too late now; giving a new one would make her look even more suspicious. Sure enough, the man was looking at her funnily. “Natalie Rushman, huh? I think I might have heard that one before, but I’m not sure where. You certainly look familiar.” The man closely studied her face. “Never mind that. We need to get you some help. How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three.”

“Good. How old are you?”

“Thirty-nine.”

“Well, I don’t know you, so I can’t evaluate that for certain. Do you have a wallet on you with an ID, maybe?”

“I don’t think so, sorry. I was on a trip, and…” She stopped. It was probably best to avoid describing the Avengers’ quest to save the universe with some random stranger, even though he seemed friendly and helpful. She of all people knew that enemies could be everywhere.

“So no insurance card either, then. Well, that’s not good. Do you have any family you can call for help?”

“Sure, let me try a few people.” Natasha checked her pocket to find her StarkPhone still there. If this was an Infinity Stone-created limbo, everyone who’d been Snapped away might be here. And if she had her phone here, they probably would too. She pulled up Peter Parker’s number first, since he’d lived in New York. “Hi Peter, this is Nat. I just got here, and I...I need some help.”

“Excuse me? We don’t have a ‘Peter’ at this address.” The man set the phone down.

Natasha looked back at the businessman. “Wrong number. Let me try again.”

But it hadn’t been a wrong number. She’d dialed this number a thousand times before. If this was a limbo designed to resemble life on Earth, it would make sense for people to keep their numbers, if phone service worked here. The man had recommended that she call people for help, which suggested it did. She decided to test that by texting herself. If it went through, then phone service must be the same as before.

Sure enough, it did. Then why wasn’t Peter Parker’s number working? The man watched as she tried more friends: Sam, Wanda, Scott, even Bucky. All were wrong numbers. She tried T’Challa and Shuri, which wouldn’t even go through due to an “invalid country code.” She grew increasingly nervous. Was this an Infinity Stone-created limbo at all? Yet it couldn’t be the world of the living, either; this New York was vibrant with people, not the quasi-ghost town she had visited in the years since Thanos. Could she have traveled back in time when she fell into the chasm? She was wearing a quantum-drive suit which was designed to travel through time. She decided to ask the man: “What day is it?”

“April twenty-eighth.”

“Of what year?”

“Why, 2018, of course.”

So she hadn’t traveled far enough back to precede the Snap. In fact, if this man was correct, she’d gotten here the first day following it, when things had been at their most chaotic. What was going on? This was that one time in a blue moon when the (in)famous Black Widow had no idea what to do. As Steve Rogers might say, she wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

“Ummm…..”

Chapter Text

“Come on. Let’s go get you some help.” The man grabbed her hand and started leading her along. Under any other circumstances, Nat would have broken it in less than half a second, and probably thrown in an arm bar for good measure. But she was too dazed, and didn’t feel it best to resist the man. He’d shown no signs of hostility, and if that changed, she could always make him regret it then. For now, she could use some help getting acclimated to this bizarre scenario. It was New York post-Snap, but it couldn’t have been. There were far too many cheerful people. It couldn’t be the world of the dead, or of the living. Calls to either had failed to go through, and by all signs phone service worked here. More than likely, it was one of those quantum timelines Scott and Tony had talked about. She had been wearing a quantum travel suit in the vicinity of powerful magic in the form of the Soul Stone. They’d probably had some freak interaction like those “anomalies” that happened on sci-fi shows to set up the plot. There was a time when she would have dismissed that as, well, sci-fi, but she’d fought space aliens, met a literal wizard, and gotten e-mails from a raccoon, for Odin’s sake. Seemingly anything was possible. And traveling to a timeline where the Snap hadn’t happened (or at least not yet) wasn’t anywhere near the top of the implausible list. So she’d do her best to play along and do what she could for this timeline.

She kept following the man. He was leading her out of the park, she could tell, toward the subway station. They walked through the vast park, having almost reached the edge when Natasha spotted a hold-up out of the corner of her eye. She turned around.

“Wait! Stop! Let the police handle it!” the man called. And there were two officers nearby, but they were sitting on a bench, smoking. None of the civilians were doing anything, either. She ran, letting her peak human speed carry her. She heard snippets of conversation:

“--what a shame, you looked so tempting--”

“--you’ll pay for this--”

“--goddamn tranny---”

“Is there a problem, boys?” Natasha called. The three men had cornered a black woman against a pole and started to punch and kick her. Although she was close to their size, she wasn’t fighting them. Even if she’d known how, which most people didn’t, she was not in a good position. But it was a bit better now that the apparent leader of the gang was distracted. He turned his face toward her, and Natasha saw her opportunity.

She smirked. “Can’t you get women to sleep with you of their own free will? Women do that, you know, with guys who have tolerable faces, don’t live in Mom’s basement and maybe clean up once in a while. Oh, and aren’t racist transmisogynist thugs.” Petty, she knew, but she knew what she was doing. Sure enough, all of them had now turned their attention towards her.

“God, you’re worse than Brie Larson,” one of the goons muttered. “What do you say we teach her a lesson?”

“Yeah, let’s do that. Fresh meat is always more fun when it fights back.” The skinny one, along with the others, leered at her.

Natasha sighed. Here we go again. “I’ll have you know that I am a very expensive sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen.” She stole a quick, imperceptible glance back at the pole. Ugh. The woman was still frozen in place.

“Nah, she’s just annoying. Shut your face-hole, you little whining cunt.”

And maybe open up the other one, too! went unspoken. Spoken or not, they had pushed the wrong buttons on the wrong woman. This was not the first time the sentiment had been directed toward her. It wasn’t even the first time she’d been called by that epithet, albeit with a bit more sophistication than these bozos could deploy. Either way, people made that assumption at their peril. Natasha steeled herself. Then, with a face colder and sharper than the blade she’d carried with her during the Russian winter, she dealt with the goons.

It was almost comically easy. The first one threw a sweeping punch, and Nat ducked under it and tripped him, moving around to bar his arm almost to the point of snapping. The second one tried to kick her, so she flipped forward and up, kicking him in the face and snapping back down. The third, the leering one, of course went straight for the guard. Bad idea. There was a reason she, or rather her guard, was known as the Black Widow: enticing, yet deadly to approach. It took her less than a second to lock in a triangle, and not even five until he was out cold. Then she added another technique of her own, a very special limb bar that would leave him unable to leer at anyone else without intense pain. She didn’t apply it hard enough to last forever, though. He needed to learn a lesson. She pursed her lips and quickly checked that none of them could escape their positions.

“Have I ‘shut my face-hole’ to your satisfaction?” she asked coolly. Then she walked over to the bench where the officers were smoking and tapped one of them on the shoulder. “I believe you have some assailants to arrest once you finish your emergency business.” She pivoted and walked back towards the businessman.

All around, people were gaping. Many had held up their cell phones, and already she saw flashing fingers itching to share what had just transpired. Meanwhile, Natasha approached the woman, still standing with her back to the pole. “Are you all right? You seemed like you were in trouble there. I was trying to let you get away--”

“Oh.” The woman deflated, as though she wanted to face-palm herself. “Yeah, thanks for standing up for me. I don’t think they’ll be going after anyone else for a while.”

“That was the plan.” Well, it was part of the plan, anyway. She had to admit that it took a certain level of vindictiveness to use her Very Special Limb Bar. “You are?”

“Shawna Wilson, aspiring filmmaker. And you are?” She handed Natasha her phone. “Add yourself in here. I can always use a sister like you.”

“I’m Natalie.” Natasha started typing. Now that she had an alias, she had to stick with it. Going by more than one would just make people even more suspicious. “Happy to help. As a good friend of mine once said, I don’t like bullies, no matter what.”

“You know? I think I’ve heard that before.” Shawna took Natasha’s phone to add herself to it. “Wow, I’ve never worked with a phone like this before. It’s so streamlined.”

It’s just a StarkPhone, Natasha thought. Yeah, Tony gave us all top-of-the-line models, but they’re really not all that different from the standard model. Maybe it’s just a timeline issue; it’s only 2018 here. Phone technology improves every year. But she thanked Shawna, said goodbye, and walked back towards her businessman, looking upon people’s awed reactions.

When she got back to him, he was spluttering. “You- You-” He paused. “How- ? I don’t even know where to start!”

“Well, I do,” she replied. “Who’s Brie Larson?”

Chapter Text

“Cast,” announced a strong clear voice, “assemble!” 

Everybody laughed. After multiple movies playing their characters, it was difficult not to become them a little bit. Chris Evans in particular couldn’t be blamed after having shot a total of seven movies as the American hero, second only to Robert Downey Jr. as the cornerstone of the MCU. Robert, for his part, was holding a party in his mansion to celebrate the release of Infinity War and let everybody blow off some steam after such a long, intensive project. Oh, they still had a few reshoots to do for Endgame , but by and large, mission accomplished. And now the cast had assembled at play as well as at work. 

“Yeah, that’s kind of what we’ve *been* doing,” remarked Robert. He raised his glass. “To the Avengers!” 

“To the Avengers!” 

“To a mission by and large accomplished!” 

“To a mission accomplished!”, all chorused. They clinked their glasses and began to drink and party in earnest. A large contingent including Scarlett, Mark, Jeremy, Don, Elizabeth and Zoe were playing Yahtzee in the corner while Tom Holland kept hiding Tom Hiddleston’s drink every time he turned around. (Chadwick Boseman was trying desperately not to laugh). Others played other games, enjoyed lunch, or simply talked. Periodically, Robert or Evans would do a “box office check” on Infinity War and post the running total on their celebration banner. The numbers were already in the millions. Robert smiled. Hemsworth and Hiddleston, along with himself, really were gods. 

But some people (Robert wasn’t naming names) couldn’t put their phones down once the score was updated. He-Who-Would-Not-Be-Named scrolled through his Twitter feed, eventually stumbling upon a video that had been shot by a random park-goer but had apparently gone viral. He watched it, eyebrows rising with each passing second. “Hey, guys, you have to watch this.”

Hemsworth and Hiddleston, along with some others who weren’t previously occupied, leaned in. Tom Holland reached over to make off with Hiddleston’s drink again, but Robert Downey Jr. gave him the Dad Glare he’d perfected in real life and on screen with Holland. Holland put the drink down, looking guilty, and joined the others in watching whatever video Evans wanted to show them this time. 

On the phone, they could hear a group of men calling out racist, transphobic insults at a woman backed up against a pole. “What the--?”, Holland spluttered. 

“ Watch ,” Evans cut him off. A redheaded woman in a white tracksuit with red accents could be seen running, but she wasn’t running away from the altercation. She was running toward it, and faster than anyone else in the background. Then she began to confront them. “Can’t you get women to sleep with you of their own free will?”

Tom Holland couldn’t resist. “Ooh, burn!”

“ Holland! Keep your mouth shut! ”, the others all yelled, exasperated. They’d used this line so many times that they all said it together purely on instinct. Holland shrunk back, guiltily. The altercation went on until one of the goons called the woman by a name that was definitely not G-rated. It was Tom Hiddleston’s turn to look guilty. 

But the look on the woman’s face could cut vibranium, if it were real as described. She took all three of them down so fast they had to rewind and watch it in slow-mo twice to see how. It looked like something she did every day and could do all day. Then she went over to talk to the other woman and turn the thugs over to the police. (“Burn!”, Holland couldn’t resist yelling out again). As she left the scene, the camera caught her face for a split second. 

“Freeze right there!” blurted out Robert. “Go back a couple frames...do you see what I see?” 

They did. The woman could have been Scarlett Johansson’s long-lost identical twin, the resemblance was so perfect. Even more chillingly, her clothing and hair were just like Natasha’s from the set of Endgame , if a bit messier. Everyone knew that Natasha was a redhead, but her new hairdo and costume were supposed to be secret. Only somebody on the inside should know, unless it was sheer coincidence (very unlikely) or unless set photos had been leaked (and it would have blown up on social media immediately if that had happened). Considering the skill she had shown, chances were one of Scarlett’s stunt doubles had done this. Robert voiced his suspicion, and the rest of the group agreed. Stunt doubles were selected, after all, by their resemblance to the actors as well as their ability to perform physical feats. 

“Scarlett? We have a situation,” Chris Evans called out. As she left her game to come and investigate, the others followed. They were a team. A Situation for one of them was a Situation for all of them. Evans clarified: “We think one of your stunt doubles may have leaked your costume. Here, watch.” 

Scarlett and co. watched. Scarlett’s eyebrows, too, arched higher and higher as it went on. Sure enough, looking at the rescuer’s face was like looking in the mirror while on set. Her face, her hair, her costume--everything looked right. And her moves were worthy of Heidi, Amy or Rebecca. But, although Amy and Rebecca were closer than Heidi, neither of them had her face exactly. And none of them were supposed to be in Central Park, New York (the location tagged in the video). 

“My stunt doubles are all here in town today, in case they get called up,” Scarlett explained. “Maybe they copy-pasted my face onto some random woman who did this as some sort of promotional stunt. I don’t know. But it sure doesn’t look staged. And I’m an actress; I should know the difference.” 

The rest of the cast nodded in agreement. They couldn’t really explain this; it could well be coincidence. Chris Evans piped up again. “Let’s not make a big deal out of this. If we don’t let on that this looks like a leaked set photo, maybe nobody will suspect a thing. I of all people should know that playing along is sometimes your best bet.” Everybody laughed. “I’m just going to re-tweet this as real life heroism--”

“--which you totally would have done anyway,” remarked Mark Ruffalo. 

“As I was saying, I’m going to re-tweet this as though it has nothing to do with Endgame . Before I get started, does anybody disagree?” 

Everybody was laughing too hard to disagree. Evans got started, and they went back to their party. Now was the time to celebrate.

Chapter Text

Brie Larson, as it turned out, was a feminist actress. Mr. Carl Sanderson (as he had introduced himself) seemed surprised that Natasha had never heard of her, given that she had won an Academy Award for Best Actress, but Natasha just shrugged. She was an Avenger. While the team had held regular movie nights, the fact remained that saving the world (and then trying to clean up after themselves) left them with fewer resources to devote to keeping up with non-supervillain-related current events. Mr. Sanderson went on to explain her role in the Women’s March protests against President Trump, and Natasha carefully kept her expression neutral. If she weren’t sure before that she was in an alternate reality, this news confirmed it. She remembered Donald Trump floating the idea of running for president, but a certain other impulsive egotistical billionaire (former) playboy had quickly caught on and decided that two could play that game. By pulling his own shenanigans, he starved Trump of media attention until Trump decided that there was no point in staying in the race. It took one to counteract one, he said. (But if that didn’t work, he was fully prepared to “accidentally” tear up Mar-A-Lago while fighting a supervillain. As it was, Steve had needed to talk him down from waiting until the Chitauri were behind Trump Tower before firing at them, back when Trump was floating the presidency the first time. “Look, I don’t like bullies either,” he’d said, “but our job right now is to fight off these aliens.”)  

But she had already let enough of her oddness show, first in confronting and defeating the thugs and then in not knowing who Brie Larson was. Trump apparently having actually become president combined with Shawna not recognizing her StarkPhone seemed to suggest that Tony Stark, or at least Iron Man (who had been responsible for Stark Industries’ shift towards consumer tech when he shut down their weapons division), didn’t exist in this universe. No, it had to be even Stark who didn’t exist, she realized: Stark/Avengers Tower was curiously missing from the skyline. She should have been floored, given what a central role he had played in (her) world. But Tony had told her what Dr. Strange had said about “fourteen million, six hundred and five possible timelines.” And those were all branching off of the Infinity War! If the existence of multiple branching timelines were generalized to every event...she couldn’t even imagine how many possibilities there must be in total. A timeline without Tony Stark was certainly weird, but she was an Avenger. She lived and breathed weird. Every day, she understood more and more how nothing was beyond the realm of possibility. Anything could well be (and given Strange’s remarks, probably was) real somewhere. And in that case, what was “real” anyway?

Mr. Sanderson took her to a nearby Urgent Care center, explaining to the check-in staff that he had found a woman in the park with no identification and no knowledge of where she was. “Calls herself Natalie Rushman,” he said. “I’m guessing she hit her head, given that she didn’t know where she was. And she also got into an altercation with some hooligans, so she may have injuries from that.” 

“Why don’t we let Ms. Rushman explain how she feels?” A woman in a white coat had stepped out of the door leading to the actual medical spaces. Her voice was warm and sweet; gray streaks flecked her blond hair. “Come with me.”

Natasha went. But something nagged at her: “Don’t I need to pay you first?” She didn’t know how things worked in this universe, but hers was not utopian enough to have free healthcare available in America. 

But the woman brushed it aside. “You don’t have an insurance card on you. If you just left it at home or wherever, you can submit any bills to the insurance company once we’re done. I promise not to run it up; I hate it when hospitals do that.” She sighed. “If you don’t have insurance at this point, we figure that a premium would be prohibitively expensive. Either that, or it’s just the exchanges demonstrating government efficiency at its finest. In either case, our system gets financial support to care for those who can’t pay. Don’t worry about it.” She squeezed Natasha’s hand. “No matter what, my name is Jeanne Silverman, and I’ll be taking care of you today.” 

“Don’t you mean Dr. Silverman?”

“Well, I’m not technically a doctor; I’m an NP. I normally work in our pediatric division, but everyone takes a turn in the urgent care clinic sometimes.” 

“So, a doctor in all but name, then.” 

The woman smiled. “Well, it is my job to take care of you. According to your check-in, you’re Natalie Rushman, 39 years old.” 

“That’s correct.” 

“Any medications?”

“Not daily, no. Just over-the-counter stuff as needed, and nothing right now.”

“Any chance you might be pregnant?”

“I wish.” Natasha let out a small snort. She tried not to think about it. It was just one more thing she’d lost. Even back on Barton’s farm, way before the Snap, she had no idea what compelled her to bring it up. 

“Ah. Well, I need to get your height, weight, temperature, pulse and blood pressure.” She began to work. “Actually, you’re not alone. I feel your pain. That’s why I work in pediatrics.”

“You cannot have children?” 

“Aye. Growing into womanhood is awkward for most girls, but for me...it was hell. I had endometriosis. The pain of every cycle was bad enough to keep me home from school a lot of the time. We tried ibuprofen megadoses, physical therapy, the Pill, GnRH manipulation, surgery...everything. Things would work at first, and then just stop doing anything. Eventually, I was left with no choice but to get a hysterectomy.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Well, it was painful. Both the literal pain and the infertility. But I grew from it. I learned to be a mother in my own way, giving health to kids and adults who need it.” 

“Me, too.” Natasha wasn’t a doctor, or even a doctor-in-all-but-name, but she still helped kids and adults who needed it. Whenever a threat to the people arose, the Avengers were there to stop it. They excised the diseased parts of the world, if you will. The Red Room had corrupted her into one of those diseased parts. She existed to take life and nothing could go against that purpose. Clint should have excised the monster that she was. But instead he had tried to heal her. He had given her the opportunity to give life. And, throughout all those blurry years, she had done her very best to give as much as she had taken. Revealing her work with the Avengers was probably not a good idea, but she could share one thing. “My best friend’s children call me Auntie Nat.” 

“Oh, that’s wonderful. Did they get that nickname from the movie?” What movie? , Natasha wanted to ask, but Jeanne had finished taking her vitals and had shifted gears back to the medical examination. “What brings you here today?”

“First, I...fell, from a rather great height, and I didn’t know where I was when I landed.”

“Where did you land?”

“Central Park, near the lake.”

“How far did you fall?” And what could she have fallen from?, Jeanne wondered.

“I honestly have no idea how far, or how, I fell.” OK, she had some idea. But this did not seem like the kind of universe where “my quantum travel suit interacted with an Infinity Stone” would be accepted as an explanation.

“I think head injuries are likely, given your situation. So I should probably check for them.”

Jeanne checked. There was a bruised bump there, but it seemed to be fading, as if from an old injury. “How long ago did you fall?”

“A couple hours ago.” 

“Do you remember anyplace else you could have gotten a head injury?”

“Well, after I fell, I got into a fight…” She told Jeanne the story of Shawna and the thugs. 

“All right.” Jeanne felt tense. Fresh head injuries should not look like this, especially if they were serious enough that Natalie didn’t know where she was when she landed. And what about Shawna’s injuries? Granted, Shawna hadn’t fallen like Nat had, but she had been on the receiving end of several blows. She needed medical help too, and Jeanne asked where she had gone for help.

Nat swore inwardly. Granted, she was an Avenger and therefore used to getting injured in fights, but Shawna was a civilian. She had no excuse for forgetting to make sure Shawna’s injuries got attention. Fortunately, she had her number stored, so she texted it: Do you need medical help?

Jeanne, meanwhile, was continuing to see to Nat’s own injuries. Despite being fresh, her body seemed to have partially healed them already. She was certainly extremely alert--even able to fight!--for someone who had just fallen and hit her head a short time ago. Yet she also seemed on guard, as though assessing a situation. Although she had forgotten to make sure Shawna got medical attention right away, she corrected it as soon as she realized, plus she’d stepped in to defend a stranger in the first place. And her name… Her face…

Jeanne had one question:

Who is this woman?

Chapter Text

Shawna, as it turned out, would be fine. She had a good job at a local news station that provided excellent insurance, and she had gone to another urgent care clinic. Natasha breathed a sigh of relief. Her mission never ended, but every small success was worth celebrating. After receiving word from Shawna and being handed a prescription for Tylenol with codeine from Jeanne, she followed Mr. Sanderson out to the street. 

“Where are we going?”, she asked. 

“Home,” he replied. “For now. You can regain your footing, look for your folks, and figure out how to get home. I can’t just leave you out here.” He paused. “But first, we need to get you to a pharmacy. I’m afraid I’m all out of pain meds, and even if I weren’t, yours are prescription only. Come on, there’s one just down the block.” 

But just down the block, there was no pharmacy in sight. Mr. Sanderson scratched his head. “Huh. The lease must have run out. Let’s look for another place.” 

Under other circumstances, Natasha would have been able to guide him. But this was an alternate reality. Who knew...wait a minute! Her phone still worked. She had an ally: “Virginia? Find a pharmacy on the way to...ah...what’s your address?” 

“I live at 220 Marigold Street, apartment 121A,” he responded. “Wait...Virginia?” 

Natasha cursed. Virginia was a StarkTech program, and Stark didn’t exist here. “That’s what I named my phone,” she managed to pull off. 

He looked at her quizzically, but before he could say anything, Virginia responded. “The pharmacy closest to your route is at 500 Rose Avenue. Would you like me to guide you there?” 

“Yes, please,” Natasha responded. Mr. Sanderson’s quizzical look returned. How could she do that? Phones searched for what you wanted closest to your location; they couldn’t search along routes. Was this some special software? Some start-up company? Whoever had made “Virginia” had done a very good job. Her voice even sounded less computerized than Siri, Alexa or Cortana. While helpful, it wasn’t so...submissive. He had an inkling that this voice could even give lip, if it wanted to. But who would want that? Whoever had programmed her had to be fond of banter. But none of that slipped out. Instead, he exchanged banter of his own: “Let me guess, you’re going to guide us to the ‘naturals’ section.” For some reason, her voice evoked one of those SoCal health nuts. 

“As you wish,” she replied. “However, I must warn you that so-called ‘natural’ remedies are often untested, can cause harm, and can aggravate illness or injury when they displace medical treatment. Heavy metal poisoning in particular--”

“No, forget it,” Mr. Sanderson replied. “It was just a joke.” They proceeded to the pharmacy, following Virginia’s instructions. But still it nagged at him: what had suggested heavy metal poisoning? All he had done was crack a joke about SoCal health nuts. What did natural remedies have to do with heavy metal poisoning? Something nagged at him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Eventually, they got to the pharmacy, where a stern clerk was waiting for them at the counter: “No ID? No prescription. It’s the law.”

Mr. Sanderson started to complain, but Natasha stepped in. “It’s fine. I...heal fast, and I’ve had worse. Let’s go.” Natasha started to leave. But behind the counter, another clerk whispered excitedly: “Are you crazy? That’s Scarlett freakin’ Johansson! We can’t send her away!” Her voice turned into a shout: “Please! Come back! Of course we’ll serve you!”

Weary, Nat stepped back up to the counter, where the clerk went back to excited squeeing. “Ms. Johansson! Ms. Johansson! It’s such an honor to serve you--”

“I’m not--” Natasha started, but the clerk didn’t stop. “Oh my God, oh my God, you were amazing, I’m such a fan of the MCU, even though the ending of Inf--no, I can’t spoil it for everybody around us, that would be so rude, what am I thinking, but you REALLY need to go see that--I love Natasha, she’s smart, she’s funny, she’s a badass, she helped save millions of people, they need to just give her her own movie already, pleasepleaseplease push for it, I just adore you, Scarlett, you’re so--”

The clerk paused for a second, thinking better of what she was about to say. She’d embarrassed herself enough; she didn’t need to reveal that she was gushing physically as well as verbally. At least that was easier for her to hide than it would have been for one of her male coworkers. Then Nat stepped in. “Um, my prescription?” 

“Of course, ma’am.” The clerk straightened up. “Tylenol with codeine? We’ll be on that right away, just wait here.” Normally a prescription would take longer than that to be filled, but was she going to make Scarlett Johansson wait? She ducked behind the counter and started counting pills. In a flash, she had it packaged. She was about to hand it to the woman when she realized that she couldn’t just let this slip away from her. She had to ask for something in return: “Can I have your autograph? And a selfie?”

“Uh...sure?” Natasha’s head was swirling. Why was she being addressed as “Ms. Johansson”? She had never given the staff a name, especially not “Ms. Johansson.” Yet she had caught “Natasha” among the clerk’s words. They were clearly far too kind, but seemed to refer to her nonetheless. What other “Natasha” could have come up in her stammering? OK, so Tony Stark didn’t exist in this universe, but maybe she did. Yet “Natasha” was clearly a third person; she was being addressed as “Ms. Johansson” and, one time, “Scarlett.” Ordinarily she would think it wise to provide an autograph as whatever name she was being addressed by, but she couldn’t afford to misspell “her” own, ambiguous name. And the girl knew about “Natasha.” She might as well sign with her real name. The clerk pulled her in for a selfie, and Natasha grabbed a nearby notepad to sign. She turned to leave, and felt something slip into her pocket. The clerk smiled mysteriously. “Please,” she breathed.

Nat’s head was still spinning too fast to respond. Apparently she had multiple personalities in this universe? She couldn’t think about it right now; she had to get home with Mr. Sanderson. Maybe there she could make sense of everything. She almost tripped walking out the door, but she was able to steady herself in a flash. Once they had walked the rest of the way to his house, he turned to her. “So, Ms...Rushman, I’m not exactly comfortable with this situation, but I suppose you can stay here for a couple days until you get things sorted out. Just...don’t damage my stuff, stay out of the master bedroom, and make yourself useful around here.” He dropped his voice. “Oh, and be nice to Emmy. She’s autistic, so she doesn’t always know how to behave, especially when she’s stressed out--and change is one of the things that stresses her out.”

“Is she your daughter?”

“My niece.” His expression looked pained. “My brother and sister-in-law, her parents, were killed in a terrorist attack while vacationing in Europe two years ago. I’ve been taking care of her since--hey! Speak of the devil!”

A stocky girl of perhaps sixteen with blond hair in a braid came down the hall. “Hi, Uncle Carl!” She glanced over at Natasha. “Who is she?”

“This is Natalie, and she’s going to be staying with us for a couple days. She was on a trip. Something must have gone wrong, because now she can’t find her family. So we’re going to help her get back on track.” 

“Hi, Natalie.” Emmy turned back to Carl. “Look at this cool video I found!” She pulled out her phone and started to open a tab as Carl looked back at Nat apologetically: I told you she’s not good with people.

Nat simply nodded before turning to watch the video. Nobody could be good at everything; heaven knew that none of the Avengers could win a World’s Greatest Social Skills contest. Except maybe… She put that out of her mind. She’d done what it took from her to bring everybody back, as would they all, but she wouldn’t be there to see it. She was here to see this video, to encourage this girl, to help the people of this reality. An altercation played on the screen: the thugs accosting Shawna. Sure enough, the camera then cut to her responses, and then to the fight. As Emmy turned back to Nat, realization dawned on her face: “It’s you! You’re the hero in the park! CAPTAIN AMERICA HIMSELF says you’re a shining example of real-life heroism!” Emmy was clearly struggling to contain herself. 

Natasha took the phone and looked through the thread. The retweeter wasn’t Steve, but someone named Chris Evans. Perhaps Captain America’s comment was further down the list. She scrolled. One commenter suggested that the fighting woman should be a stunt double to Scarlett Johansson, and a replier called the incident “certainly worthy of Natasha.” So people knew about Natasha, and people knew about Captain America. But she couldn’t see Cap’s post anywhere on the thread. And why was this “Scarlett Johansson” being mentioned again? Her head spun. She asked to be directed to the bathroom. After using it for its intended purpose, she pulled out her phone, pulled up Google, and slowly typed N-A-T-A-S-H-A  R-O-M-A-N-O-V. Then she hit “Enter.” And she began to read.

Natasha Romanov, alias the Black Widow, is a fictional character owned by Marvel. After appearing repeatedly in comics, she made her debut in the Marvel Cinematic Universe in Iron Man 2 (2010)...She has since appeared in The Avengers (2012), Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014), Avengers: Age of Ultron (2015), Captain America: Civil War (2016) and most recently Avengers: Infinity War (2018), played by American actress Scarlett Johansson…

And the great Natasha Romanov, the Black Widow, assassin, spy, SHIELD agent, Avenger, ally of Iron Man and Captain America, closer of Loki’s portal, destroyer of HYDRA’s infestation of SHIELD, handler of the Hulk, uniter of the Avengers, hero, could only respond one way:

“You have gotta be shitting me.”

Chapter Text

Natasha breathed. And breathed. And breathed. She could do this, she told herself. It was just another day at work. She’d fought off a space god with serious issues wielding a magic cube. She’d gone to space and met a guy with a red skull guarding a magic rock that could power a universe-altering finger snap. She got e-mails from a raccoon, for Odin’s sake. Existing only as a product of screenwriters’ imaginations was just Tuesday. She could get along here. She was an operative. Acting like everything was normal was what she did. She could do this.

Stepping out of the bathroom, Natasha returned to the Sanderson family, where Carl was addressing her. “I have to go to a business engagement tonight; we’re working on a huge contract, and of course Disney has to try to shake us down for more than we’re worth. So I was going to order pizza, unless you guys mind. Emmy can make a salad, and you can just eat before she leaves. She’s going to see Infinity War with a friend later tonight.” He leaned in towards her: “I don’t want her to have to spend 20 bucks to eat popcorn for dinner at the theater.”

Nat nodded. “Oh, that’s OK. I don’t mind pizza at all, and I’m perfectly capable of making salad.” Truth be told, she did mind pizza a little; five years trying to pick up the pieces in a post-apocalyptic world left little time or energy for cooking, so she’d ordered an awful lot of pizzas. But she wasn’t going to say that to a man who’d gone so far as to take her to the doctor, the pharmacy, and his home. The second part, at least, was true: she made mean salads. So Mr. Sanderson ordered the pizza and left, and Natasha began on the salad while Emmy worked on her school assignments.

Time dragged on. Where was that blasted pizza guy? It was getting so late that Emmy had finished her homework and was now fretting that the pizza wouldn’t arrive before she had to leave. Part of Natasha wanted to snap at her for fretting about what really wasn’t a big deal, but she remembered what Carl had said: Emmy’s autistic. Play nice. Autism wasn’t exactly Nat’s area of expertise, but she knew that it could lead to emotional overreactions. And even if Emmy were perfectly typical, getting mad at someone for worrying was almost never helpful. So, to reassure Emmy that she’d be the first to know of the pizza guy’s arrival, she suggested that Emmy go down to the lobby to wait for him. I can kill another bird with the same stone, she thought. I have a famous face in this universe as well as my own, and it’s probably not a good idea to have too many people recognize me.

While Emmy waited for the pizza guy down in the lobby, Nat whipped out her phone to do some further research on the relationship between this reality and her own. There had been eighteen (!) films thus far in the franchise that represented her reality, five of which she had been in. Avengers: Infinity War was the nineteenth installment, which she was also in. Hammer and Vanko, Loki’s invasion, Project Insight, Ultron, the Accords, Thanos: she remembered it all, so she wouldn’t necessarily have to watch those films. She might like to, to be able to see the events from the other Avengers’ point of view, but her first priority needed to be everything else in the series. Fortunately for her, since Infinity War had just hit theaters, there were “recap videos” available online of every film in the franchise thus far, so she watched one. She hadn’t been there for those events, but nothing was really shocking her. She lived in a universe where gamma radiation could turn an ordinary scientist into a giant green rage monster. Because the writers needed it to, she realized. No wonder my world is so weird and conflict-ridden. It’s whatever the writers need it to be.

Just as Nat finished the recap video of everything up to Infinity War--everything until Thanos’ arrival, in her world--Emmy came back with the pizza. They sat down and ate, and Emmy gushed excitedly about how much she was going to enjoy the movie. The Avengers were so awesome that surely they would triumph over the Mad Titan! As Emmy went on and on, Nat was hit with a wave of guilt. She knew how their first direct confrontation with Thanos had (would?) come to an end: in ashes. In emptiness. In death. In defeat. Should I tell her? I’m guessing that she’s going to witness that first confrontation, when we fought a war for the Infinity Stones. Movie titles usually indicate what happens, and there’s not enough time in one movie to cover two climactic battles. But how would I explain how I know what happens? Should I tell her that I saw it last night? But before she could finish thinking it over, Emmy got the text that her friends were waiting outside. She quickly took her plate to the sink and left, a skip in her step.

It was all Nat could do to take care of the dishes before burying her head in her hands. Oh, God, she moaned. She was lost in her own memories now. The screams. The blood. The ashes. The menacing face of the Mad Titan. But it would do her no good to dwell on them. What was done was done. She’d done her part in the Time Heist, and all she could do was hope that the other Avengers would find that one-in-fourteen-million chance.

But wait a minute! If her reality was a series of movies, she had all the reason to hope. Million-to-one chances always worked out for the heroes in movies, as Tony had pointed out during their Star Wars Avengers movie night. (That had been a fun one, even with Thor’s loud commentary about that not being how magic worked). If she’d understood correctly, “Infinity War Part 1” had been this movie’s working title. The same directors had a Part 2 that had just finished its initial filming, presumably a second confrontation with Thanos. She’d thought it was coming when they went to the Garden, but that hadn’t worked, so they’d planned the Time Heist to borrow the Stones and undo the damage. Presumably “Part 2” was this one-in-fourteen-million chance that included the Time Heist. It was a movie. It was even by the same writers and directors, and they wouldn’t want to leave the MCU without cleaning up their mess. This was going to work. So why did she still feel uneasy?

While she was lost in thought, Emmy came walking in the door. Tears were streaming down her face. “Th-they...th-they…” she choked. “Th-they killed everybody!” As sobs wracked her body, Nat felt something aching inside her, threatening to tear her open. She reached her arms out, and the girl fell into them, sobbing further. “My friends told me it’s just f-fiction and to not be upset, the Avengers are going to face Thanos again in the sequel, it’s a movie, they’re not going to lose for good, b-but…” She paused. “Damn the Russo brothers! After Winter Soldier and Civil War, I should’ve known they’d pull something like this! Yes, I know ‘True Art’ and all”--she rolled her eyes--“but do they just hate the fans? There’s a reason I like the MCU better than the Batman movies!”

“I know,” Natasha murmured. “I know.” As real as this seemed for Emmy, it truly was real for her. She fought back a fresh wave of memories of violence, of death, of numbness. “But what’s done is done. All we can do is wait on the Avengers to fix things.”

“I suppose so,” Emmy sighed. “I can post all the happy endings on AO3 that I want, and that helps us feel better, but it’ll never be as real as the movies. No one hired me to write stories about heroes. They hired people to write destruction and discord and death and defeat. Maybe they think they can win an Oscar that way, I don’t know. They should know by this point that they’re working in a ghetto genre, what with everything else they know about Marvel and movies.” She paused, her eyes narrowed. “Waaaait a minute. You know? You know what happened? How? That movie just came out, this is the premiere night! Unless you got a pre-showing…” She seemed to relax a little. “Well, at least I don’t have to feel guilty about spoiling it for you, if you already know. But...how?”

She raised an eyebrow in thought. “This is Natalie.” Click. The fight scene in the video of Nat at the park. Click. Her hair, her face, her heroism. Click, click, click. She dropped her voice to a whisper: “I know this sounds like a bad fanfic plot, but...by any chance, are you the Black Widow?”

Nat froze. People had recognized her as her actress, Scarlett Johansson, but this was the first time anyone had thought of the Black Widow directly. Under any other circumstances, she would make up some lie; belief that she was a fictional character (from this world’s POV) would get her thrown in a psychiatric hospital. But Emmy had asked about the character, not the actress. Apparently she believed this was possible. This was the time for truth: “At the risk of sounding even crazier...yes, I am Natasha Romanov.” With a twinge of guilt for spoiling the Infinity War sequel to come, she told the story of how she’d gotten to this universe: the rescue of Tony and Nebula, their vengeance against Thanos, the time skip, the start of the Time Heist, her sacrifice on Vormir, the orange mist.

Emmy knitted her brows. “You know...maybe I believe you. That sure doesn’t sound like you made it up, so you’d have to be somebody on the inside to know what happens. And you look just like ScarJo, but she’s a blonde both onscreen and off in this movie. I might say you’re one of her stunt doubles, your moves were so awesome, but they would have known better than to go out and about with red hair--well, unless it was some sort of publicity stunt, but you didn’t seem like you were looking for that. Wow...I have the freakin’ Black Widow in my apartment!” She paused. “...don’t tell my uncle I said that?”

“That’s Steve’s job.” Natasha laughed. Yep, good old Steve, still a product of the forties. Until...until… She tried to shut that out. It was too painful, how the Avengers had separated and Steve had become a shadow of the man he once was. That man had been a bit naive, but maybe the world needed a little old-fashioned idealism. It was Steve’s inspiration, after all, that got the original six back together for the Time Heist.

Click.

The original six were back together. Well, Scott and Rhodey and Nebula and Rocket were there too, but all of the original six had survived the Snap whereas pretty much everybody else--all the new Avengers--had been dusted.

Click.

Tony had pointed this out, too, while they were watching Star Wars. Only Imperial Stormtroopers could mow down nameless rebel troopers yet not be able to hit the broad side of a barn point-blank when Luke, Leia or Han was in said barn. Those three, being main characters, had the best protection of all: Plot Armor! Well, at least until the sequel trilogy, when it didn’t matter anymore because they were passing the baton to younger main characters. Their deaths would actually spur the others to step up.

Click.

By all accounts, the original six (although admittedly the others too) had all survived things that should have killed them many times over. What were the odds that all of the original six would survive the Snap whereas most of the others would die? 100%, only because the writers wanted the original six back for the sequel. What were the odds that Tony would survive his sacrifice play during Loki’s invasion? That definitely should’ve been a one-way trip. The only reason it wasn’t was because he had more movies to be in! But now...if she had read correctly, many of the actors’ contracts were up. The MCU was moving beyond the Infinity Saga, passing the baton to new protagonists.

Click.

How had she come to this universe in the first place? Rocket, Rhodey or Nebula hadn’t been sent to Vormir with a faithful companion. She had, along with Clint. Yes, she had chosen to do so, but she had still died for the Soul Stone when another companion pair could have retrieved it. She was one of the original six. If she wasn’t safe…

Click.

The same directors who had done Infinity War, as well as Winter Soldier and Civil War, were doing this sequel. Emmy was right: those had been filled with destruction and discord. It was in the Russos’ movies that SHIELD, a (supposed) force for good, had been destroyed after having shown its true colors rather than being refined into something better. It was in their movies that the Avengers had been torn apart and their two leaders had almost killed each other due (in part) to the dishonest behavior of Steve, the supposed hero. It was in their movies that the villain won and half the population of the universe was dusted. It was in their movies that it took five years of emptiness before the heroes could even start to try to bring everyone back. It was in their movies that “Whatever it takes” was the attitude of the good guys, even Steve. Clearly they didn’t care about collateral damage. Yes, they would have the Avengers undo the Snap, but what more messes would they make in her universe? Who else would they kill? Who else would they corrupt?

Click.

She didn’t like bullies, no matter where they were from. She’d rallied the team to avenge (who she thought was) the greatest bully of all, Thanos. She may have done what she’d done on the Russo brothers’ strings, but they’d still made her who she was: an Avenger. By killing her off, they’d cut the strings on said Avenger. Now she was free. And she was not going to stand for their bullshit anymore. Something she’d read tickled her mind: the sequel was still in production. Now, maybe it was too late to change anything. Maybe the powers that be were too powerful to be swayed even if she’d gotten here earlier. Maybe she would just have to accept whatever was coming. But she was an Avenger. She would do whatever it took. Quitting without even trying was not an option, no matter how long the odds. They were going ahead with the Time Heist after five years of death’s reign, after all. This wasn’t a movie, where her million-to-one-chance plan was guaranteed to work. It really was a long shot. But, by the grace of these gods, she was going to try.

She and Emmy stayed up late, talking about their two universes and Natasha’s commitment to remain an Avenger even from outside her own reality, as well as Emmy’s life as a fan. After Mr. Sanderson texted that his business meeting was running really long and he was going to have to stay at a hotel for the next couple days, they were reminded to sleep. And so they did.

Chapter Text

For the Marvel cast, it had been a whirlwind of a weekend. Well, copious interviews and ceremonies were to be expected when a blockbuster movie had just been released, but still. They’d gotten only a few hours of sleep all weekend, and to make matters worse, the Russo brothers had called them in bright and early Monday morning to talk about reshoots for Endgame. It was supposed to just be a planning meeting, deciding what they needed to reshoot; this week they would rest, and then the actual reshoots would start next week.

“That doesn’t mean it needs to be Monday morning,” Scarlett Johansson murmured. “Couldn’t they have waited another week to talk about Endgame reshoots? Then we would actually be able to rest.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” quipped Robert Downey Jr. “We’re the Avengers. Getting tortured is just a day’s work for us.” Everybody laughed as he continued. “In all seriousness, this isn’t cool. As soon as they let us go, everybody is welcome at my place if they need somewhere to crash. In the meantime, let me get you guys hooked up to a caffeine IV.” He grinned. “Just kidding. But I do have a lot of coffee hidden around, if some of us can distract them while others go look.” The others all nodded. They had a good relationship with their directors most of the time, but that didn’t mean they never made mischief. Robert in particular enjoyed yanking chains, along with Tom Holland, Anthony Mackie and Sebastian Stan when they were on set.

As the Russos droned on and on about their grand project and how they needed to take full advantage of these reshoots to get everything juuuuust right, Scarlett Johansson quietly pulled up a GIF on her phone and gave it to Chris Evans (who was seated next to her), picking up a prop to fiddle with in its place. His face contorted into an almost cartoonish form as he tried desperately not to laugh. Eventually, he had to let out a couple of snorts, and Anthony Russo turned around: “Ms. Johansson, put that down. And Mr. Evans, what is so funny?”

“Nothing,” Evans got out. Captain America, always honest? Ha! That ship had sailed both onscreen and off. What the GIF showed was Charlie Brown filtering the adults’ voices into indistinct droning. Sure enough, after steering the conversation back toward work, Anthony and Joe continued discussing the importance of reshoots and made a board listing what scenes might need to be looked at again (and the cast took turns on coffee-searching duty). At least choosing scenes to be re-examined was somewhat collaborative, as the cast took turns talking to the directors to reflect on their acting and look for areas to improve. (Technical issues would be sorted out later, after the actors re-shot). Robert and Scarlett, needing to cement their characters in the audience’s heart as they concluded their arcs, were particularly attentive to opportunities to push their performances onward and upward.

Eventually the reshoot planning meeting was cut, and not a moment too soon. It was kind of a waste, Scarlett felt, because it was a lot harder to reflect seriously while sleep-deprived. Robert again extended the offer for her to come crash at his place, but she respectfully declined. While Robert and Susan were great hosts, it was easier for her to relax when she had some time to herself. She made for her car to drive home, but Robert caught her arm. “Don’t. You may not be on anything but caffeine right now, but you’re impaired. We all are. Please...trust me when I say that this isn’t going to end well. I’ll call a driver for you.”

Scarlett nodded, her face grave. Out of all of them, he was the one with authority to speak on impairment. He had fought addiction for years before his resurrection via the MCU. It really was a miracle. Iron Man hadn’t just saved fictional people; he’d saved at least one very real person. Robert, like and through Tony, had gotten a second chance and sure as hell wasn’t wasting his life now. Scarlett would never understand what it was like to be at war with her own body and spirit in such a way, and she had tremendous respect for anyone who had fought that battle and won. It didn’t matter how long it had taken, or how much it had demanded of them. Victory over any sort of oppressor was rarely easily won. The triumph of the human spirit demanded sacrifice.

As Scarlett waited for her driver, Robert returned to speak with the others in the cast. They were all tired, literally and metaphorically. Some had been in the MCU for far longer than others, but this wasn’t anybody’s first appearance. Certainly it would be bittersweet for the original six to leave the Marvel universe, and each other, after so many years and so many movies. Well, they wouldn’t really be leaving each other or those of the cast who would continue on; some of them had become even better friends in real life than their characters were on screen. Pretending to hate Chris Evans was certainly one of the more demanding pieces of acting they had wanted from him. The guy was just so dang nice, like Cap. Like Cap used to be. Cap as portrayed in Civil War onward was much easier to dislike. He remembered Evans being so apologetic after filming wrapped every day. That was his character, not him. He was just following the script. In real life, he was with Tony--and Robert--all the way. So yeah, they were going to miss being co-stars. Both in-universe and out-of-universe, their characters would be gone for good once Endgame rolled. They were tired, yes, but they needed to make the most of being Avengers while they were still on the project. Because soon enough, eleven years and twenty-two movies would be coming to an end.

With everything newly in perspective, Robert watched the cast leave one by one. (He’d called drivers for all those who didn’t have someone to come pick them up.) Eventually, his own driver came for him, and he rode home in silence. He could rest for now.

Natasha, meanwhile, was driving to Hollywood. She’d woken up Saturday morning and made a plan with Emmy. Emmy would pretend that nothing was out of the ordinary, that “Ms. Rushman” had found her family and gone back home. But she insisted that Natasha keep her number in case she needed any help: “We all need a friend who really understands us.”

Together, they had taken care of Natasha’s necessities in this universe: food, toiletries, clothing. Since Nat didn’t have any money, she’d gone and burgled the Wall Street offices of various fat cats. She was the Black Widow; this was child’s play for her. (Literally. She had only been six years old when the Red Room sent her on her first break-in). They didn’t even have Stark-designed security systems! And if the likes of them missed the money, that was their problem. They deserved to be taken down a peg or two; she’d done a bit of research and spared the ones who had gained their wealth honestly and were generous with it, like Tony in her universe. Toiletries she picked up from Emmy’s travel stash. She was going to have to go shopping eventually, but it wasn’t wise to reveal her famous face--or her quantum travel suit--to any more people at this point. Getting other clothes was a little more complicated. She was roughly Emmy’s size, but it took some trying things on to find stuff that would fit her and flatter her. As Emmy pointed out, if people were staring at her beautiful body, they would be less likely to notice her face. (She’d complained that her figure wasn’t even that special, even though she’d used that trick many times before. But Emmy was insistent: “Nonsense! Those are the MCU’s curves.”) Natasha was tempted to dye her hair as well, to decrease the chances of her being recognized, but she would need to be believed about who she was in order to work with the cast. So she settled for a knit cap and glasses, along with a fake ID that she’d broken into the DMV to make after it closed for the afternoon.

Then she’d been on her way, driving because going to the airport wasn’t guaranteed to get her a boarding pass and might get her recognized. (She’d stolen a car, too, from the Wall Street tycoons). It took over two days (and that was with Nat’s action-hero driving), but she’d done far more strenuous things in the name of the mission. Late on Monday evening, she’d gotten there. She really wanted to rest, but she knew herself well enough to know that she wouldn’t be able to, not when her world was at stake. She’d decided to approach Scarlett Johansson first among the cast and crew, since Scarlett Johansson couldn’t mistake her for Scarlett Johansson. Scarlett also probably knew her best out of anyone, so developing a rapport should be easier. Finding her mansion didn’t take long at all, and breaking in was laughably easy. She found a comfortable spot and waited.

Eventually, she saw a blonde woman leaving an upstairs room, turning out the light and closing the door. She muttered to herself about how bedtime was always a battle and how she needed wine and a TV show before retiring to bed herself. As she walked down to the living/family room, she turned on the light and screamed.

A redheaded woman wearing an olive green tank top and jeans was perched on top of her entertainment shelves, just laying there casually. “Hello,” she said. “I know this sounds crazy, but I’m--”

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?!?” Scarlett screamed. “I don’t care who you are, you cannot just break into people’s houses! Even if they are celebrities! You should know, missy, that those Black Widow fight scenes weren’t just stunt doubles. I had trainers teach me how to kick butt, and I had a very irritating day today in the studio. So get out before I kick you out.”

Actually, she was tempted to call security, but something was holding her back. If this woman had broken into her home despite the security system, what else was she capable of? Scarlett Johansson being Scarlett Johansson, she had (and needed) the best of the best in terms of home security systems. She knew she was being irrational to think that trying to subdue the woman herself would go any better, but playing a chillingly effective action heroine for so long tended to warp one’s mind. Besides, the woman didn’t appear to have done any harm once inside. Maybe she simply had mental problems, and calling security might do more harm than good.

Scarlett breathed. The woman hadn’t moved an inch. “Okay. Very few people break into a house to do nothing. So I’m guessing you need some sort of help. Now, maybe you’re a creepy stalker, in which case my demand to get out still applies. But if you need something, let’s find somewhere better for you to get it. If you wanted to come find me to fight a battle for you, I’m sorry. I’m not really an Avenger; I just play one in the movies. Now let’s go talk to somebody.” She turned to leave.

The woman still hadn’t moved, and was now staring in that unsettling way. “I know who you are. I know you play an Avenger.” She proceeded to list almost everything that was available publically, as well as a few things that weren’t. Unease was flooding Scarlett’s body now. The woman continued: “Now, are you going to listen to me about who I am?”

Scarlett didn’t really feel like listening to this crazy woman, but she was frozen in place. “You probably think I’m crazy--” you got that right, sister “--but I’m the real Natasha Romanov.” She started telling her biography. Yeah, yeah, Scarlett thought, you can find all that out from the movies. Time to get you to a mental hospital. But then she started talking about events that weren’t in the movies...at least, not in the ones that had already been released. She knew about the reunification of the Avengers. She knew about the Time Heist. She knew the when, where and how of her own death. Yes, strictly speaking she clearly wasn’t dead as her body and mind--really her soul, if such existed--were still together in this world, but still. And her body...Scarlett saw herself in that body. The woman’s hair was the exact shade of red that hers had been dyed. The exact same shade of red as the park heroine’s. That heroine in the park had had her face, and Natasha’s hair and costume, and moves that looked even more awesome than the ones her stunt doubles did. Maybe...just maybe…

Snap out of it, Scarlett! She scolded herself. You’re still exhausted. Natasha is a fictional character who’s taken up residence in your mind after all the time you’ve spent being her. Get some sleep and the illusion will go away. Yet still... She thought. If this was a mentally ill woman, or an extremely dedicated fan, she knew far too much about Natasha--and looked far too much like her. Yet if she was an illusion, she was a damn convincing one, especially since she had appeared on video. Chris Evans had shown her; that couldn’t have been her imagination. She had to know. She reached out, grabbed a strand of hair, and pulled.

“Ow! What was that for?”, the woman complained. “You can’t just go around pulling people’s hair!”

“And you can’t just go around breaking into people’s houses!”, Scarlett retorted. But when she’d pulled the hair, it was real. And it clearly wasn’t a wig, or dye; the hair was red right down to the roots. From what little she understood, touch hallucinations were extraordinarily rare and generally only appeared in cases of schizophrenia or drug abuse. And no real person, no matter how dedicated, would look exactly like her or know the details of Natasha’s arc in Endgame, let alone also be able to demonstrate the combination of fighting and breaking-and-entering skills that this woman had. As impossible as it seemed, Scarlett could see only one possibility: somehow, at the moment when she was fated to die, Natasha Romanov had been taken up to this world in body and spirit.

She took a deep breath. “Okay. Don’t make me regret saying this, but...I believe you.”

Natasha blinked. “Well...that was easier than I thought it would be.”

Scarlett let out a little laugh. “What more would you need to show me? I’ve seen your face. I know now that your hair isn’t a wig, or dye, or an illusion. You’ve told me things that no one should know outside the film crew. I saw your fighting skills on video. I know your hacking and burglary skills must be extraordinary if you could get in here. Oh, by the way on that? You could have just knocked. I don’t bite.”

Nat, for a split second, looked slightly sheepish. As an operative, breaking into places where she had a mission had been the standard for so long that she hadn’t even thought about just knocking on Scarlett’s front door. Right. She had a mission. She was about to start talking when Scarlett beat her to it: “So, Ms. Romanov, what brings you to your actress’s house?”

Natasha told her what she’d realized. That her universe was real, and that the Russo brothers in particular had created a snarling mess out of it, and that she was tired of their crap. That the Avengers had been safe up until that point only because of plot armor. That if she wasn’t safe anymore, that meant their plot armor had run out. That it might have been a long shot, but she was an Avenger and she needed to do something about it. That she was tired of being a puppet on someone else’s strings, whether they be in or out of her universe. That while the status quo might have power beyond imagining, quitting was not an option. That if she was the only one who cared about saving her universe, so be it--but she was willing to bet she wasn’t.

Scarlett thought. And thought. She would have described the impossibility of the situation: the deadline for the film’s release, the need to perfect what had already been shot, the sheer amount of work it would take (from everyone) to change the plot at this point, the probable unwillingness of the writers and directors to throw away their pet project, the fact that pretty much no one would take seriously the reality of her universe and therefore the need to “save it.” But she knew that look on Natasha’s face. She’d created it. She’d been in her head enough to know that Natasha was not a person who took no for an answer, especially when lives were on the line.

She sighed. “All right. We’ll talk about this tomorrow. I imagine you’re pretty stranded here in an alternate reality, so you can crash here for now. Just stay out of sight of anyone else--” Really, Scarlett? You think the Black Widow would have trouble with that? “--and don’t mess with my personal items. Well, you can use my food and my shower stuff and the like, but don’t share my toothbrush or go poking around in anything that looks private. Just...in general, be a good guest. There’s a guest bedroom where you can sleep. I was planning to shower right now, but you can use the other bathroom, or wait until morning.”

“That’s quite all right, thank you.” Natasha normally showered in the morning, after she trained for the day. She retired to the spare bedroom, taking her luggage and StarkPhone with her. (StarkPhones had great battery life, which made sense given that their batteries were modeled on the arc reactor, but even they needed charging sometimes. Fortunately, the real world appeared to have charge cords compatible with them, including one in Scarlett’s guest room.) Preferring to leave the door open a crack until bedtime, she wound down by reading this world’s news on her phone. Just as she was about to turn it off and go to sleep, she caught a glimpse of Scarlett stepping out of the shower and retiring to bed herself, pajamas clinging. And all she could do was nod in agreement:

“Those really are the MCU’s curves.”

Chapter Text

When Natasha woke up the next morning, she debated whether or not to go get breakfast. Yes, Scarlett had told her she could eat the food in the house, but she felt guilty about imposing. She was fortunate enough to have gotten a place to stay right in someone’s house--again--after she’d broken in. She didn’t need food too. She was still carrying a little food from the Sanderson household (at Emmy’s insistence), and even if she weren’t, the Red Room had taught her to go without for days. She could adapt to any situation...but it might be a little easier for her to plan Operation Fix-It with decent blood sugar. She’d eaten only a little on the way here, and it was smart for an operative to take advantage of resources--like food--when they were available. In the end, she decided to go downstairs and wait. If Scarlett truly wanted her to eat, she would say something.

While she waited for Scarlett, Nat pulled out her phone to start researching more about the movies. Scarlett, being a cast member, could probably tell her even more than what was available online, but Nat needed to keep in mind what she and her plan already required of Scarlett. Natasha was out of the picture (literally), so Scarlett wouldn’t have to do anything extra beyond ordinary reshoots of what Nat had already been through, but her assistance in getting the other cast and crew on board would be invaluable. Natasha read through the list of them: she was played by Scarlett Johansson, obviously, but the major players also included Jeremy Renner (Clint), Mark Ruffalo (Bruce), Chris Hemsworth (Thor), Chris Evans (Steve), and Robert Downey Jr. (Tony), along with newer Avengers like Don Cheadle (Rhodey), Paul Rudd (Scott), Bradley Cooper (Rocket), Karen Gillan (Nebula)... and, of course, Josh Brolin as Thanos. A chill ran up her spine. Of course, nobody but Scarlett knew yet that what they were filming was real, but still...it was very difficult not to be afraid and angry at the one who had brought the Mad Titan, effector of death’s reign, to life. From what she had read, the difference between this world and hers was that there were no superhumans, supertech, or aliens, so there wouldn’t be a Thanos here. She could relax.

Eventually, Scarlett came down the stairs, almost stumbling. Despite the fact that over ten hours had passed between going to bed last night and this point, she was clearly still tired. Natasha knew that most people needed more sleep than she did, since they hadn’t been trained or enhanced in the Red Room, but this wasn’t normal even for non-Avengers. So she asked, “Is something the matter? You look exhausted even this late in the morning.”

Scarlett let out a little laugh. “I’ve just been working a lot. Infinity War just came out, so we had interviews all weekend. I get that interviews are part of being in blockbusters, so I’m not complaining about that, but I am really, really tired of my interviews being six paragraphs about my boobs and how they fit into my suit. There were some who asked about what Black Widow does and who she is, but not enough. Well, at least now I know the answer to what I would say to her if I could meet her. I’d scream at her to get out of my house.”

Natasha chuckled back. Yes, Scarlett hadn’t been home when Nat got there (she continued explaining that she kinda wanted to get revenge on the Russos just because they called a reshoot planning meeting the very next Monday morning after an exhausting weekend of interviews), but she still probably should have gotten in more politely. Well, now she knew for talking to the other cast. According to Scarlett, it might be wisest to approach Chris Hemsworth first, since he wasn’t sure he wanted to retire from Thor and, since his character was therefore going to last through the end of the movie, he likely knew more about future plot points.

“What do you mean, knows more?”, Nat blurted out. Scarlett was part of the film; wasn’t she supposed to know what was going on? But Scarlett sighed. “They made sure I only got the scenes of the script that you were in”--wow, she could not get over how weird that was to say--“to avoid leaks. The Marvel Cinematic Universe is among the most successful movie franchises in history, and Avengers: Endgame is the movie to end all MCU movies. Well, not really, but it really is the endgame of everything we’ve done so far and it is highly, highly anticipated. People are circling us like sharks ready to go into a frenzy at any sign of the smallest detail. So plot details are given out on an absolutely-need-to-know basis only. You’re a spy; think of the script as Level-Whatever-The-Highest-Level-Is classified information.”

Natasha absolutely understood. Technically, the highest level of classification in SHIELD had actually been Level Eleven, which was so secret that no agents who weren’t Level Eleven--not even the World Security Council--even knew Level Eleven was a thing. As far as she knew (she always had to allow that caveat in matters involving Fury), the only Level Eleven agents had been Nick Fury, Maria Hill, her, and Steve Rogers (even though he’d only gotten an emergency promotion to that level a few hours before SHIELD was demolished). Then-Assistant Director Fury had once intended to add Alexander Pierce to that list, too, but he’d been confirmed to the World Security Council first and Fury didn’t trust anyone with the power of both positions. If she’d believed in God, she would have fallen to her knees giving thanks for that. There was a reason the mission (the real mission) on the Lemurian Star had been Level Eleven. As it was...thanking the Russo brothers would have to do.

Yet that still wouldn’t let them off the hook for what they’d done in the first place, both before and after the fall of SHIELD. [Was the fall of SHIELD on them? She didn’t know; there had been a warning sign of HYDRA’s infiltration back during Loki’s invasion, which someone else by the name of Joss Whedon had directed. (Although really, being SHIELD agents, they should have caught it much sooner. She realized now that the only reason they hadn’t was because it was a movie franchise and they wanted SHIELD to fall dramatically, during the series). They’d found a stash of (supposedly) captured HYDRA weapons on the helicarrier and learned of SHIELD’s plan to use the Tesseract to further experiment with weapons development. It had seemed pretty irrelevant to Loki’s invasion at the time; the only connection between the two was the Cube, though she supposed it had also highlighted the Avengers’ need to stop fighting among themselves and focus on the villain. (She let out a dry laugh looking back at their history now). Now she knew what it was. Being a native-born and inculturated Russian, she didn’t even rely on Tony to know what to call it: a Chekhov’s Gun. That metaphorical rifle on the wall (literal rifle, she supposed, if energy weapons counted) had gone off big time two years later. Of course she couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t a mere coincidence that they’d found HYDRA weapons at SHIELD, but the preponderance of the evidence seemed to clear the Russos of that particular charge. Scarlett, not being part of the writing team, couldn’t tell her for sure either, but she seemed to support Nat’s interpretation.]

Regardless, even if the fall of SHIELD wasn’t on them, what had happened to the Avengers since then certainly was. But what would happen to them wouldn’t be, if she could help it. She had a mission. The Avenger and her actress continued discussing the best approach to said mission. Hemsworth was a reasonable prospect of success; Bradley Cooper and Karen Gillan might well be too, for the same reason as Hemsworth. Ditto the two Toms, Holland and Hiddleston; Scarlett only had a vague idea of their involvement in Endgame, but there was another Spider-Man movie lined up and talk was going around of Hiddleston getting his own TV series. Plus, they were both such nice guys that they were bound to be willing to help.

So Tom Holland was Spider-Man, then, by process of elimination. But then… “Who’s Hiddleston?”, she asked Scarlett. She must have glanced over him on the cast list, since he wasn’t listed as playing a major character.

“...Loki,” Scarlett almost whispered. She knew their history. Natasha had only ever seen him as a smug world conqueror, an instrument of Thanos; she hadn’t seen his human (well, Jötun) side. She hadn’t seen his madness born of being deceived and put down, nor his self-sacrifice for the same brother whose shadow he was always in, nor his rescue of the Asgardian refugees, nor his second, heroic death at the hands of Thanos. So she quickly moved to reassure Natasha. “He’s nothing like the Loki you know. Trust me when I say there are sides of Loki you haven’t seen. But even if there weren’t...in real life, Tom Hiddleston is the sweetest guy you will ever meet. Pretending to hate him was actually one of the most difficult parts of acting in the first Avengers movie. I would recommend going to him for help for anyone, but especially for something Marvel-related...the guy apologized to us after filming every day, as if we were our characters. Well, I guess he has someone who actually deserves said apology now.”

Scarlett was darned right, she was owed an apology. Loki had invaded the Earth for Thanos, the Mad Titan, the Lord of Death, the destroyer in savior’s clothing. And Loki himself...he had killed. He had tortured. He had destroyed. He had manipulated. He had brainwashed her best friend, the one she loved, the one who loved her enough to make her the Auntie of his kids and try to prevent her from flinging herself off that cliff so that neither he nor trillions of others would have to die. Scarlett was telling her that his counterpart, his actor, was “the nicest guy I’ve ever met,” but...still, he was the one who had brought Loki to life. That streak had to be in his heart somewhere. And he could have Scarlett under mind control, too… She knew it was irrational, since this universe didn’t have magic or supertech, but the voice whispered to her nonetheless. No matter who he actually was in this reality, it was going to be difficult for her to trust Loki. She turned back to Scarlett: “...can we maybe talk to some of the others first?”

“Sure,” Scarlett replied, smiling sympathetically. She knew Natasha had been through a lot and that much of that had come at the hands of Loki. “But we should definitely speak to Tom Holland. Spider-Man is your ally in your own universe...and so is Tom Holland in ours. Seriously, when we’re down, he’s the one who brightens our day. And if we want to do reshoots involving Spider-Man, we’re definitely going to have to coordinate with him because he’s also filming his own movie.”

Natasha nodded. “How much does he know? Because if he doesn’t know any more than you do, we’re going to have to talk to some more people.” Well, they would have to talk to everybody anyway, but a sympathetic actor knowing things would make planning the MCU’s salvation easier.

Scarlett grinned. “Lots. He has to know what’s going on whenever Spider-Man is on screen. He’s under strict orders not to say anything to anybody because he’s known to be loose-lipped, but as long as you don’t ask directly…”

Natasha grinned back. Working on a film set might be Scarlett’s area of expertise, but interrogations were hers. “How do we get to him?”

Chapter Text

After a quick breakfast, Scarlett called Tom Holland to invite him to dinner at her house. An interrogation this might be, but Natasha didn’t want to repeat her earlier mistake of just breaking in to talk to people. In addition to being just plain rude, it would be counterproductive, as they needed to get him to talk without him realizing. Scarlett told him that he should come meet a “really great new friend” of hers, and Natasha could almost hear the enthusiasm from the other end of the phone as he accepted.

Until then, Scarlett had some practical things to do; even for A-list actresses, chores didn’t do themselves. First, she had to go to physical and stunt training. (Natasha offered to do that for her, but Scarlett declined, saying she couldn’t cancel this appointment on such short notice: “Maybe another time.”) Then she had to go get fitted for a new dress for all the cast events that were still coming up. Finally, she had to go pick up Rose from the airport. It was her turn and she was looking forward to it. She was going to read to her and play with her and take her to meet her costars’ children… As she kept talking, she realized that Natasha’s face had tensed, clearly trying to keep a pained expression under control. Scarlett stopped cold, realization flooding her veins. “Oh my God, Natasha...I’m so, so sorry! What was I thinking, I shouldn’t be talking about it like this...”

Scarlett was kicking herself. She, of ALL people, should have remembered that this would be a rather sore subject for Natasha. When the Red Room had taken her, they hadn’t just made her to take life. They had prevented her from creating it, too. But Natasha quickly wiped away that fought look of pain and responded: “No, that’s quite all right. I’m over it, used to it. It’s not my place to begrudge anyone else anything because it was denied to me.” And it was true. Mostly, anyway. Natasha had long ago accepted that she would never have what so many other women had, but being upset or angry about it wasn’t helpful to anybody involved. What was she going to do, tell everyone else not to have children or at least never to bring them up in front of her? But… A small part of her mind still niggled. Maybe she wasn’t completely “over it.” Still, though, she had to accept it.

Scarlett kept apologizing profusely, as though she was terrified and desperately trying to rescue the situation. Maybe she is, Natasha realized in return. I am the Black Widow. If I were in her place, I wouldn’t want the world’s most dangerous master spy and assassin to be angry with me either. She’d almost thought “deadliest,” but...no. She’d committed herself to wiping out all that red. But her mission wasn’t done yet, and getting it done required Scarlett and co. to be on her side. And that would be a lot easier if they felt comfortable around her. So she decided to change the subject: “You have training first, right? How is it, training to be me?”
Scarlett let out a tiny laugh. “Well…”

They continued talking until Scarlett had finished getting ready and had to leave. She’d be back with Rose mid-afternoon, but she wouldn’t be up for much beyond sleeping today because of jet lag, the difficulty in sleeping on a plane, and her age. Then Tom Holland would be coming over for dinner later that evening, so Nat had the day to figure out an action plan. She grinned. A day? She’d come up with plans to save the world in ten minutes. Her life wasn’t a movie, where the villain had a Countdown Timer To Doom and she just had to stay ahead of that. (Okay, it was a series of movies, but for the most part her villains didn’t act like Bond villains.) But if she had more time, she’d certainly take it. She got down to thinking about how to approach not only Holland, but the others that Scarlett had told her about.

Eventually, she was pulled out of her train of thought by the unlocking of the front door and the babbling of a little girl. Nat moved to hide--she was supposed to be secret, and little kids were not exactly good at keeping secrets--but before even she could, the little girl came bounding in and locked straight in on her: “Hi! Who are you? And why do you look like Mommy’s pictures?”
“Hush, Rose!”, Scarlett interjected, trying to take control of the situation. “Don’t be rude.” But Nat laughed it off. “I’m Leah, Mommy’s new friend from work. I just got brought here to fight some battles--but you can’t tell anybody, okay? I’m up against some very dangerous bad guys, and if they find me…”

Honestly, Nat had no idea what would happen if word of her existence here leaked out, but given her status as a pop-culture icon, there would probably be a media firestorm, and it would be harder to focus on her mission of making the Marvel team set her universe right. She was committed to that mission, against any odds and at any cost. (She’d taken her alias from the Star Wars general who held the line against the First Order just as fiercely.) She really had no idea why she was here in this universe, either, but maybe if there was a God over and beyond the Russo brothers, She had brought Natasha here to do battle against these malevolent gods.

Rose smiled and nodded, pressing a finger to her lips. Then, in typical little-kid fashion, she jumped right back into questioning: “Where are you from? Are you going to whoop the bad guys? Can I join? I wanna be a hero just like Mommy and you! Who are you fighting?”

Scarlett grinned sheepishly at Natasha. “...maybe she did get some sleep on the plane after all,” she whispered. Rose seemed the exact opposite of tired. Nevertheless, Scarlett made an executive decision: “Looks like it’s time for a nap, Rose. Surely someone has to be at least a little tired after a long plane ride.”

“But I’m not tiiiiiired,” she yawned. Scarlett gave Natasha a look, then carried the little girl to bed. When she came back, she and Nat started talking about their plan while Scarlett’s chef made dinner. (Nat had offered to cook for them, but Scarlett insisted that she had extended herself enough lately and that it was fine.) Nat continued to read as much as she could while Scarlett reviewed some paperwork for an upcoming production that her agent had sent her. Eventually, it came time for dinner, and there was a knock on the door.

They’d agreed that Scarlett would open it, so as not to shock Tom Holland too much before he had even set foot in her house. As they walked to the table and sat down, Scarlett asked Tom about his day while she told him about hers. The first thing that struck Nat--even though she should have expected it, given her research--was his accent, the tall vowels and elided r’s a stark contrast to Peter Parker’s Queens-accented American tones. But the second thing that struck her was the way in which he was so similar to his character: beyond wearing the same face, Tom’s voice carried the same enthusiasm and innocence that had so marked Peter. Even in talking about something as mundane as his day, it was clear that he cared. Steering the conversation as Natasha had instructed, she mentioned the paperwork she’d been reviewing this afternoon for her next production, the Black Widow prequel movie. On top of reshoots for Endgame, she’d have to start the initial shoots for that fairly soon. She had no idea what they had planned for her, so she would just have to be patient. But, she knew someone who did have an idea…

Natasha strode into the kitchen, suit on and looking every part the Avenger. Tom Holland spluttered: “B-but how? It can’t be…this has to be a stunt...”

Natasha smiled. “I assure you, I am no stunt double. I am the Black Widow. I’m guessing you probably have a lot of questions.”

Before she had even finished, Tom Holland started spilling them forward. “How are you real? How did you get here? Is all that technology real? Have you seen the arc reactor? How did you hack into S.H.I.E.L.D.? Could you actually kill someone 57 ways with a spoon? Is it true you beat up four guys tied to a chair and blindfolded? What’s your coolest skill? Is black actually your favourite colour? What was your awesomest win? Which other Avenger do you actually like best? How did you fall through to here? Are you dead? Have you seen…him? Have you told him that I’ll be okay without him?”
Tom’s voice cracked, and his face slowly turned white as realization dawned upon him. “Oh, no… I need to just shut up…”

But Natasha simply smiled and told him, “Thank you for your cooperation.” Tom Holland played Spider-Man, and she knew of only one man who had crossed over from her franchise into his. One important man, anyway: Tony Stark. And if Peter would have to be okay without him, if she, the walking dead, was being asked if she’d seen him...she knew what that meant. And as she thought, her blood boiled. When the producers decided to kill him, they had left Peter behind with no mentor. They had left Pepper and Morgan behind with no husband and father. And they had the gall to do this after they had spared Clint on Vormir because of his family--after they’d pulled her strings so that she would do so. They were hypocrites, and if they were expecting her to play along and let them throw Tony away, they were sadly mistaken.

Natasha realized that despite all her training, her face was betraying her anger, so she quickly corrected it. “I know I tricked you, in a way, and I’m sorry for putting you in that position. But we needed to know this, and everyone would’ve had to refuse us if we’d just asked directly.”

Tom raised an eyebrow. “We?”

“Let me explain. After I jumped into the chasm on Vormir, something really bizarre happened and I woke up in this world where the Avengers are fictional and they’re still shooting the movie of my own death. What they say goes, and that’s a problem because while my fellow Avengers and I may be fictional to them, to us we are very real, and they created us not to let evils go unmended. Even after Thanos obliterated half the universe, we’re still working, heisting time, to save everyone. Here, now...we have the power, with everyone’s cooperation, to heist reality. To rewrite the script. To save a universe.” She paused. “Are you in?”

Tom beamed. “I have a chance to help the real Avengers? What do you think?”