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A Moment of Nightmares

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After the dust had settled and all the shawarma takeout had been eaten (saving the world made you hungry and one sit in serving just wasn’t enough.) After everyone went their separate ways, after the long car drive to the cabin that they sometimes went to, they finally slept. 

Just like the hunger, the exhaustion wasn’t relieved by six or eight hours. But she woke anyways. She woke with 12 inches between them. Natasha always kept that distance if they slept in the same bed. It was her own wall. Her own fail safe. Meant to protect him, not herself. 

It was his hand that grasped hers tightly. The sweaty palm slapped on top of her hand quickly, a lesser person might have been terrified, but she wasn’t lesser and when she glanced at the moon out the window she was surprised he’d slept so long before it happened. 

“It was just a dream,” she said evenly as she looked at his profile in the dark. She hoped it sounded comforting, but he knew when she was playing someone and she’d only tried a few times in her life to be genuinely comforting. 

“It was a nightmare,” he choked out and she hoped that her own breathing didn’t betray her shock at his openness and the pain so evident in his rough voice. 

She tried to think of something to say, something that would calm his racing heart and put his conscience at ease but nothing came. 

“I killed you.” Now his voice was even and level, no emotion behind it. Is that all? This she could handle. 

“Loki threatened me with it, I was prepared for the possibility, but it never happened. It’s nothing to-” His grip on her hand tightened and he finally turned to look at her. She was caught off guard by the anger in his eyes. She expected guilt or disgust. 

“You don’t understand,” he said slowly before letting go of her hand. “I liked it. That wasn’t mind control or witchcraft. Inside of me, somewhere,” he paused and she swallowed hard trying to keep her face neutral. “I liked it.

Natasha bit the inside of her cheek to remind herself that this wasn’t a nightmare of her own. Clint’s eyes searched her for any tell, she wasn’t sure if he found what he was looking for, but he was out of the bed and in the other room before she tasted blood on her tongue.