Mind Games (Avengers Wrong Number Fugitive [Natasha Romanoff x teen])

26. Drunk Mom

A/N Ngl I thought of Dead Mom from Beatle Juice from the title 

TW: drugs and alcohol 

Natasha's POV

It's been... hard to say the least with August Miller, more so known as Manifest, having a stay at the Avenger's Compound. Everyone who takes one look at her with her curly red hair, navy blue sweater and hashtag scar on her neck knows who she is. Or was. It doesn't help that SHIELD agents are always coming in and out of the Compound and local schools with a broad age range and superhero obsession take tour here and there. Auggie can't always escape the stares, the murmurs and the rude, ambitious comments. If I could take them away I would. 

So she runs away a lot. Always coming back with something to show. How high she got on weed, how drunk she is. I really thought that the Thanksgiving party wouldn't be harmful, but it was. I've heard the story from everyone's point of view and it's all about her scar. It's distinct and unlikely to have been carved in battle. Which means there's a story, a story she's unwilling to tell. A story that'll come out when she's vulnerable. But that's not what's important right now.

A tenth grade class from the Bronx was visiting today, Tony giving them a tour. But stupidly he wanted August to join and be around her... peers? Tony, honey, those people aren't her peers nor ever will be. Just because she's avoiding the superkids doesn't mean she should start interacting with people who will never understand her struggles. Never understand her.

⧗⧗⧗⧗

It didn't go as plan... shocker! They went off at her for being apart of Hydra when they realized who she was. They went off at her for everything they could. Her hair, her height, her grimace... her scar.

And so she ran again, this time with me following. All the way back to the treehouse in that park.

"You know, August." I say after I settle myself down next to her shaking form. Her legs are cooped up to her chest with her arms wrapped around them, tears cascading down her cheeks, falling to her knees. "You've gotta stop running."

"Why?" She grumbles. 

I turn my head to face her, smiling softly. "Because then you're never gonna figure out how it feels to be better." 

"Shut up."

"Why?" I say, hoping to see her actually give the answer we both already know.

"Because," she emphasizes, "I don't care if I can get better! I'm fine the way I am. Go back to not fucking caring and help the rest of your pathetic Avengers friends. I'll have a place to stay, and a place to do what I want. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm grabbing a vodka." She stands up, still shaking. She gets herself to climb a tree branch higher where a wooden cabinet that her and Ronan must've built years prior is connected to the trunk. Inside are various different types of alcohol and drugs. Nothing too harmful, but still not what I'd hope to find in a fifteen year old's tree house. Her and Ronan definitely didn't put those there.

"August... don't."

"Leave me the fuck alone, Natalia." She groans, rolling her eyes as she makes no effort to come back down the branch.

I flinch at the jab but try not to show it.

So I give her a glare as I scowl. "Oh, you wanna play that game? Stoop down to that level!? Alright, Augustine. How does that feel!?"

She has nowhere to run anymore. If she comes down she comes back to me, and that's not what she wants at all. But she doesn't want to show weakness, of course she doesn't. She's just like the rest of us misfits. If you want to be a superhero you have to have trauma. Of course there's the occasional non-traumatized hero like Ms Marvel, but when is there ever the perfect crime-fighting life?

"Please don't," August says, looking down. "I'm sorry."

"Good, now can you please come down and talk about this maturely please? I know you can."

She shakes her head, still avoiding my gaze. "I don't want to." 

I take a deep breath as I know the person I'm going to have to become is not either of our ideal personality. I have to become that 'person' for her. We both know there's some sort of mother-ish daughter-ish relation between the two of us, but we've both elected to ignore it. But there's no time for that right now.

"I don't think that's an option, детка. Bring the vodka down and we can drink it, but I'm staying I think it's time we talk about all of this."

"Talk about what exactly?" she replies meekly.

I roll my eyes. "Get down, August. Now."

So she does. She 'manifests' a bottle opener... or more accurately, 'takes something from somewhere else on Earth to make it here.' Whatever the word for that is. It's a bit different than teleportation of objects, but who knows, she could bring Taylor Swift here in a second. Yelena told me Shuri used the term 'randomized conjuring.' There's no real term for this power if even the genius princess of Wakanda doesn't have some fancy ass name for the ability. But I'm positive August doesn't care about all of that shit. It must be terrifying to know you terrify others without control. It's different than being raised to kill because even then I had some form of handle on what I did and didn't do inside my mind, even if it wasn't the most obvious thing in the world to anyone. Including myself. I don't think Auggie really knows what she's doing half the time.

We pass the vodka back and forth, not saying a word. Until I finally build up the courage to ask...

"Where did you get that scar, August?" Mind you I'm probably a bit tipsy by now.

She looks away. "Please, I don't want to talk about it, Nat."

"August Miller, you're never going to move past this, the running, the hiding, if you don't talk about it. I really care about you, I really really do. And as someone with trauma, sometimes you can hold those stories back until you're ready, but other's are too prominent and you need someone to help you find strategies to cope. And people've seen it and have talked about it, and GOD I know it's hard. But I think you need to tell someone, and I'm here to listen. I'm all ears, Auggie."

She looks at me and sighs, with the face of someone who's given up. "I don't think I can talk about it, Natasha. But- but maybe Wanda could transfer the memory... I mean, never mind. That's too much to ask of her, I just- I don't want to-"

I put my arm around her and hold her tight. "Yeah, I think she'll be more than happy to help. But right now do you just want to get drunk?" I pass her back the bottle of vodka and she takes a giant gulp of it. 

"Yeah, that sounds alright, Natasha." She looks at me, then looks away shaking. "That'd be really nice."

"Everything's going to be alright, детка. Let's just drink right now."

<3

Bad influence Natasha? Yes please! 

Translation Humiliation avoid what I'm sayin!:

детка:
translation: detka
meaning: baby (pet name)