Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The rift sizzled as she stumbled through. It sputtered, catching the tip of her boot. If she hadn’t been so exhausted after the last battle, so wiped, she might have been faster. As it was, she fell forward, fists curled in front of her, catching herself just before she face-planted.

“Unh,” she grunted, listening as the sizzle made the familiar pop as the rift closed. Taking a heaving breath in, she let herself fall prone into the silty edge of a water source, resting her forehead on the small muddy bank. There was a long moment where there was only numbness and dizziness, where she wasn’t sure she was ready to lift her head to see where she had ended up.

It took her a precious few seconds to suck in air, as her dash towards the blinking rift had been desperation.  The last world she had been on had not been devoid of life, just devoid of anything that wouldn’t attempt to eat her. As her lungs expanded, sound filtered in. There was trickling water and wind among leaves, at least. 

She could tell that she had fallen into this world near enough to living beings, and from the way they froze, she was pretty sure they were humans.  Or humanoid.  But they hadn’t tried to kill her just yet, so there was that.

“Hey, show us your hands,” a gruff voice came from nearby. English, midwestern accent. There was the sharp telltale sound of a weapon being cocked. A handgun, it sounded like.

So much for not threatening to kill her.

She took a few deeper breaths as she took stock of herself. The tactical suit had held up pretty well over the past few worlds after she’d gotten to take a breather on the crazy Hydra-run world. A little spywork had shown that she had been Hydra here and hadn’t been seen in years. They’d assumed she had been killed, but some playacting and lies and she’d been brought back into the fold. She’d used the new connection to search for him. But as on every other world, he was dead.

She’d stocked up on her weapons before moving on. It wasn’t her doing that the remnants of Zola’s computerized consciousness had glitched and set off all the nukes in the world just as the rift had appeared.

Now, her widow bites were out of juice, and she was down to three knives, one of them chipped and broken, and a few darts. She really missed having Fury or Steve or even Stark to help her hide or find weapons. She really missed…but no, she couldn’t even think about him right now, because she was so drained, she knew she’d start crying and that would be it.

“Lady,” the voice came again. “Not gonna ask you again.”

With a grimace, she pushed herself up into a crouch, realizing she was so coated in mud and blood and gore that she was sure the guy was only guessing she was female. She heaved up and wobbled to a stand, her hands coming up once she was sure her legs would hold her. The lake water, she could now tell, squelched her suit and shoes. Her hair was matted and muddy, as was her…everything.

She lifted tired eyes to look at the two men standing in defensive postures just far enough out of her reach that she knew she couldn’t react fast enough against them. The one who was glaring at her, staring down the sight of his 1911, was broad and muscled, the flannel shirt and jeans seemed to be slightly stained with blood and mud.

The other man, taller, with long hair, was a little cleaner. But he was blinking at her in confusion, his own handgun not as at the ready. He opened his mouth, the gun dropping down, then back up as he closed it. Then he came up out of the crouch and pointed the barrel at the mud at his own feet.

“Tasha?” the tall man breathlessly asked. She blinked at him, not recognizing either of them. She wobbled deliberately, hoping to give herself time and an opening. If he really knew her, he’d see it for the play it was. If he was counting on her knowing him, it would throw him off his mark. Sure enough, the tall man quickly reached out as he uncocked his own gun and she swooned against him.

“Sam,” the first name growled. “She came out of the rift. I don’t think she’s the same Natasha we know.”

She allowed herself to be lifted up, the tall man, Sam, having obviously tucked his gun into his waistband. With a sigh, she let her eyes roll as she took in the concern in his eyes, the utter sadness while she tried to get a better lay of where she was.

“Dean…,” Sam said once he’d lifted her up. “It’s her.”

“Damn it, Sam,” the other man, Dean, grumbled. “You know if it is her, it’s all an act. She could be trying to kill you for all you know.”

There was a sigh as Sam pulled her closer, bringing his head down to really look at her.

“I know…, but it’s Tash, no matter what world she came from.”

Dean sighed as he un-cocked his own gun.

“Should we call him?”

“Call Bruce or Bucky. If they’re not available, we’ll call Laura.”

Huh, so they knew Bruce. If it was the same Bruce Banner. But who was Laura? What about Steve? Or Tony? How well did these men really know her? Was she safe?

She lolled against Sam, feeling with a flopping hand where his gun was tucked against his back, where the large, odd knife was in the makeshift sheath in his belt. He was not as broad as the first man, Dean, but he was rangy and muscled as well.

“What about Clint?” Sam rumbled softly as she fake-flopped into unconsciousness.  It was everything she had left in her to keep from flinching, from her heart rate and breathing ramping up. 

“Let’s get more info first. It nearly killed him the first time.”

Clint. He was still alive here. With all the lake water and mud covering her, Sam didn’t notice the tear that escaped.

Chapter Text

Sam, the tall one, had curled around her protectively in the back seat while the other one, Dean, drove. It was an older muscle car, but she didn’t dare open her eyes to see what kind it was, or if she recognized the area. The guys had talked quietly during the drive, conjecturing what the world she had come from had been like. Apparently, they knew about the rifts and other worlds. And that something had happened to her here.

She didn’t know any of the names they mentioned, but it all sounded as insane, if not more than, where she’d come from. She’d been to other worlds, seen worlds where monsters roamed freely, like werewolves out walking pet humans. There’d been the world where superpowered humans were everywhere and the ones without powers were the ones who had to be in protected camps.

But as they talked, she had to tune them out once they started bringing up Lucifer and angels, and magic. She tried to listen to the sound of the tires on the road, but all she could gather was that they were on asphalt. The sun had gone down as they’d driven, so there wasn’t much to see anyway. With everything that she’d seen and been through in the past few days, well months since she’d stepped through that first rift, she was truly exhausted, drained, her mind far more scattered than was safe.

She was surprised when she jolted awake to realize she’d even fallen asleep.

Her training had kicked in and she was sure she hadn’t actually flinched or changed her breathing, but Sam still tensed as though he knew she’d awakened, even if he didn’t comment.

It sounded like they, including the car, were in an interior space now, like Stark’s garage. Walls either made of metal or with metal in them. It was definitely underground, which didn’t help with her not knowing where she was.

“Sam,” Dean grumbled, the leather creaking as he slid out of the front seat. “She’s awake.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sam replied softly. “Hey, ‘Tash…Natasha, let’s get you inside and cleaned up. Bruce and Bucky are on their way.”

She opened her eyes slowly to see his sad eyes searching her face for some recognition. When she apparently didn’t show what we had hoped, he nodded once, then got out of the car, sliding gently while still holding her in his arms.

“I know you prefer to walk in under your own power,” he shrugged, “but I get the feeling you’re still pretty exhausted.” He paused to see if she would move to be put down. “I hope you can trust me enough to carry inside.”

The voice was so hopeful that she found herself giving a short nod, wrapping her arms around his neck. A spark lit in his eyes as he glanced over at the other guy. She followed his eyes and could see the concern in Dean’s eyes. More for Sam, than for her, obviously.

Dean sighed, pulling open an interior door to wherever they were.

She couldn’t tell much from the trip through the hallways and some short steps except it appeared to be an old, underground war bunker, with muted lighting, military drab colors, and numbered doors. She silently mapped out what she could in her head as they went. They didn’t appear to be hiding anything from her. 

When they entered what was obviously a shower room, open, like a men’s locker room in a gym, she tensed.

Sam definitely felt it because he slowed down next to one of the few shower stalls that had a curtain installed and bent to help her put her feet on the ground. He cleared his throat, keeping his hands on her until she was standing on her own. The nap, however unexpected it was, had helped her regain a little of her strength so she was able to stand somewhat firmly.

“You good?” He asked, pulling his hands back slowly so he could catch her if she crumbled.

“Yes. Thank you,” she rasped. He showed her a short, weary smile. He was covered in some of the same mud and gore, mess that had transferred from her, but he didn’t appear to be bothered by it as he turned his eyes away.

“Towels and washcloths are here.” He cleared his throat as he darted over to grab two towels and a washcloth for her from a metal shelf not far away. With another weak smile, he handed her the washcloth laid the towels over the bar of the shower curtain.  “I’ll give you time to clean yourself up.” He swallowed, stepping back. “I’ll, uh, find…leave something you can wear over by the door. Don’t worry. I won’t look.” She raised an eyebrow at him and the flush that took over his face and neck, rubbing his hands nervously on his thighs. “Bruce and Bucky will be here in about an hour.”

He shifted from foot to foot, then glanced at her again with a nod, before leaving her alone in the bathroom.

Now, she was the one on the wrong foot. It was obvious from how Sam behaved that she’d had some sort of relationship with him on this world. He had realized that she clearly had not known him in hers, but he was determined to take care of her. He probably had loved her and lost her.

It unsettled her that she had possibly loved him back. The only person she’d given her love to in her universe had been a brother, not a lover, and he’d sacrificed himself on Vormir to save her. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to even care about Sam. If he could give her Clint back, she’d try, but not being his Natasha, she might not be good enough.

While she recognized that Sam was acting as though the Natasha on all the worlds were the same person at heart, the other guy, Dean, was far more leery. Dean was going to protect Sam first, but unless she made a move to hurt him, Dean would continue to let Sam take the lead where she was involved.

None of the places she’d been since that last battle with Thanos, where she’d watched him snap that damn golden glove and destroy most of the earth, most of the universe really, leaving only her and a smattering of elderly and infirm people who died not long after, none of those other places had been this trusting of her. There had been worlds where the Avengers had existed, but she either hadn’t ever been part of the team, thus not trusted, or had arrived in the wrong place at the wrong time, and had to watch them all fall around her.

In none of those worlds had Clint survived that she could find. That had been the worst part of all of them. She was dead in all of them for different reasons, but she expected to at least find a Clint who had survived and hopefully thrived.

Trying to reel herself in, she stepped into the stall, pulled the curtain across, and methodically stripped, dropping everything into the walkway outside the stall, with the exception of a blade and a dart, that she tucked on the soap ledge for ease of access. The hot water sluiced over her and she regaled in the luxuriousness.

The last few worlds had been all run and gun, kill or be killed. There had been no time for bathing, no hot water if there had been. Food had been scarce, and sleep scarcer still. She felt her skin coming clean, warming up, and stayed under the water until it ran clear. She began to feel as raw as her emotions. She shuddered instead of crying, scrubbing detritus from her hair, which was back to her natural red. She had heard the door open once. There was only a soft flump, along with Sam’s muffled voice identifying him, before it closed again.

Sticking her head out of the curtain, she could see a small pile of clothing on the little shelf by the door. Sam was nowhere to be seen.

Once again, she had to pull herself together as she turned off the water and reached for one of the towels, fully braced for one of them to possibly grab her while she was so vulnerable.  But nothing grabbed her and she could tell by the sound that neither of them were in the room with her. He had done as promised, having come in with some clothes, and left her to her privacy.

She dried herself, noting the spots where bruises were fading (her shoulder where that werewolf had thrown a stupid tree at her) and where they were new and still blooming (her forearms where she’d caught herself on the bank by the lake) and all the in between. There were only a few minor cuts that had already stopped bleeding, but she could see her own ribs beneath her breasts and the hollows in her cheeks and around her eyes.

Once she’d catalogued it all, ignoring the older scars, she grabbed the small pile of clothing, startled to see they were her own clothes she knew from her closet back on her world. They were her matching underwear and bra, her jogging pants, the novelty Grimace and Hamburglar as a gangster group t-shirt she’d stolen from Clint. Of course he’d loved it because it had purple in it and was something Tony had high-fived him about. The shoes, slide-on sneakers, weren’t ones she recognized, but they were her size and a style she’d wear for comfort.

This was just more proof, however blatant, that they really did know her. She had probably stayed over if some of her clothes were here.  How long ago, she couldn’t tell because each world’s timeline was subtly different.  She was unnerved as she dressed, noticing that she had lost enough weight that they all fit a little loosely on her, but were comfortable.

Stepping out of the bathroom with the second towel wrapped around her hair and all her weapons now cleaned and tucked somewhere on her except the bites, which were drained anyway, Sam jolted from where he’d been leaning against the wall waiting for her.

“Hi,” he breathed out, holding out a hairbrush she didn’t recognize. She took it and breathed in.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t know you.”

He didn’t so much deflate as laugh sadly, the tension dropping from his frame.

“Yeah, I guessed as much. I won’t try to make you into my version,” he shrugged, then gestured for her to walk beside him down the hallway, back towards where she was pretty sure there was a kitchen that they’d passed on the way in. “We didn’t really end up together here…before...” He trailed off, tucking his hands into his jeans pockets.

It was then that she realized he’d changed into clean clothes too, just a V-neck shirt and jeans, meaning that she could tell he was unarmed. She tugged the towel off and began running the brush through her hair. He gestured for her to follow him down the few steps into the kitchen, where Dean was at the stove with a hand towel over his shoulder, chopping vegetables.

Chapter Text

Dean glanced at her, gave her a once over, then met Sam’s eyes. She watched them subtly have a wordless conversation, much like she and…Clint used to. It was easy enough to figure out they weren’t planning to hurt her unless she attacked first.

Dean grunted, then gestured with the knife towards a seat at the metal table there. It wasn’t overly threatening, but when he noticed she was watching the blade, he smirked and turned back to the countertop.

There were two mugs of steaming tea already sitting on the table. Sam waited for her to sit, then eased down across from her, letting her have the spot where she could keep an eye on both of them and the entrances in her periphery.

“Thank you,” she said, laying the brush and towel down on the seat beside her before she reached for the tea.

Sam briefly smiled and let her choose a mug first. He took the remaining one and took a sip, then waited patiently as she watched him. When she pushed her mug back towards him, he simply handed the mug in his hand to her and took the one she had first chosen.

He sipped from the new mug and waited for her to take a deep sip before speaking.

“So, where are you from?” Sam asked.

At the chopping block, Dean snorted and shook his head, moving to scrape the veggie pieces into a large bowl.

“Smooth, little brother,” he chuckled, placing a plate over the bowl to shake the contents up.

Across the table, Sam blushed and played with his mug.

“I meant where you came from,” he huffed.

“Brothers?” She asked, changing the direction of the conversation.

“Dean Winchester,” Dean said, bringing the salad bowl over to put on the table between them. “This overgrown dork is my brother, Sam.” He patted Sam on the shoulder as he headed back to grab smaller bowls and silverware. “And you,” he said placing them down in front of each of them, “are Natasha Romanoff. AKA Black Widow.”

She watched him raise an eyebrow at her before he went back to the stove to pull out a plate from the oven and uncover a steak and homemade french fries, then grabbed a beer from the fridge.

She grunted at him while Sam dished out some of the salad for them both.

“On the Earth I came from,” she started, looking down into the dry salad, “As far as I knew, I was the last living soul on the planet.”

Both men were looking at her in surprise now. Dean had frozen halfway to his seat and Sam had a forkful of lettuce and cucumber poised at his open mouth.

“When the rift opened, I had been alone for over two months.”

Sam’s mouth closed on the fork, and he instantly coughed. She and Dean looked over at him, which meant Dean unfroze and finished dropping into the seat next to his brother.

Sam, however, jumped up, clearing his throat as he swallowed and rushed over to the fridge. Nat shared a look with Dean as Sam grabbed something and stood with his back turned, shoulders heaving. Dean swallowed, then cleared his own throat.

“Must have been pretty lonely,” he gruffed, but Nat could tell it was the older brother giving his younger brother an out and covering for his reaction. Dean’s silverware scraped the plate as he began cutting into the steak.

Sam straightened up, coming back to the table with a bottle of vinaigrette and a bottle of A1 that he put down in the middle of the table. When he returned to his seat, Dean shifted as though getting comfortable, his shoulder gently bumping Sam, who sighed and bumped back without a word.

“It wasn’t ideal,” she replied, sprinkling some of the vinaigrette over her salad.

“Thanos?” Sam cleared his throat, taking the bottle from her for his own salad. When she nodded, he returned her nod.

“Since you know about him, I’m guessing he was defeated here?”

Sam and Dean shared a look that contained a lot of emotion.

“Not without some losses,” Dean growled, adding some A1 to his steak.

For a while, they sat in their own silences, eating in co-misery.

“So,” Sam finally said, now just playing with his salad with his fork, no longer interested in eating. “Were you with the Avengers on your world?” She raised an eyebrow at him and gave a dry smile as she reached over swiftly and stabbed a cube of Dean’s medium steak.

“You could say that,” she replied, popping the steak into her mouth.

“You-,” Dean started, glaring at her. Sam cut him off.

“You died.” Sam’s voice was endlessly sad. “You sacrificed yourself for the soul stone when the team went back in time here.” Dean turned his glare onto Sam.

“Dude, I thought we were waiting on Bruce and Bucky?”

Sam rolled his eyes.

“As far as I know,” Sam sighed, not responding to his brother. “You can’t go back to your world. And Jack was the only one who could open the rifts, unless an archangel still exists out there somewhere.”

“Jack?” she asked. Sam and Dean exchanged another look, then Dean shrugged this time.

“The new God,” Sam smiled. He shook his shaggy head at her raised eyebrows.

“Like Loki? Or more like Thor?” Nat ground out.

“Neither, thank Jack,” Dean huffed. “Jack was our…is Jack, but he’s also the new Judeo-Christian god with a capital G.” When she leaned back to watch them to see how insane they really were, Dean dropped his silverware on the plate. “That’s a whole different thing that Avengering.”

She stared at them until Dean’s phone beeped in his pocket.

“Finally,” Dean sighed, getting up. He wiped his hands and his mouth on the hand towel from his shoulder before tossing it to the tabletop. “They’re here.”

Chapter Text

Sam drank down his tea, patiently waiting for her to rise. He smiled at her shyly and guided her through the other door into what appeared to be a library that led down into a sunken room with a lit map table, old computers and a spiral staircase up to a massive metal door, where Dean was already turning the handle to open it.

“Dean,” Bruce said, stepping inside. He looked just as she remembered. Curly, dark hair, with just a touch of grey. Overly baggy clothes because the man had no clue about fashion, only whatever was comfortable or might stretch enough to survive Hulk.  He reached out to shake hands with Dean with a smile, then his eyes drifted down to where he was about to call out to Sam, but he froze as he spotted her. “Holy Hannah.”

“I tried to warn you,” Dean said, nodding over Bruce’s shoulder to where another man was entering the room.

This man was taller and far bulkier. Long, brunette hair and sharp blue eyes above a muscled body and a metal arm. She felt like she should know him.  He looked familiar, as though she had seen photos of him in passing. Beside her, Sam seemed tense, but from the position of his body, he was angled to appear protective of her, wary of the men’s reaction to her.

She was too tired to hide the startled side glance towards him. No one else appeared to catch her slip.

Except the man with the metal arm. He tilted his head as he scanned her from head to toe in a not so fast sweep.  This she was used to.  Other agents, Hydra, Red Room. Clint. They all tried to read her. Few could, mostly those she knew intimately, but she usually knew the good guys from the bad guys before they read her. This man was with Bruce and Sam and Dean had talked about him casually enough.

“Hey Brucie-Bear,” Natasha said as he came down the stairs towards her. She caught his stumble and how he paled. By the time he reached the bottom, the other guy, Bucky, was glaring between her and Dean, as well as jogging down the steps to catch up to and move to angle himself to easily get between Bruce and Natasha. Well, Sam, then Natasha, as the tall man shifted to put himself even further in front of her.

“I…I,” Bruce stuttered as he stopped before he could bump into Bucky. He took a few deep breaths, then smiled at the ground. “It’s been a while. It’s what Tony used to call me.” He tried to step around Bucky, but the man grunted and wouldn’t move, even though Sam had straightened to his full height and also refused to budge.

“Really?” Dean called down from where he was leaning over the stair railing, with a belligerent rolling of his eyes.

Natasha met Bruce’s eyes around the two bulky men and they eyed each other. She tried to be bold, brave, with a little bit of apology. His smile was remorseful and sad, with dash of fondness.

“I apologize,” Natasha rasped. “My social skills are a bit rusty.” She swallowed, letting the corner of her mouth quirk up at the corner.

Bucky grunted, glaring down at her.

“Bucky,” Bruce said softly, making a shoving motion against Bucky’s arm.

Bucky huffed and rolled his eyes, but finally stepped aside. Sam glanced back at her before he unclenched and also slid to the side.

“Natasha,” Bruce said, the color coming back.

“At least it’s not green,” she replied before she could stop herself. Her brain registered that Bruce’s eyes had gone wide, just as Bucky and Dean burst into laughter.

“Oh, hell,” Bucky chortled. “Sorry, Doc, but that was fuckin’ funny.” He winked at Bruce as he crossed his arms and leaned his hip against the map table.  

Dean chuckled too as he came down to rejoin them.

“Lay off, Robocop,” he chided Bucky. “Sounds like she’s had it a bit rough.” He moved to the drink cabinet on near the telescope niche. “She even fell asleep on the drive back here. Let’s get the prelim done so she can get some rest.”

She blinked at him, then over at Sam, who shifted nervously.

“Don’t worry,” Sam said. “We’ll be quick so you can get some real rest. I’ll stay outside your door so you can know I’m on watch.”

She ducked her head and fought the tears that wanted to well up. When he slowly reached over to squeeze her elbow, she leaned into the touch.

“Where do you want me?”

Bruce’s smile widened a little, then he turned and gestured to the door under the landing. Bucky led the way, Bruce close behind; Sam and Natasha walking side by side into the room.

*****

“-for certain,” Bruce was saying as Natasha’s mouth closed after the latest jaw-cracking yawn.

The room was fading in and out, but she was trying to keep vigilant, keep her attention on Bruce in front of her. She knew Sam was by her side, sitting close enough she could reach out and touch him if she wanted, but giving her her space.  Bucky was leaning against the wall next to the open doorway. Dean leaned inwards from outside the door. She could tell the two of them were muttering to each other, but couldn’t hear their words.

They seemed really comfortable in each other’s space, trading quips that made them chuckle occasionally.

Bruce paced in the center of the room, glasses being spun around in one hand, printouts in the other.

“Can we call a break?” Sam said once Bruce paused and the room went quiet. They all turned to look at Sam, then at Natasha, who was holding herself as still as possible, pretending she wasn’t about the fall over in exhaustion.

“Yeah. Yes,” Bruce said immediately, pulling his glasses back on. “I think we’re certain that she’s clean of anything that could affect our world. And genetically identical to our Nat.” He looked up and smiled at her over the top of the glasses. 

She slow blinked, then flinched slightly when she felt a touch on her arm. Looking down, she saw Sam was loosely holding her elbow, waiting for her to give him permission. She met his eyes and nodded. He helped her slide off the bed, balancing her when she wobbled unexpectedly.

“Take it slow,” Sam said softly. “Let’s get you somewhere quiet to sleep.” The way he moved, he was waiting for her to set the pace. Bucky and Dean peeled back from the doorway so as not to crowd her and Sam acted as an escort as they headed back through the library.

She stumbled a little up the steps into the hallway and suddenly she was being eased down onto a bed in a barely lit room. She startled and flailed.

“Hey, ‘Tasha,” she heard Sam whisper quietly. “It’s me. You’re okay. I’m on watch.”

She shook her head to clear it as he pulled her sneakers off and helped her slide under the covers. She’d noticed that being underground meant it was a little cooler. Thus the shoes.  He moved the blades where she could watch. The one under her pillow. One under the other pillow. The last one tucked in between the mattress and box spring.

“I’ll be outside, watching. You rest.”

As he stepped back, she reached out and grabbed his wrist, making him pause and look at her.  She knew the exhaustion made her expression open, but if they had had the relationship she guessed, he wouldn’t take it the wrong way.

“It’s not manipulation,” she said tiredly and he peered down at her. “But can you stay with me? I’m not sure how well I’ll sleep knowing you’re uncomfortable?”

He looked towards the open doorway at the foot of the bed and then back towards her with a frown. She tilted her head towards the open side of the bed, then released his wrist reluctantly. He sighed, then kicked off his own shoes and moved around to sit against the headboard on the other side, leaving space between them.

She turned to face him. He slouched back against the headboard, crossing his hands in his lap, his eyes on the doorway.

She sighed and closed her eyes. With a final shift, her arm slid across the space until the back of her hand brushed Sam’s jean-covered thigh. As she drifted to sleep, she heard the slide of cloth. There was a slight shift of air, then a warmth settled over her hand. She smiled to herself and let sleep overtake her. 

“Fuck,” Sam muttered mostly under his breath.

Chapter Text

Natasha took a deep breath in. She could smell a vaguely familiar male scent, a soft mint that she associated with a long-haired man with kind eyes.

It was the sensation of her hand in someone else’s that finally made her open her eyes. The green/blue hazel eyes she had just been thinking about were looking down at her. They both looked at where they were holding hands on the mattress between them. She sighed and squeezed lightly. He squeezed back, smiling sadly.

“Feeling better?” He asked. While she took stock of her own body, he reached for his phone on the side table to look at the time on the home screen. “It’s been about seven and a half hours. Everyone else went to sleep a few hours ago, so it’s okay if you want to go back to sleep.”

She thought about how he knew they were all asleep, taking in the still open doorway. If they had passed by, somehow she hadn’t woken with the disturbances, as small as they may have been. Maybe they had messaged his phone and she still hadn’t heard that either. She sighed and stretched, turning on her back, pushing up to sit against the headboard next to him.

She looked down at where their hands were joined.

“It’s been a really long time,” she said, “since I’ve felt safe enough to sleep like that.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but she lifted her other hand to stall him.

“This isn’t my world,” she continued. “I’m not the Natasha you apparently had a relationship with. But she must of have trusted you.” She paused thoughtfully. “The shower. The tea. The knives.” She lifted their joined hands. “You stood up for me against the Hulk and whoever Bucky is.”

Sam snorted.

“Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes.”

“The Howling Commando? The one that died in WWII?” She frowned in thought.  “Steve’s friend?” Sam nodded.

“He didn’t die here. He fell from that train and the Russians found him. He lost his arm, but they gave him a new one to go with the super soldier serum and lots of torture and brainwashing.” He paused. “And then the Red Room and Hydra.”

“And Steve found him?” Her brow was furrowed in thought.

“Hydra sent him after Steve, but he remembered Steve and broke the programming. But not before they broke SHIELD. Turned out it had been infiltrated by Hydra for a long time.” He shrugged.

“Same in my world, but we didn’t find out until they revealed themselves after Thanos snapped his fingers the first time.”

Sam’s whole body shifted to turn towards her.

“He did it a second time?!”

She shuddered.

“We, the ones who survived the first snap, banded together with whoever we could once we realized he wasn’t finished.” At his questioning look, she continued. “Tony, Steve, Bruce, Clint, Rocket, Nebula, Rhodes, a few others. We went back in time for the stones.”

She swallowed and leaned into his side. He pulled his hand from hers and wrapped it around her shoulders, tucking her into his side.

“But you guys had never met me or Dean? Or other hunters?” Sam was curious.

“We’d met other hunters, so we knew about the monsters out there, but I don’t remember hearing your names.” She kept her eyes open,  deliberately not looking at him. “All the hunters we met were brutal and killed everything different they came across. Some didn’t even stop at supernatural beings.”

Now Sam truly understood her wording around ‘monsters’ and the hunters.

“Why are you giving me and Dean leeway if all the hunters you knew were that bad?”

“At first, it was just biding my time to get my strength back.” She huffed at herself. “It was really once you guys let Bruce in that I really knew you had to be different.”

He made a questioning hum and she shook her head.

“All the hunters before tried to kill Bruce just because he was also the Hulk.”

“Well,” a gruff voice said from the doorway. “Just proves how they were all dumbasses.”

She had known he was there from the sound of his boots in the hallway, but he hadn’t been sneaking at all and Sam hadn’t tensed, although she could tell he had know as well. But if they really were brothers, and she’d seen how they moved around each other, Sam could probably read Dean like she used to Clint, and vice versa.

Sam snorted. Dean was carrying a mug of coffee that was still steaming. When he saw them both look directly at him, he took a sip and jerked his head for them to follow him.

“Fresh coffee and breakfast is ready,” Dean slurped around his mug. “I heard you in here talkin’, so I woke the guys while I cooked. They’ll meet us there.” Then he turned and walked back down the hallway.

After a few moments of silence, Natasha took a deep breath. She sat up and stretched, running her fingers through her hair. It was a bit tangled and definitely wanted to get in her eyes. She had no clue where the brush had ended up. As far as she knew, it was still on the seat in the kitchen.

“I can braid it for you if you want.” Sam had already stood and was sliding back into his own shoes, while she gathered up her knives again.

“I can do it myself,” she frowned. He didn’t argue, but held out a few hair ties he had pulled from somewhere.

“You don’t have to,” he said quietly. Then he headed to the door to wait for her while she pulled her own sneakers.

*****

Back in the kitchen, Bucky stayed standing, leaning against the prep island, a plate piled high, while the others sat around the metal table. Bruce and Dean took up one side and Natasha and Sam the other.  There was bacon, eggs, cut fruit, toast, coffee, tea, milk, and oatmeal. And most of it easily disappeared as they shared their experiences, judging how the worlds were different.

Natasha was distressed to realize that she had passed on Sam to date Bruce. On her world, the only person she had any real feelings for had been Clint, and only as a brother. After he chased her on the helicarrier during Loki’s attack, she’d been too wary of the Hulk to even consider letting down her guard.

Also, Thanos had snapped twice there. The first took out pretty much the same people here as there. But Bucky had died from the fall from the train and Sam and Dean were not part of the picture as far as she knew. And Clint wasn’t married.

He’d gone on a mission to Vegas once and drunkenly married his mission partner while there. But he and Bobbi Morse only worked as long as they were both drunk, so they divorced within 3 months of mission end. And Fury had brought in Clint. There had been no agent named Phil Coulson.

She listened to these men talking about Clint’s wife and kids. Laura sounded like an absolute saint and the Natasha here had absolutely adored her. Natasha had been aunt to all three of the kids, the youngest even named after her. It blew her mind.

She heard about how the Winchesters had shown up on the Avengers’ radar, how Sam had been dying, but a chance circumstance of Bruce helping out a fellow doctor at that very hospital when Sam had been brought in had changed all their fates. She learned about SHIELD falling before Thanos appearing.

“Black Panther?” She asked in confusion.

“From Wakanda,” Bruce said around a piece of toast.

“They were still a third-world country closed to the world when Thanos showed the first time.” She popped a cube of honeydew into her mouth as Bucky snorted.

“Wakanda is where vibranium comes from,” he said, crunching on bacon.

“Princess Shuri, hell, all of them, it seems like,” Dean saluted Bucky with his coffee cup, “are smart as hell. They helped deprogram Bucky and gave him his arm upgrade.”

She looked more closely at Bucky’s arm and let the information settle into place.

“We were working on getting the stones using the quantum Time Machine,”She continued. “Clint and I were battling it out on Vormir, but my foot slipped on some scree and he…went first.” She swallowed, then picked up her tea mug to drink it down and collect herself.

“From what he told us when he returned,” Bruce said softly, “you fought really hard to not let him win because he had a family to get back to. Guess he didn’t have that here.” She nodded.

“So everyone on the team here made it back except me?”

“We had a few extra helpers from the hunters and some of their supernatural friends.” Bucky shrugged and she nodded again.

“Clint died for the soul stone. And we never got the mind stone back from Ultron.” She shifted her fork around in what remained of the fruit in her bowl. “So when he came back and did the next snap, it was the end of us.” She swallowed sharply and grimaced. “He snapped himself and the glove away too, so there was no way to fix it.”

“How many…?” Bruce asked. She looked up and met his eyes.

“99.9% of the population on earth,” she replied. “Just me and few octogenarians who didn’t live long after. Most of them took their own lives. I couldn’t find anyone else and no one was responding to my beacon into space.”

“Damn,” Bucky said, letting the plate clatter, still partially filled, back to the island.

“The rift?” Sam asked, leaning into her, grounding her.

“I…was getting low,” she shrugged, glancing at Bruce, who seemed to understand. “Then I swore I saw…never mind. This rift just sizzled in front of me. I figured if it was going to kill me, it’d probably be faster than bleeding out on that mountainside observatory that was crumbling around me.”

“Wait,” Dean frowned. “What did you think you saw?”

She looked up and realized both Sam and Dean were looking at her intently.

“It’s crazy, but for a moment, it looked like an accountant wearing a trench coat and a teenaged boy.” She shook her head, but stopped as Sam gasped.

“Dean?”

“Could it be?” Dean responded.

“He said he wasn’t going to intervene anymore,” Sam rushed out.

“But if Cas was with him, maybe he found a loophole to get her here?” Dean’s eyes were wide. Bruce and Bucky were both leaning forward.

“You think Jack…?” Bruce added.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean huffed.

Chapter Text

A fallen angel and the ‘new’ God. 

Sam had given a short explanation of who Cas and Jack were, and Natasha didn’t really believe them until Dean showed her a picture of the four of them before they took Chuck down. Her breath was ripped away as she recognized the man and boy who had flashed before the rift had opened. It had been only for a second, but she’d never forget their sad smiles.

She’d spent a long time after stepping through that first rift, looking for somewhere she could belong, where Clint was alive and would allow her in his life. She had gone over those faces in her mind while she hid in abandoned buildings, while she stalked the vents in Stark tower. In most of the worlds she had crossed, the Avengers either never came together, or she’d never become part of the team, so she wasn’t trusted. It was her place that had been eliminated in all of them, in one way or another.

She’d looked for Clint in every world, no matter how bad it was, but he either hadn’t survived, had become an evil, narcissistic version of the person she’d known, or had never existed, that she could find. She’d tried twice with the evil versions. In the end, she couldn’t stay after she’d had to kill him. After her near breakdown the second time, she hadn’t come across that version again.

In some, he was a blurb in a newspaper as a child victim in a vehicle accident involving his entire family. In a few, he had survived the first snap, but had died as a vigilante in Asia somewhere. In none of them was he happily married with kids.

From what she understood from Sam and Dean, Jack was the half-angel son they had adopted, who had become the new God after Chuck, the original God, got bored and started destroying all of creation. But Jack had said he wouldn’t intervene ever again. Sam and Dean conjected that he’d rescued Cas from somewhere called The Empty and they were working together to move worthy and lost souls around.

This actually hurt her deeply as she thought of all that implied. That they were helping souls that were ‘worthy’ of being saved, that she was one of them. Lost, sure. She’d been on the brink of ending her own life as there was nothing left for her, for the earth. But she certainly didn’t deem herself worthy. Clint, certainly. Bruce, Steve, Sam, any of them. Except her.

But perhaps she’d finally cleared the red in her ledger. The Natasha in this world had given her soul, her everything, to save the others, to save the universe. Across the worlds she’d traveled, she’d done what good she could.

Bucky had been the one who didn’t pull any punches and had laid out what had happened on this world. Sam had been hesitant in filling in too many details, as had Bruce, and Dean had let Sam take the lead.

Bucky, however, had mainly known her as the cold, Red Room assassin here. They’d been friends of a sort, according to Bruce, after he’d been found and de-programmed. But she’d never met him in her world and hadn’t known to look for him on the worlds in between. Turned out, he was a brainwashed assassin like Clint had been, on a different scale. He’d been Steve’s best friend and had taken up with Sam Wilson, who was apparently the new Captain America here.

Bucky laid it out plainly, staying just out of reach, but close enough that she could react if she wanted. Not that she was planning to throw punches. He offered to let her if she needed it. He said he was the one here who could take the most damage.

But she was tired of fighting. She was tired of running and punching and stabbing. Before she knew it, it was truly sinking in and she was shaking, which made Bucky distinctly uncomfortable, so he slid away and let her decide if who would she rather take his place next to her.

She looked at both Bruce and Sam, who patiently waited for her to indicate one of them. Bruce, familiar, quiet, nervous. Sam, new, but somehow comfortable and steady. Her fingers flexed towards Sam semi-consicously. Bruce smiled and nodded, backing away to follow Bucky and Dean out of the kitchen. And Sam, he just slid quietly over and wrapped his arms around her after she’d tucked herself against him.

“What do you need?” He asked. When she looked up at him in confusion, he tilted his head. “A walk outside? We’re pretty far from everywhere and there’s nothing to worry about nearby. The bunker is literally warded to keep out nearly everything and the area around it has a spell that deters people from finding it unless they already know it’s here.”

Her forehead furrowed.

“Or we can go to the gym or the firing range. I know you…’Tasha and Clint always found peace in training. Or the garage if you’re more mechanically inclined than…she was. Or we can go back to the room and I’ll keep watch while you get some more sleep.”

He ran a gentle hand up her arm and let her lay her forehead against his chest, where she shook a little longer.

“Outside,” she whispered as he nodded against her hair.

“I promise we’ll be okay,” he offered, as he rose up and helped her up. The braid she had done herself earlier was still nice and together, so he gently pulled the end of it. Like Clint used to do.

A tear escaped.

Chapter Text

Outside the bunker, the sun was just coming up, but it was still cool enough feel the coming fall. Natasha was grateful for the oversized Stanford hoodie Sam had given her before they opened the big, metal door. She hugged herself as she listened to it clang shut and tried not to freak out about how she suddenly felt she was trapped.

Inside the bunker, she’d been comforted, cared for; felt safter than she’d been in a long time.  Out here, she remembered all the running, hiding, dodging she’d done on other worlds. Her eyes darted around nervously, taking in what she could, but it was overwhelming. She had done it for so long that she didn’t want to do it anymore. She closed her eyes and turned to head back inside, bumping forehead first into Sam’s chest.

His arms tentatively came up and wrapped around her. She stiffened, then relaxed into his warmth, noting that he wasn’t trapping her in his arms, more surrounding her. She turned her head, unable to fight the urge to keep watch. Once her cheek laid against his chest, she could hear his heartbeat. It was steady and strong.  She could feel her own pattering erratically and realized she was also holding her breath.

“You’re okay,” Sam said gently, rubbing one hand down her back. “You’re safe here.”

She stuttered a breath in and then out. Then again and again until her own heartbeat slowed to match his, her breathing less harsh. He kept his hand moving slowly, the other one nice and steady. She let her eyes fall closed and just breathed.

She was surrounded by Sam and it felt better than good. It was safe. Like Clint, his presence was comforting, safe. Clint had always also been ‘home’. And she had been his. But here, Clint had an actual home. He had a wife and kids. She wouldn’t mean the same to him. She blinked as she felt her heartrate pick up again and her eyes prickled.

“Hey,” Sam said, wrapping her tighter. She could still get out of his hold. Knowing that he knew it too made her eyes prickle more, but her heart settled again. “Are you spiraling?”

She looked up at him with an arched eyebrow.

“You read minds too?”

He shrugged.

“Nah, just been where you are a few times.” He snorted. “Not in the exact same set of circumstances, but being lost and blaming yourself and worrying about everything and your place in it.  That’s familiar territory.”

“Thank you.” She took a deep breath and squeezed against him once more before stepping back.

He let her ease away, keeping his arms up in case she changed her mind. Once she smiled, he returned it and let one arm fall. She looked down where he still held it out towards her.

“Just a friendly hand to ground you,” he offered. “You keep one hand free for your weapons and other will be loose enough to use it as you need. But it’ll help stop the spiraling.” She saw him blush. “And once upon a time, I couldn’t tell what was real and touch really helped.”

She looked down where his open was palm up and reached out to lay her own in it, seeing how much larger his hand was. He waited for her to curl her fingers first before he curled his around hers. He smiled and then squeezed her hand in understanding.

Now that she wasn’t panicking, she was able to look around more.

They were currently standing on a gravel road that extended in only one direction. It was surrounded by woods, with a path coming from a sparse stand of trees, where she could see a quinjet parked amongst the detritus.

“The spell extends pretty far,” Sam told her, nodding towards the quinjet. “And this part of the road is a dead end off a service road, so no one really, accidentally or not, comes this way.” He gestured down to where the road turned around a bend further down, hiding them from the other part of the road. “And that…,” he said, turning to point over his shoulder with a grin, “is mostly hidden by the trees, even from above.”

They both turned so she could get a better look. She thought he was just pointing at the bunker entrance, but blinked as she realized there was a huge, old building on top of the entrance. She looked up and took in what looked like a ‘40s or ‘50s era manufacturing plant.  It looked to be three stories above ground and maybe only Sam and Dean knew how many underground. With the disused, ivy-covered smokestacks on top, it appeared abandoned. 

“Three stories up,” Sam gestured, “and three down. That we’ve discovered.” She turned to smirk at him.

“Are you really not psychic?”

He blushed.

“Um, I used to be,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “But that ended a long time ago and I prefer not to talk about it, if you don’t mind.” He glanced at her nervously.

“Okay,” She reassured him. “Not sure I’ll be ready for anything serious.” As soon as she said it, she heard Clint cackling in her head and rolled her eyes, catching the understanding smile from Sam. “I meant anything heavy. It’s…it’s just been a lot.”

“Don’t even think about anything but finding yourself right now.” Sam sighed and gently tugged her so they’d begin strolling. “I run this area most mornings, so it’s really safe.”

She didn’t say anything as she kept pace with him and let herself just listen and think.

“When you’re ready, if you want, we’ll contact Laura to set up a time for us to go to the farm.”

Natasha knew about the old farmstead that Clint had bought under a fake name. He’d refurbished it as a final safehouse once he’d joined SHIELD. As far as she knew, she was the only person apart from Clint himself who knew about it. Here, he lived there openly with his wife and children.

“We haven’t talked to Laura yet,” he told her, looking down at his feet as they walked. “We wanted to make sure you still wanted to find Clint before we got his hopes up. I mean, you understand that you’d become part of his entire family, Natasha. Not just you and Clint. You’d have to accept Laura and the kids too.”

They continued their stroll in quiet after that, letting Natasha consider everything she’d learned. Sam let her pick the pace but continued to guide her along his jogging path, subtly turning them so they looped around. By the time they’d arrived back at the bunker, the sun had passed high overhead. They paused below the old building.

“I’d like to meet his family,” Natasha rasped. “Even if it’s to say I’ve met them and leave.” Sam turned and held both of her arms gently, prompting her to look up at him. He searched her eyes, for what, she wasn’t sure, but she let him look his fill. He nodded finally.

“Okay,” he said, “Let’s go in and talk to the guys. See if we can talk to Laura and set something up.” He waited for her to nod at him, then turned to head inside, still holding her hand.

Chapter Text

On the quinjet, Sam and Bruce had shared photos of Laura and the kids, as well as the farm. There were animals too. She could see a lot of Clint in all of the kids, especially the girl, Lila. Sam shared that she was into archery and seemed to have her dad’s far-sightedness and ability to aim. Cooper, the oldest, was a studious boy, apparently his mother’s son. And Nathaniel was named after this world’s Natasha and Pietro and had turned out to be a hyperactive little boy, like his middle namesake.

They had called Laura before they left, asked to talk to her alone and in private first. She’d found an excuse to send Clint and the kids off the farm on an errand, then called them back on video.

She’d burst into tears when Natasha had finally moved into camera range. They’d told her the basics, but she still covered her mouth as she’d sobbed, then apologized for breaking down. It had taken a bit for her to pull herself together, but she refused to go off camera, not taking her eyes off Natasha.

“I can’t believe it,” Laura said, smiling through her tears. “You look just like her. But I can tell you’re not her.”

“No,” Natasha said. “I’m not. And I don’t think I can replace her.”

Laura laughed and rubbed at her red and swollen eyes.

“Oh, sweetie,” she chuckled. “You won’t replace her. But if you’re anything like her, we’re happy to meet you as her twin sister.”

Natasha struggled to keep herself from crying as well and did a good job, or so she thought. When Sam slipped an arm around her shoulders, she realized her face was wet.

“It’s a great idea, Laura,” Bruce said. “Cooper and Lila will probably guess it’s not true, but Nate would buy it, I think.” 

“I’ve got to catch Clint before they get home!” Laura frantically grabbed her phone and began to dial. “He needs to meet you before we introduce you to the kids.” As the phone rang, she pressed a button on the computer she was using to video chat with the jet and the ‘mute’ icon popped up. 

Sam used sign language to let Laura know their estimated time of arrival. She nodded and held up her finger to tell them to wait, to not log off the videochat yet.

“Hey honey,” Laura said. She took a deep breath, looking at Natasha. “I have a huge, like Hulk sized favor to ask.” She winked at Bruce and turned to pace away from the computer, her phone to her ear.

“How are you holding up?” Bruce asked Natasha while they let Clint and Laura talk. Natasha could hear the woman, Laura, explaining that there was a surprise coming, so the kids needed to stay at the park for a few hours. Natasha swiped at her eyes.

“It’s happening,” she said. “After everything…it’s…coming to an end, right?” Bruce smiled at her softly.

“Looks like it,” he replied. “But remember, we’ll be there to support you, okay? No matter what happens.”

Natasha tensed. It’s not like she didn’t know her fairytale ending could still implode. 

“No matter what,” Bucky echoed from the pilot seat.

Sam squeezed her gently.

“Okay,” Laura said as soon as she unmuted. “The kids are staying behind at the park ostensibly to help Ms. Bonnevant with her groceries and some other errands. She lives down the road, so the kids will walk home from her house once everything is settled. It’ll give us a few hours.” She paused for a deep breath. “Clint is on his way back and will be here in about 15 minutes. I need to brief him.”

She smiled at Natasha, who nodded.

“Want one of us there to help break the news?” Sam asked and Laura seemed to release a little tension.

“Yes, please.” She grimaced, looking between them. “Bruce?”

Bruce shared a look with Sam before he nodded. 

“Of course.”

“We are landing in just a few minutes,” Bucky said from the cockpit. “Bruce needs to head up to the farm and I’ll stay by the quinjet. Should get him to go to the farm first.”

Sam agreed and relayed the info to Laura as Bucky began slowing for descent.

*****

“Bruce!” Clint was all smiles as he hopped out of the SUV with the insulated bag hanging off his arm.

On the porch, Bruce and Laura stood up from where they had been sitting on the steps talking.

Bucky crouched at the base of the open ramp and relayed what he could see to Sam and Natasha inside.

“Well, they’re talkin’,” Bucky said quietly. “I think they’re tellin’ him, because he’s gone all secret agent still.” There was a pause and then Clint’s head swiveled to look at the quinjet. Dusk was hours from setting in, so Bucky could clearly see the frantic look on the archer’s face. “Aaaaand, he’s lookin’ this way.”

“You can do this,” Sam said, pulling his arm from her shoulders and then taking her hand to squeeze it.

She nodded, trying to wipe the fear from her face. He was right behind her as she stepped down the ramp.  She passed Bucky, but her eyes were only for Clint, who had caught sight of her and was stumbling in his hurry.

“Nat?” Clint called out and then broke into a run.

Sam squeezed her hand and then let go. As she felt unmoored from him, she felt the pull from the man coming towards her and moved to meet him. He didn’t stop, but slammed into her, wrapping his arms around her.

She could feel him repeating his favorite nickname for her in Russian, so she replied with her usual Russian endearment for him and they both crumbled to their knees, sobbing.

“How?” He asked after what felt like forever to her. She was drained.  It still wasn’t dark around them though.

“Let’s go to the house so we can get more comfortable and talk,” Laura said from nearby. Natasha didn’t want to look away from Clint, but she could tell the others were all nearby, hovering.

“Clint,” Sam spoke up. “Jack and Cas found her and guided her here.”

Clint knelt up with his hands on holding her face, so he could look at her intensely. His own cheeks were wet, but his smile wouldn’t diminish.

“Dean stayed behind to see if he can get in contact,” Sam continued.

“Clint,” Natasha sobbed, realizing that it was really happening. He was looking at her like she mattered. Like he’d already decided she was now part of his family. “I’m not her,” she told him and curled in on herself. She felt his arms go around her shoulders as he, in turn, curled around her in a protective, encompassing gesture.

“I don’t care, Nat.” His voice wobbled. “You’re here and I’m sorry for whatever you had to go through to get here, but you’re here! I don’t give a shit about the rest.”

“I was ready to go,” she said quietly as he helped her stand. Sam slipped in on her open side, with Laura on Clint’s open side. Bruce and Bucky fell behind them, completely the protective detail that brought them up the steps into the house.  They paused at the door, Laura and Sam going ahead to the kitchen to make coffee and tea.

“I was too, after Laura and kids disappeared,” he said, leading her to the long wooden table they used for meals. “But you gave me hope. You brought me back, then died to bring them back to me.”

“I don’t want to…I can’t…replace her,” she said shakily. She could hear the others moving around the space, giving her a sense of privacy with Clint, while being close and supportive.

“She’s irreplaceable,” Clint said, shaking his head. “But I’m pretty damn sure you are too. Are you sure you won’t be missed on your world?”

She looked down at where their hands were clutched together on the tabletop and swallowed.

“No one left to miss me there,” she finally whispered. She was surprised, but not, as he gathered her in his arms again, this time, holding the back of her head gently.

“Then stay here,” he whispered into her hair. “Let us be your home.”

“You can take Nat’s room,” Laura said from where she’d come up with a mug of coffee for Clint. “Or one of the other spare rooms that the others usually use when they visit. The kids would be absolutely thrilled to have Auntie Nat’s twin sister move in.”

“Or you can have your own space at the bunker,” Sam said, setting a steaming tea in front of Natasha. “Dean can fix up whatever car you want from the garage.”

“Or,” Bruce said, “Coulson has room on the new base that he’d share with you if you offer to help evaluate the new SWORD agents.”

“And he wouldn’t make you go out and fight,” Bucky added.

Natasha looked around at them all and laughed as happier tears flowed.