"๐๐ข๐ฎ๐ข!" Pain ripples through my chest as all the air leaves my lungs. "Mama, please!"
Natasha grips my wrist, yanking me back into the safety of her body heat. "Don't, y/n. Please." Her voice is scratchy, I can hear the fear. See it in her wide, wet eyes.
My hand finds Yelena's, Natasha pulling our sister to her side while mama is lifted upon a stretcher and packed into a transport truck.
"Mama." I cry, I feel tears trickle down my warm cheeks. Tiny knuckles turn white, my fist clutches the white and yellow shirt Natasha wears. Her hand rubs up and down my back, the other occupied with calming Yelena.
"Mom's getting help." She assures me. A sob catches in my throat. "I want mama."
My big sister, brave as they come, is crying. Her salty tear lands atop my head. "I know. But she needs to see doctors, ok? We'll... we'll see her soon. ๐ ๐ฑ๐ณ๐ฐ๐ฎ๐ช๐ด๐ฆ."
A force I can't compete with pulls me from Natasha's embrace. Beginning to scream, I claw and kick at the big person. "No! No, please! Daddy! Daddy help me!"
Daddy whips his head around, takes in the big man carrying me away, and calmly looks back to the older person he was talking with.
"Let go of her!" Natasha tugs Yelena away from someone in black military gear trying to grab her too. Sprinting to my side, she kicks the big person in the wrist, he yelps and I feel his arm go limp around me. Easily, I slide from his hold, landing on the hot concrete.
I'm shaking. I can see my hand moving back and forth on the ground that seems like it's pulsing. Even with my vision blurring, my continuing sobs getting more violent, I can see, though not hear, Natasha standing in front of me and Yelena. She holds in her hand some sort of black shape. Like a gun from those cop shows on TV that daddy watches when he gets home from work.
Her mouth moves, lips forming words that cause other people in black clothing to back away.
Still quaking, I sit back, knees digging further into the scratchy ground. A familiar warmth gathers there.
Blood trickles down my torn skin, pooling around me.
I plant my hands in front of me and stand, bloody palms leaving perfect handprints behind.
The moment I get my bearings, a cold needle sinks into the soft flesh of my neck.