Chapter Text
It was a scorching summer day, you had been out with some friends. The skies were clear and there was a slight breeze, but it only blew hot air. You remember how much you had laughed earlier in the day. There was a carefree atmosphere surrounding the day. At least until you got home.
You found her in the kitchen; your mother. Blood all over the floor, her body riddled with stab wounds. She wasn't the only thing you found. The killer was still in the house.
There was a struggle, you fought. He was bigger, stronger, and armed with a knife. You weren’t going out that easily. When he noticed your tenacity, you believe he decided to flee. Not without making one last effort to ruin your life.
He stabbed you in the gut, then fled leaving the knife in your stomach. Unfortunately for you, when you pulled the knife from your stomach, the police were barging into your house. From their perspective it looked like you killed your mother.
You maintained your innocence, but your story sounded farfetched. You had an alibi for the morning, but they argued that you had time to kill her when you got home. During the trial, they decided to charge you as an adult even though you were only 16. The court appointed lawyer wasn’t on your side, telling you to take a plea deal. You refused, and were found guilty of the murder of your mother. You were sentenced to 45 years in prison.
The case was famous. A lot of people thought your story was ridiculous. Some saying you had made a mockery of the trail, by saying some random man came in. Others, who knew you personally, refused to believe that you would do anything like that.
None of that mattered. Only two things were relevant. The first being that you were innocent and the second being that you were going to prison anyway.
While you’re in prison, you do a lot of thinking. There’s not much else to do. Your mother, your friends, your education, and your future; gone forever.
The years before you turned 18 were the worst of it. When you’re that young amongst the inmates you become a target. You had to learn to be strong, seem imposing, so that no one would fuck with you.
You were spending your formative years, trying not to die. At first you didn’t understand why. What was the point of living if this was your life? That was until you had your first visitation.
Kate had come to see you and she brought Peter with her. They had been with you that day your mother was murdered. The pair was certain that you were innocent. They always visited, always wrote, and swore that one day they would get you out. You appreciated the sentiment, but part of you had just accepted your fate.
A decade passes you in prison. You got your GED through a program. You spent most of your time reading or working out. There wasn't anyone you had gotten close to or mingled with. Everyone knew not to bother you at this point.
“Y/n, visitation time,” a guard calls into your cell.
You sigh, but get up and follow the officer out of your cell. When you get to the room you spot Peter and Kate instantly. However, they have someone else with them.
A beautiful woman. Her red hair was tied back in a pony tail, a few pieces stuck out to frame her face. Her green eyes were only soft in color, otherwise the stare they had felt meticulous.
You sit down with your friends and the stranger, “You brought a lawyer.”
“Y/n, this is Natasha,” Kate introduces.
The woman sticks her hand out and you shake it respectfully. The name sounds familiar to you, but you don’t place it immediately.
“Your girlfriend’s sister?” You recall that Kate’s mentioned her name in letters before.
“Natasha’s also one of the best lawyers of our time,” Peter says cautiously.
It’s been 10 years, they know how you feel about this. You hate that you made yourself a part of their life in this way. Something they refuse to let go of that only holds them back. You’re never getting out of here.
“I’ve looked over all the public details of your case and I’m certain that I can get you out,” Natasha speaks flatly.
“But…” You wait for the punchline.
“Did you kill your mother?”
Peter and Kate’s jaws drop. The audacity of Natasha to ask you this question. It almost sends them both into a frenzy. You can see the argument building on their lips.
You give them a look, and the theatrics stop. You shift your gaze over to Natasha. Your eyes bore into hers. For a small moment, you let the prisoner persona drip off of you. Once again, you’re that 16-year-old standing in the courtroom.
“No,” it’s a whisper from your lips. “I didn’t kill my mom.”
Natasha nods curtly, “Do you agree to have me as your lawyer?”
“Yes.”
Natasha stands, “Good, you sit tight and you’ll be out in no time.”
“Natasha,” you say her name before she walks off, “Thank you.”
She sends you a very small smile before exiting the visitation area.
“You’re going to be a free woman soon Y/n,” Kate says with certainty.
You shake your head, “I told you guys-”
Peter cuts you off, “We know, but Y/n we won't let you rot in here any longer. 10 years of your life wasted. You had dreams and aspirations.”
“You still draw on all the letters you send. Remember you were supposed to be an artist? Your paintings in galleries all over the world,” Kate reaches across the table to grab your hand.
“Even if I did get out of here, I don't know what I would do. You guys, I have nothing to my name, except a murder charge,” you keep your gaze on the table.
“You have us,” Peter says with conviction in his voice.
Kate squeezes your hand, “Y/n, we’ve been waiting for you to come home for a long time. Everything is going to be handled, you just have to trust us.”
“Time’s up.”
Before the guard drags you out, Peter and Kate give you a brief group hug. The guard allows it and you break the hug.
“I trust you,” you tell them before walking back to your jail cell.
The rest of the day passes by normally. The following morning when your cell opens, your bunk mate is pulled out.
You don't think anything of it as it's not your business.
However they never make it back. Instead a blonde woman you haven’t seen before comes in. Her hair is wavy and parted to the side. She has brown eyes, too kind looking to be in a prison.
The cell door slams behind her.
“I’m Carol,” she has no hesitation approaching you.
“Y/n,” you state definitively.
She pulls a paper out of the front of her jumpsuit and extends it to you. You stare at her blankly. She shakes the paper out, “This is from the boss.”
You shake your head, “Listen I've been in here 10 years, I’m not joining some gang. I can take care of myself.”
Carol lets out an amused huff of air, “You met her wife yesterday.”
You furrow your brow, “Natasha?”
Carol nods.
You cautiously take the paper from her. It’s a hand written note.
Dear Y/n,
We haven’t met yet, but I know who you are. Peter and Kate speak fondly of you. They miss you. Beyond that they are convinced of your innocence. Their words are pure to me. I’ve known them a long time, they’re family. They’ve never asked me for anything, in all these years. Yet, they come to me asking if I could help free you. I plan on making good on this favor for them. I could’ve had you out today, if they let me throw my weight around a bit, but they wanted this to be clean. My wife is the best lawyer walking this planet. Don’t just expect your freedom, but expect some compensation for wrongful imprisonment. If you’re family to Kate and Peter, then you’re family to me. I look forward to breaking bread with you.
~ Don W. Maximoff
You read over the signature a few times. Don W. Maximoff. Your hands shake a little. In the 10 years that you spent in this prison hearing about the Don was inevitable. The name is feared by most. It’s the kind of name you only whisper and even then, it’s dangerous.
“Don’t shake so much kid, you’re under protection from now on. You don’t realize it yet, but life is much better with the Don on your side. Even in here,” Carol hand clasps onto your shoulder.
All you can do is nod. Her hand comes off of you and she retreats into the top bunk.
You lay down on your back, staring straight up at the bottom mattress of the top bunk bed. A million thoughts racing through your head, but one sticks out.
“Carol,” you call out to her.
“Yeah,” she hums in response.
“Do I write back?”