The Life That Pietro Saved

1.5

Pietro set the bags on the table with a sigh, putting the perishables in the fridge. Peter sprawled out on the couch, tossing off the hoodie.

He panted slightly, his arms on fire and his back was killing him. He needed to go lie down. Unfortunately, with a four year old, that's hardly ever an option.

"Do you take nap?" Pietro asked, rubbing his back.

"Yeah."

"Around what time?"

"After lunch."

Pietro glanced at the clock. It was about twelve.

"What do you want for lunch?"

"Uh, macaroni and cheese?"

He made the craft microwaveable cup because he couldn't reach the stove to make it in the pot.

In five minutes, he had lunch on the table for Peter.

Peter ate in silence. Pietro yawned, excruciatingly tired from the trip and in a lot of pain. Hopefully Clint would come back soon. It was supposed to be an in and out mission.

Peter finished, tossing his disposable cup in the trash and spoon in the sink.

"Okay, you take nap now."

"Yeah." Peter trotted down the hall, into his room.

Pietro followed slower, breathing heavily. God, he wasn't cut out for this.

"Will you stay until I fall asleep?" Peter dove under the covers.

"Sure, kiddo."

Pietro sat quietly, waiting until he hear soft snores to move.

He slid on Clint's hoodie, struggling to get himself up onto the bed. Pain erupted in his back, causing him to moan in agony. The bullet had ripped muscles, broken his spine and severed most of the nerves in his spinal cord. He was a mess. Six months couldn't heal the wound. He wondered if the pain would ever go away.

He pulled the covers over himself, closing his eyes and willing the nightmares away and willing Peter to sleep for a while so he could rest.

Gunfire.

Innocent people screaming.

He felt his skin itch to run. He couldn't let Clint and that young boy die.

The plane approached, the gun sounding louder.

He bolted, barely feeling the bullets rip through his body. Suddenly, he couldn't run anymore. He felt his breathing get harder and more labored as he panted.

"Y-you didn't see that coming."

His vision grew fuzzy as he fell against the ground. He felt the weight of his injuries, the holes pierced in his body. He barely saw Clint kneel before him, yelling his name. Yelling for help.

He wanted to tell him everything was okay, but he was overcome by darkness.

When he opened his eyes, he was on the helicarrier. He didn't remember exactly what was said, but Clint spoke with him. He remembered the feeling of the blood in his lungs, the inability to hug Clint. God, all he wanted to do after he woke was cuddle with Clint and cry. But his arms were too heavy. He remembered choking on blood, screaming when the medical team moved him, and then darkness.

"Pietro, honey? Baby, wake up. We're back."

Pietro's eyes fluttered open to see Clint before him. He felt tears staining his cheeks tasted a bit of blood from where he must've bit his lip.

"Clint?" He mumbled, trying to sit despite the intense pain.

Clint sat him up, nodding. "We got back early."

Pietro's eyes burned as he wrapped his arms around Clint. "I missed you. I missed you so much."

Clint supported him, holding him close. "It's okay. I'm here now. You're okay."

Pietro cried into Clint's uniform. He shook, blue energy radiating off of him.

"Shh, shh. It's okay. I'm here. I'm here now. I'm safe. You're safe."

"T-this is not fair to you." Pietro pulled back. "You go out there, saving people, and you come home, and you must be so tired, but then you have to help me fucking sit up. How is this fair to you?"

"It's because I love you." Clint ran his hand through Pietro's hair. "I love you, and I don't care that you need my help."

Clint pressed his lips against Pietro's, soft and gentle. There wasn't tongue or groping, it was a sweet and blissful kiss, not hot and steamy. It was therapeutic.

"What is the time?" Pietro asked quietly.

"Seven forty two in the evening."

"Poor Peter." Pietro was overcome with guilt.

"No, he's fine. He said when he woke up from his nap that you were sleeping and he didn't want to wake you up, so he just watched TV. He also said something about shopping?"

"Yes, since the team ate most of food before mission, we had to go shopping because we did not know how long you would be gone."

"You called a cab?"

"No..."

"Aww, Pietro..." Clint sighed. "You're gonna be so sore."

"Yes." He nodded. "How was mission?"

"Easy. In and out." Clint rubbed Pietro's back the way the therapist had shown him to help with the muscle cramps.

"How was Peter?"

"Tiring."

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault."

"Yeah, it is. You're like this because of me."

"That is untrue. I made decision. I choose to be hurt rather than you." Pietro swallowed. "I would do it again in heartbeat, too."

Clint held Pietro's hand, caressing it softly. The archer lifted his skinny, almost weightless boyfriend in his arms.

"Clint...you must be tired. Set me down, I am okay." Pietro looked up at him.

"Okay." Clint knew he wouldn't win this argument.

Pietro hardly kept up with Clint's slow pace. Peter had gone to bed, the team was stretched across the couches.

Tony sat on Steve's lap, saying something before kissing him roughly.

Bruce was flirting with Natasha, who seemed pretty into it. Sam and Rhodey were also talking about something that Pietro didn't understand.

Clint sat on the couch, pulling Pietro up onto the couch. He whimpered quietly, trying not to notice the subtle stares of pity from his peers.

Clint just played with his hair gently, pressing his lips to the back of Pietro's neck. "It's okay, baby." He whispered.

Wanda embraced Pietro loosely. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too." Pietro gave a small smile.

Clint hoisted Pietro further onto his lap, wrapping his arms around Pietro's waist.