The Life That Pietro Saved

2.0

Clint sat with Pietro sprawled across him later that night, talking with Tony about strategy.

He was drinking red wine, Pietro was admiring his perfect lips, stained a light red by the drink as they curved around the edge of the glass.

There was a brief, comfortable silence.

"Let me try that." Pietro grabbed at the wine glass.

"Sorry, honey, but you're not old enough." Clint kissed his cheek.

"I am not kid, I am over eighteen. Why am I no old enough?" He huffed.

"You've gotta be twenty one in America, babe." Clint put his arm around Pietro's waist.

"That is stupid rule." Pietro pouted.

"Yeah, but even then, I don't think you're supposed to drink with your meds."

Pietro sighed, shifting his weight. He knew Clint was right.

Tony, who was drinking scotch, refilled his glass, watching quietly with a small smirk on his face.

Pietro pulled Clint in for a kiss.

"Mm. So it does taste good." Pietro grinned.

"Sly bastard." Clint shook his head, chuckling slightly.

Steve, who had fallen asleep on the smaller couch next to Tony, woke up with a confused expression.

He yawned, placing his hand on Tony's thigh. "I'm goin' to bed. You coming, dear?"

"No, I'll be there in a little while." Tony's speech was slightly slurred as he downed more alcohol.

"Okay. I love you. Don't stay up too late." He kissed him quickly.

"Love you too, babe." Tony smiled widely, completely hammered.

"'Night, guys." Steve shuffled off to bed with a long sigh.

Pietro yawned as if on cue.

"You tired, honey?" Clint brushed the hair from Pietro's eyes.

Pietro's half lidded blue eyes stared lazily back at him, a small smirk still painted across his cheeks.

He nodded, scooting over Clint with a soft noise. He rested there for a minute, kissing Clint's upper cheek. He straightened his arms, pushing himself up. Clint put a hand on his back, ready to grab him.

"Here, just let me-"

Pietro dismissed him with a wave. "I can do it myself."

He moved into the position they taught him, preparing to shift from the couch to the seat. It was all going to plan, until it wasn't. He slipped, falling to the ground with a yelp. His back felt as though he had been stabbed. Tears of pain and embarrassment pricked his eyes. He cursed, slapped Clint's hand away.

Tony laughed loudly.

A moment of silence passed before the eruption.

"You think this is funny?! You think this is fucking funny?!" Pietro felt his cheeks wet with tears. "This hurts, Tony! It hurts and I cannot move properly and I cannot fucking stand up! I need assistance to all of the time! I am helpless and scared! I am in pain every second of every day and you think this is funny?!" He sniffed, shoving the wheelchair away in a fit of rage and overwhelming sadness. "It is not funny, Stark." His voice cracked. "It is pathetic. I am pathetic. I cannot even get up off floor."

Tony sobered up quickly. "Shit, I'm sorry."

"Save it, asshole. You've done enough." Clint barked at him.

Peter stumbled down the hall. "Why is everyone yelling?"

"Get back to bed, kiddo." Pietro choked out.

Clint knelt down to pick up the younger man.

Peter watched from the hallway with curious eyes.

"Net! Net, not help me!" Pietro cried when Clint tried to help him. "Please, do not help me!"

"Pietro, I have to."  Clint pulled his arms around his broken partner, shooting a glare at Tony.

"No!" He cried, accent thick. "No." He whined.

"Shh, shh, honey. Shh. It's okay. It's okay now." Clint held Pietro close, walking towards the bedroom.

"No. I n-not okay. I-it hurts. I cannot deal with this anymore." Pietro sobbed into Clint's shoulder.

"We'll get through this, I promise." He set him on the bed, grabbing the hem of his shirt.

"I-I sleep with shirt on." He shook.

"Okay, baby. Okay." Clint laid him down, pulling the covers over him. "I need to go get your chair."

"I no want to see that damn thing ever again."

"You'll change your mind in the morning when you yell at me from trying to help you out of bed."

"Okay, get it."

Peter was in the living room, talking with Tony.

"So you accidentally hurt Pietro's feelings?"

"Yeah, basically. And it hurt him because he's been through some rough stuff lately."

"Oh."

"Did you tell him what you actually did, Tony?" Clint scoffed.

"Stay out of this, Clint."

"Fuck you." He spat with venom in his voice.

He grabbed Pietro's chair, glaring at Tony before stalking off to the bedroom.

He set it down, climbing into bed with his boyfriend.

"You can leave me, if you want." Pietro's russian accent was quiet.

"What?"

"You do not have to be with me if it is too much hassle."

"It's not a hassle, baby. I love you. You're still the same person I fell in love with before Sokovia. This isn't gonna change that." Clint touched Pietro's cheek softly.

"You are sure?" He looked fragile, fractured.

"I promise." He kissed Pietro's forehead.

He hugged his partner, feeling the warm tears soak into the shoulder of his shirt, stroking the silvery white hair.

"Shh, it's okay. You're okay. We're okay." He whispered, his breath hot in Pietro's ear.

He ran his hand softly up and down Pietro's back, fingers ghosting the exposed skin. He knew his boyfriend would hardly feel the touch, and moved his hand up, past mid back so the motions would come in strong and clear. He traced hearts, random shapes and figures, calming his other half down.

"I love you." Clint smiled.

"I love you, too."