The Life That Pietro Saved

3.5

It was Halloween. Clint roped Pietro into dressing up from the annual party.

"Meow." He spat sarcastically, adjusting the black cat ears that were attached to his headband.

"You look adorable." Clint kissed him.

"I look like idiot, Clint. I am dressed like a cat."

He glanced in the mirror. Black skinny jeans that were so hard to put on buttoned around his thin waist, then replaced by a long sleeve black shirt and, to top it all off, a black bow tie.

Clint drew whiskers on his cheeks, grinning like an idiot. He drew a black dot on the tip of his boyfriend's nose as a finishing touch.

"My turn." Pietro grabbed the marker and Clint knelt down, putting on the grey mouse ears.

He drew the whiskers, laughing. "This is so stupid." Pietro slid on black Vans.

"C'mon, honey. It'll be fun."

When they got down to the floor the party was on, music already pulsed trough the air and into the ground. Peter saw them and immediately ran up. He climbed onto Pietro's lap excitedly.

"I thought you guys wouldn't come." He hugged the Maximoff.

Pietro tensed as Peter hit a sore spot. "You think Clint would let me skip this?" He laughed.

Clint stuck his tongue out.

Pietro maneuvered through the crowd with Clint the best he could. He managed to avoid running over anyone's feet, but people failed to notice him and ran directly into his footrest a few times.

Eventually they were at one of the open bars and Clint ordered a drink, Peter climbing the barstool.

Pietro was still yet to be twenty one, but he still stole sips of Clint's drinks every now and then.

Pietro was making sure Peter got to the restroom okay when a man sauntered over and began to flirt with Clint.

Clint didn't notice at first, but then he started to give signs he didn't want to hook up. By the time Pietro returned, the man was nearly on top of Clint. Then he leaned in and kissed him. Not just a peck or anything, a forceful, makeout type kiss. Clint just seemed shocked.

"Hey! He is taken!" Pietro exclaimed, pushing the man but to no avail because of his weak trunk.

"Fuck off." The man muttered.

"S'cuse me?!" Clint snapped out of it and pushed the man away from him. "Don't talk to him like that!"

The guy was obviously hammered, now that Pietro could get a good look. He swayed on his feet. "What're you gonna do, twink?"

Pietro kept silent.

"Huh?! What're you gonna do?! He was enjoying that!" The man shoved Pietro.

Clint grabbed Pietro's shoulder before he could fall backward.

"No, I wasn't, asshole. Now scram before I put an arrow in you." Clint pushed the man's chest forcefully.

The man hauled off and decked Clint in the mouth, causing him to stumble back a few feet.

Pietro grabbed Peter and held him on his lap, shaking his head at Clint.

Clint looked to his boyfriend.

'Don't.' Pietro signed while verbally shushing Peter, who had gotten riled up.

Clint took a deep breath, walking away. The man continued to throw insults at the two as Pietro struggled to follow Clint.

"Clint!" Pietro hissed, reaching in front of him grab the hem of his boyfriend's shirt.

"Yeah?" Clint turned around.

"Slow down. I cannot keep up." He admitted bashfully.

"Sorry, babe." The archer pecked the speedster's lips.

"It is okay. Just go slower, yes?"

They resumed walking to the adjacent bar, where Clint sat on a barstool and Peter stood on Pietro's lap to pull his tiny self up onto a stool.

Clint ran his fingers through Pietro's white and brown hair, tracing over his lips where the assassin bent down to kiss the russian.

In a careful and spur of the moment plan, one of Clint's arms was under Pietro's thin knees, his other hand around Pietro's waist and Pietro's arms around Clint's neck. The elder lifted his boyfriend from his chair, seating him gently on a stool.

What Pietro hadn't taken into account was that there was no back to the stools. Since it had only been six months since he'd woken up, three and a half since he's started therapy, he didn't have the core strength to stay upright. He leaned his weight against the counter, one hand on Clint's knee for stability.

He felt himself start to slip, and Clint lifted him onto his lap.

"Better?" Clint kissed his forehead.

"Yeah."

Peter was looking at the crowd, hoping to see his parents. If he didn't, he knew that meant that they had already gone to bed with the door locked. He didn't understand why, though. It scared him because he couldn't get in there of he had a nightmare.

He saw his dad pulling his pops out of the room and expected them to sleep with the door locked tonight. They did most nights after parties, anyway. He thought he heard them yell a few times, but his dad said that they were just doing some combat training. He didn't understand why they did training in the bedroom, though.

He didn't know a lot of things. He didn't know what eight plus eight was, or what division meant. He didn't know why his real parents didn't want him, why adults drank alcohol, he didn't know how you could tell if you loved someone. He didn't know why Clint wore those purple things on his ears, or why he was so good at bow and arrows. He didn't know why his uncle was so protective over Pietro. He didn't know why Pietro cried when he was sleeping or was tired all the time, or why he needed so much help from Clint. He didn't know why Pietro couldn't walk. He didn't know why his dad had the blue light in his chest or why his pops got picked on by the team for being old. He was clueless.

Clint stroked Pietro's hair, talking to him under the music.

Pietro leant back on Clint, turning to kiss him.

He stole a sip of Clint's drink, coughing. "Agh, fuck. That tastes like shit."

Clint laughed, taking the glass back.

Peter yawned, laying his head on the counter.

"C'mon, kid. Let's get you to bed." Clint was setting Pietro carefully back in his chair.

He carried Peter on his hip, walking beside his boyfriend.

Peter closed his eyes, sleepy. He fell asleep, small four year old arms around Clint's neck.