The Life That Pietro Saved

5.0

Clint woke after Pietro. The tired paraplegic couldn't sleep. How ironic.

Clint put his uninjured arm around Pietro, helping him sit up. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Pietro pressed his lips against his boyfriend's.

Clint let him rest against him for a second. "Shower?"

Pietro nodded. "Okay."

Clint picked him up, ignoring the screaming pain in his shoulder. He was a trained assassin, muffling pain was one of his skills.

"Your shoulder..."

"It's fine. Feels much better today." Clint lied.

He sat Pietro down on the bathroom counter, carefully pulling off the fuzzy pajama pants he wore. Clint gave his partner an assuring smile before lifting the hem of his stolen long sleeve shirt and tossing it on the floor.

Pietro looked down shamefully and tried to cover the scars that riddled his chest.

"Hey, beautiful." Clint kissed his cheek.

"I do not feel so beautiful." Pietro shook his head. "I am too skinny and have scars all over. How is this beautiful?"

"Because it's you." Clint traced lines on Pietro's back. "And you're the prettiest person I've ever met."

Pietro blushed, clasping his arms around Clint's neck and was lifted up promptly.

The cold shower chair's material was barely sensed by him. Clint undressed mock-sexually, making Pietro laugh.

"There it is." Clint whispered.

"What?" Pietro pauses.

"There's the Pietro I know." He grinned. "The beautiful, happy, unusual Pietro that I know."

Pietro tilted his head and pushed himself up on the arms, trying to kiss his boyfriend, pouting when he couldn't reach.

Clint bent down and kissed him properly, tickling him.

Pietro squirmed, squealing. "Ah! Ah, stop! Stop!" He laughed, sticking his tongue out.

"See? There's my Pietro." Clint sat on Pietro's lap teasingly.

"My Clint is such an asshole." Pietro snorted.

"Yeah," Clint admitted. "Yeah."

"Weirdo."

•••

It was a week after he'd woken up and he was so grateful for Clint.

His boyfriend carried him into the kitchen, carefully setting him on the counter.

Pietro grimaced in pain as he was leaned back against a cabinet.

"Thanks..." He held Clint's hand for a moment as they both stared into each other's eyes.

Clint moved to start breakfast.

The thick black back brace was strapped tightly over his lower abdomen, making him sit up. It was helpful, but Pietro would never admit that. He hated admitting he needed help.

"What have I said about sitting on the counter? Ugh, what am I running, a bed and breakfast for a biker gang-" Tony stopped mid complaint. "Oh, hey, Pietro. Hey, Clint."

Clint flipped him the bird and Pietro politely waved.

"So, what's for breakfast, Katniss?" Tony peered over at the pans on the stove.

"Nothing for you." Clint replied plainly, stepping over to grab a spatula and kiss Pietro.

"Aw, I'm hurt. Emotionally. You're not going to provide food for the person that provides you with shelter, Hunger Games?"

"Go to hell, Iron Ass." Clint didn't look up.

"C'mon, please...I'm hungry but I'm too lazy to go out and get food..." Tony whined.

"Get Steve to make you something."

Tony whined, leaning against the counter. "He's mean." He pointed at Clint.

"Yeah, I know." Pietro teased.

"Hey! You're supposed to take my side!" Clint huffed.

"Mhm. I guess you persuade me?"

Clint kissed him softly.

"Okay, yeah. I am on Clint's side. Make your own food." Pietro agreed.

Tony rolled his eyes and laid across the counter.

"Hey! Off the counter!" Clint reprimanded mockingly.

"My tower."

"No, it's the avengers tower."

Tony sighed dramatically.

"Okay, fine. I'll give you food." Clint gave in.

"Yay!" Tony squealed.

He shook his head and lifted Pietro off the counter gently so he wouldn't hurt him. The injured speedster clung to him with all of his strength.

They ignored Tony's borderline sympathetic stares and Clint set Pietro in a chair.

"Okay?" He ran his fingers through the silver hair.

Pietro nodded, looking a little sick. His balance was way off since he'd woken up from the coma.

Clint sat next to him, holding Pietro to his side.

Pietro pulled the towel he had wrapped around himself tighter, preventing his chair from getting wet.

Clint, who was still damp, wore only boxers when he pulled Pietro up onto the bed.

"Hey...isn't today Tony and Steve's anniversary?" Clint watched as Pietro fought with his pants.

"I think so." Pietro let out a frustrated groan.

"Babe-" Clint began to help.

"Net." Pietro slapped his hands away. "I do it myself."

"Just let me-"

"Net! I am going to do it. I need to learn."

Clint recoiled, knowing the line and not crossing it.

The silver haired man eventually did get his pants up, laying back on the bed in exhaustion.

"So...don't we have to babysit tonight?" Clint reminded.

"Fuck. Yes, we do." Pietro put a hand on Clint's good shoulder to pull himself up to sit.

He was hit by a wave of tiredness. Clint noticed this and laid him gently on the bed, kissing his forehead.

"Sleep, baby. I'll wake you up when we need to babysit."

Pietro shut his eyes and felt sleep take over him.