The sun was slowly rising, no sound could be heard in the street. Only one man could be seen walking quickly down the street, rubbing his hands covered by his sleeves in an attempt of warming them. His thin sweater wasn't really useful during this cold weather. Winter had began a few weeks ago, and the air became even colder than before. According to the chatty people walking down the street Pietro could hear all day, it was the colder winter they ever had in this city. The temperatures had never dropped so low. Luckily for him, it hadn't snowed yet. The cold nights of winter were already the hardest thing him and his sister had to face living in the street, but it became unbearable when snow had settled down on the pavement. He knew that, as soon as snow started to fall from the sky, it would be too late. He had to find a shelter now.

Rubbing his arms, Pietro let out a shaky breath, seeing his respiration misting in the cold air. He looked around him, desesperate to find a place they could squat in for at least one night. He couldn't feel his legs anymore, nor his hands, and he felt his heart wrench at the thought of his sister, huddled up on the ground of some dark hidden alley, under a thin and torn blanket they kept from their home before running away.

His vision became blurry, as tears threatened to spill from his eyes. He pressed his lips in a thin line, trying to stop a sob from escaping them, when he blinked and the tears suddenly started running down his cheeks, dropping onto his sweater. He quickly wiped them away with his sleeve, and clenched his fist, trying to regain his composure. He couldn't break down, not now. He shook his head, ignoring the overwhelming frustration that had been haunting him since winter started, and kept looking around, focused on his task. He hated how he wasn't able to protect his sister, he hated how their family wasn't there for them anymore, he hated how they had been let down by everyone. Anger had been building inside of him for months now, and he felt like he could explode at any moment.

His eyes were burning, his heart beating way too fast, and his legs were about to give out at any moments. Pietro clenched his jaw as he kept walking, heading down the street at a quick pace. The image of his dying sister wasn't leaving his mind, and Pietro became more and more agitated as the minutes passed. He needed to find a place, he couldn't let her down. Taking a turn down a narrowed street unknown by most of the citizen because of its location near the forest, Pietro stopped for a second, scanning the area. He didn't want to adventure in the deserted side of this poor city if there wasn't anything waiting for him there. His glance suddenly fell onto a derelict hotel, with dirty walls and shattered windows. It almost looked like an abandoned building. Pietro's eyes brighten at the view, as he started walking again, quickly heading towards the property. They had already squatted down in a hotel, but this one had been replaced by a real building, because tourists didn't come into this city anymore. It had actually happened almost one year ago, right after they had been kicked out. They had been into this old hotel for months, until it was destroyed near summer. They had now lived in the street for months, unaware that there was another hotel in the city.

He wondered for a second if he should go get his sister now, but decided to check if the building was safe yet, and if there was at least one apartment vacant. The hotel didn't look really crowded, but he still wanted to check first. He didn't want to give his sister hope, bringing her here, if the rooms were all occupied or uninhabitable. As he reached the property, Pietro walked passed the entrance, looking at the windows of the first floor. He carefully climbed the fire escape, trying to be as quiet as possible, and reached the first window on the far right of the hotel. He saw a woman sitting at a table, and kept walking, discreetly looking through the next window. He saw clothes on the couch and food on the table. He found himself staring a little too long at the food, and went to the other window. This time, there was nothing. No clothes, no food, no shoes at the entrance, and no person sitting at the table or laying on the bed. Pietro concluded without a doubt that the apartment was unoccupied. It was too early for the person just to be outside, and there was no trace of someone living here.

Clenching his fist, Pietro winced in apprehension, and punched the glass, only shattering it. He knew this wouldn't alert the owners. The sound of glass being broken and things being burned were pretty common here, mostly in this part of the city. Plus, they didn't seem to care about this place, they wouldn't bother to check if the sound was coming from the street or from their hotel. Stopping himself from moaning when he saw that the window was just shattered, he drew back his fist and punched the glass with more strenght. A part of the window broke, some pieces of glass falling on the carpet of the room, and some digging painfully into Pietro's bloody knuckles. The blood was dripping down from his fingers, falling onto his torn jeans, and he took a second to take the shards out of his skin, before putting his arms through the window to open it from inside. He then carefully broke into the apartment, flinging a leg over the windowsill. He quietly put his two feet on the floor, feeling the shards of glass on the ground digging into his shoes, and looked around him. The room was dark and didn't have a lot of space, there was kitchen on the far left, and a bed on the other side of the room. It sure wasn't luxurious, but it was enough for them. Smiling, he turned around, about to go back outside to get his sister, when his glance suddenly fell onto a man leaning on the wall right next to the window. There was no expression on his face, he didn't even look angry that someone had just broke into his apartment. He was just... bored, and kind of unimpressed, as if it was just a normal morning for him.

"You chose the wrong apartment, kid."

And everything went black.


When he said he wanted a quiet mission to recover from the events in New York, Clint sure wasn't expecting that. Being sent in Sokovia was pretty normal, he was used to travels; having to watch the shallow activities of a man living in a castle was quite unusual but still alright, after all he wasn't the worst Clint had had to face yet; but watching a young man climbing into his crappy apartment had been a surprise.

Now, Clint was still at his window, watching from afar Struckers' henchmen exit the building where their transactions always took place, while briefly glancing at the unconscious young man tied to a chair behind him from times to times. The men outside got into their car, looking around them in a suspicious way, before getting off, following the road that led to a forest near this place. Checking one last time the street outside, Clint walked away from the window, going to sit at his table, across from the man he had knocked out twenty minutes earlier. He had tied his hands behind the chair, and his legs together. His head was hanging low, and Clint couldn't see his face. All he could see was his messy silver hair, and it was probably the weirdest thing he had seen this day.

"What am I gonna do..." he sighed, running a hand over his tired face

Clint was probably supposed to call the police, but right now, he couldn't. He was in mission, he couldn't bring attention on him. The easiest solution would probably be to release him then, but Clint couldn't ignore the fact that this man had broke into his apartment, and that he had found a knife in his pocket. He was a threat, and Clint couldn't let him go.

But one thing still bothered Clint. Why would this man break into an empty apartment? He must have seen that there was nothing to steal inside before breaking his window, so why did he tried to get in anyway? The more Clint looked at him, the more he started to have doubts about the young man's motivations. His clothes were thin, probably not protecting him from the coldness outside, and seemed really old and dirty. He looked a little too thin, weak, like he hadn't ate for weeks. Clint started to wonder if the kid wasn't just looking for a place to sleep. He would have to ask him to explain himself when the young man would wake up, but Clint had no idea if he spoke english or not. Some people in Sokovia did, they learned it in school, but it was a minority. Most of the people here had to drop school early to work, and the others just didn't remember a word. Unfortunately, Clint was clueless when it came to sokovian, so, if the kid didn't speak english, they were both screwed.

Letting out a long sigh, Clint got up to go check the installations which permitted him to hear everything that was going in the building across the street. Strucker's henchmen had multiples meetings in this one with others men from Hydra, and Clint had to keep a close eye on them, gathering informations about Loki's scepter, which was apparently in their possession. The archer only had time to stand up when he suddenly saw the silver-haired man stir in his sleep, before slowly opening his eyes, his glance immediately falling onto the ropes tying his legs. His eyebrows' furrowed, and he snapped his head, his eyes meeting Clint's. The panic filling his eyes immediately turned into anger as he understood the situation, and his icy blue eyes almost seemed to darken. Clint stared at him for way longer than he should have, frozen. He knew from his clothes that the young man was living in bad conditions, but suddenly seeing him like that had taken him aback. His face was pale, his lips almost blue, and dark circles carved deeply into his eyes. The fear filling his eyes sure didn't help, and for a second, all that Clint wanted to do was untie him and help him. But the glare the silver-haired man was now offering him helped him to regain his composure, as the archer slowly sat down again, staring sternly at the young man.

"Do you speak english?" he first asked him carefully, speaking slowly and articulating every word

The young man lifted his eyebrows, looking at Clint as if he was the stupidest person he had ever met. He spoke english then, it was a great improvement if the agent ignored the look the young man had just given him. Now it was time to look for explaination. His answer would determine if Clint would let him go, or keep him here until his mission was over to hand him over to the police.

"Why did you break into my apartment?" he asked again, feeling like he was doing an interrogation

The young man kept glaring at him, his knee jittering under the table. His eyes were filled with so much hatred that, if he wasn't tied up, Clint was sure that he would have tried to kill him with his bare hands. But even though he was trying to look intimidating, he couldn't fool the archer. The anger filling his eyes couldn't hide the exhaustion that they showed. He looked weak, tired, and Clint couldn't help but feel once again the need to untie him, his fingers twitching at his sides.

"Did you need a place to sleep? Do you live in the street?" he added, this time with a tone more gentle

He didn't know why he felt the need to help him, he didn't even know this man, and he looked like he wanted to kill him. He just looked so young, probably in his twenties, and Clint could see that behind all this anger were hidden fear and distress.

But once again, the silver-haired man kept his mouth shut. He couldn't tell him his situation, he didn't even know him, he couldn't trust him. This man was going to hand him over to the police, which was already looking for him after a failed burglary where the owner of the apartment had showed up in the middle, catching a sight of him and Wanda before they escaped the property. If he was arrested after telling him that he was living in the street, the police would find Wanda. They weren't looking for them anymore, but would certainly try to find her if they had a lead. The twins had already stole from a few houses, never finding enough money to get out of their situation. He would probably be in jail for almost ten years, he wouldn't let this happen to Wanda.

Sighing, Clint rested his elbows on the table, leaning a little toward him. "Listen, kid. You'll have to help me there, I can't figure this out on my own."

The young man seemed to hesitate for a second, before pressing his lips into a thin line, lowering his head. He couldn't tell him. Clint shook his head, and was about to get up, thinking that he would deal with this later, when he suddenly spoke up in a thick accent.

"I came here because I needed money, I wanted to steal some stuff." he shrugged in a hoarse voice

Clint blinked at him for a second, taken aback by his heavy accent which was aggravated by his raspy voice, probably due to thirst. He frowned after hearing his poor explaination, and slid a knife across the table. He didn't know if the kid was lying to him, but he needed to understand that the situation was serious. Clint needed to know the truth if he wanted to decide of what to do with him.

"And you were ready to use this?" he enquired, giving him a reproachful look

The young man looked down at the weapon, then back at Clint, still with the same stern look. The archer sighed for what seemed like the tenth time of the day, and rubbed his neck, conflicted. He definitely couldn't let him go. The kid didn't even have a hint of remorse in his eyes. He didn't care about what could happen to him, and would most certainly do it again.

"I can't let you go, kid." the brunet concluded, getting up. "Not if you go around breaking into apartments with weapons."

The sokovian watched him leave, glaring daggers at him, as he unconsciously clenched his jaw. Feeling the young man's stare burning his back, Clint walked out of the apartment, somehow even more upset than before this conversation. This was going to be a long week...


Clint came back only ten minutes after, coming back from the apartment only two doors away from him. He had had to go see Natasha before she went to her mission. She had to reconnoitre the castle a few days before the intervention of the avengers, to look for any entrance, or flaw in their security system. In simple words, she had a way more interesting mission, while Clint had to sit there all day, watching and hearing any activity going on in the building across the road. The worse was that, most of the time, the informations he caught weren't about the scepter. Until now, he had only got a few things about the artefact. He had never felt so useless.

When he got back into the room, his captive was looking down, his face hidden by a few straws falling in front of his eyes. Thinking that he was just sleeping, Clint went to sit by the window, noticing some henchmen entering the building. The archer had to keep himself from groaning when he thought about the hours he would have to wait, looking out the window and listening to his transmitter.

After two longs hours, during which the archer caught some informations about the experiences led by Baron Strucker, the henchmen finally exited the property, going back to their vehicules. Clint ran a hand down his face, and got up, heading toward his fridge to grab a bottle of water. He turned around, when his eyes suddenly fell onto the young sokovian sitting at the table. He had almost forgot him. The silver-haired man was looking at the wall, and Clint's eyes widened at the sight of his face. He somehow looked even worse than when he first saw him. His eyes were half-lidded from exhaustion, his face incredibly pale, he looked like he was about to faint. Clint mentally cursed himself, thinking that he should have kept an eye on him, and quickly went to his fridge, grabbing a bottle of water and some bread. He then went back to the young man, and put the supplies onto the table, untying one of his hand so he would be able to move.

He stepped back, unsure of what to do, when he met the sokovian's eyes. He was, once again, glaring at him. Clint sighed, and told him to, at least, drink. He didn't want the kid to die from dehydration just because he was stubborn and didn't want to take anything from him. The young man looked down at the bottle, hesitating, then back at Clint, and finally moved his right arm. The archer seemed to relax, when the silver-haired flipped him off. Clint's eyebrows shot up, but his face remained expressionless, almost bored. The archer got up, without another word, and tied his right hand back to the chair, before going back to his spot to work on a file, slightly shaking his head.

He didn't see that one coming... Pietro thought, smirking. He didn't want to accept anything from this man. He had already spent longer without foor or water, he knew his limits, after how long he would probably lose consciousness, for the moment he was alright. He would soon find a way to escape and go back to Wanda, anyway. He didn't plan to stay here, nor to go to jail. Pietro moved his wrists a little, and immediately felt the ropes burning his skin. He winced in apprehension. The next hours were going to be painful.