Clint was used to the cold, used to the old clothes that barely kept him warm and was used to the alleys he often had to sleep in.

He was even used to the people who gave him filthy looks for being homeless.

But he wasn't used to Pietro Maximoff.

The young man had appeared in one of the usually alleys, looking beaten up and tired. No-one batted an eyelash at him, all of them having been used to seeing someone come in and join them at being homeless. What caught Clint's eye about Pietro was the fact his hair was silver. It was a little strange to say the least.

(It even looked natural.)

Pietro kept his eyes on the floor, looking too wary and tired, but that made him look like he belonged. All he needed was to have dirt smudges on his face and clothes and have them become tattered messes and then he'd truly look like he belonged with the homeless.

"You OK, kid?" Clint asked when Pietro dropped his bag close to him and his belongings.

Pietro didn't answer, instead pulling out a quilt and pulled it over him, hiding his face in the soft quilt.

Clint sighed but turned his attention to the stray dog everyone had gotten accustomed to seeing. The dog had a limp and was missing an eye, but was still fighting. Clint called him Lucky.

Whatever, he'd probably try again the next day, and the next and the next, if that's what it took for Pietro to open up. He needed to get Pietro to talk to him, so he would have a friend.

Or Pietro would get eaten alive by the savage people who walked this earth.