Ah, yes. Time to jump onto the train of Hawkeye adopting my favorite psychopaths. Basically, this will be a series of oneshots documenting whatever insanity goes on in the Barton household, and how the Maximoffs add to it. Laughter, tears, shrieks and hugs will abound. Hope you all enjoy it!

Disclaimer: If I owned Avengers, would I really be writing this?

OoOoO

He wakes up to bright lights and soft whirring.

Pietro's eyelids slowly lift, drawn upwards by some unseen force that pulls him unwillingly away from the gentle darkness that encompasses his being. First one eye, then the other opens, showcasing a blurry scene of white and black and cold.

His tongue is thick and dry, his lips numb and fat, and he can't seem to be able to muster the breath in his throat to say anything (he's so numb, in fact, that he doesn't even register the tube fed down his throat). Even his fingers barely cooperate; despite his best, clumsy efforts, all he can do is an infinitesimal twitch.

Is there anyone in the room?

No.

Yes?

No, his brain snaps at him. Go back to sleep.

So he complies, allowing himself to be borne under the crashing, lulling wave of slumber that pulls him away, back to the blessed darkness, even as a fuzzy shape enters the doorway and calls his name.

oOoOo

Something hurts.

One eye rolls open and he immediately protests both the stabbing pain in his side and aching white in his skull. A garbled moan drains from his throat, congealing next to him on the mattress and lying in a puddle of misery. His chest is on fire, his throat dry, his brain empty.

"Ei..ro? C...ou h….e?" he hears, as if from a distance, and the sound both booms in his head and is nothing at all.

He wants it to stop.

"Ope…uor eyes," the voice commands, and some unseen thing within Pietro demands he obey. So he does, crystalline eyes fluttering open to take in a drug-induced haze of his surroundings. He can smell the medication in the air (he's taken enough of it, during his teen years of experimentation, to easily recognize the scent), feel the crisp cleanliness crawling up his exposed arms, hear beeps and whirrings and clicks that should all point to some conclusion, but he hasn't quite figured it out yet.

"Good," the voice says, and Pietro manages to roll his eyesight over in its general direction. The visage is blurry, but he can tell it's not anyone he knows. It's fat and white-haired (or white-clothed? Or both) and hovers next to Pietro's bed.

How is he doing that?

"Does anything hurt, Pietro?" the fat voice questions. "Blink if it does."

How the hell is he supposed to not blink? What if he didn't hurt, but he needed to blink, so he blinked and said yes when he wasn't supposed to blink and say no but he messed it up and blinked when he shouldn't have? And-

But you do hurt, his inner monologue reminds him.

Oh yeah. So what the hell, he blinks, and the action causes a chain reaction that immediately begins shutting his mind down and dragging his body away on the black tide once more.

Except, as he goes, he catches a glimpse of dark red hair and a high pitched voice calling his name.

He wants to stay.

oOoOo

His third (or fifth or tenth or fifteenth) time waking up is much more pleasant than the previous. This time, it's dark in his room, the window shades pulled up so he can see the sliver of moon risen above the surrounding buildings. He's still groggy and a little out of it, but when his eyes open he doesn't immediately want to leave again.

He swallows, dry throat contracting, and realizes he doesn't have a plastic tube invading his stomach anymore, and also that his wrist is the sole owner of dozens of needles and tubes. Hospital. (He's never actually been in one, but he's heard stories) He twitches it curiously, but the action moves his bare, scratchy bandage-wrapped chest and sends a ripple of pain shooting through him. He tenses, wincing, and his mind suddenly remembers Sokovia, and the Avengers, and fighting bombs robots Hawkeye child shooting bullets Wanda.

Wanda.

The remembered name clears some of the haze from his mind, and he manages to raise his head to look for her. As if she would be here, his mind mocks him. Surely she is with the Avengers, putting back together-

But the splay of red hair by his hip, nearly blending in with the murky blackness surrounding them, resolves that panicked train of thought. She sleeps, half of her body in a plastic chair next to his bed and half squished next to his legs, ending in the mess of crimson tendrils spread over the coverlet and the bumps signaling his hips.

He smiles, eyes softening as he takes in the sight of his entire world slumbering and probably drooling next to him. He reaches a weak hand up and places it on top of her head, feeling every strand loop over his fingers, every modicum of warmth emanating from her skull.

The movement wakens her, and she lifts her head and blinks, slumber still blurring her eyes. "Hnn?"

"Go back to sleep, myshka," he rasps, using his pet name for her and letting his hand fall to the mattress.

She stiffens, almost falling off the bed. "Oh, Pietro," she sobs, scrambling up and falling as carefully as she can upon his bandaged chest. Her arms encircle him, grip his skin, and cling with a touch so desperate he will never let her go. He returns the embrace, clasping her to him with everything he is worth.

The doctors find them in the same position in the morning; one haphazardly flung on top of the other, Wanda drooling on his chest and Pietro's fingers laced in her hair.

oOoOo

Each of the Avengers come to see him. Steve is quiet and brings a card (Thanks, kid.). Tony enters with a fanfare, a crash, dozens of balloons and a massive teddy bear (Only the best for our little Speedy Gonzalez!). Thor comes bearing an Asgardian drink that will dull his pain (as well as get him stone-cold drunk, Pietro suspects) (Your ancestors sang of your bravery in the halls of your forefathers!). Natasha is courteous, bringing flowers and what snacks she can smuggle in (We all owe you.)

Clint comes with Doctor Cho, gratitude, and a proposal.

"You think what?" Pietro asks dully, not sure if the pain medication has totally screwed up his senses.

"Allow Doctor Cho to explain," Clint orders, stepping aside to allow the petite woman full control of the conversation. She rubs her hands before continuing.

"Pietro, your body is entirely unique, and its abilities are both a blessing and a curse. Your accelerated metabolism is working for and against you, at the same time."

"I don't get it," he says (maybe he would if the high dosage of morphine dripping through his veins wasn't fogging his head, but she doesn't seem to be doing a very good job of explaining).

"A normal human being wouldn't have been able to survive what you did. Your body was, however, able to begin the healing process extremely quickly, due to to its high amounts of energy continually rebooting and cycling through living cell after living cell at a rapid pace, along with your super homeostasis-in essence, your cells went into hyper sleep as your body repaired itself. At the same time, however, it is also using up exorbitant amounts of energy. So it was better for you in the short run-it kept you alive-but it's also harming you in the long run."

"How so?" Wanda questions, studying the doctor carefully.

"He'll take longer to heal. He used up so much energy simply to stay alive keep his heart pumping blood, that it is still having to catch up, and that allows very little to go to his body. The Cradle repaired the tissue that his body was able to save before he came here, but it's going to take a lot of time to reach the potential he once was at." Cho gives him a sad smile. "It's a strange, unique tradeoff, but one we're unable to get around. I'm sorry."

"So, what...I can't run, or something?" he questions, suddenly feeling a little scared.

"No, you'll still have your capabilities, and you'll certainly live. But you'll have to work to reach them fully again. Don't worry. You'll still be able to run circles around us."

"Which is where I come in," Hawkeye states. He's found one of the doctor's swirly chairs, and is in the process of spinning in curlicues, starting slowly and working his way up to whizzing merrily around (Pietro's jealous).

"What you mean?" Wanda asks.

"My house is the perfect rehabilitation spot. It's secluded, off the map, and fairly safe. It's big-you'll have plenty of running space-and peaceful." Clint shrugs. "Plus...I owe you one. A big one."

"You are sure it will be safe?" Wanda seems unsure, and Pietro squeezes her hand reassuringly.

"As safe as anywhere. Certainly safer than the Avengers Headquarters. Lord knows it's bound to be blown up sooner or later." Clint smiles a crooked grin. "Plus, Laura makes the best apple pie you've ever tasted."

"We've never had apple pie," Wanda says.

Clint looks as if he's seconds away from a full-blown conniption. "You've never had apple pie?!"

"Papa hated apples, and, well. There was no pie in experimental facility," she clarifies, and Clint continues to look suitably horrified.

"You kids. That's the first thing you're going to eat."

"Wanda, maybe, but not Pietro," Cho says in a warning tone. "He must wait a little."

Clint makes a face, but doesn't offer an argument (it's probably for the better). Instead, he turns back to the twins. "Well? How do you like the sound of that?"

The siblings look at each other. Wanda seems eager but hesitant, searching Pietro's eyes for an answer. It's crazy, Pietro knows. He's spent the last ten years yearning for vengeance against people like Hawkeye. He's barely known the man more than a day. But...he thinks about having a home again. And being able to breathe, and a safe place for wanda.

It sounds really nice.

Pietro pauses, then grabs her hand and looks at the archer. "I think…" He lets a little smile touch his lips.

"I think it will not be so bad."

Clint's cheek-splitting grin seems to echo his feelings.

OoOoO

And there's our first taste of Bartonoff family. Hope your interest is piqued! Drop me a review to let me know what you thought, you lovely dollops of whipped cream.