The title for chapter seven is from "Nothing Without Love" by Nate Ruess
Chapter 7: i would take credit for what's wrong
The second night turned out to be a rough one. Pietro had seemed okay all day, though he still hadn't uttered a syllable, and Clint thought that maybe he'd recover smoother than expected.
But then he woke up in the middle of the night to find Pietro sobbing uncontrollably, curled up in a ball. It took several minutes before he allowed Clint to touch him, and when he finally did, he just clung to him and buried his face in his chest, whimpering as though in pain. He didn't calm down until morning, meaning Clint was up most of the night, holding him and stroking his hair, trying to reassure him that he was safe.
Morning finally came, and Pietro's sudden silence worried Clint almost more than the crying had. He extricated himself from Pietro's arms and sat up. Pietro didn't react; he just sat there staring at nothing, his eyes still red from crying.
"Hey, sweetheart," Clint whispered gently, not wanting to startle him. "You okay now?"
Pietro didn't answer, not even to shrug or shake his head. He just kept staring, and he looked absolutely miserable. Clint didn't know what to do.
"I'll be right back, okay?" he said.
Pietro still didn't answer. Clint got up and slipped on some sweatpants, then stepped into the corridor, closing the door quietly behind him. He walked down the hall until he came to Wanda's room, then knocked on the door. He waited for a little while, then the door opened and Wanda poked her head out. She had clearly only just gotten up; her hair was tied back in a messy braid and she was still in her pajamas.
"Clint? Is everything okay?" she said, stifling a yawn.
"No, it's not at all okay, and I don't know what to do," said Clint.
Wanda opened her door the rest of the way and stood back to let him in. Clint stepped into the room and looked around. He had never been in Wanda's room before. He'd never had a reason to. It was scrupulously neat, except for the unmade bed, and she had decorated with curtains and tapestries and strings of twinkle lights. There were a few pictures on the shelves, most of which were new, but there was one slightly battered little picture in a very nice frame that was of her and Pietro as children, standing together with their parents. Clint looked away from the picture and turned to Wanda.
"I've been up half the night with Pietro, he had a nightmare or something and went into hysterics," said Clint. "He only calmed down a little bit ago, but now he's just sitting there staring off into space. He won't react to anything, it's like I'm not even there. I don't know what to do. I want to help him, but I don't know how."
Wanda listened with tears in her eyes.
"I know you came to me for help because I'm his sister, but I don't know what to do either," she said sadly. "I'm just as helpless as you. He's never been like this, not even after our parents died or after the experiments. He's always been able to bounce back the same, if a little more cynical. Whatever they did to him..."
"It must have really torn him up," Clint finished. He sighed heavily. "Okay... I'm sorry I woke you up, I just..."
"Don't apologize," said Wanda. "Pietro's my brother and I want to help him. It's my job to help him. But this time... I don't know how."
The rest of the day didn't get any easier. Pietro refused to move from his seat on the bed, ignored or didn't register every attempt Clint or Wanda made at getting his attention, and just continued to stare blankly into the middle-distance looking utterly destroyed. Clint wasn't comfortable leaving him alone, but staying in the room with him for too long just made him depressed. So he'd sit on a chair in the corner, just watching over Pietro for a while, then leave Wanda with him while he went to the training center to shoot a few rounds or beat up a punching bag or just let himself rage. It wasn't fair what had happened, it wasn't fair that his lively, passionate Pietro had been worn down to this silent wreck of a man. It just wasn't fair.
Clint wandered back down the hallway, his heart still pounding from his most recent tantrum. The door to his room opened and Wanda stepped out; apparently she had sensed him coming.
"Are you okay?" she asked as he approached.
"Yeah, just a little worked up is all..." said Clint. "How is he doing?"
"Mostly the same," said Wanda. "He's stopped staring at the wall, but he still hasn't moved or said anything."
Clint sighed.
"I'll take over for the rest of the night. You get some rest, go hang out with the others or something."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. Go relax. I'll call if I need you."
Wanda took his hand and gave it a squeeze, then walked away. Clint sighed again and braced himself, then opened the door. He walked into the room to find Pietro still sitting on the bed, staring down at his hands now instead of the wall. Clint stood for a moment in the doorway, watching him sadly, wishing there was some way he could help.
"Why didn't you come for me sooner?" Pietro said suddenly.
Clint froze. That was the first time Pietro had spoken since they rescued him, and he had hardly expected it now. His voice was hoarse, and Clint could pretend it was from lack of use but it was pointless to try and fool himself – he was no stranger to the sound of a voice broken from screaming. Hearing that wrecked sound coming from the man he loved shattered his heart. He walked forward and sat on the bed in front of Pietro.
"I wanted to come sooner," he said. "I tried. God, I tried. We just didn't know where you were."
"You should've tried harder," said Pietro, the slightest tinge of bitterness in his tone. "Maybe then you could have saved me."
Clint bit his lip, fighting back tears as he stared at Pietro's slouched form. He thought he understood what Pietro meant. They hadn't saved him. They had been too late for that. All they'd done was salvage the broken remains.
"I'm sorry," Clint murmured; dammit, he was crying now, he never cried. "Pietro, I'm so sorry. You're right. We should've tried harder. I should have tried harder. God, Pietro, I'm so sorry."
"I'm going to take a shower," said Pietro, standing up.
Clint looked up as Pietro disappeared into the bathroom without another word. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve and tried to compose himself, then went down the hall and knocked on Wanda's door. There was no answer, so he went off to the living room, where he found her sitting around with the other Avengers. Oh great, just what he needed. An audience for his impending breakdown. He shuffled over to the liqueur cabinet, picked up an entire bottle of whiskey, screwed off the cap, and took a swig.
"Well, he started talking again," he announced.
"You don't sound very happy about it," said Steve.
"He blames me for what happened to him," said Clint, wandering over to the sofa and sitting down. "Said I should've tried harder to find him. That maybe then we could've saved him."
"But we did save him," Tony said.
"No we didn't," said Clint. "You haven't seen him. Not really. We may have gotten him out of that place, but we sure as hell didn't save him. We were too late for that."
He took another drink of whiskey, trying to cover up the fact that tears were once again streaming down his face.
"It's not your fault, Clint," said Natasha. "We tried as hard as we could."
"It is, though. He's right. I should've tried harder. I should've scoured the planet trying to find him. But instead I sat here and sulked and stared at a screen while he was stuck in that hell being tortured." Clint took a shuddering breath, no longer bothering to hide his tears. "God, I abandoned him. I just left him there and let them hurt him."
He felt a gentle hand on his back and was vaguely aware of Wanda at his side, putting her arm around him to comfort him even though she was crying too. She took the whiskey bottle from him and set it on the floor, and Clint curled in on himself, burying his face in his hands.
"It's my fault," he sobbed. "Oh God, it's my fault."
