Pietro ran along the grey cobbled street, panting heavily. Broken shells and bombs scattered the dirty ground. The word 'Stark' printed on every single one of them. A bomb hurtled towards the ground, whistling through the air and heading straight for the house at the end of the road. Pietro gasped and began to sprint, wishing with all his heart that he could run faster. The only thought on his mind was his sister. Wanda. She was in the house, alone. Why did I leave her alone?!
BOOM!
The bomb hit, right on top of the house. Pietro skidded to a halt, raising his arms and shielding his face as a wave of dust washed over the town.
"No! Wanda!" He yelled into the dirty air.
He ran around in vain, unable to see through the dust. Stumbling over rocks and bricks, he looked for his sister, calling her name. He tripped over a stone and landed on the dirty cobble floor. He knelt there, sobbing, tears leaving trails down his grimy face.
"P-please…" He choked through his tears. "Wanda… Come back." He whispered.
His eyes shot open, gasping in the precious air. Sitting up on the table, he realised he had been crying. He sat in the centre of the table, trying to settle himself with deep calming breaths. Clint opened the door and walked in, fumbling with an arrow. Pietro hurriedly wiped his eyes, not wanting the older man to think him weak. Clint looked up and frowned, obviously sensing something was wrong.
"Kid, are you ok? Do you need me to get Wanda?" Clint asked, trying and failing to sound indifferent.
"No… No, I'm fine." Pietro lied.
Clint walked up and sat beside him, putting the arrow on the table. "Bad dream?"
Pietro opened his mouth to argue but he could find no words to explain. In the end he simply nodded. "Yeah." He murmured, not meeting Clint's gaze.
The archer's eyes softened in sympathy. "Bad dreams after a traumatic experience. We've all been there. I know I have."
Pietro looked at him in confusion. "Why? What happened to you? If you don't mind me asking." He added quickly.
He didn't want Clint to talk about anything that made him uncomfortable or upset. He guessed, by the way that Clint clenched his jaw, that it was a very personal matter and something he didn't like to remember.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to..." Pietro began, but Clint cut him off.
"It's ok. You don't have to apologise." He told Pietro about Loki and the mind powers he had used on Clint. "He made me… kill. Good agents. Good people." Clint shut his eyes, momentarily allowing the memory to overwhelm him. "After that I didn't sleep very well." He finished, it seemed to hurt him to admit what Loki had made him do.
Pietro swallowed and shook his head. "I didn't know."
Clint nodded curtly and went back to twiddling with the slim, black arrow. Pietro watched him for a while before asking.
"How did you… Stop the nightmares?" He asked, and then began to wonder if that made sense.
Clint hesitated before speaking, choosing his words carefully. "It's different for different people. Some make mechanical suits of armour and don't get any sleep at all like Stark did. I don't recommend that. It stressed him out even more. I, personally, found long walks very stress relieving. But it depends." Clint ended with a shrug.
Pietro nodded. "Alright."
He shrank into silence once more, trying to remember what made him relaxed. He frowned, worry running through him, when he realised he couldn't think of anything. Besides running, but he knew he wouldn't be able to do that for a while. He and Clint sat in silence, both lost in their own thoughts and memories. It was nice. Nice just to sit, silently thinking, but also it was good to be with a friend.
Pietro leant, gently, against Clint, resting his head on the older man's shoulder. His breathing deepened as he began to fall asleep. Clint almost flinched in surprise but he forced himself not to move. He put the arrow back down on the table and raised a hand to brush some of Pietro's hair back from his face. Pietro didn't react. He was asleep. The sound of his breathing filled the room. Pietro shuffled in his sleep and Clint felt him slipping off of his shoulder. The archer gently moved him so Pietro was laid on his lap. He stroked Pietro's pale hair rhythmically until Wanda came into the room. She smiled at the sight of her brother asleep on Clint, like a child and his father. How long would it be before Pietro admitted it? She thought to herself. Would he ever?
