"Breathe in."
Pietro obeyed Clint's order, drawing in a deep breath of the steam. He was sitting upright, his back against the wall at the head of the bed. According to Clint, he had a chest infection. That didn't sound particularly pleasant to Pietro but apparently it wasn't serious. Clint put the bowl of steaming water back on his bedside table and turned back to Pietro, laying a hand on the younger man's forehead. Heat pulsed from his pale skin.
"How did a poison give me a chest infection?" Pietro asked, his voice hoarse from coughing.
"How indeed." Clint muttered, drawing his hand away, as clueless as Pietro was on the topic.
A loud coughing fit shook Pietro's body. Reaching out a hand, Clint rubbed his chest, soothingly, until his choking subsided. Pietro swallowed hard, forcing back his coughs. Clint took hold of his hand, wrapping it around a paper cup filled with a warm, golden, sweet smelling liquid.
"Drink this." Clint ordered.
Pietro shook his head and Clint let out a desperate breath.
"Please."
"I don't want to." Pietro muttered.
"I know." Clint murmured, gentle understanding in his voice. "But you want to get better, don't you?" Pietro nodded sheepishly. "Then drink."
After a moment of hesitation, Pietro let out a silent sigh and took a mouthful of the liquid. He swallowed it with difficulty, wincing.
"What is it?" He asked.
"Honey and lemon." Clint replied as Pietro took another sip. "It'll help with your throat."
Pietro murmured in acknowledgement and took a third gulp. It was like trying to swallow a knife. He forced it down and put the cup back down on the table to the right of his bed. Another cough gripped him. It hurt when he coughed. It hurt his throat and it hurt his ribs.
Falling to the side, he hung his head over the edge of the bed and coughed up blood. He spluttered at the salty taste, a sharp pain jolting through his chest as he choked. Exhaustion suddenly overwhelmed him as it ended and he allowed his limbs to go limp, head hanging as he took in deep, slightly shivering, breaths. He felt Clint leap off the bed and heard his footsteps as he ran round the other side. A hand touched Pietro's cheek and he opened his eyes, unaware he had closed them.
Clint was crouched on the floor beside his bed, gazing at him with anxious eyes.
"Chin up kid."
Pietro understood. That was Clint's way of telling him that everything would be alright and he should try and back get up. Get up and keep going. Letting out a quiet sigh, Pietro pushed a hand, hard, against the bed, heaving himself up. As he straightened his arm, trembling with the effort, it slipped and he fell back. He let his head drop, flicking his eyes to Clint.
"Can't… Do it…" He gasped the words, not a clue why he was feeling so weak. "Too… much."
Clint swallowed back an uncomfortable lump in his throat. "Alright Kid." He whispered. "Okay."
He stood up, tucking one hand under Pietro's head and the other on his shoulder, which was hanging off the side of the bed. Pietro let out a small whine of protest as Clint lifted his torso slightly. Trying to block out his pained whimpers, Clint laid him gently in the centre of the bed, carefully lowering his head onto the pillow. He sat on the edge, running his fingers repeatedly through Pietro's pale hair.
"That's right." Clint murmured as Pietro's eyes slipped closed. "You sleep now."
"What's wrong with him?"
Clint jumped and looked up, seeing Wanda walk quickly over to her brother.
"How do you kno-"
"I can feel it." Wanda interrupted him. Her face darkened, looking down at Pietro, who lay asleep on his side. "I feel his pain. A sickness is heavy on his mind. It hangs over him like a storm cloud. He-He's trying to fight it off… He's trying so hard, but is still exhausted from his torture."
Clint's heart twisted at the word. Torture. It was a horrific word. Not quite dead, only just alive. But suffering. For most tortures, in Clint's experience, death would be nicer. Torture was hell. That was the truest and easiest way to describe it. Clint had been to hell and back. Through a bullwhip, he'd been to hell. He'd recognised Pietro's wounds as a bullwhip too. Though, his injures were a lot worse than Clint's had been.
"What's wrong with him?" Wanda repeated, jolting Clint from his memories.
"He's got a chest infection." Clint murmured. "I told him it wasn't serious."
Wanda let out a quiet breath of relief. "So he's going to be o-"
"I lied."
Wanda's heart seemed to stop. "What?" She whispered the word quietly.
"I lied, Wanda." Clint didn't shift his gaze from Pietro, stroking his fingers through the younger man's pale hair. "It's really bad. He's weak." Now he looked at Wanda, fixing her with eyes filled with misery. "He's so weak… And it hurts… Its hurts him and it hurts me to see him like this."
Wanda swallowed hard, fighting back a sob. She had never seen Clint so sad. So… Broken. He cared about them so much. She felt it in his mind. He couldn't stand seeing them scared or in pain. He couldn't stand it, but he always tried to help. Always the first to offer assistance. Always.
Why had she never realised how much they needed him? He had blamed himself for Pietro's injuries during the battle with Ultron. He had sat with the wounded man. Every spare moment had been spent sitting with him, holding his hand. People had tried to make him move, tried to get him to go and rest. Every time, he would refuse. He wouldn't even move for Natasha. He had just sat on the edge of Pietro's bed, watching as the doctor's checked his blood pressure and cleaned his wounds and generally fixed him up. He had been there when Pietro had regained consciousness for the first time. Pietro had been terrified. He had screamed about dying, about the cold, sucking darkness that had occupied his mind. And Clint had helped him. Wanda had seen the archer calm her panic-stricken brother, with a tenderness which she hadn't thought possible. Yet he still blamed himself. Even now.
Wanda found herself moving, walking around the bed to Clint and sitting beside him. She found herself hugging him, her arms wrapped around his chest and gripping the back of his shirt. After a brief second of hesitation, Clint returned the hug.
"Thank you." Wanda whispered. "Thank you so much for everything you've done for us."
She felt confusion coming off Clint in waves but he clearly understood. He didn't reply, speechless with surprise. They kept hugging for a while until Clint eventually pulled away and Wanda could see those sad eyes again.
"He's only here because of me." He murmured, turning his gaze to Pietro. "It's always my fault."
"It's not Clint." Wanda shook her head. "You didn't-"
"He took those bullets for me." Clint whispered, his voice almost too quiet to hear. "Yegor took him because he was important to me. This is what happens, Wanda…" He looked at her. She could see tears glistening in his eyes. "My life is a fire. People who touch it get burnt…" He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. His voice cracked a little as he said the next words. "And I can't bear it."
Oh, Clint… Wanda felt her eyes prickling, warm tears stinging the corners. She needed to comfort him. She had to help. Cupping Clint's face in her hands, she gently kissed his forehead.
"We'll find a way to sort this." She promised quietly, resting her forehead on his. "Pietro will get better. We'll find Yegor. And we'll make him wish he had never met us."
A/N-
Hey Guys! Hope you're enjoying this story so far!
Okay, really sorry but I won't be updating for a while because i'm going away for about a week (and a few days longer so a week and 3 days. But no ones like a pedantic person, am I right? XD).
I'll try write and update as soon as I can when I get back. This is just to let you know why i'm not posting chapters for the next week (In case you thought I had stopped writing :D Hah! As if. This is literally all I do, I have no social life. Fun fact for you there and now i'm rambling, sorry). For you people who read all or most of my stories, this message will be posted on all of them too, so might it get a bit boring. So yeah... You all have a good week and I'll see you when I get back.
~Eniko