Chapter 21: working through it

When Pietro woke up, he was in his and Clint's bed at Avengers Tower. The sunlight shining through the windows was blinding, but the beams that fell across his face didn't burn, they were simply pleasantly warm. He smiled and rolled over to look at the clock: it was nearly one in the afternoon. Yawning, Pietro got out of bed and went to take a shower. As he dried off afterwards, he stopped in front of the mirror. He looked as tired as he still felt despite sleeping for twelve hours straight, but other than that, there wasn't a hint of vampire about him. His face, while naturally pale, had regained a rosy tinge and his eyes were once again bluer than the sky.

Once he was dressed, he went out to the kitchen. He was starving – if he was going to be technical about it, he hadn't eaten properly in nearly four months. Clint and Natasha were in the kitchen when he got there, sitting on the counter and eating sandwiches. They looked up when Pietro entered the room, and Clint grinned, bounding off the counter to come greet him.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," he said, pulling him into a hug.

"I'd hardly consider it morning," Pietro teased.

"Whatever. You earned that sleep," said Clint. "How are you feeling?"

"Still kinda tired. But right now I'm mostly hungry."

"I figured you would be, so I made you a sandwich!" Clint said.

He opened up the fridge and presented Pietro with a sandwich, smiling as though making him lunch was his proudest achievement. Pietro smiled back and took the plate.

"Thanks, Clint," he said.

"Come on, pull up some counter," said Natasha, waving a hand at the open space next to her.

Pietro took Clint's hand and followed him over to sit down. He leaned casually against Clint and began to eat. He swallowed the first bite and frowned at the sandwich in his hand.

"Is something wrong?" Clint asked. "I knew I should've used blackberry jam…"

"No, the sandwich is great," said Pietro. "I just… y'know when you've been sick for a while and you're finally able to eat properly again, but you still feel like you might throw up if you try and eat more than three bites of toast?"

"Yeah."

"That's sort of what I'm feeling right now."

"Makes sense. You haven't eaten real food in months," said Natasha. "Your body's not used to it."

"My body's not used to a lot of things right now."

"That's okay," said Clint. "Eat as slow as you need, babe."

He ran a hand through Pietro's hair and pressed a fleeting kiss to his temple. Pietro half-smiled at him, then took another bite of his sandwich, resting his head on Clint's shoulder.

What was left of the day passed by quietly and uneventfully. Hungry as he was, Pietro continued having trouble eating more than a little bit at a time, so he spent the afternoon nibbling at whatever food Clint had most recently offered him. Clint seemed dead set on taking care of him, which was endearing for now but would no doubt become smothering before the end of the week.

Night fell and Pietro found himself feeling tired considerably earlier than he expected, especially considering how late he'd slept in. He was sitting in the living room with a few of the others, leaning on Clint's shoulder and trying not to nod off.

"Why don't you go to bed?" Sam said as Pietro stifled yet another yawn.

"It's not even ten."

"So? You're exhausted, get some sleep."

"Time's an illusion, Pietro, sleep whenever you damn well please," said Tony, walking into the room with a fresh cup of coffee.

"Don't listen to him," said Sam.

"But also do listen to him," said Clint. "For now. Go to bed."

Pietro smiled sleepily and kissed him on the cheek, then got up.

"I'll join you in a little while, okay?" Clint said.

"Okay," said Pietro. "I'll probably be too dead asleep to notice. But okay."

He left and went to his bedroom, got undressed, and climbed into bed. He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling – he could just make out the pinprick holes he had left there throwing darts. That felt like a whole other lifetime. He rolled over to face the window, watching as the tiny, distant light of an airplane blinked its way across the night sky.

Now that he was in bed, he couldn't seem to fall asleep. It didn't make sense. He was exhausted. Five minutes ago he could barely keep his eyes open. But now he couldn't sleep, no matter how desperately he needed it. He turned away from the window and closed his eyes tight, trying to relax his body. After what felt like ages, it finally seemed to be working. The sounds of the waking world slowly faded and a peaceful darkness had just begun to take him when he was suddenly jolted awake, distant screams echoing in his ears.

Panting, Pietro propped himself up on his elbows and listened for the screams again, or for any sign of a struggle. But the night was peaceful.

Oh. Of course.

He fell back onto his pillow and sighed heavily. The screaming had been in his head. He had dreamt it. He bit his bottom lip and stared up at the ceiling again as he waited for his heart rate to slow back down. He knew where he'd heard those screams before. They were very distinctive. Desperation turned to pain that slowly melted into pleading whimpers and silence. Those were the sounds made by every person he'd made his prey while he was with the coven.

Just then, the door opened and Clint stepped inside. Pietro didn't acknowledge him as he quietly moved around the room getting ready for bed, clearly trying to be as silent as possible. It wasn't until Clint had slipped into bed next to him that he finally spoke.

"Hey."

Clint jumped in alarm, then groaned exasperatedly.

"Jesus Christ, you scared me! I thought you were asleep," he said.

"Sorry," said Pietro.

"Why are you still awake?"

"I can't fall asleep."

"But you're exhausted," said Clint.

"I know."

"More ex-vampire side effects?"

"I guess."

Pietro paused a moment, considering, before he went on.

"I did start to drift off a little bit before you came in…"

"Oh, sorry, did I wake you up?"

"No," said Pietro. "I had, uh… well, I dunno if I'd call it a dream, but… well, I heard… screams."

"Screams?" Clint repeated.

Pietro nodded.

"What kind of screams?"

"It was… it was the people I killed," Pietro murmured. "When I was a vampire. When I went bad."

"How do you know?"

"I could tell."

They both fell silent. Pietro knew that Clint was scrambling to come up with something positive or comforting to say, some way to make it better.

"Look, Clint," he said. "This whole situation has fucked me up more than even I know yet. There's some things you can help me with, but… you're not gonna be able to fix everything. I think this is one of those things."

"But…"

"I'm serious. The stuff I've been through, the stuff I've done… you can't make it go away. I'm stuck with it and whatever nightmares I get because of it."

Clint sighed and scooted closer, pulling Pietro toward him. Pietro wrapped his arm around Clint's waist.

"Okay, so maybe I can't fix this," said Clint. "But if you're gonna have nightmares, I'm gonna be right here to make you feel better afterwards."

Pietro smiled and buried his face in Clint's chest, grateful, and so happy he no longer had to be afraid to hold Clint close.

"Thank you," he whispered, closing his eyes.