When Clint woke up the next morning, Pietro was still huddled up in his arms. His weight and heat were solid and comforting to Clint and he wouldn't mind if he could stay like that for ever. The two of them were covered in grease, dirt and other unhygienic things. They needed to find a place to shower soon. They could cope with the feel of being dirty; it happened often and you would soon get used to it. It was the smell that was never good. They would smell badly after so long and would need to wash to get rid of the smell, of the layers of dirt and grime and whatever else that covered them.
He wasn't sure when they would find the time or place to shower, but he knew they would often go for weeks without them. They'd just have to power through.
"Sorry," Pietro said when Clint sat up. Clint frowned.
"Hell you sayin' sorry for?"
"Sleeping on you like that. Is not right,"
"Doesn't matter, kid. We need warmth to survive, so doing the cuddling up shit doesn't matter. Survival is priority," Clint said, ignoring the thoughts in his head.
"It was no bother?"
"Not at all. If you're ever cold like that you can sleep with me again," Clint said, then saw the way Pietro's face brightened as he smiled up at Clint.
And so the days had turned into weeks, the weeks into months and none of them were sure for just how long Pietro had joined their ranks. They had accepted him with open arms, let him get close to Clint. Clint didn't appear to mind.
The two of them spent many nights huddled together for warmth Barbara, stop being so quick on the draw.
A few people had come and gone, passing through, finding a place to stay for a few nights before moving.
The winter had been the worst they had to endure. They had all ended up close together, bodies pressed close around the poor fire as they tried to keep the warmth in.
Those times had been hard.
Now, they were in an abandoned building complex, the feel of the warm spring air filtering through the boards over the broken windows. Clint and Pietro were dressed in raggy shorts and old tank tops with multiple holes in them. Clint had gotten the clothes for them and Pietro didn't bother to ask where he got them from.
"There's a heat wave coming through over the next few days. How much water do we have left?" Barbara asked, peering over at the dozen or so bottles that they had that usually stored water in them.
"Not much," Pietro answered, running a hand through his greasy hair. He internally cringed at the feel of his hair in his hands. He couldn't remember the last time he had a proper shower. He and the others smelt bad; no wonder people avoided the homeless like the plague. "We should go and get some more,"
"That can be yours and Clint's jobs. Go down to the park, there's a water fountain or two there," one of the other elderly women - Susan - told them. Barbara nodded her agreements and the two men got the bottles and took the nearest plastic bag and put them in. "We'll sort out food and who'll be going out scrounging for money," Susan added and Clint nodded before he took hold of Pietro's forearm and dragged him out of the room.
"There is going to be people at the park," Pietro said, pushing his hair out of his eyes as he and Clint walked.
"I'll protect you," Clint said, sending Pietro a quick grin. Pietro rolled his eyes. "We'll be as quick as we can and we can make sure people won't follow us. If anyone comes, I'll beat them up,"
"But you are old man. You could get hurt, yes?" Pietro asked. "I do not want you hurt because of me,"
Clint looked over at him, seeing the genuine worry in the younger man's face. "I'll be fine," he reassured him. "Promise."
The two continued to walk and Clint realised he had ended up holding Pietro's hand. He risked a glance over at Pietro, who didn't seem to mind, so he said nothing and continued to look ahead, moving through the sea of people towards the park. Pietro ended up pressed up against his side, trying to keep as close to Clint as possible. Clint didn't say anything, instead squeezing Pietro's hand in reassurance. Pietro returned the gesture, and then pressed himself even closer.
"People are looking at us," Pietro murmured into Clint's ear.
"We stand out a bit as homeless. We might not smell that good either so it's not really surprising. Just stay close to me and don't look anyone in the eye; just keep looking forward and they'll not say anything and part like the Red Sea." Clint informed him and Pietro nodded.
They managed to get to the park in one piece and got to the water fountain safely too. There was a bit of a queue to get to the water fountain, but people quickly dispersed when they saw Clint and Pietro. Maybe they had been intimidated by the fact that they looked grubby and homeless and potentially dangerous or maybe it was because they were sweaty and dirty and stunk. Whatever, as long as they got their water, they didn't give a shit.
They filled up their water bottles with relative ease, putting them back in the plastic bags and kept glancing around, worried someone would steal them or something. You could never tell with people.
"I don't feel safe here," Pietro admitted in a low voice and Clint saw the way his hands shook as he held the bottle to the small fountain thing.
"I know how you feel. We should get out of here as quickly as possible." Clint said and Pietro nodded. Clint silently prayed the water to hurry up, to fill up their bottles quicker, but instead it felt like it was slowing down, just to fuck with them.
After what felt like an eternity, they had filled up their water bottles and packed them up and made their way to leave the park. They walked back down the streets they had come from, had managed to get pretty far, but neither could get rid of the uneasy feeling that had made a home in their guts. It wasn't until Pietro got yanked into an alley did the worry explode inside Clint, freezing him in his place.
He heard Pietro yelling, a mix of his native tongue and broken English did he surge into motion. He abandoned the bag and ran in after them and saw the familiar faces of the pricks that had been making jives at Pietro.
What the fuck? Clint thought before he shoulder barged one and turned and kicked another in the stomach. Have they been trailing us since the fire?
Pietro tried to yell his name, but it came out all muffled and broken and Clint tried to continue and fight them, using moves he learnt from Natasha and Steve and he tried to pointedly ignore the ache that swelled in his chest as they flashed in his mind before he continued to fight the bastards that had dared to try and hurt Pietro.
He wasn't sure what he did, he just did it; flipped them over his shoulder, twisted their arms and hit them in their guts, forcing the wind out of them -
"CLINT, MOVE!" Pietro screamed, but it was too late.
He felt the metal slip into his side, sink into him and find a home just like the worry had. Only it hurt more. He felt everything slow down around him, everything sounding muffled and distorted, like he was under water or had cotton shoved in his ears. He wasn't entirely sure. But then the white hot pain erupted in his side and he let out a wet gasp, legs buckling from underneath him.
Clint's vision went blurry as his head connected with the rough floor, hand going numbly to the knife buried deep in his side. He felt his body wishing to curl up, almost did it, but he forced himself to stay still, not wanting to risk his wound becoming worse. He saw blurry legs moving in front of him, but the tears were stinging painfully in his eyes, but were nothing in comparison to the pain surging in his side.
And then Pietro's face was in front of his and he could feel a pair of hands around his on his wound. Pietro was saying something to him but he wasn't too sure what he was saying; everything sounded so incoherent and he felt something uneasy settle in his stomach when he realised he wanted to know what Pietro was saying, what he would mean behind those words. Clint realised he wished he could hear Pietro's voice one last time before he inevitably died. There was no way he would survive from this, no way.
Pietro said something to him that sounded vaguely like 'do not leave me, please,' but he couldn't help it; black spots were appearing in front of his eyes and his eyes were becoming too heavy and the wound was causing so much pain that he couldn't help that he closed his eyes and let the darkness swallow him.
Clint tried; he had saved Pietro, somewhat made sure he wouldn't be hurt, had got himself hurt instead, but he was an old man and Pietro was young and deserved a life. Clint had lived his life, it may have gone a little downhill near the end, but he had met Pietro, so he guessed it had its plusses. He just wished he could have seen the others one final time, but they probably forgot about him, forgot what Clint had looked like, what he used to do with them. The pain of losing them had hurt, but he guessed Barbara and the others he had begun to live with had sort of filled that void they had ripped open in him.
And then Pietro came along and filled something in him he hadn't experienced in years. He wasn't sure as to what Pietro had filled, but he had been so damn happy that he had been there, if only for a short while.
Now he was leaving them. The guilt tore him apart almost as easily as that knife had.
He'd fucked up.
He wished he had known Pietro for longer, had been able to look out for Pietro for longer, but then again this was Clint Barton and life and the universe seemed to hate him and had dragged Pietro into his life and had made him feel weird about Pietro and want to protect him and make sure he would be able to go and see his sister again and make sure they would both be able to live together and away from their asshole of a father.
But instead he had failed and he was sure this was the end, that this was the end of his line and he was leaving Pietro before his own stop. And he felt horrible for doing that to him.
Clint really hoped Pietro would be able to see his sister again and be able to live his life with her and be happy.
