"So, I've arranged a treat for you." Pietro was doing his usual thing; lounging on the sofa in his Sonic pyjamas, with a soft grey jacket over the top that Steve felt he recognised. It looked too broad for the speedster, but warm, at least. "You need to get dressed for it, though." that made him sit up almost dangerously fast, blue eyes suddenly fixating on the other.
"Am I going out?" he asked, excitement clear. Steve grinned.
"If you take it easy - yes. So go get dressed. Take your time." he ordered. "I'm not in any rush."

Pietro had to work hard to restrain himself from bouncing around like a lightning bolt. But he took his time, not willing to lose the chance to leave the tower. Pulling on clothes that he'd been given, admittedly it was a very small wardrobe, but he was grateful for what had been bought for him. He had no money, no home, nothing but what he'd gone to the tower with in the first place. Everything else had been given him - these soft, loose cotton shirts that sat nicely over his bandages, and jeans made of expensive fabric that moved nicely. Yes, not ideal for running in, but still very nice.

Dressed, he emerged, pulling back on the light hoodie. Wearing the adidas he found the most comfortable, too; seeing Steve sat on the sofa he'd vacated. Looking up, the other smiled at the speedster, getting to his feet. In his own casual clothes, the two looked completely... normal. Like average twenty-something men, although Pietro was only a couple of years younger than Steve, if you ignored the time he'd spent in the ice. Nobody would've known they were a supersoldier and full of more holes than swiss cheese, respectively.

"Where are we going?" he asked, easily keeping pace - Steve was clearly going slow, hands in his pockets, so Pietro could keep up. "Will I get to -"
"Sorry, kid. No running. Not yet." Steve told him, patting gently on the narrow shoulder. "Soon, though. We gotta get those wounds of yours closed up, then we can get you back in shape. Nah. I have something good for you, though. You'll like it." he promised.
Being unable to run sucked, but Pietro was almost trembling in excitement. Outside. In the open. Despite the glass, he still felt very enclosed in the Avengers Tower. The elevator journey was horrible; Steve let the other press against his side without needing to promise that he wouldn't say a word to anyone. The last thing he needed was Pietro having a panic attack.

When they went down to the street, Pietro was looking everywhere, moving his head just a creepy bit too fast. "Calm down." Steve said, a hint of amusement in his tone. "We just have to walk a bit. Figured you'd prefer that to a car. At any rate, tell me if you're getting panicky, alright? I'm gonna take you the quiet way." mouth feeling glued shut, Pietro nodded. Giving the younger a slight look of concern, Steve walked again. Oddly enough, nobody stared, nobody muttered. Even his weird hair didn't stand out that much here, surrounded by interesting people from all walks of life.

The crowds were making him antsy, so Steve led Pietro away from the main thoroughfare, down quieter streets, heading into the city.
"Clint told me you got to see Lucky." Pietro nodded. "Y'know, I had a dog when I was a kid." Looking around at Steve, the speedster raised an eyebrow.
"I am not twelve." he commented, quietly. "I had a dog, too, when I was young." at least he was talking. "It vanished in the shelling. We assumed..." he trailed off. Steve felt that bolt of pity again.
"Well," he began to grin, as a certain building came into view. "There's plenty of stray dogs in New York that need a home." Steve gestured to the left and Pietro looked up.

The building wasn't recognisable to him, of course, but they had pounds in Sokovia. Eyes widening, the speedster paused; Steve rested a warm palm on his back, encouraging the other inside, over to the desk.
"Hi." he said, smiling charmingly at the receptionist. "I rang up, we're here to pick out a dog?" he told her. She nodded, a little flustered, looking between the two of them. Pietro couldn't believe it. It was like he was suddenly a child again, getting to pick himself a dog, one that wasn't going to run away or die in a bombing... throat bobbing, he followed Steve's broad shoulders through the corridors and then into a long row of kennels. Barking and sniffing sounds reached him.

"Go on, kid." Steve said, giving Pietro a little push. "It's your choice. Go find someone, alright?"
Walking down the aisle, Pietro looked at the dogs there; a mix of ages, most of them mixed breeds. Some of them were jumping excitedly, wagging their tails, others were sleeping or laying moroesly in the corner.
"Most people want to see the puppies first." the lady who worked there said, smiling a little. Pietro had a blinding grin on his face, but he was totally unaware of it, crouching in front of one of the cages and putting a hand in to fuss an older terrier mix.

Then he leant back, looking up at them. "I want to see all of them. Before I chose." he said. The woman looked a touch surprised at the accent, but said nothing. They wandered down the corridor, Steve still smiling slightly. A few of them seemed pretty attached to Pietro, but he meant it when he said he wanted to see all of them. She showed them some of the puppies; some tiny ones, some slightly older. Pietro was absolutely enamoured.
"This little lady, we didn't think she was going to make it." the worker said quietly, as they reached a pen with three twelve week old pups in it, playing rambunctiously. She gestured to the smallest. "Their mother died after giving birth and they were hand reared. We think they're some kinda shephard mix." she informed them. Pietro reached into the cage when she said he could; the pups tumbled over to sniff him.

"I like her." he said, softly. "Can I -"
"Go ahead."
Very carefully, Pietro lifted out the fluffy puppy. She definitely looked like she had some shephard in her mix, as well as something fluffier, maybe some kind of samoyed? Her fur was browns, golds and blacks. In his arms, the little puppy wriggled then sat up, putting her paws on his chest. There was a slight wince as the pressure was put on a bandage, but Pietro didn't complain, stroking her ears. His eyes went to Steve.
"I think we have a winner." he said, looking at the lady, who nodded.
"She's probably going to get pretty big and fast when she's older," she pointed out, "You'll need a lot of space for her."
"Is not a problem." Pietro said, softly. "We have a lot of space."

Half an hour later, they were leaving the pound. The little puppy had a new collar and lead on, but Pietro was carrying her, insiting she wasn't too heavy for him. Steve had already gotten some of what they needed, the basics, at least; a bed, food and food bowls, which should have already been set up while they were out picking. The pup seemed quite content to snuggle up in Pietro's arms, head in the crook of his elbow.
"You got a name?" Steve asked, feeling proud. The light had stayed on in Pietro's eyes.
"Mishka." Pietro responded, without hesitation. "It means 'Bear Cub'." a grin crossed his lips. Steve mimicked it.
"It suits her. Good choice." he patted Pietro's shoulder again, and this time, the man didn't wince away.