Hello! :)

This takes place just after the events of the movie.

...

They were flying back to Ultron City- although Tony had been referring to it as New York- which was weird but not entirely dubious- to spread the news and to start cleaning up the once well-known metropolis. Francis was staring out the window, watching as the world speeded past, and was thinking.

Pym was talking to him about one thing or another, something that involved a whole lot of energized voice and exaggerated hand gestures, but Francis chose to let it become background noise instead of actually bothering to pay attention, only nodding or making quiet noises of agreement whenever it seemed appropriate.

He was pretty sure the younger boy hadn't noticed.

His mind was too active to pay attention either way, too shocked and dazed to even really put any effort into anything. He was too busy trying to convince it of the truth to talk about some random topic with Pym.

They had done it. They had defeated Ultron. Ultron was dead, and he was never coming back.

They had done it.

His entire life, Francis had been training for this moment. For this day.

They had defeated Ultron.

Since he could walk, his father had placed a bow in his hand and taught him, preparing him to defend himself and the rebels. Preparing him to fight. To lead. To shoot arrow after arrow and hit the target every time. He had been training to defeat Ultron once and for all… and now it was done. They had done it. It was finally, finally over.

Ultron was dead, and he was never coming back.

And after so long…. After so many years of fighting and fighting and fighting… Francis wasn't sure he knew how to live without it anymore. Wasn't sure if he knew who Francis Barton was without it anymore.

His morose thoughts were interrupted when a small head suddenly thumped onto his shoulder, startling him badly. He almost, almost, reacted with a violent swing that most likely would have ended with a concussion, but managed to prevent himself in time.

As it was, he simply tensed every muscle in his body and released a soft hmphing noise from his closed lips.

Because this was no attacker of enemy, it was just Pym.

Pym, who was solidly passed out on his shoulder, soft whispy noises escaping him every other breath.

Francis stared, uncomprehending.

His first thought was that Pym had fainted due to some injury or another. While they had been celebrating at the cave he had seemed well enough- bouncing around and chatting excitedly- but Francis had seen far too many people hide injuries only to collapse to the ground hours later to trust the observation, especially if said observation was on a person he hardly even knew.

And so, because Pym was a fellow teammate and it was important for him to be in a good condition for fighting, it was completely understandable when he spoke up to his companions about his concerns.

(It wasn't if he was worried or anything. No, not at all.)

"Ummm… Guys?"

The rest of the group looked over and, to Francis' surprise, broke out into smiles. The white haired boy blinked rapidly, bewildered, for he had been expecting concern or shock, not humor and snickering.

Tony- who had been quietly chatting with Vision up to that point- glanced over, his face falling into a fond, if not exasperated, gaze when he caught sight of Francis' situation.

"Finally passed out, eh?"

The robotic head- and that had totally been a fun occurrence, meeting a detached head- spoke up next, his voice clipped and distinctly British sounding.

"It would appear so, Tony."

Then they went back to talking.

Majorly confused now, Francis glanced at James in question. James seemed to be the kind of guy who would answer honestly and without any of that wishy washy stuff, and at that point he needed things to be as clear as they could get.

James, upon catching his eye, gave him one of his lopsided smiles, gesturing to the child curled up next to him with one red gloved hand.

"Whenever he gets big he uses up a lot of energy and afterwards he almost always passes out. After he sleeps a bit, he usually wakes up incredibly hungry, eats his own weight in food and then is back to normal. This always happens; don't worry about it. In all honesty, I'm surprised he lasted as long as he did…"

The teen trailed off with a shrug.

Azari, who had been sitting across the room, spoke up, a mixture of humor and sufferance toning his voice.

"The first time he got big he slept for almost three days, woke up, ate out our entire kitchen, claimed he was tired, and then promptly collapsed into his soup. Those… those were a long few days."

The others chuckled, as if Azari's sufferance was an inside joke that they had long laughed over, and again Francis felt the weird sense of being out of place that he got whenever the close-knit group he had joined reminisced or commented on events that had happened long before he ever knew them.

Torunn, who had been pulling back her long golden hair into a tight warrior's braid, suddenly laughed.

"Do you remember the time that young Pym decided to grow large just so that he may achieve victory in the race?"

And again they laughed, and again Francis felt awkward and put out, at least until Pym suddenly shifted and mumbled something, turning ever so slightly so that he was more fully resting on Francis' shoulder. While the younger boy moved and got comfortable again, the other teens stayed respectfully quiet and Francis remained painfully tense.

As soon as Pym had settled, however, they were back at it, apparently making it into a game of who could bring up the most ridiculous story of something Pym had done.

He didn't contribute or bother to ask questions, far too busy staying as still as possible.

Francis wasn't one for touchy-feely kind of things. In fact, he wasn't one for physical contact at all. He didn't do hugs or embraces. He didn't do hair ruffles or whatever. No, his experience of touch started at a high five and ended somewhere around manly slaps on the back. That was it. That was his comfort zone.

And so… to have someone leaning on him, sleeping on him- A little kid, at that. A little kid who couldn't be more than… What? Eleven? Ten? - was so far out of his range of expertise that it wasn't even funny. In fact, it could quite possibly be bordering the lines of terrifying.

Pym snuffled, burrowed into his shoulder a little closer, and settled once more, soft little breaths escaping his mouth in small puffs.

Francis sat stock still, hardly daring to breathe.

No one seemed to notice his tension.

Nobody, that is, except for James.

The ginger sat down besides him, blue eyes big and soft and warm and intense in that annoying way that meant he was about to say something important or inspiring or caring or something. The way they got when he was about to talk about feelings.

Francis didn't like talking about his feelings.

"You can transfer him over to me, ya know, if it really bothers you that much."

He was about to happily agree and start shifting the kid over, but something stopped him, made him hesitate.

Perhaps it was the way the kid yawned and curled up a little closer, looking so much like a small baby kitten that it wasn't even funny, or the way Pym's hair looked so ridiculously fluffy that it could almost pass as porcupine, or maybe even how Francis could see the bags under the kid's eyes, signifying just how tired he truly was and causing something warm and protective to curl up in Francis's chest.

Perhaps he was just a sappy idiot like everyone else in the group.

(He was finding it harder and harder seeing it as such a bad thing.)

Whatever it was, if found Francis shaking his head in a definite 'no'.

"Nah, it's fine; I can handle a little drool," he flashed a small smirk, "besides, it seems a shame to wake him up; he looks so comfy."

James smiled- a twinkle in his eyes suggesting that he knew that that was what Francis was going to say all along- and nodded, standing up with parting pat on Francis' shoulder and heading to the other two teens.

And later, when they arrived at the city, Francis would awkwardly prod the youth until his eyes cracked open. He would then tell him that they had arrived and help him to his feet.

And Pym would blink a few times blearily up at him before breaking out into a blinding smile, wrapping his skinny little arms around Francis' waist and giving him a quick hug.

And then he would be gone, dashing out of the jet with a parting, "Thanks for letting me use you as a pillow!" and muffled laughter.

And Francis wasn't sure what this little group he had stumbled upon was or just how it worked. Wasn't sure what was going to happen in the future or just how one could live without a constant battle plaguing their thoughts. Wasn't even sure just who he was, just how he fit, in this whole entire mess…

But he was looking forward to finding out, and seeing Pym's brilliant smile and hearing Torunn's beautiful laugh, watching as Azari and James played Rock Paper Scissors Shoot in order to determine just who would be the one to tell Pym that there was no food, seeing his family, together and whole and in high spirits, well… something told him that, whatever it was, it was going to be good.

...

So there you go! How did you like it? Let me know! :)

(Just in case anyone cares, I absolutely adored writing sleeping Pym...)

Until next time! :)

-Mashpotatoe Queen