Pietro woke in a bed the next morning. He had never slept in a bed before. Where was he?

The clothes clung loosely to his figure as he stumbled down the foreign hallway.

"Gde ya? Kto to tam?" Where am I? Is anyone there?

A man, probably about twenty, stepped out.

"Hey, Pietro. How'd you sleep?"

Clint.

Yesterday came rushing back to him at super speed.

"Good. And you?" Pietro gave a half smile.

"I slept fine. You want breakfast?" Clint wandered into the open kitchen that connected to both the living room and the dining room.

"Okay." Pietro leant against the wall, timidly looking at the ground.

Clint rubbed the blonde hair out of his eyes, yawning.

"Aww, coffee. No." He whispered as the coffee pot spilled onto the counter. Now he had to brew a whole new pot.

Clint was actually okay at cooking. He knew how to make most simple dishes, but usually just ordered in because he was lazy, or too busy shooting arrows into the wall to cook.

He started making omelets. He really had no clue what this kid liked, so he was just going to start with basic foods that almost everyone liked.

Clint's house phone rang, scaring the shit out of Pietro and causing him to jump.

Clint quickly picked up the receiver.

"Morning, Katniss."

"Ugh. It's you."

"So...I was wondering if Steve and I could come by?"

"What did you do this time?" Clint knew there was going to be a stupid answer in:

3

2

1

"I tried to cook, and well, the house is full of smoke." We have lift off.

Clint groaned. "You're an idiot. I have a friend over, so be nice."

"Ohh. Do I know this 'friend'?"

"No. Shut up, okay?"

"Love you, too, bird boy. I'll be over in twenty."

"Bye, Tony."

Clint hung up. "My nitwit friend and his boyfriend are coming over." He explained.

"Must I leave?" Pietro's eyes filled with fear.

"No! No, just giving you a warning. They're gonna be here in about twenty minutes." Clint mopped up the coffee with a paper towel.

Pietro limped over to the table, sitting in a chair.

Clint gave him a plate, sitting on the counter and eating.

Pietro was done in minutes, shamefully ducking his head and putting his plate in the sink, washing his hands and standing against the wall.

Pietro suddenly realized that he found Clint attractive. His yellow blonde hair, the way he stood, his voice. He was soothing, but he was handsome. Pietro knew that he would never go for someone who probably wasn't even a legal adult.

Clint washed the dishes promptly, leaving them in the sink and giving Pietro clothes.

The two got dressed in separate rooms, finishing just before the doorbell rang.

"Hey, Everdeen!" Then a more polite voice. "Hey, Clint."

"Hey." Chain unlocking, door opening.

Pietro leant on the wall, walking towards the front door to see the visitors.

A man slightly taller than Clint with brunette hair entered. "So, where's the 'friend'?"

"Oh, he's a little skittish. He's around somewhere." Clint peered around to see Pietro standing half hidden behind the hall.

"Pietro? Come on out, buddy."

The stray boy hobbled out, looking at the ground.

"Clint...is that...?" The tall blonde man recognized the homeless boy.

"This is Pietro." Clint smiled.

"Clint, why...why did... isn't that the boy from under the bridge?" Steve gripped Tony's hand and furrowed his eyebrows.

Pietro blushed, bit his lip, and looked down. He began to limp away.

"No, stay, it's okay." Clint caught his arm.

"I sorry." Pietro whimpered.

"It's okay. Why don't you go sit?" He was more gentle with his new housemate than he was with his closest friends.

Pietro stumbled away, sitting stiffly on the couch.

"Be nice okay? He needed a home and I needed a roommate."

"Clint, that's when you adopt a stray dog or something!" Tony scolded.

"Does he even speak? Clint, what the hell?" Steve was quieter. "You know, if you're both happy, then okay. It's not our choice."

Tony gave a small huff but dropped the subject. "Okay, do you have food? I'm hungry."

"Yeah, there's leftovers on the stove." Clint sighed, sitting next to Pietro.

Steve sat in the adjacent armchair, thinking.

Clint spoke softly to Pietro. "You okay?"

"I am fine. No worry." The russian was quiet.

"So, uh, how old are you?" Steve awkwardly tried to start a conversation.

"Ah, I think about eighteen." Pietro thought. He was kicked out at fifteen on the streets in various spots for around a year.

Yes! Clint thought.

"Nice." Steve shifted position. "Uh, honey, could you fix me a plate too?" He called into the kitchen.

"Sure thing." Tony sat on the arm of the chair, handing the plate to his other half.

Pietro sat, playing with the hem of his shirt. His hands shook and he felt like rocking. Tony, Steve and Clint freely conversed.

"You sure you're okay?" Clint pulled Pietro out of his trance.

"Still okay." He whispered, nodding ever so slightly.

He thought of Wanda. Oh, what a bad idea that was. Her laugh, her smile, her secrets she told in the dark of night. Father had never hit Wanda. He hit Pietro and he hit Mother, but he never hit Wanda. He tried, but Pietro had always got in the way.

"I need outside for second. I will be back quick." He stood with slight difficulty.

Pietro walked as fast as he could, practically running. He tripped, trying to catch himself on the edge of the table, barely succeeding. His face flushed and he stumbled outside, sitting against the wall of the house with tears streaming down his cheeks.

Clint came outside shortly after. He sat in front of Pietro. He was rocking and crying, eyes squeezed shut.

The archer placed a hand on Pietro's shoulder, causing him to open his eyes in fear.

"Shh, shh. It's okay. It's okay."

"It no okay. I embarrass you in front of friends. That not okay." He pressed his palms over his ears, trying to block out the memories of his father's condescending voice.

Clint pulled his hands from his ears. "Pietro, it's alright." He took the shaking hands in his own.

Clint took the boy back inside, getting him a glass of water and sitting him on the couch.

Steve and Tony looked at Clint like he had grown three heads. He'd never been this nice to anyone. There had to be something up.

"Here," Clint handed him the glass, which Pietro took with both hands, holding it carefully as to not drop it.

"So, how long'er you guys gonna stay?" Clint flicked on the television.

"Uh, probably a few hours, I really burnt the hell outta that toast."

"Wow Tony, such a great cook." Clint sneered sarcastically.

Pietro tried to hand the empty glass to Clint but dropped it on the couch. Man, he was on a roll.

Clint only smiled though, picking it up and putting it on the coffee table.