It was later that day when the phone rang once again.

Pietro let the machine get it, not wanting to get up or invade Clint's privacy.

But he jumped when he heard the voice.

"Hallo? Pietro?"

Pietro fell off the couch. He hadn't heard that voice since he was kicked out. He began to hyperventilate, memories of his past flashing before his eyes.

He stumbled to the phone and cradled it carefully to his ear.

"Wanda." He breathed, accent extremely thick.

"Pietro." She sounded to be on the brink of tears.

"Chto sluchilos', malen'kaya sestra?" What's wrong, little sister?

"Otets stanovitsya vse khuzhe. Pozhaluysta, prikhodite dlya menya v blizhaysheye vremya, ya boyus'." Father is getting worse. Please come for me soon, I'm scared.

"Ya obeshchayu, ya budu poluchat' vam, kak tol'ko smogu. Kak vy poluchili etot nomer?" I promise, I will get you as soon as I can. How did you get this number?

"Mat' imeyet svyazi. Oy, Otets domoy. Ya dolzhen idti. Ya lyublyu tebya." Mother has connections. Oh, Father is home. I must go. I love you.

"Ya lyublyu tebya." I love you.

The end of the line clicked, the door unlocking. Pietro jumped, shakily pushing the receiver back into the dock.

"Pietro? I'm home." Clint's voice was warm.

Pietro greeted him by timidly limping out, as usual. He gave him the same lop sided smile he had for the past two weeks, Clint embracing him gently.

"How is work?" Pietro asked into Clint's shoulder.

"Good. It was a little boring, and I'm glad to be home."

"That is good." The boy smiled, unconsciously leaning a bit on Clint. The man didn't complain, he just wrapped an arm around him and sat him on the couch.

"So, I've got some friends down at the hospital that would like to see if they can help you."

"How?" Pietro perked up.

"They would like to see if they could get you some braces or crutches to make it easier for you."

"Does braces and crutches hurt?" Pietro's eyes widened.

Clint realized that he had exactly no clue what that meant.

"Braces, almost like this," He pointed to the brace he wore on his wrist because he had fallen and sprained it a month ago. "For your legs. So you can walk easier, without falling over. And crutches," He googled images of forearm crutches on google, showing him. "That's what they are."

"Da." Pietro nodded slowly, muttering something in russian.

"What?" Clint raised an eyebrow.

"I was just thinking how Father would yell at me for being cripple if I ever wore things like that in house." He shook his head, chuckling slightly. "Is it okay if I hate him?"

"Yeah, of course." Clint put his hand on Pietro's knee. "He was an asshole to you. You've got every right to hate him."

Pietro shifted forward on the edge of the couch. "So your friends? They help people like me?" He changed the topic.

"Yeah, they want me to run you by tomorrow, if it's okay. They think they could get you checked out and make life a little easier."

"That is good. They not hurt me, will they?"

"No, no. They're nice people." Clint smiled at him slightly.

Pietro met his gaze, looking down quickly. "So...did-did you mean this morning?"

Clint took Pietro's curled hand in his own. "Yeah. Did you?"

"Yes." He gave a half sided smile, looking up slightly.

He pressed his lips to Clint's, smiling into the kiss.

Clint ran his hands through the longer hair, finally breaking apart with a sigh.

"You're still a kid." He realized.

"It only six years different from you." He looked up at him with pleading eyes.

"True. If this is what you want, we'll make it work." Clint kissed Pietro's forehead, standing up and stretching, announcing that he would go change. He was still in his scrubs, after all.

Halfway down the hall, his phone chimed, followed by a loud curse and a groan.

"What is wrong?"

"Nothing. My...my kids are coming over today. I totally forgot. And my ex wife, Laura, just texted me about it." He rubbed his eyes. "I get them for dinner once a month."

"That does not seem much fair."

"Yeah, but it's the way custody worked out, so I just take it for what it is."

"What time do they come?" Pietro's legs shook slightly as he stood, leaning against the arm of the couch.

"Half an hour. She just texted me that she's on her way, that's what reminded me."

"They will be okay with me being here?" Pietro tripped his way to Clint, holding onto the wall for support.

"Yeah, they're good kids. You'll like 'em." Clint moved the shaggy hair from Pietro's eyes, tucking it behind the boy's ear.

He blushed, pushing his face into Clint's shoulder.

•••

Cooper was the oldest, was a five year old. Nate, the youngest, was one. Clint had started young.

Pietro stood, politely shaking hands and introducing himself to the children. He leant against the couch, unsteady on his feet.

Three year old Lila toddled over to the teen, looking perplexedly at Pietro's shivering hand. He did his best to straighten it out, hold it still. The girl still stared blankly. He gave a smile, looking at Clint.

"What's wrong with you?" The little girl asked unwittingly.

"A-ah, I do n-not know." He sputtered, stumbling away from the situation.

Clint placed an arm around him, stopping him.

"It's okay." He felt Pietro start to lean on him.

"Something wrong with me." He looked down.

For the first time, Clint saw Pietro as others did. A scrawny kid, knees pressed together, one ankle turned inwards. He saw the spastic hands and the lopsidedness of his smile. His shaggy brown hair that fell into his piercing blue eyes. The way he was able to gaze through you, see into your soul.

"You're perfect." Clint reassured.

Clint helped him to the table, wiping the hair from him eyes.

The father talked with his kids, catching up with them. They ate, Pietro watching silently. Awkwardly.