Family
"Maybe I should sleep on the couch," Pietro said from the doorway, hesitating to enter the room.
Clint frowned in confusion. "What? Why?" He chuckled. "Don't tell me you've come over all moralistic all of a sudden? It won't exactly be the first time we've shared a bed, y'know."
"No, I know," Pietro answered. "But it's different here." Pietro cast a wary look down the hall towards the closed doors before continuing. "I mean, your kids are right down there."
Clint rolled his eyes. "Are you serious? My kids know that we're together. Or have you missed the fact that they call you Uncle P? Or the drawing taped to the fridge with Mommy, Daddy, and Daddy's boyfriend in it?"
Pietro still looked unconvinced.
"Jesus, Pietro. Laura's going to be gone on this romantic vacation for the next week and there's no way in hell I'm gonna have you sleeping on the couch the entire time. Now, get in the damn bed!"
Hours later, Clint was sleeping soundly, little whistling snores escaping from his lips, and Pietro couldn't sleep. Every little creak and moan of the unfamiliar Barton farmhouse made him pine for their room in the Avengers compound.
Their room which had a blessed lack of impressionable minds sleeping only feet away.
It's not that he doesn't love Clint's kids - he does, with his whole heart - but there's just something off about being in this house, the Barton house, like this. He feels like an impostor. He's not family, not really, and being surrounded by the history of Clint and Laura's life here with the kids makes him all too aware of that.
There's scratches in the paintwork of the kitchen door marking the varied heights of three kids over the years, ceramic hand prints and foot prints hung on the walls. It's all so picture perfect and enviable that Pietro isn't really sure where he fits in.
"Daddy?"
A small, sniffling voice intruded on Pietro's thoughts and he froze, panicked. Nathaniel shuffled into the bedroom, his purple blanket trailing on the floor behind him, clenched in his little fist.
"Daddy? Is you 'wake? I had a bad dream."
Clint snored on, blissfully unaware. Pietro heard the familiar hitching breath that usually preceded Nathaniel's heart rendering sobs and scrambled upright, startling the sobs right out of him.
"Hey, Nate," he whispered as he crouched down in front of the boy. "You had a bad dream?"
Nathaniel nodded as he moved his fist up to rub sleepily at his eyes, never letting go of the blanket.
"You want to tell me about it?" Pietro asked, grasping at straws, completely unsure of how to handle this.
Nathaniel shook his head, his lower lip starting to tremble and Pietro settled closer to him, close enough to pull him in for a hug, cooing gently at him as his small, chubby arms wrapped around Pietro's neck.
It reminded Pietro vividly of how his own father used to comfort him. Back before his bad dreams were eclipsed by the tragedy of his real life. A sudden flash of inspiration, of nostalgia, hit him.
"Do you want to stay and sleep here?" he asked.
Nathaniel's ready acceptance made him smile.
"OK, buddy," he said, picking Nathaniel up and helping him burrow under the covers. "You have to be quiet though because your Daddy is still asleep."
"I will," Nathaniel whispered, already halfway to unconsciousness. "Love you, Uncle P."
Pietro smiled.
"Love you too, puișor," he said to a happily sleeping Nathaniel.
"And you said you were worried about the kids sleeping down the hall."
Pietro huffed in exasperation. Of course, Clint was awake.
"Shut up," he sighed. "Go back to sleep."
"'K," Clint replied blearily, already following Nathaniel back to sleep.
Pietro smiled as he watched father and son sleep peacefully beside him. It felt nice. It felt like family.
Pietro rolled over and finally let sleep claim him, relaxed and content.
He was really glad he hadn't taken the couch.