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ax_main2018-03-29 02:33 am
ax_avalanche) wrote in ax_main2018-03-29 02:33 am
Entry tags:
Pietro and Lance | Backdated
The night of the Brotherhood raid on the FoH, Lance keeps an eye on Pietro following his gunshot wound and subsequent treatment.
Something burned like hell in Pietro’s side, and he tried to sit up. He opened his eyes and yelped like a small dog. Then flushed, embarrassed. “Fuck. I forgot.” That he’d gotten shot. Where was the huge blue furry smarty pants? Oh right. They were done. Pietro was in his own room instead of on the kitchen table now.
“Ugh.” Pietro tried to push himself up to sitting. “Fuck this...”
"Fuck you," the bed shifted and Lance leaned over, placing a hand in the middle of Pietro's chest to ease him back down onto the mattress. It was late. Or really early. Either way, the windows were dark. The string lights that framed them were on, though, bathing the room in a soft glow. Lance was still dressed in the jeans he wore to the raid - the ones now spattered with dried blood - but he'd at least thrown his shirt and jacket in the garbage, and at some point had gotten rid of his socks and shoes. "Stay down, asshat."
Pietro made a face, but even that much resistance was half hearted. In truth, he was just relieved Lance was there. He didn’t want to be alone.
Did Lance know that?
Did Pietro give a shit if he did?
Pietro had no idea. He let his head hit the pillow and grunted in agreement. “Is Eileen okay?”
"Yeah," Lance said, and hoped he sounded more sure of himself than he felt. What he felt was exhaustion. Guilt. Anger. Fear. Pretty much every fucking terrible thing in the world. "Yeah, doc said she'll be fine. She just needs to rest. Pyro too."
Pietro was quiet for a long moment, his next question stuck in his throat. Then, uncharacteristically quiet, he asked, “What about you?”
It was the quiet in Pietro's voice that got his attention, and Lance caught himself looking down before he'd realized he was doing it. Fuck Pietro and his observations. He let out a quiet breath. "I screwed up."
Yeah, that was about what Pietro expected. Wanda was probably having the same issue. He’d deal with hers too, but for now, he reached out and grabbed Lance’s hand. “Okay, so it didn’t go to plan. But we did it, man. We sent a message and it was a big one. We’re not gonna take shit lying down.”
Except that Pietro was laying down at this exact moment but... whatever.
"Yeah?" Where Lance would normally have pulled his hand away, he curled his fingers around Pietro's and looked up at him. "Did we? Because I'm pretty sure they think they won. They probably think we're as dead as everyone else in there."
Pietro tried to do a lying-down shrug, but it made him wince because ow. He tightened his fingers between Lance's. "All the better to shock the shit out of them next time we come gunning."
"Shit," Lance breathed as he watched Pietro wince. "Stay still, you asshole. It's bad enough the drugs don't work right on you."
"Okay, okay, I'm still, mother hen," but Pietro couldn't even bring himself to sound annoyed, because he wasn't. "I'm just saying. It's not all bad."
"Yeah, I get what you're saying," Lance told him, shifting to sit on the bed right up against Pietro's hip, one leg tucked up beneath him. "And yeah, we took out their headquarters in a way no one'll ever forget. I'm not saying that's nothing. It's gonna take them a while to bounce back from that. It's just not what I had in mind, is all. Especially nearly getting the team killed."
"That wasn't you," Pietro said with a snort. "That was those fuckers. Who blew themselves up rather than let us win. Joke's on them."
Lance snorted. "Yeah. Damn good thing your sister can apparently make shields."
“There’s not much she can’t do.” Pietro looked proud for a second, then went thoughtful again. “So we chalk it up to experience and we’re better prepared next time. We’re okay. We did something. That’s... big.” Important, actually. Important to Pietro. He looked down at their hands and toyed with Lance’s fingers.
Lance watched him quietly. "How are you feeling?"
“Pale. Tired. Stupid as fuck for getting shot.” Pietro snorted, still not looking up. “Otherwise better than you’d expect.”
“You’re always pale,” Lance smirked, but he ghosted his fingers against Pietro’s.
The smile faded, and he admitted, very quietly, “Shit, you scared me.”
A moment of silence was forever for Pietro. And forever was more than long enough to remember things that made him... feel weird. He'd been in and out of consciousness immediately after getting home. Once he'd awakened and thought he was never going to see Wanda again, and it made him cry.
Once, he'd awakened and wished he'd told Lance... a lot of things.
And he couldn't say that, but he should probably say something, right? Or maybe that was just the lack of blood and residual pain talking.
After that moment, Pietro said, "Sorry. I scared me too, if it helps. And I just wanted to say, like, you know. That I'm glad--for you. Both in general and as someone who I wake up next to sometimes. If you know what I mean."
Lance let out a breath. "We should do that more. The waking up together part."
And what he really meant when he said that was that he never wanted Pietro to leave his bed again. That probably made him a sappy fuck, but fuck it. He'd almost gotten his entire team blown up, and he'd never been so scared in his life as when he'd seen Pietro falter when he'd been shot.
With a relieved sigh, Pietro nodded. “Yeah. A lot more, maybe.” He wasn’t going to ask Lance to, like, commit to anything. Especially when he’d just been shot and Lance was all fucked up, mentally. That was some shitty manipulation shit.
But it was good to know they were on the same page, as far as it went. Really good. “Thanks for staying with me.”
Lance glanced toward the door. "Wanda wanted to. But I-" am selfish.
“Eh.” This time, Pietro remembered not to shrug. “She gets it. Better than we do, even.” He caught Lance’s gaze and something close to his usual smirk tried to form on his lips.
Lance didn't even bother with pretense as he leaned down and caught Pietro's mouth with his own, the kiss far gentler, sweeter than he usually preferred. He didn't want to think too hard on that, but he knew, deep down, that something had changed. He cared, and he couldn't pretend he didn't care anymore.
Pietro closed his eyes and kissed back, for once not caring if he seemed a little too desperate for the affection. He caught the vibe, though, the sweetness of it, and echoed that right back at Lance. When he closed it off, Pietro kept his head turned and pressed his forehead to Lance's for a second.
"You're an asshole, you know that?" Lance breathed out, not moving away. "Everything's gone to hell, but suddenly shit's much clearer with you. Always gotta be so goddamn contrary."
"Yeah, well. Everything's better when you don't go through it alone, etc, etc, blah blah." Pietro smiled, but didn't move either.
Eventually, Lance pulled away, only because the positioning was causing his back to seize up, but he shucked off his bloody jeans and crawled back into bed, this time stretching out beside Pietro, one arm curving protectively over his chest. "You know, if you're really good and don't open up your goddamn stitches, I'll give you a sponge bath."
"Aw yisssss." Pietro chuckled--but carefully and quietly, because ow. He scooted a little closer to Lance, too, pressing into him tight. "You're a good motivator. That's totally why you're co-leader."
"Yeah? Is that why you listen to me? Cause I motivate you?" Lance smirked.
"Yep." Pietro let his eyes flutter shut. "Parts of me, anyhow, get very motivated when you're around."
Lance rolled his eyes, but found himself smiling, turning his head to press his lips against Pietro's temple. Fuck, it was nice to hear him smart-talking again. For a while there, seeing him all pale and unconscious, he almost thought he was going to really lose it. "Back at you, Glowstick."
Pietro hummed happily, a smile toying with his lips. He covered Lance’s hand—the one draped over his chest—with his own. “Thanks for staying. This is good.”
"I'm not leaving," Lance told him, quietly, but forcefully. He didn't want to leave Pietro at all, but knew he'd have to, when Wanda was ready to take over again.
Hearing him say that hit Pietro unexpectedly. Somewhere deep in his chest, some place he usually kept locked away. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter to fight the burn. If Lance didn't already know about his abandonment issues, now wasn't the time, man.
Pietro squeezed :Lance's hand, sighed, and then he was out.
Something burned like hell in Pietro’s side, and he tried to sit up. He opened his eyes and yelped like a small dog. Then flushed, embarrassed. “Fuck. I forgot.” That he’d gotten shot. Where was the huge blue furry smarty pants? Oh right. They were done. Pietro was in his own room instead of on the kitchen table now.
“Ugh.” Pietro tried to push himself up to sitting. “Fuck this...”
"Fuck you," the bed shifted and Lance leaned over, placing a hand in the middle of Pietro's chest to ease him back down onto the mattress. It was late. Or really early. Either way, the windows were dark. The string lights that framed them were on, though, bathing the room in a soft glow. Lance was still dressed in the jeans he wore to the raid - the ones now spattered with dried blood - but he'd at least thrown his shirt and jacket in the garbage, and at some point had gotten rid of his socks and shoes. "Stay down, asshat."
Pietro made a face, but even that much resistance was half hearted. In truth, he was just relieved Lance was there. He didn’t want to be alone.
Did Lance know that?
Did Pietro give a shit if he did?
Pietro had no idea. He let his head hit the pillow and grunted in agreement. “Is Eileen okay?”
"Yeah," Lance said, and hoped he sounded more sure of himself than he felt. What he felt was exhaustion. Guilt. Anger. Fear. Pretty much every fucking terrible thing in the world. "Yeah, doc said she'll be fine. She just needs to rest. Pyro too."
Pietro was quiet for a long moment, his next question stuck in his throat. Then, uncharacteristically quiet, he asked, “What about you?”
It was the quiet in Pietro's voice that got his attention, and Lance caught himself looking down before he'd realized he was doing it. Fuck Pietro and his observations. He let out a quiet breath. "I screwed up."
Yeah, that was about what Pietro expected. Wanda was probably having the same issue. He’d deal with hers too, but for now, he reached out and grabbed Lance’s hand. “Okay, so it didn’t go to plan. But we did it, man. We sent a message and it was a big one. We’re not gonna take shit lying down.”
Except that Pietro was laying down at this exact moment but... whatever.
"Yeah?" Where Lance would normally have pulled his hand away, he curled his fingers around Pietro's and looked up at him. "Did we? Because I'm pretty sure they think they won. They probably think we're as dead as everyone else in there."
Pietro tried to do a lying-down shrug, but it made him wince because ow. He tightened his fingers between Lance's. "All the better to shock the shit out of them next time we come gunning."
"Shit," Lance breathed as he watched Pietro wince. "Stay still, you asshole. It's bad enough the drugs don't work right on you."
"Okay, okay, I'm still, mother hen," but Pietro couldn't even bring himself to sound annoyed, because he wasn't. "I'm just saying. It's not all bad."
"Yeah, I get what you're saying," Lance told him, shifting to sit on the bed right up against Pietro's hip, one leg tucked up beneath him. "And yeah, we took out their headquarters in a way no one'll ever forget. I'm not saying that's nothing. It's gonna take them a while to bounce back from that. It's just not what I had in mind, is all. Especially nearly getting the team killed."
"That wasn't you," Pietro said with a snort. "That was those fuckers. Who blew themselves up rather than let us win. Joke's on them."
Lance snorted. "Yeah. Damn good thing your sister can apparently make shields."
“There’s not much she can’t do.” Pietro looked proud for a second, then went thoughtful again. “So we chalk it up to experience and we’re better prepared next time. We’re okay. We did something. That’s... big.” Important, actually. Important to Pietro. He looked down at their hands and toyed with Lance’s fingers.
Lance watched him quietly. "How are you feeling?"
“Pale. Tired. Stupid as fuck for getting shot.” Pietro snorted, still not looking up. “Otherwise better than you’d expect.”
“You’re always pale,” Lance smirked, but he ghosted his fingers against Pietro’s.
The smile faded, and he admitted, very quietly, “Shit, you scared me.”
A moment of silence was forever for Pietro. And forever was more than long enough to remember things that made him... feel weird. He'd been in and out of consciousness immediately after getting home. Once he'd awakened and thought he was never going to see Wanda again, and it made him cry.
Once, he'd awakened and wished he'd told Lance... a lot of things.
And he couldn't say that, but he should probably say something, right? Or maybe that was just the lack of blood and residual pain talking.
After that moment, Pietro said, "Sorry. I scared me too, if it helps. And I just wanted to say, like, you know. That I'm glad--for you. Both in general and as someone who I wake up next to sometimes. If you know what I mean."
Lance let out a breath. "We should do that more. The waking up together part."
And what he really meant when he said that was that he never wanted Pietro to leave his bed again. That probably made him a sappy fuck, but fuck it. He'd almost gotten his entire team blown up, and he'd never been so scared in his life as when he'd seen Pietro falter when he'd been shot.
With a relieved sigh, Pietro nodded. “Yeah. A lot more, maybe.” He wasn’t going to ask Lance to, like, commit to anything. Especially when he’d just been shot and Lance was all fucked up, mentally. That was some shitty manipulation shit.
But it was good to know they were on the same page, as far as it went. Really good. “Thanks for staying with me.”
Lance glanced toward the door. "Wanda wanted to. But I-" am selfish.
“Eh.” This time, Pietro remembered not to shrug. “She gets it. Better than we do, even.” He caught Lance’s gaze and something close to his usual smirk tried to form on his lips.
Lance didn't even bother with pretense as he leaned down and caught Pietro's mouth with his own, the kiss far gentler, sweeter than he usually preferred. He didn't want to think too hard on that, but he knew, deep down, that something had changed. He cared, and he couldn't pretend he didn't care anymore.
Pietro closed his eyes and kissed back, for once not caring if he seemed a little too desperate for the affection. He caught the vibe, though, the sweetness of it, and echoed that right back at Lance. When he closed it off, Pietro kept his head turned and pressed his forehead to Lance's for a second.
"You're an asshole, you know that?" Lance breathed out, not moving away. "Everything's gone to hell, but suddenly shit's much clearer with you. Always gotta be so goddamn contrary."
"Yeah, well. Everything's better when you don't go through it alone, etc, etc, blah blah." Pietro smiled, but didn't move either.
Eventually, Lance pulled away, only because the positioning was causing his back to seize up, but he shucked off his bloody jeans and crawled back into bed, this time stretching out beside Pietro, one arm curving protectively over his chest. "You know, if you're really good and don't open up your goddamn stitches, I'll give you a sponge bath."
"Aw yisssss." Pietro chuckled--but carefully and quietly, because ow. He scooted a little closer to Lance, too, pressing into him tight. "You're a good motivator. That's totally why you're co-leader."
"Yeah? Is that why you listen to me? Cause I motivate you?" Lance smirked.
"Yep." Pietro let his eyes flutter shut. "Parts of me, anyhow, get very motivated when you're around."
Lance rolled his eyes, but found himself smiling, turning his head to press his lips against Pietro's temple. Fuck, it was nice to hear him smart-talking again. For a while there, seeing him all pale and unconscious, he almost thought he was going to really lose it. "Back at you, Glowstick."
Pietro hummed happily, a smile toying with his lips. He covered Lance’s hand—the one draped over his chest—with his own. “Thanks for staying. This is good.”
"I'm not leaving," Lance told him, quietly, but forcefully. He didn't want to leave Pietro at all, but knew he'd have to, when Wanda was ready to take over again.
Hearing him say that hit Pietro unexpectedly. Somewhere deep in his chest, some place he usually kept locked away. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter to fight the burn. If Lance didn't already know about his abandonment issues, now wasn't the time, man.
Pietro squeezed :Lance's hand, sighed, and then he was out.