The Babysitter

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¡SURPRISE!

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Clint's POV

I used to play this game when I was little. My cousins and I used to get together and play it all the time. Someone says a word and you have to say the first thing that comes to mind.

Moon: space

Summer: lemonade

School: hell

Guys: hot

I always had an attraction to guys, no matter how young I was. I just considered myself bisexual, since I still had a small attraction to women.

But that was before my ex-wife and before I met Pietro Maximoff.

If I heard his name and was told to say the first thing that came to my head, I'd probably be called a pervert. The thing is: Pietro is way more than just perfect hair attached to a sculpted body.

He's the definition of a light during hard times. I don't know much about his home life, but I know it gets him shaken when I bring it up. I asked about his dad once and he instantly seemed to shrink.

It's sad, really. Pietro is so caring and smart and helpful. He may not be perfect, but he's pretty damn close. A boy with that kind of heart doesn't deserve to be treated wrong.

Maybe that's why it set me off, seeing him with that other kid. I want Pietro to be happy, but I want him to be happy with me. Is that so wrong?

I tossed and turned in my bed some more while thinking about it. Maybe I just need to let go of this fantasy. After all, Pietro is not even of age.

A knock on my front door interrupted my jumbled up thoughts. I checked my bedside clock to see it was twelve after midnight. I slipped on my slippers, but didn't bother finding a shirt.

I descended the stairs, running a lazy hand through my bed head. I swear, if this is Tony showing up drunk at my door again-

My thoughts were cut short when I finally whipped open the door. There, standing in my doorway, was Pietro Maximoff.

I couldn't see him in the dark shadow from outside, but I could tell he was soaked in the rain that still pelleted against the house in this very moment. He looked like a sad puppy as he head hung down so his brown locks fell across his eyes.

"Pietro? What are you doing here?"

"C-can I come in?" He shivered.

"Of course," I nodded and opened the door wide enough for him to step inside. I led him to the living room and switched the light on. I heard him drop his bag from behind me.

"So, what hap- shit, Pietro!"

The kid had fell limp on the couch. That's when I saw it. The whole right side of his jaw was swollen and turning blue. It definitely didn't come from a football tackle.

"What the hell happened?" I asked taking a seat next to him and brushing my fingers gently against the bruise.

"N-nothing," he studdered weakly.

"Bullshit," I responded gruffly, "You show up at my house soaking wet, covered in bruises, at twelve thirty at night. You need a little better explanation than that."

He winced a little and I noticed him holding his ribs. I raised an eyebrow and reached for the hem of his shirt. He immediately put his hand on mine to stop its movement.

"I have to check, okay? Just trust me," I soothed. I tried to stay as calm as possible, but I was freaking out on the inside.

I lifted his black tee and winced inwardly. His ribs and stomach had patches of blue and purple colored bruises on them. Who would do this to him? These nasty marks tarnished his beautiful pale skin and it hurt something deep in my chest.

"Kid," I breathed in shock and horror.

I looked back up at him to see tears in his eyes. I brought my hands away from his chest and back to his face.

"My father," he sniffed and opened his mouth to speak again, but it was cut off by a sob.

His hands came up to cover his face and I was forced to back off a bit. I wanted to do something to comfort him, but I didn't want to hurt him more.

So, I was forced into the torture of watching the poor kid choke on tears for a while. It tugged at my chest, the feeling to reach out for him, the urge to make him feel okay, the rage of wanting to punch his stupid, Russian father in the face.

"I'm sorry. I didn't have anywhere else to go," he said now, sniffing sadly.

"No, no. It's fine. I'm glad you came here," I responded truthfully. I wouldn't want anyone else to see him in this vulnerable state. I want to protect him.

"Dad?"

Pietro quickly tried to sit up, but winced in the painful process.

"Hey, hey. Stop moving," I soothed, placing and hand on his shoulder. "I'm down here, Nate."

I heard footsteps down the stairs before my son came scurrying in the living room.

"Is everything oka- Pietro?" Nate stopped short upon seeing the broken boy on our couch.

"I should probably go," Pietro whispers, trying to get up again.

"Hey, stop. Okay? You don't need to go back out there. You're safe here," I said, calming his movements so he would relax against the couch.

"Is he okay?" Nate squeaked. He sounded so scared. I opened my arms to my little Natey and he ran into them like he's been doing since he could walk.

I held Nate close at my side and turned back to check on Pietro. He was dozing off on the couch. He looked so much more at peace when he slept. It reminded me of the night I found him sleep in my bed. He looked like a sleeping angel, pale skin complemented perfectly by warm features.

"He can sleep with me," Nate offered from beside me in a whisper voice.

"You sure?" I asked, rubbing his back.

"Yeah. I couldn't sleep anyways," he shrugged.

I looked away from Pietro for a second to look down at Nate. I felt my heart ache again, but for a different reason this time. My son is back to having nightmares and I didn't even know about it.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course," he said pulling him in for one last hug.

"It's not your fault," he whispered.

"I know, Natey. I know."

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Omg I love them.

Thought I'd give you guys a taste of Clint's POV. What'd ya think?

Thank you and I love you guys for comments and votes that keep me writing.

( teaxadorer for commenting everyday for me to update XD )

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BYE!