Tales of the Teenage Avengers And Agents Of SHIELD

Whataya Want From Me

Hey. Slow it down. Whataya want from me? Whataya want from me?

Pietro grunted as another kick hit his side.

"Get up," snarled the voice of his instructor. "Get up, you pathetic excuse for a human."

Pietro struggled to his feet, "Stop." His voice was merely a whisper.

"What was that, filth?" A blow landed on his cheek, sending him back to the ground.

"Please." Pietro murmured.

"What is going on here?" Asked the hard, angry voice of 15 year old Clint Barton.

"Training." snapped the instructor, hitting Pietro again.

Clint's eyes narrowed as a strained sounding whine left Pietro's lips, the sound a hungry dog would make. Pitiful, low, soft, barely there at all. A slight growl was present in Clint's voice when the next words where spoken.

"The Director wants to see you, Agent Hammer." He spat the word Agent like it was venom.

Yeah. I'm afraid. Whataya want from me? Whataya want from me?

The second the instructor was gone, Clint slid across the floor and landed on his knees next to the silver haired teen. "Are you alright? What happened?" He asked, blue-gray eyes wide and concerned.

"H-Help me t-to stand?" Pietro asked, holding out a hand to the boy who'd risked everything for them.

Clint gently grasped his hand and pulled him to his feet, letting Pietro lean on his deceptively strong body.

"Need... Need m-medical atten," there was a pause, probably Pietro looking for the right word, "medical attention," the young man coughed and blood splattered on the floor.

"Okay. Okay, I've got you." Clint replied, pulling Pietro's arm around his shoulders and putting a hand to Pietro's slimmer waist.

"I am afraid." Pietro whispered as they reached the doors, remembering that Clint had said that the twins could tell him anything.

"It's alright now." Clint reassured him, running a comforting thumb over Pietro's knuckles. "I'm here. I've got you." He promised, voice taking on a warm, comforting tone.

There might have been a time. When I would give myself away. Once upon a time, I didn't give a damn.

Once upon a time, Pietro wouldn't have given a damn about what happened. He'd have given himself over to the pain willingly and to the instructor's abuse.

But now here we are, so whataya​ want from me? Whataya want from me?

But now, after Clint and Steve, and Toni and all the others had shown him such kindness. Now that they'd worked with him and he knew how to take care of himself in a fight and they'd included him in Friday night beer games and Monday's movie days. Now, here they where.

And the words thrown at him hurt.

Just don't give up. I'm workin' it out. Please, don't give in, I won't let you down. It messed me up, need a second to breath. Just keep coming around.