Increasingly Painful and Incredibly Close

0.5

The diagnosis had thrown the whole team into depression.

It had been months since the onset and things had only worsened. Pietro needed much help now, from getting out of bed to standing up from a sitting position. Clint never left his side. The younger was a shell of himself, opting to sleep the days away than face his new reality.

He'd woken up in the mid-afternoon, other side of the bed cold. He would rather fall than call Clint away from whatever he was doing, so he scooted the side of the bed and fumbled with the nightstand to find a semi-secure handhold. Once feeling secure enough, he leaned over the edge of the bed, pushing to stand. His knees knocked together as he got his balance, switching to clinging to the wall as he walked out of the room.

His feet dragged, eyes low with purple bags under them. Natasha was the one to see him first as he left the hall, approaching him in a nonchalant manner to discreetly offer him support. He begudgingly accepted after he almost fell, grabbing her arm to steady himself. The spy took his weight on her arm, not saying anything as he leaned into her.

"Where is Clint?" He was out of breath, the effort to stand and walk was now more than anything he'd experienced.

Natasha sat him down on the couch, careful not to give a pitying look. "He's just down in the gym. You want me to get him?" She was gentle in helping him get comfortable, something he resented needing help for.

"No. He deserves a break." His words blended slightly, his form loose and unnaturally still for someone who tended to always be in motion. His motions were now slowed, heavy with effort.

"Okay. Do you need anything?" She tried not to come off too strong, lest he resist any help she try to give. She was pressing the telegraph transmitter in her pocket to alert Clint. P-i-e-t-r-o a-w-a-k-e

Pietro sighed. "I think I should be good. Don't need anything." The hoodie he'd stolen from Clint was loose on his frame, making him appear smaller as he crossed his arms.

"Alright. Call someone if you need to get up, okay? We don't want you falling." She stood, taking one last look at him before leaving.

Clint, on another floor, was instantly heading toward the main floor upon receiving the message. He texted his other half, just to check in.

'You awake yet?' He sent, phone buzzing shortly after.

'Yes, old man.' Clint smiled at the teasing message.

'Want to go out to eat?'

Before Pietro responded, Clint was walking into the room. He sat by the younger, kissing his cheek. "So?"

"I don't want attention on me." The other responded softly.

"Fuck what anyone thinks, honey. I wanna treat you." The archer took a pale, thin hand in his. Pietro put his head on his shoulder.

"Yes, fine. We go." He really just wanted to make Clint happy. That was what was truely important to him.

The older ran his hand through the silver hair, smiling fondly. "Do you wanna take a shower and get dressed?"

Pietro nodded minutely, Clint standing and pulling the thin man up. The sokovian clung to him, knees weak. The blonde put an arm around his boyfriend, offering his other arm for him to bare weight on. The team had been trying to persuade him to at least use a cane, but all efforts were met with anger.

Walking was a long, tiring process for the duo. Pietro often had to take breaks, stumbling and having to lean into Clint for stability. The whole time, Clint offered nothing but love and support. He whispered to him in sweet nothings, praising him through every step. By the time they reached the bathroom, Pietro was being almost fully supported, head drooping.

He began to weep. Clint held him tightly, fighting his own tears. "I know, honey. Let it out."

Blue mist radiated off his trembling form. "I'm so tired. Please, dorogoy."

"I know. I'm so sorry." He sat the weaker man down, cupping his face tenderly. "I'm here."

A few minutes passed before the younger regained his composure. He was so thin now, so meek. "Shower?"

"Yeah, honey. Lemme get you in there, okay?" Clint held him up as he stumbled over the threshold, sitting him on a shower chair. "Do you wanna try to get undressed?"

Pietro nodded, biting his lip and clumbsily tugging the hem of his shirt. He got part of the way through, Clint assisting gently. "Help with the rest." He gave up, frustrated with his diobeying body. The archer didn't miss a beat, pulling it off the rest of the way, kissing him softly after. He pulled off the sweatpants as well, proceeding to wash him in the shower.

After, he clung to the wall, slowly walking to the bed. Clint held his bicep protectively, a hand on the small of his back. He helped him up onto the bed to rest for a bit while going to pick out some clothing for the weakened hero. He laid fatigued, in nothing but boxers and an undershirt.

A soft, baggy blue t-shirt and jeans were selected, comfortable but presentable. Pietro didn't care. He just wanted to be comfortable, a thing in short supply these days. Clint cared for him tenderly as he dressed him, watching for any signs for discomfort. Shortly after they were both dressed, there was a knock at the door. The archer opened it, revealing Wanda waiting there with a pinched look. She stepped into the room, darting to Pietro.

"You haven't taken your pain meds." She accused.

He said something in sokovian, pronunciations off. He was putting up a front, Clint realized.

"I don't care. You must care for yourself, brother." Her voice cracked a bit as she stroked her brother's hair softly.

He continued to speak, eyes half lidded and voice tight. "I'm sorry for worrying you, Wanda. You shouldn't be bothered with such things, little sister."

"Nonsense! I will not have you shut me out again." She had an edge to her tone. Pietro worked hard to sit up, slouched to one side as he swept the hair from her face. Her breath shook as she sniffled a bit.

"I won't, promise." He breathed heavily at the effort of sitting up, Wanda reaching over to assist. He rolled his eyes, to which she scoffed.

The whole time, Clint stood against the wall. He watched as Pietro lifted a curled hand to Wanda's face, murmuring something in his native tongue.

Lucky jumped onto the bed, Pietro leaned against his sister as the bed shook. The golden dog approached, licking the man's face. "Yes, Lucky. Good dog." He mumbled. "Now Wanda, I really must get ready. Clint and I are going to dinner."

She raised an eyebrow, saying nothing. She just smiled half heartedly, ruffling his hair and laying him back down. "Alright, you have nice date. Talk to me when you get back, da?"

Pietro hummed affirmatively, watching her leave the room. Clint approached, sitting next to him on the bed. "You wanna try getting your shirt on, or you want help?"

"I do it." The younger grabbed the shirt, managing to pull it over his head before trying to thread his uncoordinated arms through the holes. The archer just watched, not wanting to help before the other asked.

It was a long process, but he got it eventually. Clint started on the pants, knowing Pietro would just be exhausted and upset if he tried to do it himself.

"Alright, love. You ready?"

The other man nodded loosely, and Clint got up, helping Pietro to his feet. He shuffled slowly, brushing his lover off when he tried to assist. The older wished he would just accept help, use a cane or something for stability. But Pietro was stubborn. His feet turned inward, dragging against the floor.