The Cold Hand of Guilt

Chapter One:

Remember the Speedster

Jolting upwards in bed, Clint woke with a start, sweat-drenched and cold. Bringing a hand to his chest, he tried to calm his rapid heartbeat, his shallow breaths a premonition of the anxiety attack that was coming. He couldn't seem to get enough air into his lungs. Feeling around in the darkness, he grimaced at the feel of his soaked bed and shirt. Quickly, he pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it onto the floor.

Leaning over, he fumbled for his hearing aids, snatching them from the night table beside his bed. Switching them on and placing them over his ears, he wrestled with the sheets. They were confining him, holding him down.

"You okay, Baby?" asked Laura, rolling to face him, his movements having woken her from her slumber.

"Yeah, just need some water, go back to sleep," he answered. Placing a kiss on her temple, Clint got out of bed and walked across the pitch black room with ease. Making it to the hallway, he stepped over the pile of LEGO and descended the stairs silently. Once in the kitchen he flipped on the lights and crossed the room. Opening a cupboard, he grabbed a glass and went to the sink, filling it with water.

He should never have made that joke. He couldn't even remember what he had said, but he knew he had wished Pietro dead. How could he have done that? How could he have let that happen? He was a kid, just a kid and he died protecting him. It should have been the other way around. 'Bet you didn't see that coming.' Pietro's words echoed through Clint's mind. No, he hadn't, he really hadn't.

"Another nightmare?" his wife stood in the doorway, having followed him down. Pulling her housecoat around her, she entered the kitchen. She had snuck up on him, a testament to how preoccupied he was. "It wasn't your fault."

"He was just a kid." Guilt pulled at his heart strings. The picture of Pietro's broken body staining the backs of his eyelids.

"He was a hero, who saved the father of my children and the love of my life." Crossing the room, she put her arms around his waist. Putting his cup of water down on the counter, he wrapped his arms around her he held her close. Clint buried his nose in her hair and breathed in her floral scent: a smell he thought he'd never get to experience again. For a brief moment, he was glad Pietro had shielded him from the spray of bullets, before the guilt that thought caused once again took hold.

"I came home to you, but who does Wanda have now?" He had taken her family away from her, a thought that caused him grief every time he looked at the morose girl.

"She has you," said Laura softly. "And I know you are going to do your best to take care of her." The sound of a baby crying shattered the silence of the sleeping household. Pulling away from him, she made a motion to leave.

"I've got him, you go back to bed," said Clint, placing a hand on the small of her back.

"I love you," she said as she turned and flicked off the kitchen lights.

"I love you, too," he replied, following her. He trudged up the stairs behind Laura but instead of turning back into their bedroom he went straight. Entering the nursery, he flicked on the small lamp. Dim lamplight bathed the room in an orange glow as he crossed the room and stopped at the white crib. Reaching into the crib he gently lifted the wailing baby up, into his arms and rocked him back and forth.

"Shhh Pietro," Clint cooed to the child. "Daddy's here,"

A.N: I got a prompt dropped in my inbox and it was too good to pass up. "For an MCU/AoU prompt: Clint trying to deal with Pietro's death and getting really bad nightmares about it."

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