Chapter Text
“I still can’t believe you found Spider-Man chicken noodle soup,” Patricia chuckled as they all sat around the living room. Thomas had been propped up more properly to eat his soup, leaving a space at the end of the couch for Pietro to sit, although he had to be careful not to knock into his nephew’s leg. Patricia had repurposed one of the chairs for herself. Theodore and William had decided to compensate for that by both taking over one chair, Theodore sitting precariously on one of the arm rests, a soup bowl in his lap.
“Guess it was just a lucky day,” Theodore shrugged, sticking his spoon in his bowl of soup and bringing it to his mouth.
“I must admit, I do not see the appeal of eating the webslinger’s face,” Pietro admitted, lifting up a spoon where one of the noodles shaped exactly like his mask sat. He put it back and tried, again.
“I’m sure Billy can see the appeal in it, though,” Thomas smirked, shooting William a sly look. “Can’t you, Baby Brother?”
“You’re the actual worst,” William complained, hiding his face in his hands. Patricia, Thomas and Theodore all gave varying levels of laughter. Conversation seemed to be dominated mostly by William and Theodore, with Thomas making witty remarks when appropriate. Eventually, the sun had set and everyone was thinking of heading to bed.
“You boys can take Teddy’s room,” Patricia suggested, nodding at Pietro and William. “Tommy, you’re welcome to stay here on the couch.”
“You mean I have no choice, I’m going to stay on the couch if I value my life, right?” Thomas corrected, cheekily.
Patricia leaned over and messed up his hair for that comment. “You’re a smart boy.”
“I would feel more comfortable staying with both my nephews,” Pietro began, only to get Patricia’s look leveled at him.
“You must be dead tired after your journey. My son can spare his bed. I only wish we had more so you don’t have to share.” The finality in her words was enough to convince William, who quickly said he was going to bed and wasn’t going to waste time arguing about it. Theodore, it was decided, would share his room with his mother and Thomas would get the couch all to himself thanks to his injury.
Eventually, Pietro found himself in the kitchen, wiping down their dishes to try to clean them without running water. For a moment, they were silent, but eventually Patricia spoke up, careful to keep her voice low incase the teens weren’t quite asleep, yet. “I get the impression that you don’t quite trust us, Pietro.”
“It’s nothing personal,” Pietro answered, simply. It wasn’t exactly like he was being secretive about it, so denying it would not really do them any good.
“No, I didn’t think it was,” Patricia gave a soft chuckle, her eyes sparkling sadly, even in the darkness. “All of this must have been very scary for you boys. I would probably be the same way, but you’re all so… Young. I just can’t help myself. I have a soft spot for kids.”
“I’m not that young,” Pietro returned, the insult clear in his voice. With how many times his father and various other leaders had put down his abilities because of his age, it was no wonder the speedster took the particular statement a little hard.
“Oh, sweetheart, I didn’t mean it like that,” Patricia assured him, reaching out and lightly pinching his cheek. “It’s just that you’ve still got so much of your life ahead of you and you’re still so full of passion. It’s sad that you’ve already become bitter and had the responsibility of two boys who aren’t you own placed upon your shoulders.”
“You’re barely older than I am,” Pietro stated. He didn’t know her exact age, but her appearance didn’t suggest she was very far off from him.
Patricia simply smiled, her expression distant and fond. “Trust me, Pietro. I am a tad older than my face gives me credit for.”
There was something unsaid in that statement and Pietro was tempted to ask about it, but he didn’t. Whether out of polities or because he genuinely didn’t want to discover what it was, he wasn’t sure. He asked something else, instead. “Why are you being so nice to us? What do you want?”
“I don’t want anything from you,” Patricia stated, simply. When that didn’t convince Pietro, she gave a soft sigh and tried again. “You have to understand that I am a mother. If it was my boy that was out there, frightened or hurt, I would want someone to show him kindness. Isn’t that what your mother would want for you?”
Pietro paused, considering the question carefully. He could lie or be confrontational about the question, but something about talking to Patricia made it easier. She just gave off the very atmosphere of someone who truly meant well. Even so, he was quiet and withdrawn as he spoke. “I… I wouldn’t know. My mother is dead.”
If anything, this only made Patricia more sympathetic, more welcoming, instead of making things awkward or pitiful like it would with most. “I’m very sorry to hear that.”
“It happened a long time ago,” Pietro stated, as if brushing aside the fact, trying to pretend he hadn’t even brought it up. “She died in childbirth. I never knew her.”
“I’m sure she would have been proud of you,” Patricia replied, “I would if you were my boy.”
Pietro gave her a look, almost like he didn’t believe her. “What would make you say that? You don’t even know me.”
“I know you’ve managed to survive this long in a horrible disaster. I know you have taken two helpless boys under your protection. I know that you value your family, if the look in your eye when you speak about them is any indication.” Patricia gave him a playful smile. “I know you helped me clean up after dinner, which is more than I can even say for my own son and he’s a very good boy, if I do say so myself.”
Pietro laughed, but there was a sort of disbelief in the sound, as if he couldn’t quite accept all of this. Not after everything that he’d ever been through; After everything that had ever happened to him and his sisters. If Patricia picked up on it, she didn’t say anything of it and the conversation carried to lighter things, but Pietro couldn’t get the though of her words out of his head.
His whole life, he’d always tried so hard to do things right, to protect his baby sisters and uphold an appearance fit for a crowned prince and what had he ever gotten in return? His father’s disappointment, more often than not. Distinct memories of the room shaking from such a young age that it haunted him even to this day. He’d gotten looked down upon by kings all over the world because he wasn’t his father. He got told off by his sisters for being ill-tempered or overbearing. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had told them they were proud of him. That he was doing the right thing. He didn’t even know if his father had spoken those exact words in his life, with the exception of a gruff, This’ll do or As I expect from you.
He’d been here but a few hours and Patricia had told him exactly what he needed to hear.
William was still awake when Pietro entered, already changed into pajamas that he must have borrowed from Teddy. Patricia had shoved a pile of clothes into his hands, apologizing that they didn’t have more in his size, before she’d sent him off to bed. Quickly, he got into them, noting they were a bit tight but not horrible. William scooted over and Pietro squeezed in beside him, the two managing to fit together on the bed.
If he closed his eyes, he was reminded of the one time when he and Wanda had tried to run away from home. They’d gotten a good couple of miles in and had slept together under the stars on top of a blanket he’d stuffed in the bag on his sister’s back. The memory was a rather good one, just laying in the grass long after they should have been home and talking, their soft giggles heard only by the sky and the earth. The trouble he’d been in when Shaw had found him the next morning and all but dragged him home by the ear had been well worth it.
“Pietro?” William broke the moment, drawing his uncle’s gaze. The teen, himself, didn’t look up as he spoke his eyes locked on the middle of Pietro’s chest. It was almost as if he was guilty for asking. “Why didn’t we tell them who we really were?”
Pietro had almost forgotten about the moment where he’d stepped in earlier, the days events all seeming to blend together. Of course that’s what the witch would have questions about. “It’s for our safety. I wasn’t sure if we could trust them, yet.”
“They seem really nice,” William pointed out, “Letting us stay here and feeding us and all that.”
Pietro thought about his conversation not to long ago with Patricia. “Yes, I suppose they do.”
“So, we can tell them the truth tomorrow, right?”
Pietro frowned, not quite able to bring himself to agree to that, but not sure how to explain this to the idealistic teen. He was just a boy who believed in the thankless good of heroes and that whole peaceful coexistence that the king sometimes preached to repay a lost friend. Telling him that he didn’t want to say because of political disputes and double crossers seemed like the exact kind of thing Wanda would get on his case about. He needed a different tactic with the boy. “William, you are fond of our host’s son, right? This Theodore is someone you’d like to be your... Friend?”
“Yeah,” William got a slightly goofy smile on his face and Pietro pushed down the urge to tell him that teenage flings rarely works out and that he should just drop his crush before it got out of hand. “He’s pretty cool, I guess.”
“And you want him to like you for you, right?” Pietro continued. The amount of patience he seemed to have with his nephews surprised even him and, yet, here he was.
“Yeah...”
“Don’t you think that being the prince of a big and powerful country would kind of put a kink in that plan?” The speedster concluded, causing a frown to form on William’s face. It was clear that he was beginning to see Pietro’s plan a little more. “I mean, royalty comes with all sorts of stereotypes and preconception. Even if he tries to pretend like it doesn’t mean anything, he wont be able to help it. Do you really want to do that to your very new, very fragile friendship?”
Whoever dared to say he didn’t have his father’s negotiation skills could shove it up an orifice of their choosing. After a few moments of internal debate, William seemed to deflate, his head coming to rest on Pietro’s shoulder and this was how the speedster knew he’d won. “No, you’re right.”
Pietro thought back on times that Wanda had consoled the boy by running her fingers through the witch’s hair and gave it a go, himself, trying to sooth the worry still resting just below the surface. William glanced up at his face, brown eyes wide in surprise, but that quickly faded to a sort of sleepy contentment. It was clear that the day’s trials were beginning to wear heavy on his nephew.
“Pietro-”
“Kid,” he interrupted, quiet yet firm. “Go to sleep. We will talk more in the morning.”
“But-”
“Good night, William.”
He huffed, but seemed to settle down, driven towards sleep with the way Pietro’s fingers still carded through his hair. His reply was more yawn than anything. “Good night, Uncle.”