InsaneJournal

WHO: Clint Barton & Yondu Udonta & Peter Quill
WHERE: Yondu's packed place
WHEN: (backdated) Feb 1st
WHAT: Clint's past catches up with him, Yondu plays babysitter while Peter pouts.
WARNINGS: Light discussion of child neglect/abuse
STATUS: Complete.

The drugs were fantastic.

He'd been on pain medication before, probably nothing this strong, since he had a tendency to wing it and make do with dulling the pain how he could, but the nurse he'd seen had just rolled her eyes at him and let him try to hobble before telling him to accept the morphine. So he did, and while he could now limp a little better and his head didn't feel like dozens of footballers were running drills in there, he was also as high as a kite.

He was sure he'd told Yondu where he lived, it's by the beach, there's a green door, Sheila in the coffee shop by the lighting store knows it, but somehow he'd ended up at Yondu's place instead -maybe it was just too far to Clint's place, that would make sense, Clint lived far away after all. He had a splint around his knee (not broken, thank god, but the inflammation and damage was serious enough that he'd need to keep his weight off it for a little while) and Clint was used to head injuries at least.

What he wasn't used to was someone actually bothering to take care of him. "I can get a cab home, y'know?" Oddly, there was a slur in his voice, "Or walk? I can totally walk."

Yondu rolled his eyes and growled under his breath as he watched the young man on the couch slurring nonsense. How did he end up playing the bleeding heart? Why did he have to give a damn? In the dreams he was way more savage - going so far as to beat the crap out of Peter in front of his crew and Gamora just to drive home the point a Ravager wasn't emotional, weak, or sentimental.

And here he was, being sentimental. Sort of.

He really needed to tap into more of his Ravager side more often, he told himself.

He and Clint went back a ways, to when Yondu was a cop in Missouri. All sorts of criminals passed through their tiny town over the years, hoping to go unnoticed. Clint had been one of those, though he hadn't been particularly good at the going unnoticed part. When Yondu had run into him here in the OC, the guy had sworn he wasn't into any kind of trouble, yet here he lay on Yondu's couch, bandaged and hopped up on Morphine, having been hit with a baseball bat to the knee and head.

"I suppose I could ask you all kinds of shit since you're high as a kite right now." he drawled, arms folded across his chest as he looked down at Clint. "Like who the hell did this to you?"

"I wanna know what the other guy looks like," piped up Peter from the floor. He was sitting down, scratching Kraglin's face, sending all the glares in the world to this random dude on his couch. Yeah. His couch. Not like Peter had much of a bed right now, and if this guy was staying for a while, it looked like the floor for Peter.

Fucker.

"And if he's got nothing on him, daamn son, you gotta brush up those skills. Your face looks like shit."

Clint squinted a little at the guy on the floor -Printer? Poncho? Peter. That was it. Yondu's lodger. Or friend. Or like his whatever.

"I think I cut off his ear. I can't remember. He was loud, even with my aids out I could hear him." And that was another thing, one of his hearing aids had taken a battering and now there was a low level humming in his head that bugged the fuck out of him. Not even the nurse could stop that. "It was jus' some guy, who might've worked for some oth'r guy."

Clint was sure that Jacques had died, at the very least he'd be in prison if by the grace of God someone had stemmed the buckshot in his gut. But then, it wasn't like Jacques was the only guy there that Clint pissed off. "M' last employer an' me didn't really.... part, on good terms." And he raised his fingers, drawing them apart with one eye closed to display that parting.

First he'd been hit by a car, possibly not the accident he thought it had been, and now his leg was almost smashed in along with his face. "I have bad luck."

"No shit, Sherlock." Yondu snarked. "Who the hell was your employer Clint? If he's sendin' hit men after your ass I need to know. You're under my roof now. Need to know what's comin'." Just let the assholes try. He had a flying arrow and dead aim with it and his gun.

He then realized Clint had mentioned something about 'aides'. Yondu cocked his head to one side and then crouched down. Taking Clint's face with one hand he turned it this way then the other. He frowned and his brow furrowed. "When the hell did you go deaf?"

"Probably before he realized he needed aids," Peter quipped back. If what the crazy man said was true, Peter had to revisit his earlier opinion. Contrary to what most would think, cutting an ear off was not an easy task. Not that Peter had done that before ...but he'd sure tugged on one or two in a fight before. Those fuckers would need a good sawing before coming off.

"DO YOU NEED ANYTHING? YOU HAVE MY BED, HOW ABOUT SOME SOCKS?" Deaf people definitely needed to be yelled at.

Even with the drugs flooding his system and the slight ache, Clint could hear Peter yelling -it sounded like her was under water, but not like Clint couldn't hear him at all, "Dude, I'm hearing impaired, not dead." Seriously, the things hearing people did sometimes. Of course, it helped that the drugs were loosening his tongue a little.

"An' I've needed aids since I was a kid, my dad smacked me around too hard and fuck'd up m' ears." Since Clint had been about five when his father wrapped his car around a tree, it wasn't like he'd held back and Clint's tiny child body never healed all the way. It was just that sometimes, he didn't wear the hearing aids because they cost a fuck load of money.

It wasn't like Clint was staying though, so if there were any more of Jacques' people coming for him, he'd be elsewhere, his own place or just harder to find. "Nah, after that one I dun't think they're gonna try again." At least not for a while. "He's gonna need t' find someone else dumb enough t' try."

Yondu cuffed Peter across the ear. "Knock that off." Honestly, even he knew better than to yell at a hearing impaired person. He was surprised at Clint's story and wondered how since he'd come across the guy previously on multiple accounts he hadn't noticed the hearing aids before. "Yeah, well, dad's can be assholes." He growled. Between the three of them, they might as well start a club.

"Well, good to know. Though if they are dumb enough, I'm prepared." He then frowned, because he knew Peter was already upset Clint was taking up his 'bed'. They'd bought a waterbed at an estate sale for Peter, but the spare room still had a few boxes left to get rid of, the room cleaned up, and the bed assembled. And that wasn't happening tonight. Looking over at Peter, then back at Clint he then said, "Pete, go get my old cot. Set it up over there." He jerked his chin over at a spot by the fireplace. Yondu didn't have a lot of furniture, and moving the dog bed wasn't exactly hard.

Peter scowled and rubbed his head as he got up. " Did you not hear the man? He went deaf from getting hit in the head too much. Jesus CHRIST, it's like I'm the only one that listens in this fucking house." And to prove his point, he did exactly what Yondu said. "May as well be called Cinderpete," he grumbled to himself good-naturedly. In all honesty, that Clint guy was all kinds of fucked up, and Peter wasn't that heartless. The more buddy talked, the more Peter sympathized ...hell, he even empathized. He'd been on the wrong end of an ass-beating before too, and even when you won? You didn't REALLY win. Only Tylenol won.

Setting up the cot, he went back to the spare room to get clean linens and pillows, while also making a detour to the kitchen. "Here," he said to Clint, handing him a bag of peas wrapped in a tea towel. "Don't know if you got any fun drugs either, but you'll probably want to take some soon if you're planning on sleeping. You're going to have one hell of a headache." He also placed the sheets at the foot of the couch while taking his own blankets off of it.

Clint wasn't exactly able to keep up with everything that Peter was muttering, poking a little at his knee like it would make it miraculously better and he could waddle home rather than take up Yondu (and Peter's) space for the night. At least his neighbour had been okay for taking care of Lucky for the night, keeping his pooch from climbing all over him would've been hard, especially since he usually just let Lucky climb all over him, regardless of the discomfort.

The peas that Peter brought back went straight on his knee, his head would be fine, he'd had enough concussions in his life to know by now when it was serious and when it was a worry -he could see straight and the slurring was minimal, the ringing was just a low drone he tended to get when his aids weren't working properly, but nothing to say he should be too cautious. "Thanks," at the least, he wanted to keep his knee from swelling too much. "Guess it's lucky I've got such a hard head, eh."

"Heh." Yondu agreed with Clint on that one. Still, he'd keep an eye out for any further signs of concussion just in case.

With Clint settled in and the cot ready, he figured things were good to go for the rest of the evening.

"All right, guess I'll go order a pizza or somethin'. Pete, go get the menu." He grabbed the remote and turned on the TV.