Chapter Text
Lance brings the beer can to his lips. He doesn't want to think about how Pietro got all of this. Given how he wound up here - busted for vandalism and theft, and rescued by their mysterious benefactor - Lance thinks he has a pretty good idea. It's a lot of beer to steal without anyone noticing. But then, Pietro has already taken his wallet from his pocket about six times tonight without him noticing just to show he could.
Lance is lying on the couch with his back against the arm, taking up the entire thing because fuck you, that's why. Fred is on the chair with Todd sitting on the armrest. Pietro and Rogue are on the floor, Pietro practically at Lance's feet and Rogue across from him in front of the TV.
"So," Rogue says, "should we- talk or something? Ain't that why we're doing this team bonding crap?"
"Sure, we'll go around in a circle and talk about our tragic backstories and what terrible turn of events landed us here," Pietro says with a wave of his hand.
"Hey, I don't got no tragic backstory."
Lance grins a little. Sarcastic bitch after his own heart. Emphasis on the bitch.
"Might as well talk about something. Otherwise, Ah got homework."
"All right, fine. You start. Does it actually say Rogue on your birth certificate, or do you have a proper name?"
"What's it to ya', Quicksilver?"
"You're the one who said we should talk. Get to know each other."
Rogue makes a face at him.
Lance is trying to remember whose idea this was. Fred or Todd, probably, but he isn't sure which. He wasn't paying that much attention.
Frankly, he doesn't think any of them wants to be here. He's only here for the beer.
"So, ah- you're all from outta' state?" Todd asks.
"I dunno 'bout the rest of you, but I'm from Illinois," Lance says.
"Ah'm from Mississippi."
"Hey, that makes us neighbours," Fred grins. "I'm from Texas."
Lance nudges Pietro with his foot.
"What about you, pretty boy? Pietro Maximoff isn't an English name. You foreign?"
"Right, and Alvers isn't an Anglicisation."
"Whatever. What are you, German? Russian?"
Pietro shrugs and waves his hand almost dismissively.
"Do I look Russisch to you?"
"I don't fucking know what - what did you call it? - Russisch looks like. Are you German, then?"
Pietro shrugs.
"I was born in Transia. My father's Polish, my mother was Romani. I spent a few years in Germany, but I mostly grew up in New York City."
His tongue curls around the Rs in the names, rolling them. It's a shadow of an accent, not quite fully developed. He speaks quickly, shifting with every few words. He talks with his hands, Lance thinks.
"Ain't you fancy," Rogue scoffs.
"The hell's Romani? You mean Romanian?" Lance asks.
"You know Esmeralda? Hunchback of Notre Dame? She's Romani."
"Oh, you mean-"
"No," Pietro snaps, "I do not. I mean Romani."
"Okay, Romani. Whatever."
"Wait, whaddaya' mean your mom was?" Todd asks suddenly, as if finally catching up with Pietro’s quick words.
"I mean she's dead."
Pietro's feelings towards Todd are more than evident in the silent 'you idiot' that should be tacked on.
"Dead how?"
Fred elbows him. Todd shrieks, falling off the armrest.
Pietro just shrugs and finishes his beer before grabbing another. His shoulders are tense.
"Like fuck if I know. Tuberculosis, I think."
"An' your old man?"
Jeez, talk about not taking a hint. Lance almost wanted to his Todd himself.
"Walked out on me. I guess his work was more important than his kid."
Pietro’s voice drips with venom and it stirs something in Lance's chest. It's a bitterness he recognizes.
"You were in the system?" Lance asks.
"Yeah. He left me with a foster bitch and her long string of so-called-boyfriends."
"I was, too," Lance says. "In the system. Parents died when I was a kid. In and out of homes until Mystique found me."
Pietro snorts, mutters something under his breath. Lance thinks it might be in German.
"Well- Ah was adopted by Destiny when Ah was four. She was good to me," Rogue says awkwardly.
It's hard to follow up shitty foster care with less shitty foster care.
"My mama raised me. She's in jail now, but we write," Todd says.
"What's she in jail for?" Fred asks.
"Stole a car."
"Amateur," Pietro snorts. "Ow- Lance! Don't kick."
"Don't be a dick. You got busted stealing."
"Not stealing. And you broke your old school. What about you, Blob? The circus your family, or what?"
Fred rubs the back of his neck.
"I ran away to join the circus when my mutation came out. Parents weren't fans."
Pietro laughs, practically cackling.
"I'm sorry, that's too fun- If you kick me one more time, Lance, I swear-!"
The rest of the night continues in the same way. Drinking and bitching - mostly from Lance and Pietro.
Lance loses track of time and drinks. All he knows is Rogue, Todd, and Freddy called it a night and Pietro's lying on top of him. They're sharing drinks and kisses and whispers. He's absolutely not gay, but he's drunk and Pietro is pretty and he does things with his tongue that make Lance shiver.
"Your foster parents ever hit you?" Pietro asks, that vague, non-descript sort of accent coating his words.
"All the fucking time. 'Til I start fighting back. What abou' foster bitch?"
"Not her. She mos'ly forgot I was around. Changed the locks on me once. I never figured out why. Her boyfriends… One broke my jaw 'cause I wouldn't blow him. Healed fine, though."
"What?"
Lance sits up a little. When Pietro whines, he leans back against the armrest. He strokes his fingers through soft, white hair. His stomach is burning. He can feel the tremors trying to escape his skin. Pietro's hummingbird heart rushes against his hand.
"No-one's ever gonna' hurt you like that 'gain. I won't let 'em. Never again."
Pietro laughs. It sends cold chills down Lance's spine, and not in the fun way.