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Erik's breath leaves behind a cloud of heat. It's freezing outside and inside. He doesn't like Norway. He doesn't like cold climates overall.
He's peeling the potatoes, a chore that Pietro assigned him after the hundredth offer to help. He knows Pietro would be done in a heartbeat but he wants to be useful too.
So he peels and cuts the potatoes and adds them to the pot. Pietro usually handles the cooking, but he doesn't like it. He's too impatient and sometimes ends up eating the food still raw. Erik is surprised Pietro survived this long without anyone cooking for him.
He cooks sometimes, when he has the energy. Seeing the metal still and unreactive still brings his mood down. He thinks it always will. The world as he knew it for almost seventy years was now locked to him.
He looks up at Pietro, who's currently barricading the place from the icy cold. It's not doing much, the hut is barely standing as it is, but it's away from people and secure. Erik certainly won't be complaining.
Pietro takes the pot and puts it on the stove. "Soup or just boiled?" He asks neutrally.
"Your choice." Erik answers plainly. He's never been picky about food. It was a luxury then as much as it is now.
Pietro glares at him in irritation from the corner of his eye. Erik pretends to ignore it. It's not worth the fight.
He's not himself anymore. Before, his pride would have made him stand up to Pietro, try to crush the boy's - well, man's - spirit into dust as he has before. As the first time they've met.
He's not the same man anymore. Without his mutation he feels fragile, is fragile. He's a human while Pietro is a near god with his abilities.
Pietro cooks the potatoes, impatiently checking them every five seconds or so.
"Do you want me to do it?" Erik offers. He isn't sure how long he let his mind wander instead of helping, but Pietro doesn't seem to be too irritated yet. That's usually the best indicator of how much time he spends thinking.
"No." Maybe Erik was wrong. Pietro's lips are in a thin line and he's trying to ignore Erik as he often is. It's only two moods really. Either he tries to pretend that Erik doesn't exist or he's enraged at his mere existence. More often than not, these moods bleed into each other.
Erik sets the table instead of arguing and they eat their food quietly. The potatoes are a bit undercooked, but still edible.
Pietro washes the dishes when they're done and starts to prepare the beds. As always, Erik is supposed to take the only bed that's there while Pietro prepares his on the floor, right next to Erik. He used to sleep further away, but then considered it too long of a distance in case they needed to run.
The rest of the afternoon goes as expected. Pietro first only glares at him and then tries to provoke him into a reaction.
Erik had years in Pentagon to try and surpress his reaction, yet Pietro's words still hit deep. He schools his expression, hoping that it'll stop being entertaining to Pietro, rather than anger him.
Pietro ends up storming out, with the half-assed excuse of needing to find more food. Erik knows that it's because he doesn't want to see him again.
Erik doesn't blame him. At least he doesn't raise a hand on him. It's already more than Erik deserves.
He isn't sure if Pietro even realises he's hurting him. He surely must be. The bruises on Erik's hands and occasionally his face, are obvious. Yet Pietro acts like he can't see them.
They aren't undeserved, Erik knows. Sometimes holding his tongue becomes too much and he lets a poisonous barb slip. Sometimes he knows he said the wrong thing when Pietro gets a panicked or faraway look in his eyes and then throws a punch before even noticing.
Sometimes the hurt and rage boils over and Pietro destroys things. Furniture breaks, dishes break, Pietro shouts bloody murder.
But even that eventually passes and they settle into a peaceful coexistence. Like right now. Pietro has returned with more food that he tosses on the table and goes to heat up water so they can wash themselves.
Pietro lets him wash first. He always does.
Few hours later the Sun is setting and Erik sits down on the bed. He watches his son work.
Pietro sits on his sleeping bag by the foot of Erik's bed. He's trying to patch his clothing but apparently can't focus for long enough to slow down. The clothing ends up torn because he moves the needle too quickly. Pietro throws it across the room with a curse.
"Let me." Erik asks him quietly. He wants to be useful. He knows that his presence is a drain of resources and Pietro's patience.
Pietro frowns at him. "Since when do you know how to sew, old man?" He asks defensively when he goes to pick up the shirt.
Erik raises his eyebrows at him. He has been sewing his own wounds since before Pietro was born. "Since I was a child." He fondly remembers sitting with Ruth outside of their house and her showing off different stitches to him. When she had enough colourful thread, she'd make little flowers or stars on her dresses.
Pietro tosses the clothes at him with a scoff. "Show-off."
Erik takes them and gets to work. It's calming, even if a little melancholic. He'd normally use his powers. When he's done, he gives it back to Pietro.
Their hands brush when he gives it back. Pietro flinches like he's been burned. Erik frowns in concern. His skin is freezing. "You shouldn't be on the floor. You'll get sick."
Pietro gives him an irritated look. "I'm fine. Stop fussing." He folds the shirt and puts it into the bag.
Erik would hardly describe that as fussing, but Pietro clearly inherited his inclinations for the dramatics. "It'll be colder at night." He tries again. "You shouldn't be on the floor."
This time the look shows more annoyance. "So?"
"You should take the bed." Erik tries again. It's futile, it always is.
"Will you shut up?" Pietro snaps and rises to his feet. "I'm fine. Stop trying to coddle me."
Erik doesn't push his luck further. He settles into the bed, waiting for Pietro to do the same. The younger man first unpacks, checks and repacks the bag before settling to sleep, as always.
Erik wakes up to stiffled breaths. He can hear Pietro's teeth chatter from the floor. Nightmare? Pietro doesn't sleep as much as Erik does. He has rarely seen him have a bad dream.
He looks on the floor to see if Pietro is awake or still asleep. His eyes are closed and he's shaking, if from the cold or from the dream is hard to say.
Erik wants to help him as he was helped before. "Pietro?" He whispers.
Pietro only curls up on himself. The trembling increases. He's definitely awake, just shaken. Erik wonders what haunts him.
He's hesitant to reach his hand out. Pietro is snappy at the best of times and he hasn't seen him in this state before. Maybe he'll attack.
Still, wanting to offer comfort, he lets his hand rest in Pietro's silver locks.
Pietro's eyes fly open at the contact and Erik is in half a mind to pull his hand away before Pietro gives him hell for it. But something in his eyes makes him hesitate.
Pietro leans to the contact slightly and Erik starts caressing his hair. The trembling lessens and then ceases entirely. Pietro sags into the contact fully.
Erik can feel how cold the younger man is. His mutation makes him generate less heat, with the combination of the freezing floor he must be suffering.
Erik takes his hand in his. "Come here." He whispers. The words leave being a soft cloud because the air is so cold.
Pietro freezes again. Erik gently squeezes his hand. He tried to offer that they share the bed before but Pietro immediately shut him down. But maybe now.....
Unusually slowly, Pietro lets himself be manipulated into the bed. He's shaking again when he leaves the comfort of his blanket and Erik is quick to cover him with his.
Even in the darkness of the hut, Pietro seems so young. He doesn't look his age. It's like looking into a decades old mirror. Erik puts his hand back into Pietro's hair.
The younger man relaxes at the contact again. He closes his eyes again. Erik keeps caressing his hair until his breathing calms completely and he falls asleep.
Erik doesn't fall asleep. He wants to enjoy the peaceful moment, he knows it's not likely to happen again. Pietro will probably ignore it tomorrow and never bring it up again. He enjoys the closeness while it lasts.
The closeness makes him feel as alive as never before. His body feels warm, Pietro next to him feels warm too. It feels a little bit like a promise. You'll never have to be cold again.
He stays up for a long time, gently petting Pietro's hair. Until eventually not even he can fight the tiredness and falls asleep.
When he wakes up, Pietro is standing by the stove, making what appears to be soup or a stew in a big green pot. He's ignoring Erik even when he gets up.
"Good morning." Erik says softly. Pietro doesn't respond, he doesn't even turn. There's nothing indicating what happened in the night, except for Pietro's tousled hair.
Instead of answering, Pietro sets a bowl of soup at the table. "Eat."
Erik sits by the table and takes the spoon. "You aren't eating?"
"I've had mine." Pietro answers absentmindedly as he stares at the pot like it has answers to whatever is going on in his head. Erik knows he's trying not to look at him.
"You should have more. We have enough now, it's better that you eat it then that it goes bad." He starts eating himself.
"Worry about yourself." Pietro brushes him off, but he doesn't sound angry. He turns off the stove and closes the pot with a lid.
He sits down on the table, his dagger in hand. He starts slowly cleaning under his fingernails with it.
"Don't cut yourself." Erik can't help but say. A long buried parental instinct, perhaps?
Pietro still doesn't look up. He seems oddly subdued today. "I'm careful, old man." The address has unusual fondness in it. The nightmare must have really shaken him if he's so tolerant today.
Erik finishes the soup and washes the plate and spoon. To his disappointment, the spoon doesn't move when he attempts to lift it with the power of his mind. He's just as blind as he was before.
Pietro must notice what he's doing because he gets down from the table. Erik is expecting a scorn or maybe a jab at his expense but Pietro just walks past him.
He picks up the bag from the floor and rummages in it.
He silently hands Erik The Once and Future King, the one sentimental thing Erik allowed himself to take. "Read to me." His voice is still unnaturaly soft.
Erik sits down on the bed and starts reading out loud. To his surprise, Pietro sits down at his feet and seems to truly be paying attention.
Erik has an impulse to reach his hand out again and run it through the silver locks. Pietro's eyes snap up when he sees the coming hand. A glare and a swift show off of his dagger make Erik reconsider. He pulls his hand back. He ignores the sting in his heart.
The memory of last night is still burned into his brain. Nobody, not even Pietro, can take that away. He turns the page and continues reading.