screams in delight ilu ty i’m going to do phil and clint first and then post the morcia one in a different post okay??
phil/clint!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
leaves their dirty clothes on the floorso that’s clint, but as much as he attempts to make it look ~casually messy in the vein of “oh look at me!!!! i’m just a messy dude leavin my stuff all over!!!!!” - it’s very much in a “i am purposefully claiming all of this space in your apartment, phil, and you are never going to get rid of me. or my socks” but it’s pretty much fine because phil gets it (phil always gets it, lbr) and isn’t planning on letting clint go anywhere anytime soon
forgets to run the dish washerphil maintains that this should be clint’s job as clint likes the domestic-y stuff but it’s pretty definitely phil’s job since he’s home more often but he forgets ALL THE TIME and clint delights in finding phil’s one area of complete ineptitude/forgetfulness
pumps gas for the carno one touches lola. phil pumps the gas. (clint doesn’t mind, it means he doesn’t have to get out of the car.)
drives when they’re going somewherephil again. i mean, if it’s lola, that’s a given - but even on missions, phil prefers to drive and clint prefers when phil is driving. clint will often just conk out in the front passenger seat because there is something soothing about watching phil drive and knowing deep down that clint trusts phil with literally everything - including keeping him alive while in a moving vehicle. clint never sleeps so well on missions as when phil is driving.
rearranges the furnitureclint. it took him awhile to figure out that it was okay to make the space his own - it had been phil’s apartment first, but after clint had moved in (the place in bed stuy still very much his though katie’s using it as a young avengers clubhouse now more often than not) he’d just felt very strongly about not overstepping his bounds or changing too much - but of course, phil interpreted that as regret and there was some shitty misunderstandings and stress and general unhappiness but they eventually figured their shit out and now clint regularly moves everything around. he says it’s to find the perfect place to watch tv from but it’s mostly just because he can
falls asleep with the TV onphil phil phil phil!!!!!!!! especially on nights where clint is on a mission that phil is not handling (it’s rare now for sure, but it’s still a Thing That Happens) phil just tends to curl up on the couch, watch some truly terrible reality television and pretend like he isn’t missing his boyfriend
gets to use the bathroom firstphil, because otherwise he’ll have to deal with the inevitable hair clint leaves behind after he shaves and since he doesn’t actively want to WANT to kill his boyfriend, it’s safer and better for everyone involved if he goes first
decides the temperature for the ac/heaterclint!!!!!!!!!!!! clint’s warmth is very important to the overall happiness of both he and phil. if clint is cold, no one is happy. clint is of course willing to be both exceedingly cold or exceedingly hot on missions - he’s getting paid for that. but NOT in the apartment, clint will not stand for that shit.
sets up holiday decorationsphil’s got tons of christmas decorations that he inherited from his parents, things that he and his siblings made when they believed that using their weight in glitter was the best choice always when decorating things. he’s a little embarrassed about them the first year he puts them up - they’re his but they’re definitely goofy as hell, and he’s a little worried clint might not like them - but clint thinks they’re the greatest thing since sliced bread and now is usually the one to pull them out of storage in december and gleefully decorate with various sparkly, ugly, glittery objects.
leaves the lights onphil - he pretends that “oh i thought you were going in the bathroom after me!!!!” after clint points out that he yet again left the vanity light on, but honestly he just forgets all the fucking time to turn the lights off. clint feels like he’s constantly walking into rooms and being blinded by the excessive amount of lights that are on and left on
uses the bathroom with the door openthey’re both getting used to living with another person. it’s… a work in progress tbh.
fixes the plumbing (or calls the plumber)clint fixes… kind of. phil calls a repair guy in secret after clint does one of his infamous fixes and gets it REALLY fixed but doesn’t tell clint so clint thinks he’s kind of a master plumber now because nothing’s ever broken again after he’s fixed it
His uninvited guest was definitely a dragon. It reminded Clint of a mini-Smaug from the latest Hobbit movie, only the little dragon was a sort of deep purple. Its scales glittered in the light, and each foot ended in a set of wicked looking black claws. It even had a set of leathery wings curled up on its back.
(Or, the one in which Phil Coulson is magically turned into a dragon, and the trouble that follows.)
Sharpie art + hasty office lunchtime colours for Dragons Don't Drink Coffee by orderlychaos / chaosisorderly, one of the most frikkin' adorable Phlint fics I've read. ♥
Title: Stick Together and See It Through
Author: torakowalski
Word Count: 5,684
Rating: Teen and Up Audiences
Warnings: Gore, Language & Violence
Summary: There are many places that Phil would rather be than stuck in a HYDRA base with Tony Stark.
“I always thought it’d be cool to be a doctor.”
“Really?” Phil asks, interested despite himself. Stark would probably have cured cancer by now, if he’d tried. “What stopped you?”
“The people,” Stark says, with what Phil thinks is a fake shudder. “When you [****] up in engineering, you can rip out the parts and build something new. Society frowns on doing that with humans.”
Characters: Clint Barton, Phil Coulson, Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Thor
Word Count:
Summary: 1,831
Clint Barton, agent of SHIELD, woke panting and covered in a cold sweat in his room. He disentangled himself from his sheets and made his way into the bathroom and stared at his reflection. There were deep bags under his eyes and the light sheen of sweat that covered his body was clearly visible under the harsh lights.
It’s been several months since the Battle of New York and since Clint lost the love of his life. And he is not coping well at all. Thankfully, his friends aren’t going to let him mope. Not for too much longer anyway.
This is the story of Clint learning how to live with what he’d done and what he’d lost.
Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, Canon-typical violence, messed up Clint, Grief
Mid-morning sun streamed in through the open window and fell across Clint's naked chest. He was sprawled out on the bed, sheets pushed to the foot, leisurely stretching his arms above his head. He and Phil had been staying at the apartment, uninterrupted, for a week now, and Clint had somehow managed to convince Phil to spend most of that time in bed. He still wasn't fully healed, neither of them were, but he looked far better than he had in medical.
Clint pulled the sheets up to his hips and half sat up against his pillow and the head board. He could just hear the kettle just beginning to boil in the kitchen. He closed his eyes, listening to the sounds of Phil moving around making coffee. The simple sounds made Clint feel all fuzzy. It meant that it hadn't been a dream.
For the first few days, Clint had woken every morning believing it had all been some wonderfully horrible dream and every night he went to sleep fearing that Phil would disappear. But that hadn't happened. Yet.
The smell of coffee reached his nose and Clint opened his eyes to see Phil standing in the doorway wearing a smile and his stupid tartan dressing gown, holding two mugs of steaming coffee. Clint smiled back and reached out for the mug Phil passed him, and pressed his shoulder against Phil's when the man had settled on the bed with him after stripping out of the dressing down and slipping under the sheet.
'It's about time you woke up,' Phil murmured into his coffee.
'Sorry, sir,' Clint replied with a smile. 'Too hot to do anything.'
'It's only 86 out.'
'Too hot,' Clint repeated twisting to kiss Phil's shoulder.
The scar was fading, as promised. It was no longer pink and puckered. Phil laughed silently and Clint rested his head on that shoulder. Seeing the scar didn't hurt any more. The guilt was still there, it would never leave him, but it was easier.
'Whatever you say, Clint.'
'That's the idea,' Clint replied automatically.
Phil suddenly reached out to the table beside the bed and held out his Captain America trading cards covered in blood.
'Fury owes me a new set,' Phil deadpanned.
'I did put in a requisition order but Hill told me to get stuffed,' Clint said.
'Of course she did,' Phil said, shifting through the cards, pulling out his favourite which also happened to be soaked in the most blood. 'He had to use this one first, didn't he? And I'm not sure if Hill knew I was alive, either.'
'I find it hard to believe. I did look for new ones for you.'
'You did?'
Clint couldn't blame him for being surprised. 'Looked fucking everywhere. Online anyway. Even emailed the guy you got some of them from. Said you had the only ones of some of them.'
'He was right.' Phil held his favourite up. 'There are only two others of this one. One is in a museum and Howard Stark had the other.'
Clint abruptly remembered where he had put the cards: in the safe. With the letter. He sat up and stared wide eyed at Phil, who was still looking down at his cards with a faint frown.
'Did you get those from the safe?' Clint said in a quiet voice.
Phil turned to look at him. Clint twisted his body away from the man he loved and stared pointedly at the wall. He’d been meaning to re-paint the bedroom for years. Now was a good time to go pick a colour, right?
‘Yes, I found your letter.’ Phil reached out and ran his hand over Clint’s back. ‘It was very well written.’
‘Bite me, Coulson.’ Clint tried to stand, to escape, but Phil grabbed him by the wrist and forced him to lay down, straddling him.
‘Stay,’ he ordered. ‘You need to listen to me. Please, Clint. What happened to me? Was not your fault.’ Phil pressed a hand over Clint’s mouth before he could speak. ‘It is not your fault. There is no way you could have known that Loki would stab me, no way you could’ve known that I would have gone after him.’
‘Yes, I should’ve,’ Clint said when he managed to rip Phil’s hand away. ‘I know you better than anyone else. You always go to where the trouble is and you never think twice about it. You put yourself before others and you died. Phil, you died, you left me,’ Clint finally accused.
Phil pressed their foreheads together. ‘I’m sorry. You’re right, Clint. I left you, betrayed you, and I’m sorry.’
‘Wait, betrayed? How the fuck do you come to that?’
‘I promised that I would never leave you and I did.’
‘No, no, no, no.’ Clint reached up and pulled Phil into a kiss. ‘No betrayal on your part. I’m the one who betrayed you. I got you killed.’
‘Loki killed me.’
‘I got him onto the Helicarrier,’ Clint shot back, glancing back at the wall. Maybe light green.
‘Yes, you did. While being mind-controlled. Clint, Fury was right. No, no speaking. Listen to me, Barton. It. Wasn’t. Your. Fault. There is nothing you could’ve done to stop Loki or me. You know me, Clint, so you know there is nothing I wouldn’t have done to stop him.’
‘Nat said you made her promise to bring me back. She said you sounded as though you knew you wouldn’t be able to do it yourself.’
Phil looked down at him and pressed a small kiss to the corner of Clint’s mouth. ‘She was right. I didn't think I would get to you first. I didn’t think I would be stabbed by Loki later on either. I made her promise because I needed to know that someone I trusted would be able to save your sorry butt. And I knew that Natasha would never let either of us down. Okay?’
‘Okay,’ Clint replied, still avoiding Phil’s eyes as much as he could. Phil should hate him. He should not be apologising.
Phil reached out and gently grasped Clint's chin, forcing his head towards him. 'Eyes on me, Barton.' Phil smiled at him. 'I forgive you, Clint. I forgive you.'
'You shouldn't,' Clint replied, eyes sliding away to the wall again.
'And yet I have. Clint, please, look at me.' Phil's soft, demanding voice cut through Clint's determined wall-staring focus.
Clint twisted back to Phil and pressed his forehead against the side of Phil's neck. Phil curled his arms around Clint, holding him close.
'Why? Why would you forgive me?' Clint drew in a breath, the scent of Phil almost overpowering him. 'I killed agents, I got civilians killed, I got you killed. Don't tell me that it wasn't my fault or that I couldn't have done anything or that some part of me had stayed me cause I didn't kill Fury. None of that crap helps. I did all of that and that, that guilt won't go away. It can't go away, Phil, so how can you forgive me? Why?'
Clint had not noticed that he had begun to sob. The tears came freely and hard. Phil rubbed Clint's back, whispering nonsense words, and pressed kisses to Clint's hair.
'I forgive you because I love you, Clint. Do I need another reason? Do you need another reason?'
'Yes,' Clint choked out, unmoving. 'You can't forgive me just cause you love me. That's stupid, its not a reason. It's an excuse. Like saying I can't be blamed because Loki was forcing me.'
'But, Clint, that's exactly why you can't be blamed.' Phil pulled back slightly and pressed a light kiss to the corner of Clint's mouth, holding his face between his hands. 'I love you and I do not blame you. I blame Loki. There is no one else I can blame. I forgive you, Clint, because I want to. There is nothing else that matters to me more than you. I am sorry that I left you, that I hurt you. I trusted Natasha to get you back because she will always drag you back to me, and me to you. I am sorry you felt alone, betrayed; I am sorry you felt as though no one trusted you. I am sorry that you blamed yourself. I am sorry for what Fury did. I am sorry that you were left to carry this weight on your shoulders alone, though willingly. I am sorry, Clint. I am sorry for it all and if I could change it I would gladly to do it to save you from this guilt, this anger, this blame. I would do it in a heartbeat because I love you and I forgive you, and that has not, will not, cannot, change.
'Clint, I don't blame you for what happened because I know you to well to believe that you could ever be to blame for any of this. There is no way that I can believe you were at all responsible for the attack on the Helicarrier or for the attack on New York. You are not responsible for any of it. Clint, this is not on you. I forgive you completely and utterly. I do not hold you responsible, neither does Natasha or any of the others. Please, Clint, please, stop blaming yourself.' Phil pressed their foreheads together and looked straight in Clint's eyes (soul). 'Clint, I love you and that hasn't changed. Listen to me, Clint. You. Are. Forgiven.' Phil emphasized this last with three kisses: one to the forehead, the tip of his nose, and finally his lips.
Clint has listened closely as Phil spoke and found himself desperately clinging to his words. They washed over him, pushing down the pain and the guilt and the anger. The feelings dissipated, deep down enough to stop the aching in his heart. For the first time in a very, very long time, Clint felt calm, light. Phil was there with him and he clearly wasn't going anywhere, not willingly at least. Clint pressed himself against Phil again and breathed deep.
Clint could Phil's heartbeat pounding in his ears as he held him close and tight. 'I missed you, Phil. I didn't know what to do.'
'I know, I know. But you have done so well.' Phil twisted them both so that Clint ended up on his back looking up at the man he loved. 'I am so proud of you, Clint. You are an incredible person and I couldn't imagine anyone I would rather be with than you. Also, I want to meet Candy.'
'No,' Clint replied, shuddering at the thought of the two of them teaming up. 'Absolutely not. That would be bad for my health.'
Phil snickered, his eyes dancing with mirth, and leaned down to press a chaste kiss to Clint's lips. Clint grinned up at him and slipped a hand into Phil's hair dragging him down for a deeper kiss.
Characters: Clint Barton, Phil Coulson, Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Thor
Word Count:
Summary: 1,948
Clint Barton, agent of SHIELD, woke panting and covered in a cold sweat in his room. He disentangled himself from his sheets and made his way into the bathroom and stared at his reflection. There were deep bags under his eyes and the light sheen of sweat that covered his body was clearly visible under the harsh lights.
It’s been several months since the Battle of New York and since Clint lost the love of his life. And he is not coping well at all. Thankfully, his friends aren’t going to let him mope. Not for too much longer anyway.
This is the story of Clint learning how to live with what he’d done and what he’d lost.
Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, Canon-typical violence, messed up Clint, Grief
They had failed to get the package again and, again, Clint had stepped on the trigger. This time, however, he didn't stop to stare down at it -- instead he kept running towards the SUV and by some miracle (mistake) Clint got there before it blew up.
Phil turned his lifeless eyes on Clint, who had to force himself to stay put. The SUV suddenly exploded before
Clint's eyes, but the flames and force didn't touch him. He turned towards where Phil's body would end up and watched in horror as he slammed to the ground. Clint raced over and fell to his knees.
'Phil, Phil, look at me, Phil, come on.' Clint shook Phil's shoulders and still recoiled when those eyes turned on him again.
'Your fault ... your fault.'
'I know, Phil, I know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.'
Phil kept muttering 'Your ... fault' over and over and Clint clung to him, apologising again and again.
Light footsteps interrupted his grieving. Clint scrambled back when he saw who was shambling towards them. It was himself. Himself with bright blue, enchanted eyes. Clint stared up at this empty and used version of himself as it crouched down beside Phil and pressed a hand over Phil's heart. When it pulled the hand away, blood was spreading across Phil's jacket.
'No!' Clint leaped forward and pushed the empty version of himself away. 'Stay away from him!' Clint pressed his hands over the wound in a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding.
A small voice in the back of his mind (that sounded remarkably like Natasha) reminded him that Phil was already gone.
'It is no good,' the other Clint muttered in a gravelly, distorted mixture of Loki's and his own voice. 'He is dead. You have killed him.'
'Your ... fault ...'
--
Clint woke sprawled on the floor beside the bed. He lay there listening to the sound of his own heavy breathing intermixed with the sounds of the city. Once he had mostly pulled himself together, he disentangled himself from the sheets and lurched into the bathroom. Closing his eyes to splash water onto his face, he focused on calming his pulse and stomach. Phil's dead eyes stared at him from behind his own eyelids, and finally he gave in to the urge and emptied the meagre contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl.
Once he had thoroughly brushed his teeth, Clint walked out and collapsed at the table, burying his face against his forearms, and allowed himself to finally weep. Other than the wracking sobs, he didn't move. It felt ... cathartic to let it out like this. A small part of him wished for the gentle pressure of a small hand on the back of his neck, and Clint knew that all it would take was one call for Natasha to come to him. He did not reach for his phone.
He didn't know how long he sat there sobbing, but when the tears stopped he sat up and winced at the pull of his muscles, particularly his still healing shoulder. It had been two weeks since he'd been shot and slowly, slowly he was healing. He massaged at the tender muscle, ignoring the stabbing pain. He had a medical test in a week and he needed to be healed. He needed to be able to use his bow.
He glanced around the still filthy apartment and his eyes landed on his laptop, perched precariously on top of the TV. Clint suddenly thought back to the last meeting he'd attended, where someone had spoken in passing about therapeutic letters she had written during rehab. The idea was that an addict, or anyone really, would write a letter to someone they loved or had wronged. It wasn't something that needed to be sent -- it was about the patient. Being able to get those thoughts down. The woman at the meeting had said it helped her get over the loss of her husband.
Clint grabbed a yellow legal pad and pen and settled himself at the table. After a few minutes of thinking, he began to write. He would sporadically stop writing to think or shift into a more comfortable position.
As he wrote, the sun began to rise over the city and the sounds drifting up from below changed and got louder. Birds (damn pigeons) sang as the city came to (day) life. Clint didn't notice any of this. Despite stopping occasionally to think, Clint's entire mind was focused on writing. There was nothing more important that early morning than writing this never to be read letter. At one point, he did begin to weep again and the drops splashed onto the page, marking it. Yet, still, he didn't stop.
Finally, when the sun had risen and the city was awake, Clint lay down his pen and sat back staring down at the pages of his letter. It had been incredibly cathartic. Clint still felt the guilt, the shame, at it all but somehow it was easier to accept now. Clint folded the pages into a an envelope and scrawled
'To My Phil,
Always Yours, Clint'
and placed the envelope into a hidden safe in the floor alongside the precious now ruined trading cards.
Clint straightened and stared around at the apartment. His clothes were everywhere, there was food rotting in the sink and the fridge. Phil would hate him for it. And so, Clint ignored the fact that he was meant to be cleaning the city that day, and instead began picking up his clothes for the wash.
--
Phil,
I read that a part of addiction therapy is writing a letter to someone you wronged. You know I’m not an addict but I thought fuck it, if this helps addicts why not me?
I have this dream about a job you, me and Nat did that went perfectly but in the dream (nightmare) you die. I step on a trigger and your SUV blows up. But then I find you away from the wreck with a stab wound and you tell me it’s my fault. Pretty sure Freud would have a field day with that one. With me.
So, that’s a thing. Loads of fun.
Ross tried to arrest me. Treason and terrorism. The others, the Avengers, wouldn’t let him. Even Bruce, the poor bastard. Stark called his lawyers and Steve went all military on us. You would’ve loved it, Phil. Captain America and Tony Stark protecting me from General Ross. I’m sure the only reason Nat didn’t do anything to him was cause she was keeping an eye on Bruce.
I did tell them that I was fine going with him but they were fucking insistent. Then I skipped out on medical. Shot in the shoulder. Still hurts like a bitch. Test coming up in a week for it.
I feel like I need to point out that this isn’t a suicide note. The thought did cross my mind but there was no way I could’ve done it. Nat would have ripped me to pieces.
She’s doing well, by the way. I don't think she’s particularly happy with me at the moment but she’s good. Better than me. Probably out of spite.
Bruce is still wary of us, especially Fury, but he and Stark are science buddies. I hope we won’t come to regret that.
Stark is insane but tolerable and he makes missions a helluva lot more entertaining.
I’m getting used to Thor. He’s a good guy and very loyal. Kinda like a puppy.
Steve is Steve, I’m not jealous anymore. He’s an awesome guy, a great leader. He signed your damn cards despite the blood. I’ve got them in the safe.
I’m living in the apartment and it’s filthy. Sorry. But cleaning was always your thing. I might clean it today.
I’m on a civilian clean-up crew, if you can believe it. Keeps me busy and makes me feel like I’m fixing things. I helped bring the damn aliens here so the least I can do is help clean it up.
The crew I’m on is run by this girl, Candy, who has been amazing. Her girlfriend, Sasha, doesn’t like me much but she puts up with me. Candy’s like the crazy sister I’ve always wanted.
You remember how we used to joke that I would go first and the paperwork would kill you? I was kinda holding you to that one. We never thought you’d go before me, specially not because of me. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? Keep going, keep moving? Fuck that, I like wallowing.
I miss you. More than I thought I could. I’m not the most emotional guy but I admit that I have cried. Am crying.
Phil, I miss you and it’s my own goddamn fault. Loki used me to get into SHIELD, onto the Helicarrier. I did that. I got him in and got you killed. And it kills me that Fury was with you. I’m glad someone was with you, I just wish it hadn’t been him.
Nat would’ve been best but she was busy re-calibrating my head. Hell, even Stark would’ve been better.
I don't know what to do now, Phil. And I sure as hell don't know about the Initiative.
I’ve had two “proper” missions with them besides New York and I kinda liked it (despite the bullet). Somehow we manage to work well together though I’m completely sure that’s Steve’s doing. He brings out the best in us. Nat seems to like the team.
There’s something about these idiots that I like too. Working with them is easy and I don't need to think about our next moves. We all just clicked, I guess.
Nothing like us, though. Nothing could compare to the way that we work together. I never did have to check where you were. I always knew that you would be there when I needed you. Always.
I have no idea what else I should write apart from apologising. Your death was my fault, Phil, and I can’t forgive myself. You are the only one who can forgive me and I would give anything to hear you say it.
Fury tried to convince me that I couldn't have been completely under Loki’s control, otherwise I would’ve shot him in the head instead of the chest cause I know he wears his vest into hostile situations. And, yeah, okay, that makes complete sense but if I fought that then why didn't I fight going onto the Helicarrier? Why did I let him take you away from me?
He took you from me, Phil. How am I meant to move on? How do I wake up and pretend that I wouldn’t rather be with you?
I don’t know what to do and that scares me a little. Cleaning the city helps more than I can say and I know that I’m not going to be able to stop until it’s all done and the city goes back to the regular old cesspit that it is.
Anyway, I’ve got cleaning to do. Both the city and the apartment. You’d kill me if you saw this place. I amaze even myself with this.
I’m sorry; I miss you; I love you.
-- Clint
P.S. Steve knows about us.
I know you were worried about him sticking to the values of 1940s America but he hasn't. He’s adapted really well, though he still gets stuck on pop culture references and some tech stuff. But no homophobia, no sexism, no racism. He’s all good.
Characters: Clint Barton, Phil Coulson, Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Thor
Word Count: 3,039
Summary:
Clint Barton, agent of SHIELD, woke panting and covered in a cold sweat in his room. He disentangled himself from his sheets and made his way into the bathroom and stared at his reflection. There were deep bags under his eyes and the light sheen of sweat that covered his body was clearly visible under the harsh lights.
It’s been several months since the Battle of New York and since Clint lost the love of his life. And he is not coping well at all. Thankfully, Natasha and the rest of the Avengers aren’t going to let him mope. Not for too much longer anyway.
Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, Canon-typical violence, messed up Clint
Clint ducked behind a tree to avoid the laser blast from the Doombot--and to catch his breath. Fury had called him earlier that say telling him he was needed in Central Park because of Doom’s robots. The Fantastic Four, he was sourly informed, were off exploring some deep cavern in some South American country and were not available to assist in this particular altercation with the man--robot--thingy that was generally their territory. Clint had briefly considered saying no to the director, but ultimately decided that he had wanted to prove to himself, and the others, that he was okay enough to fight evil robots. And so he'd come in.
He was now beginning to regret that decision, as things weren’t going well. Cap had initially wanted him up high, which was fine by him, and he had climbed the highest tree in the vicinity to pick off the bots. However, the stupid things had soon worked out where the arrows were coming from and had blown up the tree. Clint had managed to jump clear just in time and was then forced to shoot at the bots from the ground.
Clint was an excellent fighter and had no problems with this change of plan but it was annoying all the same. And now, he was hiding behind a tree. In his ear, Iron Man was calling out patterns and was mostly taking out any strays that he spotted. Bruce was far from the action in a SHIELD van watching them through CCTV cameras as well as the cameras that they had installed in their suits. The lucky bastard.
‘Hawkeye, you still with us?’ Natasha’s voice broke through Clint’s annoyance.
‘Yeah, yeah, still here. Just a breather.’ Clint had no problems with admitting that he needed a moment and none of his team mates held it against him.
They had now been fighting the bots for three very long, highly irritating hours. They just weren’t staying down, which is why Bruce was away in a van instead of having the Hulk helping them out. Every so often, Bruce would spout some science crap and Tony would comment as he had his own scans running.
Clint notched a trick arrow and popped up from behind the tree, firing on the first bot he saw. Clint hadn’t really noticed which arrow he’d grabbed, but he was pleased when the arrow made contact with the bot and covered it in thick foam which forced it to the ground and kept it there.
‘Hawkeye, what was that?’ Cap asked.
‘Foam arrow, turns hard on contact,’ Clint knelt down and rapped on the foam to demonstrate. ‘Don’t know how long it’ll last, though.’
‘Doesn’t matter. It’s done more than we have.’ Iron Man shot down another bot. ‘What’s in it?’ As Clint explained what the foam consisted, he kept firing the same arrows until he ran out.
‘I’ve run out of the foam. Got a couple of other trick arrows though. Might do something.’
‘Use them.’ Cap ordered. Clint rolled his eyes. Of course he was going to use them. Stupid command.
Clint mentally sorted through his trick arrows and pulled one out that would explode on impact. So far, Iron Man’s repulsors and Thor’s lightning hadn’t worked, but these arrows were just below nuclear grade, which was a secret. Clint aimed and fired the arrow into a group of the damned things and was immensely satisfied when all of them blew up completely.
‘And those arrows?’ Cap asked.
‘Sorry, Brucie, SHIELD can’t hear this one.’
‘Not a problem.’ Clint could hear the smile in Bruce’s voice and flicked the comm link so that only the other Avengers would be able to hear him.
‘The arrows have a little, teeny tiny bit of Pu-239 in them. Just a little though.’ Clint knew that the only people who’d understand that would be Natasha and Stark.
‘You’ve got plutonium arrows? I don’t know whether to be impressed or worried.’ Stark’s voice clearly indicated that he was impressed.
‘Wait, plutonium? Isn’t that nuclear?’ Cap, on the other hand, was obviously going for worried.
‘‘Fraid so, Cap. You gonna report me?’ Clint asked, firing another of the arrows.
‘Only if it’s dangerous to people,’ Cap said slowly, unsure.
‘Nope, it’s only a tiny amount. Not enough to bring down a building, but enough to blow up a Doombot, or a person,’ Clint added, just to annoy.
‘Fire at any of us and I’ll kill you,’ Natasha interjected.
‘You got it.’ Clint grinned. This is what he lived for. The fight, the chase, the rush of adrenaline. And now, that they had a better idea of what was needed, the fight didn’t last much longer.
Clint zoned out for the last few minutes of the fight, barely listening to the voices in his ear, until he had taken out the last one and made his way back to where SHIELD had set up base.
‘Wait, where’s Natasha?’
Natasha was noticeably missing from the group. Clint assumed, hoped, that she was just avoiding Stark.
‘She’s in there with Cap,’ Stark jerked his thumb towards the van behind him. ‘She got injured, so …’ Clint didn't hear anything else as he raced into the van. Clint barely registered Steve’s presence as Natasha was lying back on a bed being attended to by medical staff for a gash on the left side of her chest. In the exact same spot where Phil had been stabbed.
‘Clint …’ Natasha said.
She was clearly okay and Clint could see that the gash wasn’t deep and wouldn't cause her any major problems. And yet, it was the same spot. He couldn’t breathe. The walls were closing in. All he could see were Phil’s lifeless eyes staring up at him, “Your fault”, and he bolted. Straight past the rest of his team and SHIELD, and out into Central Park proper.
He didn’t stop until he legs had turned to jelly and his body gave out on him. Clint collapsed against a tree, hugging his knees to his chest, and tried to control his breathing. He was alone for a good few minutes before his ears picked up on the sound of heavy, though muffled, footsteps. Clint tensed for a fight and glanced up from his laser-like focus on his lap to see Thor cautiously walking towards him. Clint dropped his head back down and allowed Thor to settle down beside him.
‘The others are searching for you as well, my friend. Shall I tell them I have found you?’
Clint was a little stunned to hear Thor call him “friend,” but nodded his assent.
‘Very well. Friends? I have located Hawkeye. I believe he is well and we shall return to you in good time,’ Thor then removed his ear piece. ‘I am not sure that I like this technology. It can be a little … distracting, hearing all of your voices directly in my ear when I am trying to fight. It is also very comforting though, to know that you are there and well. Are you well, Clint?’
Clint sighed and lifted his head.
‘Not really. Natasha’s injury is in the same spot as where Phi … Coulson was stabbed.’
‘I see.’ Thor fell silent for a moment, thinking. ‘I now understand why you ran.’
‘I didn’t run away,’ Clint argued. ‘I made a tactful retreat is all.’
Thor’s laughter boomed out of him and Clint couldn't help laughing along, though he managed to catch himself before his own laughter became hysterical.
Thor clapped him on the back.
‘Fair enough. It is nothing to be ashamed of. A tactful retreat is sometimes for the best.’ Thor leaned back against the, thankfully, thick trunk of the tree. ‘I have been meaning to speak with you, my friend. About what happened,’ Thor glanced at Clint to ensure that he was ready for this conversation. Clint wasn't totally sure about how much he wanted to have this particular talk but he nodded all the same, figuring that the sooner it was done the better off he’d be.
‘Good. I am sorry for what my brother did to you, the Son of Coul, SHIELD, and all of the great city of New York. I take some of the blame for his actions. I feel as though if I had been a better brother to him or shown him more affection then he may not have felt the need to align himself with the Chitauri and attack this wonderful city. I cannot excuse his actions, nor do I intend to, but if I can do something to atone for Loki’s actions then I shall happily do so.’
Clint watched Thor whilst he spoke and he could see the pain and anguish in his eyes when he spoke of his brother and what he had done.
‘Thor, what Loki did isn’t your fault.’
‘If that is what you believe then why are you blaming yourself?’ Thor spoke so simply that it shocked Clint. ‘Loki used a sceptre gifted to him by an unknown person, which he used to brainwash you and Selvig. You cannot be held responsible for something done whilst under the affects of magic, correct?’ When Clint didn’t answer, Thor smiled gently at him. ‘Would you hold someone responsible for an act if they had been brainwashed into it?’ Clint took a moment before shaking his head. ‘Exactly. Then why hold yourself responsible, I wonder? I am sorry for what happened to the Son of Coul. He was a good man, and I was privileged to consider him both an ally and a friend. How long had you and the agent known each other?’
‘Seventeen years. I joined SHIELD when I was twenty-three. I wouldn't stick with any of my other handlers and Coulson got stuck with me.’ Clint smiled at the memory. As soon as Phil had met him for the first time, he’d declared that Clint was an arrogant idiot who’d need constant handling.
‘A long time for you then,’ Thor stared out over the park. ‘Your world amazes me. Asgardians can live for an age and seventeen years is the blink of an eye to us. But I know that for you, for humanity, seventeen years is an age, and to know someone for so long is an incredible thing.’
‘It is a long time for me, Thor. See, I grew up in the circus, so relationships, of any kind, came and went. When I joined SHIELD I kinda expected the same thing, you know. For people to always be coming and going. But for all their faults, SHIELD does try to take care of their agents and they definitely took care of Coulson. He was the best agent they had by far, and the bravest.’
‘The Son of Coul struck me for the same reason. Before I came here, I must admit that I had a very low opinion of humanity.’ Thor gave him an apologetic look. ‘But since then, I have learnt that humanity can be just as brave as any Asgardian, and the Son of Coul proved that. To go up against an Asgardian, especially Loki, is either very brave or very stupid. But I think, in his case, it was bravery that caused him to confront Loki. I know of some Asgardians who would think twice about that, even before all of this. You may not believe me, but Loki was once a good man.’
‘How can you still think of him as a brother? He wanted to destroy this world because you love us,’ Clint blurted.
‘Despite all he had done, I know that deep down Loki is still the person I once knew. I believe that he may have also been under the influence of sorcery when he initiated the attack, though I cannot prove it. Loki is my brother and I will always love him. I am disappointed in him and I wish that I knew how to save him. I am sorry that it was my love of your Earth that caused this. I would understand if you were to despise me.’
Thor looked a little like a kicked puppy and Clint found himself softening towards the man.
‘I don’t.’ Clint shrugged and finally stretched his legs out. ‘What he did isn’t your fault, Thor. I still can’t stop blaming myself though, and I need more time away.’
‘I understand. I will inform the others that you are well and that you need time to yourself. I am certain that they will understand.’ The two men stood and Thor shocked Clint when he briefly embraced him. ‘If you wish to speak to me again, please don't hesitate. You are a good man, Clint Barton. I hope that you do cease blaming yourself for what occurred and that you discover the strength you need to move on.’
Thor clapped him on the shoulder, almost knocking him down, and walked away.
Clint sighed and began the long hike home.
~~~
The package hadn’t been there and they were making a hasty retreat. When they got outside, Natasha and Phil took off in their usual different directions and, after a moment, Clint followed after Phil, closer than he had in any of the other dreams. Clint was still just a little too far to stop him from climbing into his SUV and as Phil started the engine, Clint kept moving forward but stopped when he heard a click. Clint looked down at the ground beneath the spot where he’d just stepped. What he saw made his heart sink.
It was a trigger.
Clint looked up, almost resigned, at the SUV and watched, unblinking, as it exploded. He watched a body being thrown from the vehicle, remarkably not on fire, and land several yards away. Clint staggered over and saw Phil lying there with a single stab wound to his chest. Clint collapsed to his knees beside him and cradled Phil’s head in his hands. Phil was still alive.
‘Your … fault … Clint … ’
‘I know, Phil, I know. It’s my fault. I’m sorry, so sorry.’ Clint doubled over at his waist to press their foreheads together.
This time Phil died in his arms.
~~~
Clint jerked awake, in a cold sweat, breathing heavy, and lurched into bathroom to throw up. When he was done, he sat back against the cool tiled walls and closed his eyes, only to be assaulted by the image of the SUV blowing up again. He stumbled to his feet and washed out his mouth. He then crawled back into the bedroom, grabbed his phone, and managed to stumble upright into the living room where he promptly sunk onto the lounge. He stared at the screen of his phone for some time before eventually dialling Natasha’s number.
‘This had better be good, Barton.’ Natasha’s groggy voice made him wince. He should have known she’d been asleep.
‘Sorry, Tasha, I just needed to talk.’ Clint switched the phone to speaker and rested it on his chest.
‘What’s up?’ Natasha sounded far more alert now.
‘I keep having the same dream. You remember that mission we had when you took ages to crack the safe? In that lab?’
‘I remember.’
Of course she would. Another stupid question.
‘Well, it’s that, except the package wasn’t there, so we left and split up outside to get back to HQ. I’m racing to my car when I hear this massive explosion. When I get there, I find Phil lying a few yards away with a stab wound to the chest, where Loki got him. He’s always … gone when I get to him, but he always tells me that it’s my fault. But tonight, I followed after him. I saw him get into his SUV and then I stepped on a trigger and had to watch the fucking thing blow. He died while I held him this time.’ There was silence on the other end of the line.
‘Clint, I need you to breathe for me.’
‘Jesus, Nat, I am breathing.’
‘Not properly. Now, breathe, Barton. Do not make me come over there.’
‘Over where?’ Clint shot back even as he started to control his breathing.
‘The apartment, idiot. I’ve been there, remember. You guys had me over for every single holiday. I’ve known where you were this whole time, Barton. You have no secrets from me.’
‘Fuckin’ hell. I knew that.’ Clint had forgotten that.
‘It wasn’t your fault, Clint. Phil Coulson was killed by Loki …’
‘While you were fighting my brainwashed butt.’
‘… while I was trying to fulfil a promise to an old friend,’ Natasha corrected. ‘Phil confronted Loki, which he would’ve done regardless of your condition. Clint, you moron, Phil made his own choices and it was his decision alone to face Loki with nothing but a gun which he wasn’t even sure about. Phil knew what he was doing. He trusted you to the last, Clint.’
‘But, Nat, if Loki hadn’t gotten to me then maybe he’d still be alive.’
‘And maybe I’d be dead instead. Or maybe Fury, or Hill.’ Natasha sighed angrily. ‘Clint, you know that thinking will do you no good. Thinking like that is what compromises us, that thinking causes mistakes and deaths. You’re lucky you weren’t thinking like that today.’
‘Sorry I ran out on you,’ Clint whispered. ‘It was …’
‘Understandable. I told those idiots not to let you in. I was informed it was Stark’s fault. He’s currently sporting a nasty bruise on his left bicep. There is something incredibly satisfying about hitting that man.’
‘Oh, we both know you love ‘im, Tasha.’
‘I do not love him, Barton,’ Natasha snapped ‘Anyway, my point is that what happened to Phil, what happened here, is not your fault. You were brainwashed. You were forced. Now, I am tired and I have said all I can. Try to get some sleep, Barton.’
‘Thanks, Nat. Night.’
‘Спокойной ночи, Barton.’ Natasha whispered and hung up. Clint threw his phone onto the table and, instead of sleeping, flicked on the television and forced himself not to think about his nightmare or what Natasha and Thor had said to him.
