Fic: Why (R, MCU, Clint Barton)
Title: Why
Characters/pairing: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Rating: R
Warnings: Canon character death, implied binge drinking
Word Count: 300
A/N: Written for avengers100, prompt #16: Sorry
It was too late, to be in a graveyard. He’d had to scale the gate-figured that SHIELD was already aware of that since it was their private cemetery-but he’d been sitting there, in wet grass for forty-five minutes and nobody’d shown up to take him home or to the brig so he figured Fury had waved it off and let him have the time. It was the least he could do.
Either that or they’d figured they didn’t want to try their luck against a probably mentally unstable Avenger with three quarters a bottle of Jack Daniels in him. That was likely too.
Clint was really beyond caring. He’d spent the time he’d been there staring at the headstone in silence. Then suddenly it all came out. "This is bullshit. You know that. And it’s my fault. I know you’d tell me to stop whining and that nothing I did under Loki’s influence was my fault but it was and you’re not here to tell me otherwise so I’m just going to go on believe it whether you fucking like it or not.”
He took a long pull from the bottle in his hand and scrubbed at his face. “You are supposed to be the one that gets us through this shit. You know what. Why…” He stared at the stone again. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. Tasha… me… we’re the ones that are supposed to do stupid fucked up shit and get hurt. You… you’re supposed to put things back together.” He waited for the headstone to give him an answer beyond the etching.
Philip Jonathon Coulson
April 2nd 1964 - May 1st 2012
“I am so fucking sorry…” Clint drank again and leaned forward until his forehead touched wet ground. “Why aren’t you fucking here?”
Characters/pairing: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Rating: R
Warnings: Canon character death, implied binge drinking
Word Count: 300
A/N: Written for avengers100, prompt #16: Sorry
It was too late, to be in a graveyard. He’d had to scale the gate-figured that SHIELD was already aware of that since it was their private cemetery-but he’d been sitting there, in wet grass for forty-five minutes and nobody’d shown up to take him home or to the brig so he figured Fury had waved it off and let him have the time. It was the least he could do.
Either that or they’d figured they didn’t want to try their luck against a probably mentally unstable Avenger with three quarters a bottle of Jack Daniels in him. That was likely too.
Clint was really beyond caring. He’d spent the time he’d been there staring at the headstone in silence. Then suddenly it all came out. "This is bullshit. You know that. And it’s my fault. I know you’d tell me to stop whining and that nothing I did under Loki’s influence was my fault but it was and you’re not here to tell me otherwise so I’m just going to go on believe it whether you fucking like it or not.”
He took a long pull from the bottle in his hand and scrubbed at his face. “You are supposed to be the one that gets us through this shit. You know what. Why…” He stared at the stone again. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. Tasha… me… we’re the ones that are supposed to do stupid fucked up shit and get hurt. You… you’re supposed to put things back together.” He waited for the headstone to give him an answer beyond the etching.
Philip Jonathon Coulson
April 2nd 1964 - May 1st 2012
“I am so fucking sorry…” Clint drank again and leaned forward until his forehead touched wet ground. “Why aren’t you fucking here?”