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Everything was cold blue but in different shades. Was this what being colour blind was like for dogs? Able to see everything just in shades of grey? It didn't really matter. All that mattered was that everything was in perfect focus, albeit Tesseract blue.
Clint watched with detachment as he aimed, drew, and fired his bow. His pace was five seconds slower than normal and his accuracy was suffering but he didn't care, the mission was being accomplished. He didn't know who he was killing, he didn't care. He was told to create a plan to attack the Helicarrier and then carry that plan out. Boss said to do it, so he did.
The archer rounded a corner, searching for his boss. Everything was going to plan so now he had to cover the boss's escape from the holding tank ahead and one floor down from him. Clint got into position on the walkway, sighting the guy the boss was talking to, some suit holding a gun. He couldn't hear what was being said but he knew that if the boss would signal if he wanted the guy dead. The blonde drew his bow, watching. Boss said something that caused the suit to turn and look up at him. Shocked covered the suit's face. The Boss nodded and Cint loosed the arrow.
It buried itself in the guy's chest.
The suit looked at the arrow.
Looked back at Clint.
And began to sing.
"Cheer up, sleepy Jean,
Oh what can it mean,
To a, daydream believer,
And a, homecoming queen."
Odd, Clint thought, people usually just collapsed once he shot them. Phil always -.
Phil.
The suit was Phil.
Clint had just shot PHIL.
And Phil was STILL. SINGING.
Dream. Had to be a dream, cause Loki was long gone, back with Thor. And Phil...
Clint wrenched his eyes open, blinking in the dim darkness of his bedroom. The windows were still tinted dark, leaving only a little glow from them to show off New York City around and below Avengers Tower.
He closed his eyes again, calling on his sniper skills to calm his heart and even his breathing. The nightmare was still hanging around him. He blinked, trying to adjust his eyes to the glowing darkness of his room as opposed to the darkness of closed eyes.
As he calmed, Clint became aware that not only was someone in his room, but they were singing.
"You once thought of me,
As a white knight on a steed,
Now you know how happy I can be,
Oh and our good times starts and end,
Without dollar one to spend,
But how much, baby, do we really need?"
Phil always sang to call him back from the nightmares. Clint tended to lash out if shaken awake and simply talking kept him anchored in his mind for unexplained reasons. So Phil would sing, all their favourite songs, not touching Clint until he reached for the other man. Clint could just make out the shadow in the armchair near his side of the bed.
"Cheer up, sleepy Jean,
Oh what can it mean-."
"I've finally lost it," Clint said aloud. "So this is what going mad feels like."
The shadow snorted,
"I hate to break this to you, Barton, but you've been crazy since I met you."
"There's a difference between being crazy and going mad."
"You and your semantics," Phil said fondly, tilting his head to the side. He was easier to see now that Clint's eyes had adjusted to the dimness and proximity. "Are you feeling better now?"
"I'm still going mad."
"Of that I have no doubt." Clint sighed, fighting back tears. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"God, Phil, I'm sorry," the archer cried, hugging his pillow. He could just barely smell his husband on it. "I'm so, so sorry, you don't even know."
"Clint, you are starting to scare me." Phil stayed in his chair. "What did you dream about?"
"Loki." Phil sucked in a breath. "The attack of the Helicarrier. It was just like when it actually happened. I didn't care what was going on or who I was hurting. All I knew was the mission. Only this time..." He drew a deep breath. "This time, when Loki was talking to you, he got you to turn in time for me to put a arrow in your chest."
"Clint-."
"And only when you started to sing did I realise what I had just done. I broke out to the realisation I had just shot my husband." He looked over at Phil, who was clutching the arm rests of the chair with white hands. "And now I've finally snapped."
"Clint-."
"I'll have to make sure my will is updated. I know you won't like it, but I'm gonna leave Lola to Tony." Clint turned over to stare at his ceiling, calming down again and feeling rather peaceful. "Though now that I think about it, Tasha might like her. I know she's always liked Tasha."
"Agent Barton, I would appreciate it if you would stop freaking me out and explain yourself!" Coulson snapped.
Clint turned over again to stare at him.
"Provisions have to be made. I've finally lost it. For some reasons my brain has decided that now is the perfect time to break." Clint had the idle thought that he sounded like he was talking about the weather instead of the utter destruction of his sanity. "And I'm still sorry."
"For what?" Coulson's teeth were locked together so the question was slightly growled.
"For not being strong enough to join you until now." The blond sighed, tucking in on himself. "You died nine months ago and I've just been too much of a fucking coward to join you." There was a hissed intake of breath from the hallucination of his husband. "I kept thinking that 'this is is, Fury will pull a rabbit from his ass and reveal Phil'. But three months became five, became seven, became nine....and now you're in my bedroom in the dead of night, singing me out of a nightmare." He blinked at his tears. "It's like you never left when I know you have and you're just waiting for me and I'm too much of a coward to finish the job so I can see you again."
There was a creak and Phil was out of the chair. He paused once he was standing, swaying slightly like he was going to pass out. However it seemed to pass because he straightened and slowly made his way to the bed. He sat, Clint noticed idly that the mattress shifted, his body rolling towards Phil the way it would have if he'd actually been there rather than a hallucination. The human mind was truly amazing, especially when broken.
"Clint," Phil reached out, a hand hovering over the other man's shoulder. "Clint, I need you to listen and believe me."
"I always believe you, sir," he quipped, feeling the peaceful feeling start to return. The hand came down on his shoulder. "Wow, it's almost like you're really here."
"Clint, I'm trying to tell you that I am-."
Clint laughed bitterly,
"And I'm a real boy."
"You are." Coulson pushed, putting the younger man on his back. He carefully straddled him, letting his weight rest on the strong hips below. "Clint Barton, I am alive, I am right here, I am not going anywhere and neither are you. Lola is going to stay in her parking space downstairs, with us, you are going to stay alive and be an Avenger while I take a slightly less demanding job. Or quite possibly be your kept man, I haven't decided yet."
That surprised a real laugh out of Clint. Phil leaned forward, his breath making blond hair tickle ears and forehead.
"And make no mistake, Agent Barton, if you fail to believe me, I have very little qualms about fucking you till you see sense."
Clint inhaled sharply,
"Is that a promise, sir?"
"Take it any way you like, Barton," was the reply.
He closed his eyes, trying to soak up every sensation he as having at that moment.
"I wish you could," he finally whispered.
Coulson reeled back, the shift in weight caused air to be knocked from Clint's lungs.
"That's it, JARVIS, lights!" The lights came on at once. Clint blinked from the sudden brightness, eyes streaming. "JARVIS, I know you monitor all our vitals, please report mine."
"Agent Coulson," the AI replied, "your blood pressure is higher than it should be, your lungs and heart however are preforming perfectly, your brain waves match up to previous readings and you remain underweight. I am making a note that you are to receive double portions at all meals today."
"Thank you, JARVIS." Phil looked down at his husband. "Believe me now?"
Clint slowly withdrew an arm from under his blankets. Like he was approaching a skittish animal, he reached for the left hand resting on his chest. When it didn't pull away, he stroked it, finger by finger, paying particular attention to the adamantium band on the fourth finger.
"JARVIS?"
He then carefully slid it up the arm, feeling bandaged when he passed by the chest. In the bright light that now shone, he could also see the outlines of the bandages under the thin t-shirt Phil was wearing.
"Yes, Agent Barton?"
His hand continued exploring, stoping a moment to stroke the side of the other man's neck. Phil shivered pleasantly, the way he always did.
"He, this is really Phil? He's not in my head, you can see him?"
Phil continued the ritual by turning to press a hot kiss on Clint's palm.
"Right here," he murmured.
"Yes, Agent Barton. Agent Coulson entered the tower an hour ago and immediately inquired where to find you. Finding you asleep, he sat down next to your bed to wait-."
With a cry, Clint threw his upper body up, scrambling to touch every bit he could of Phil Coulson. Phil grunted and winced as he was jarred but quieted as hands and lips started to explore.
"Phil! Oh god, Phil, you, you were-." Clint was all out sobbing now, his frantic sweep slowed to arms wrapped around the agent's upper body and his face buried in his neck, "I can't, I can't,-."
"Breathe, Clint," Phil ordered softly, stroking one hand down the bare back. "Just breathe."
In the morning they would go to breakfast tougher, Clint an emotionally wrought limpet that would be plastered to Phil's side. The others would react accordingly, Natasha's quiet pleasure, Thor's loud triumph, Tony's shocked indignation, Steve's grateful fury, and Bruce's angry foreboding. The story would be told of how Fury made a gamble, that it paid off and how he had then been "so busy" with the Battle of New York and the clean up after that he never told them that Coulson lived. Tony would swear and then lead the charge to SHIELD, but not before ordering the archer and agent to stay and promising to bring back the eyepatch as a souvenir if they were good. Natasha would be gone by the time Tony was ready, Clint would learn new curses as the Avengers hurried to catch up to their red headed assassin. Stories would be told, vengeance would take place, plans would be made, and then life would start moving in.
But that was all several hours away.
This moment was for tears and shared breath and promises they probably wouldn't be able to keep.
It was the rebirth of Phil Coulson and the salvation of Clint Barton.
Cheer up, sleepy Jean,
Oh what can it mean
To a, daydream believer
And a, homecoming queen.