It's stupid. It's nonsense. It doesn't change the feeling. Clint plants his hands down, shoulders flexing, head hanging. Of course Coulson's right, and it won't make anything better, and it won't change anything, and it's better this way. "Maybe I do. Want some punishment. Some consequences for my god damn actions."
It's not like he hasn't suffered repercussions. (It's not like he hasn't suffered.) (Screaming and not screaming.) So he needs all this reframed. What is it that he wants out of this? Why does it crawl around his brain that he needs the walking corpse of his friend to hate him? What use is that thought? Any of these thoughts? What does it accomplish, why does he think he wants it, why does it haunt him, why is he even here--
"I don't know!"
That was louder than he intended. Maybe to be heard over the pounding of his heart. He's facing Coulson and his arms are thrown wide and his skin feels too tight and the beating in his chest is frantic.
He takes a breath. Finds that, too, tight and difficult. Scrubs a hand down his face and tries to reorient himself. (inonetwothree outonetwothree) (only it ends up inonetwo outone-)
"The world got turned upside-fucking-down, and it scares the shit out of me, Phil. How am I even on this team? What use is a guy with a quiver of arrows going to be to the next alien invasion, or the next bit of out of control tech, or the next crystal ball of magic that upends everything we thought we knew about our cozy little existence in the universe? Hulk shrugs off bullets like they're snowflakes, Stark can fly in a tin can and shoot lasers from his hands, Thor's an alien god, Cap's got the strength of at least two and a half of me and the resilience to be a one man army. I'm good, I know I'm good, but I'm good for baseline human, not a super soldier experiment or a man that can summon actual lightning from the heavens. I don't think I know much of anything anymore."
no subject
It's not like he hasn't suffered repercussions. (It's not like he hasn't suffered.) (Screaming and not screaming.) So he needs all this reframed. What is it that he wants out of this? Why does it crawl around his brain that he needs the walking corpse of his friend to hate him? What use is that thought? Any of these thoughts? What does it accomplish, why does he think he wants it, why does it haunt him, why is he even here--
"I don't know!"
That was louder than he intended. Maybe to be heard over the pounding of his heart. He's facing Coulson and his arms are thrown wide and his skin feels too tight and the beating in his chest is frantic.
He takes a breath. Finds that, too, tight and difficult. Scrubs a hand down his face and tries to reorient himself. (inonetwothree outonetwothree) (only it ends up inonetwo outone-)
"The world got turned upside-fucking-down, and it scares the shit out of me, Phil. How am I even on this team? What use is a guy with a quiver of arrows going to be to the next alien invasion, or the next bit of out of control tech, or the next crystal ball of magic that upends everything we thought we knew about our cozy little existence in the universe? Hulk shrugs off bullets like they're snowflakes, Stark can fly in a tin can and shoot lasers from his hands, Thor's an alien god, Cap's got the strength of at least two and a half of me and the resilience to be a one man army. I'm good, I know I'm good, but I'm good for baseline human, not a super soldier experiment or a man that can summon actual lightning from the heavens. I don't think I know much of anything anymore."