( Things Frank Castle isn't used to: people that aren't Karen Page demonstrating actual concern for his well-being. It takes him a second to figure out what in the hell's going on, and it isn't until Clint starts raking him over the coals that he realizes. For his troubles, he earns a solid, amused couple of thumps to the back, your stock-standard manly testosterone display of affection during a hug.
Underneath all that lambasting comes a wry New York liltβ )
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get it all out. You happy? Happy with that? You done?
( Thump thump.
It's a goddamn miracle he sees it in time. That asshole off to the side with his gun leveled, a sway in his hand that suggests he's got all the aim of a fucking stormtrooper, intending to hit Frank but not all that bothered by the prospect of winging the guy snuggled up to him in the process if it means taking the asshole out.
He spins roughly, dragging Clint with him, whirling around to put his back to the guy like the meat shield he is. The impact of the bullets hit so hard, the two of them jolt from the force of it. This is how Frank learns that having a built-in bulletproof vest doesn't suddenly somehow make him immune to pain.
But honestly, all that does is piss him off.
A second later, Clint's left to stagger on his own as Frank scoops up the wooden handle, marching directly into two or three more rounds fired off at him, bullet casings tinkling onto the ground as Frank powers directly through them to introduce the man to his sledgehammer.
He's exhausted. What this means is not that he's sluggish. It means he has no patience. The dispatching is brutal. )
no subject
Underneath all that lambasting comes a wry New York liltβ )
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Get it all out. You happy? Happy with that? You done?
( Thump thump.
It's a goddamn miracle he sees it in time. That asshole off to the side with his gun leveled, a sway in his hand that suggests he's got all the aim of a fucking stormtrooper, intending to hit Frank but not all that bothered by the prospect of winging the guy snuggled up to him in the process if it means taking the asshole out.
He spins roughly, dragging Clint with him, whirling around to put his back to the guy like the meat shield he is. The impact of the bullets hit so hard, the two of them jolt from the force of it. This is how Frank learns that having a built-in bulletproof vest doesn't suddenly somehow make him immune to pain.
But honestly, all that does is piss him off.
A second later, Clint's left to stagger on his own as Frank scoops up the wooden handle, marching directly into two or three more rounds fired off at him, bullet casings tinkling onto the ground as Frank powers directly through them to introduce the man to his sledgehammer.
He's exhausted. What this means is not that he's sluggish. It means he has no patience. The dispatching is brutal. )