( You know what? He appreciates the assist. He won't even bitch about Clint slipping under one of his arms like he's an invalid — he's been standing in soup for the better part of an hour, then taking five slugs to the core after beating on concrete? Not at his best. He leans heavily into the guy for the first couple steps, until his muscles unlock and he can straighten again, carried forth by momentum and spite combined. )
That's what they tell me. ( Wry; Clint has joined a long line of people well-versed in the art of bitching about everything Frank Castle does. He is an infuriating man, and a difficult one to love. For some reason, god knows why, a few stupid people choose to do it anyway. ) I'll bring you with next time.
( That last one — that's actually serious. He means it. He's not sure why; he's more into handling shit by himself, has been ever since the accident, but... for some reason, hell, he doesn't know, he feels the tug. The impulse. This shit would've gone smoother with Clint here. Clint probably would've noticed his ass sinking into the soup in the first place before shit got too bad. Maybe it's not so bad, accepting that he likes working with a partner. That he likes backup.
Not everything has to end the way shit did with Billy Russo.
He chews his tongue and, after a few steps, starts — )
I had this friend once... Somebody I served with. We did three tours. He was like my brother, shit, my kids called him Uncle Bill. He had my back. I haven't- ( He bites the inside of his cheek; his jaw works for a tic. ) I do what I do by myself for a reason. It wasn't because you're not good. You're the best. I'm just not used to having backup anymore.
no subject
That's what they tell me. ( Wry; Clint has joined a long line of people well-versed in the art of bitching about everything Frank Castle does. He is an infuriating man, and a difficult one to love. For some reason, god knows why, a few stupid people choose to do it anyway. ) I'll bring you with next time.
( That last one — that's actually serious. He means it. He's not sure why; he's more into handling shit by himself, has been ever since the accident, but... for some reason, hell, he doesn't know, he feels the tug. The impulse. This shit would've gone smoother with Clint here. Clint probably would've noticed his ass sinking into the soup in the first place before shit got too bad. Maybe it's not so bad, accepting that he likes working with a partner. That he likes backup.
Not everything has to end the way shit did with Billy Russo.
He chews his tongue and, after a few steps, starts — )
I had this friend once... Somebody I served with. We did three tours. He was like my brother, shit, my kids called him Uncle Bill. He had my back. I haven't- ( He bites the inside of his cheek; his jaw works for a tic. ) I do what I do by myself for a reason. It wasn't because you're not good. You're the best. I'm just not used to having backup anymore.