He wants to say yes, that's exactly what he does, stupid as it sounds. He wants to yell that dying is still dying. He wants to throttle this god-man for once again successfully getting him to do exactly what was wanted, manipulating him deftly, reading him like an open book, pulling all the strings, to get the desired outcome that Clint specifically did not want.

Instead, he tilts his head back, eyes at the ceiling. Sips at his drink and now only tastes blood. He remembers that so very clearly. Works his jaw until there's an audible click.

"Maybe I should've eaten your heart," he utters, voice rough for it.