Phil slowly came back to consciousness; he blinked a few times and discovered he wasn't exactly where he thought he should be. The soft glow of the bedside lamp gave a welcoming feel to the dusty rose walls and the thick plush comforter was decidedly more comfortable than SHIELD medical. The room was spacious, decorated by someone with a keen sense of design, and it had all the signs of Pepper's handiwork; he lifted his hand to his head, gently probing the impressive goose egg he found there.

"You should have busted out that elastic band of yours, Coulson," said Stark as he looked up from his tablet with a sense of false calm.

Phil turned sharply to look at Tony, who was lounging in a bedside chair, and a moment of panic shot through him; was it all just a dream? He realized he didn't know how he felt about either possibility; either he was back in the hell where everyone around him was dead, and in some distant reality they were all alive, happy or he was still facing oblivion along with the rest of the human race with no possible respite in sight. He hoped it was the first, but truth was that it was more than likely the second; with this in mind, he asked "What happened?"

"In a very impressive feat of heroism, you managed to gracefully get yourself knocked out," the man paused, before continuing with a shrug of the shoulders. "However, in the spirit of team camaraderie and all that jazz, I am willing to never breathe a word of it. It would be a shame to ruin your reputation of being a 'cyborg super agent' and all," mused Tony with a smirk on his face.

"What about Barton?" asked Phil slipping back into his consummate agent mode.

"Now, Legolas, I actually think he might be a cyborg. His feathers got a bit ruffled, but he takes a licking and keeps on ticking and hell, he set a new personal record on the number of stitches he's gotten in one outing. Natasha's keeping an eye on him, but he should be up and about in a couple days."

Definitely not a dream then he decided. Coulson sat up slowly and closed his eyes to stop the world from tilting, after a few deep breaths he threw the covers off and slowly climbed to his feet. He had to see for himself that Barton was alright, had to set his mind at ease, had to… knock some sense into Barton's reckless ass.

"Whoa, where are we going? The paperwork can wait you know," tried Tony, though he knew he didn't stand a chance of making Coulson do anything he didn't want to. There was something about a determined Phil Coulson that set Tony at ease; it was a very welcomed change to the sight he had found before. There had been a moment of panic when he had finally made it to the building to find Clint covered in blood and Coulson out cold, it had triggered something protective in the billionaire; they had lost Phil once and that was more than enough for one lifetime.

"I'm going to see my agent, Stark. Don't think you can stop me, I have a..." Phil turned, searching the side table for anything that could be of use; the lack of viable options didn't deter him and he reached for a silver coin. Holding it up in a menacing fashion, as it glinted in the light of the room, so that Tony could get a good look, he stated precisely and coldly, "I have a dime."

"That's a bit of a stretch, even for you," Stark snickered in ridicule, thinking that the lack of a weapon would lead to the man backing down. His confidence in that idea wavered greatly in the face of Phil's glare, before he spoke with resignation, "I don't want to know what you can do with that, do I?"

Coulson smooth the wrinkles out of his dress shirt and strode out the door; he hadn't worn a suit in years in his world, but since arriving here it had become his staple again. It felt wrong to be wandering the tower without a suit jacket, which was probably covered in the archer's blood, but he pushed that aside in lieu of finding his agent. He hoped Clint's condition had changed for the better since they had last met; he swallowed, pushing away the limp bodies of the man that had been in his arms twice to many times.

The room was quiet to the point where the sound of Natasha turning the pages of her book echoed through the space, but Clint ignored this for the captivating sight that was the walls of his room. He wasn't looking forward to staring at the pale blue color of them for the next couple of days, but it did beat the nauseating beige ones in SHIELD medical; he let out an obnoxiously loud sigh and smirked when she shot him a sharp glare.

Knowing that he could push her irritation without getting pummeled into the ground, he poked a bit, offering words in a nonchalant manner, "You could go babysit someone else you know."

Never taking her eyes off the page, she replied in a tone of irritation, but mainly amusement, "There are no other children in the Tower at the moment."

A retort died on his tongue as Phil appeared at his door and instead, Clint quirked an eyebrow at Romanoff; she took the hint, closing her book and offering the seat to their handler. "I have to give Fury my report," she said, excusing herself from what was undoubtedly going to be a heated conversation.

Coulson sat rigidly in the chair, his lips pressed in a hard thin line at what he was seeing; Barton looked awful. His condition at the moment was better than the alternative, an image of Clint bleeding out in his arms, a knife protruding from the archer's chest flashed through his mind, but he knew he had trained his agent better than this. "Just what do you think you were doing out there?"

The archer flinched slightly at the tone the words were spoken with. It had been a long time since Coulson had lost his cool with anyone, especially him; he grumbled a reply of, "I had it under control," knowing that it wouldn't help.

Any notion that the agent formerly had of maintaining his calm and iconic cool persona was lost as he tensed even more in his chair. "No you didn't! What were you going to do, use your own intestines as a rope to rappel down? You almost had your guts ripped out and we both know you would have never made it down the stairs in that condition."

"I don't need you to coddle me Coulson, I can do my goddamn job!" Clint winced slightly as he tried to sit up, his injuries reminding him that the other man had the higher ground. Truth was that he had had it under control, mostly anyways, until he took his eyes off the enemy and focused on Phil. His concern had distracted him and almost got them both killed, but he wasn't going to admit that to his handler.

"It looks to me like you can't, because that stunt you pulled was reckless and irresponsible," Phil snapped mercilessly; he was on a roll now and no amount of his seemingly endless control was going to reel him in.

"My position was compromised and the team was occupied. It's not my fault my escape route didn't work out." Clint shifted himself so he was sitting a little higher in the bed.

"That's not what I'm talking about. You were going to detonate that arrowhead with no way to get clear of the blast." Phil clinched his hands into fists until his nails bit into his palms.

An emotion Coulson couldn't quite place flashed in Clint's eyes for a brief second, but if he had to guess, it was something akin to fear. "I would have made it." Phil scoffed audibly at the idea, the action doing nothing but darkening the expression on the other man's face.

"The real Coulson would have trusted me to get the job done."

They both froze, one in shock and the other in regret; no matter what could be said next, the words were out there and they could never be taken back. Phil abruptly stood and left without a word, as there was nothing left to say; what could he say in the face of that? Barton was right, this wasn't his friend, it wasn't the same scared, desperate twenty year old he had cornered in an alley all those years ago; none of this was his. This wasn't even his world, this Clint Barton belonging to it, not him; he had to stop punishing the man for his failure to save his Hawkeye, which happened in a completely other place.

Clint watched as Coulson fled; he had gone in for the kill and was slightly relieved it had worked, but another part of him felt guilty for doing it. He just couldn't be in the same room as the man and pretend that he hadn't gotten his counterpart killed. More importantly, he'd never be able to survive the heart break of loosing Coulson again and given their choice of career, it would almost be a certainty; better to push the man away before Clint got to attached again.

The thoughts in his mind had kept him so preoccupied, Coulson hadn't realized he had left the tower until Natasha was beside him. He barely regarded her, unsure if he could say anything even if he wanted to.

"I thought I would find you here, mind if I join you?" The words were in her usual level tone and if she had any anger about the fight between him and Barton, she didn't let it show.

Phil shrugged his shoulders, sliding over to make room for Romanoff to sit on the park bench. "How did you know I'd be here?"

She let out a sigh, staring at the ducks swimming across the pond; she was quiet for a while after that and the agent was unsure she was going to answer. Softly, she answered, the words obviously having been given some thought, "You're not that different from him, from Phil." It sounded as though she had secretly wished the two men had been different, as though it might have been easier for everyone if it had been a Jekyll and Hyde type situation.

Coulson snorted.

"What are you afraid of?" Of all the things he thought she could ask, that one surprised him; her green eyes were soft when she looked at him and for a moment it was her, his Natasha.

"I watched you die, you know that?" Coulson replied. She nodded, almost like she wanted to say something sympathetic, that she understood, but didn't interrupt. "We were on a mission, getting the contents of the Captain America locker, and he...Hawkeye attacked. We needed the information and we both knew that only one of us was getting out. He killed you and I...I let him. I let him become the thing, the monster, I swore I would never let see the light of day. Then, I killed him just before I came here, because I have to do everything one hundred percent." He paused, before solemnly speaking, "And you know what? He thanked me for it, for twisting that knife that I had never meant to put in him."

"That sounds like Clint," the words were soft as Natasha turned and looked Phil in the eye. "Is that why you were being overprotective out there?" There was no accusation in her voice, only curiosity about his past actions.

"I wasn't being over protective. I…"

"Phil, you kept changing our positions and putting me further from the threat. Every time one of the creatures got close you had Thor or Rogers move in to defend me." Coulson knew this to be true as he relayed the battle in his head; he hadn't realized he was doing it, but the fact that he was wasn't all that surprising considering the past. With that being said, she decided to move on to another topic, one that he would rather not talk about. "I think you should talk to Clint."

Phil shrugged, internally pushing down the mixed feelings he had on the subject. "I did, it didn't exactly go well."

"Did you talk or did you go in there to tear him a new one?"

"I might have…"

"Lost your cool?" supplied Romanoff, just like his widow would have, as she knew him almost as well as he did himself. "Called him reckless and irresponsible, talked down to him like he's not a highly trained professional that's saved your ass a time, or twelve?"

"Maybe." They both knew it was a resounding and clear yes.

She rolled her eyes. "Barton is always going to be a little self destructive, which works well with a handler that leaves his recon position to swoop in and save the day." The small smile on her face faded, giving way to her more serious side. "Finding out you died on the helicarrier nearly killed him and while I won't lecture you with a depressing recap, the bottom line is that it hasn't been easy for him. You were the only one who ever gave a damn about him, even though you had every reason not to."

It was a familiar story, one that Phil didn't need his counterpart's meticulous notes to understand, but just because it was familiar, didn't mean it was perfect. In his difficulties to adjust to these strangers wearing familiar faces, he hadn't realized that they were finding it difficult to; the relationships seemed to be the same, a common ground within this new situation. If it had nearly killed him to lose them, then he knew that it had done the same to them to lose him; he understood.

His chest tightened; there was an enormous amount of pressure that came with the job and then he had to fill his own shoes, live up to his own legend. At the thought of this, breathing seemed to be suspended, because then you had to add in a drive not to experience such a loss again, to prevent death even though it was inevitable. He felt faint.

"We don't expect you to be him, but we do need you to decide which version of him, you, that you are going to be. We buried you, him, Coulson; if you're going to resurrect the dead, then you have to be willing to give one hundred percent. Anything else will lead to heartache for everyone." Natasha patted him firmly, but smoothly, on the shoulder and left him to his thoughts of the present and the future.

Phil stared at the computer screen, in his office at Stark Tower, just waiting for the text to magically change. He was surprised to say that Fury had agreed to his request at all, let alone so fast; his thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock at the door. "Come in."

The door opened and Barton hobbled in, before standing stiffly at attention; the palette of blacks and purples were still impressive, the winces that were seen every so often obviously from where stitches were being pulled. Without a word, Clint handed him a thin manila folder.

Coulson flipped through the pages, not even skimming the contents as he didn't need to read them, he recognized the forms right away; as he should. "What are these?" Phil looked at the man standing before him, trying to get a read on him; all that he found was nothing, other than indifference.

"Transfer papers, sir."

Coulson kept his frustration in check, before getting to the heart of the matter. "I can see that. Would you care to elaborate on why you are requesting to be transferred out of the Avengers' initiative?"

Clint deflated slightly; he had hoped that the agent would do them both a favor by signing them and sending him on his way, but could he ever be that lucky. He motioned to the chair opposite of the other man, slowly sitting down once he received permission to sit; his side protested the new position, a small hiss slipping as his breath caught. After a moment, when the wind was back in him, he broke the silence.

"I watched the footage Coulson." The words hung in the air, just long enough to where Phil thought the archer was going to leave it at that; instead, something else was added. "This isn't going to work sir, not like this. You can't do your job if you are constantly having to save my ass and I just...I can't, I won't be responsible for your death again. I am a distraction at best, not an asset, and at worst I am the final nail in your coffin."

A thousand arguments against what had just been said ran through his head, but Phil just dropped the file on his desk and picked the simplest response, "I think it would be a mistake for both of us to leave the Avengers."

Barton's head shot up from where it had been formerly bowed in shame. "Sir?"

"I've requested a leave of absence and Director Fury has surprisingly agreed."

"You can't do that! The Avengers need you, not me. If anyone leaves, it should be me. SHIELD is your life," Clint protested, but saw the look in the other man's face; in the back of his mind, he knew a decision had already been made.

"That's not true. Clint, the team got along fine without him, you'll get along fine without me. This world is yours, not mine, and I just need some time to gain perspective on that fact. It wouldn't hurt to experience life out of SHIELD for awhile and once I have things worked out, I'll be back. I'm no good to anyone right now, not with all the things I have to work though, and that's dangerous to everyone. I just need some fresh air."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Travel, see the world, find my place in it." A youthful twinkle appeared in Phil's eye, something that tempted Clint to smile.

"Going home to see your folks?" asked the archer, making small talk before he even realized his mistake.

Phil shook his head, a brief flicker of remorse passing over him. "They lost their son once, it wouldn't be fair to put them through that again." With that, an awkward silence settled between them. "I think I have a greater appreciation for what Rogers goes through every day, not quite fitting in but not being able to go back. I've spent the last few years fighting a war you know nothing about and I have trouble remembering that you are capable of doing this. You and Natasha are going to be fine; I'm the one that has to work through some things before I can be of any use to you."

Clint bit his lip, it seemed like he was very good at driving people away; the deep, dark, pit of loss starting to open up within him again. He knew Coulson was lying, but he respected it because he imagined that it had to be hard to look at him, to stare at the face of the person that had killed everyone you held dear.

"Barton, stop. Not everything that goes wrong in this universe is your fault and you are not responsible for me. Just because I won't be your handler doesn't mean that I'm not going to honor my promise; you won't be alone. I'm just a phone call away and don't hesitate to call, I mean it." The familiar words were oddly reassuring to both parties, but the tension and pain could still be felt in the air between them.

Clint wanted to be selfish, to demand that Coulson stay; he knew that Natasha would appreciate it if he did. He figured this is what normal people would equate to leaving home; being on your own, but knowing that the other person, who had always been there, was just a little farther away. Things like this were normal, they happened. The thing was that he wasn't normal, he had never been normal, why start now? He could count on one hand the number of people that cared for something beyond his skills, and to be honest, he didn't need the whole hand. The last year had been freefall, the kind without a parachute to deploy, and now normal, his brand at least, was almost in reach. He was almost there, could almost see it and it hurt, hell it terrified him that it could all slip through his fingers. Perhaps he just wanted that second chance he had begged for a year ago, but maybe, just maybe, Phil was right; he didn't need an older brother to look after him anymore.

"Alright." The word was shaky, even to his own ears, but it put a smile on Coulson's face all the same.

Phil walked his friend to the door, before turning off the light; he was torn between leaving and staying. Both sides were filled with pros and cons, but in the end he had to do what was right by his people. Everyone needed time, especially him, to adjust, and when he had his thoughts and emotions sorted out, he would be back; Fury would demand it. He had to push the idea of going back to his world out of his mind, forget all the atrocities that took place and enjoy this second chance. There was truly nothing to go back for, but perhaps there was something, some people worth staying for.

Natasha dangled her legs over the side of the tower; the people in the street below tiny, bustling dots of activity in comparison to the serene calm that was around her. She could see why Barton was so enamored with this perch; she heard the archer step onto the roof, but waited for him to take a seat and offered him a beer instead of speaking.

"He left you know," muttered Clint after a moment, as he fiddled with his bottle cap trying to make peace with the idea of letting the man out into the world. All he wanted to do was keep him close, to know that he was safe, and to be certain that the man that had his back, in life not just out in the field was the one person he could trust and not the dizzying array of strangers that had been trying to fill the void left by Phil since Loki.

In her usual calm, detached nature, she replied before taking another sip of her own beer, "I figured he would."

"You're okay with that?" He huffed, slightly irritated as he seemed to be the only one concerned and against the idea.

"Not at all, but we have to give him some space to sort things out. He'll be back," Natasha declared softly, with the confidence that came from experience.

It was that reassurance that Barton wished he could have, that he could be as certain as she was; Natasha was the only person who had come back after leaving him, so he'd used up his miracle with that one. "How can you be sure?"

"We're his family. For better or worse, we're stuck together."

Clint raised his bottle, letting it glint in the light of the ending day. "I'll drink to that." They clanged their bottles together before sitting in silence as the sun set, and while neither mentioned it, a feeling of safety settled over them that had not been felt in over a year. They could only hope that the next year, and those to come after it, would be better than the one past and that their family, their family of three, would stay intact.

The End.

Yay, Coulon's alive and going to be on TV tonight. This was my attempt to work Coulson back into the marvel universe before the TV series offers a different or any explanation. I wrote this story back in February before I knew about Agents of SHIELD, so didn't that work out nicely. Bonus for today, Iron Man 3 comes out.

So to all those people that I said there would be sunshine and rainbows at the end, see all that death and destruction was leading somewhere.

Thank you to everyone who read this story, especially if it wasn't your normal subject matter, and for giving it a chance.

Thank to all the reviewers for all your support.

Super BIG thanks to Midnightmoonwarrior for the amazing beta job and pushing me to make this story even better. Your hours of effort are very appreciated.

The next story will be Birds of a Feather Flock Together: Superheroes: a preposterous idea that sounds crazy in theory as well as practice. It would make sense that a group of mentally unstable individuals would create a fantasy world in which they were heroes that saved the world on a regular basis. If one was to pretend to be a superhero why would they go with archer but more importantly, Clint can't shake the feeling that it's all true despite the padded walls and what the doctor handing out the pills is telling him.

Followed by Uneasy Lies the Head that Wears the Crown. This one goes back to Barton's early days at SHIELD following the events from Pound of Flesh. There is a mole in Fury's organization which becomes very apparent when an important mission goes sideways leaving the Director of SHIELD unsure who he can trust and which operative is going to end up with a bullet and a shallow grave. Can he figure it out before his number comes up or will the mole claim innocent lives by framing their coworkers?