bakerstreet | Hurt // Comfort Meme

Hurt // Comfort Meme

Hurt/Comfort - Hurt/comfort is a fan fiction genre that involves the physical pain or emotional distress of one character, who is cared for by another character. The injury, sickness or other kind of hurt allows an exploration of the characters and their relationship.

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1. INJURY. You've been injured. Broken bones or bleeding out or maybe just a tiny little papercut. The choice is yours.
2. SICKNESS. You're sick and laid up in bed, at home or in a hospital. The severity is up to you.
3. FEAR/ANXIETY. Something is happening and you're scared beyond belief.
4. LOSS OF SENSES. Sight, touch, taste, hearing, smell, etc. You've lost some important sense or ability and now you're left to deal with it.
5. DESPAIR. Nothing is good or right anymore and you can't shake the depression. Maybe that friend of yours can help though...
6. BREAKUP. You've been dumped. You need someone to comfort you, possibly by the one who dumped you.
7. MAKE UP. Fight or break up, it's time to makeup.
8. RESCUED. You've just been held captive and/or tortured for however long and finally, someone has come to the rescue.
9. BAD ROMANCE. Fight, cheated on, abused, whatever the case is, someone else can clearly see you need comfort from someone who isn't your terrible lover tonight.
10. LOSS. You've experience a loss of some kind and need help getting through it.
11. INSANITY. You're seeing things that aren't really there, hearing voices, or you're just convinced you're at your wit's end finally and you're going to crack. Maybe someone can give you a helping hand.
12. TIRED. You've had a heard life recently and you're just worn too thin to really care anymore. There's no fight left in you anymore. Can someone help change your mind?
13. ADDICTION. Drugs, alcohol, sex, gambling, or any other type of addiction has got you in its grasp. First time or relapse. Will someone be able to save you?
14. INSOMNIA. You can't sleep anymore, no matter how hard you try. Maybe someone can give you company.
15. NIGHTMARES. Or, on the other end of the spectrum, you can't sleep without gruesome, horrible nightmares. Either someone is stuck in your dream with you, witnessing it or they're just waking you up, soothing you out of it.
16. BLACKMAIL. You've been caught doing something you shouldn't and you were blackmailed because of it
17. SEPARATION. You're going to be separated for awhile or were separated for a long time. Either make up for lost time or try to spend every last moment together.
18. VIOLATED. You've been violated in some way. Can include sexual overtones or not. Can someone help you through it?
19. STRANDED. You've been stranded somewhere remote, with no help of anyone finding you for awhile. Can you survive this together?
20. SINS. You're feeling the weight of your sins and guilt clearer than ever. Can someone give you absolution or lessen the ache any?
21. SECRET. It's difficult having to keep that secret of yours, be it a relationship or something you just don't want to share with anybody else. Maybe it's okay to talk about it now though...
22. ADDITION. Babies should be joyous things unless you're in a situation where you know you won't be able to care for them. Either you've adopted or found out you're pregnant.

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[ Clint blames himself entirely for what had happened to Coulson, the man who had picked him up, salvaged his entire past and turned him into one of the more reputable snipers in SHIELD. A small concession in favor of the damage Loki had done, killing him off, his death weighing directly on Clint's hands and the blood never quite washing away. He blames Fury as well, but to a lesser degree, because Coulson is his boss, and Fury is their superior, and he's learned enough to watch the fights he picks. But it doesn't change the fact that he blames the man for lying, for using Coulson as a catalyst for pushing them together.

He lingers outside of Coulson's - Phil, he reminds himself, because they're more than just last names now - room, stalling for time, forcing himself to get his priorities into order. Above all though, he's tired, frustrated, and Clint just wants things to go back to normal, when they didn't deal with emotions and everything was a matter of right and wrong, and in the end he pushes past it all, allowing himself some leeway to walk into Coulson's room for an explanation he knows he won't get anywhere else. Locking the door, he stands by, waiting for acknowledgement before he moves once again. ]

Clint.

[The voice is dry, and perhaps a hint of tired beneath the surface. Phil's trying to sound normal, as best he can. But what really, what is the chance of fooling the archer? Not much. They had spent to much time together, Phil being his ghost, the voice in his ear, the one helping him call the shots, to calm down.

And Clint? Had always been there to make him smile (even if it was secret), to tell him to stop working for a few moments.

If this isn't family, it's close to it. And the only one him, Clint, and Natasha really have left.

Forcing himself into a standing position, he ignores the pricking at his chest, that cool spread of sensation that sometimes worries him--that Loki left something inside. But it's probably just nerves trying to fire, to repair themselves.

He's still a mess, but he hides it well enough. Or at least, Phil tries to. Giving the archer a tight smile, he nods.]

Was wondering when you would show.

[ He hides it well enough but Clint knows Coulson - Phil, his conscious is quick to remind him - better than most, having been with him for so long, the way they bounce off each other on assignments, the banter they share when he's left on guard and Phil is there to keep him up through the late hours of night. Theirs is a professional relationship at best, one so carefully concealed like all the secrets within SHIELD, and just maybe he thinks its time to stop hiding. ] Was wondering when you planned on telling me. [ He should be offended by the idea of Phil's death being faked, but deep down inside, Clint knows just why it was done, and it makes sense, it always does, but it still stings.

He smiles barely, but it's a genuine smile all the same knowing how receptive the other man is to those slightest movements. ] Did you think I wouldn't find out? [ Eyes up high, Phil would say; and each time he did, those words granted Clint a bit of strength to keep on going, night after night, even when the worst seemed yet to come. Pushing himself off the wall, he moves out of the shadows and towards Phil, the first time Clint has willingly thrown himself into the limelight since the aftermath of New York, since the aftermath of the news Natasha had given him. ]

I was counting on you to, actually.

[But that should be obvious. If anyone was going to find him, it would have been the archer. His partner. The only one he'd let past the cool-crafted exterior, past the parts that knew that risks in relationships. The Cellist in Portland--a funny ruse, one Clint had thought up himself (they both use bows, after all).

He had counted on Clint to find him. To beat past the security procedures, the things set in place to keep him away from the Avengers.

While he had technically died that day (on paper, he still was--in reality, his heart had stopped for 45 seconds), Phil couldn't deny the other agents their anger, if they had it. Even if he had a choice in the matter (Nick had 'called it' while he was in surgery, bleeding out on a table)...he would have sided with Director Fury.

They had needed it. And if he had to stay dead...it was going to have to happen.

Because if he didn't? Then the Avengers would question everything. Every death--every injury would be a manipulation.

Phil couldn't take that away from them. But--]

I've also only been let out of bed yesterday.

[--he was occasionally selfish, and weak.

He didn't want to lose Clint. Not after coming so close.

Watching Clint move forward, he shook his head, taking his own step to close the distance, raising an eyebrow.]

When was the last time you slept?

[At least two days. Phil knew the other man's body as well as his own--even before they started to sleep together.

It was painful, almost, to speak as if nothing happened, the gentle quips and questions. He wanted to reach out. But for once, Phil was afraid to take the push.]

[ He takes another step forward, enough so that they're only mere millimeters away from each other, hands to himself. Reaching out is nearly inevitable at this point but Clint's resolve is still stronger than anticipated and he refrains from running his hands over the other man's chest, ensuring that he's alive, and real. ] Recently. [ Clint lies because he can, and he knows that Phil has seen through it immediately; it's been over three days since he managed more than five hours straight of sleep and part of him wondered if he'd ever be able to.

With his boss, his partner standing there, everything Clint had to hide was near useless at this point, blue eyes dipping down to the wound, obscured by his near constant suit and tie and for a moment he forgets himself, reaching upwards. Fingers brushing over the point, his composure is still intact despite the other man's words. ] I should have been there, [ And for a moment his voice starts breaking, because it's his fault Loki escaped, that Loki had killed Phil, had managed to use him despite his own training to the contrary. ] this is all my fault.

It's not. It was Loki's.

[At the touch, Phil leans into the hand, disregarding the discomfort, the slight phantom pain radiating from it being touched, even through the layers of bandage, of shirt, of suit.]

We knew the risks we were taking. A lesser agent would have failed after that much stress.

[He smiles, sadly, a hand resting against the other cheek.]

Clint, you saved the damn world. And I'm still in it.

[ It doesn't matter if it's Loki's fault or not, because that's what Fury had told him when he came back, when both he and Natasha had debriefed him, but Phil had still died. He notes the onset of pain and pulls away, not wanting to further any discomfort for the one man he's cared about more than anyone, for the one person that had put up with him and his ambitions, allowing him to excel. Drawing his hand down to Coulson's waist, thumbs running along the belt. He brackets the man's waist, the tentative beginning of a simple hug that he'd never go along with. ]

It wasn't just me. [ Modest as ever, at least around Phil, he leans into the touch. ] The team you were asked to put together did it. [ If only because trying to save the world on his own while grieving for his boss would never have worked. Clint returns the smile just barely, grim in the dim light of the bedroom, and for once he wants to give up their moment of stoicism, curl up against the man and not leave, because that was the only way he could ensure that nothing would happen again. ] I would have killed him if I knew.

[Phil knows how difficult this is for Clint; others might see him as someone who always has a good quip, who brushes things off. But he was a man who truly felt things deeply, who never forgot the damage he caused. It was one of the reasons that Phil loved him, actually. He had heart; and it was what Loki had tried to use against him.

Luckily, Nat had been there to stop it before it had fully overtaken him.

Leaning slightly into the hands, he just breathes, happy to actually just exist in this moment, as painful as it might be for both of them.]

I know. But they couldn't have done it without you--regardless what you think.

[Because Phil knows how the other man thinks; before they even got together, he had to know. How a change in breathing, the way Clint walked could be the difference between 'I'm okay', or 'I need a break' regardless of what the words said. Because for everything Clint said, there was so much more beneath the surface.

At the last confession, Phil sighs, letting his hands come down to grip at the archer's strong forearms, squeezing.]

I know. And I'm glad they decided to wait to tell you.

[To tell the lie.

Slowly, he started to back up, knowing specially where the bed was. His legs were already starting to feel a bit weak; the situation was taxing, on him. Besides, it would be easier to give Clint what he needed--what they both needed-- if they were seated.]

[ They know each other incredibly well that it only takes the slightest movement from Phil before Clint is guiding him towards the bed, slow nudges that turn into his hand around Phil's own arm, breaking away from the grip to simply let him sit down. There's no rush, no sudden need for either of them to be standing and this time, he doesn't press. They're building themselves back up again and he's content to do this on his own terms, taking the seat next to Phil.

Silent for the time being, he pores over what Phil had offered him; words that were meant to reassure him, words that should have held a great deal of control over him, but in the long run only made him feel ill at ease. Reaching for Phil's wrist, he turns the man's hand over so that his palm was visible. Attention fixed solely on it, he traces over the patterns laced there. ]

They should have told me earlier. No one, [ His tone is determined at that. ] cares more about you than I do. [ They had danced around each other for so long, that while Clint knew Phil cared about him, while their feelings for each other had been reciprocated, openly admitting such a thing had been hard enough in the first place. ]

Would you have been able to fight with a clear head? Could you have kept yourself from blaming yourself?

[The words are spoken quietly, evenly; he does as he always does, pokes holes in thinking, trying to ease Clint towards the right answer. The man is smarter than anyone ever gives him credit for; he observes what others merely only see.

Phil sometimes hopes he had a hand in that. A tiny, small, nudge.

Flexing his hand, he curls his fingers up against the fingers moving along his palm.]

And I know, Clint. I know.

[Even if they weren't together, Phil knew it would hold true.

Turning his hand, he clasps at Clint's, tugging gently. He wants to allow himself some weakness, that perhaps they both need. There is entirely too much space between them, now.]

I could. [ A lie, because Clint needs to reassure himself that yes, he can shove aside all of his personal issues to focus on the task at hand. ] I've done it before, you know that. With Natasha -- [ Clint trials off immediately, recalling the rare missions that had been flawed in their own rights, and having to go after her, knowing what was at stake.

He could already sense the argument coming back from Phil, that they weren't the same and his own feelings would have been a bigger deterrent this time than it was with his closest friend. Squeezing back, Clint glances in his direction, eyes laced with concern, worry stretched across his features and he didn't try to conceal it at this point. ]

I still blame myself, Phil. [ He pressed his face into the man's shoulder immediately after, the attempt needed to avoid his own weakness from coming across. ]

I know--but this time the world was at stake.

[Meaning it was bigger than their little familial group, as important as it was. They all knew--Clint, him, Natasha--that they were expendable. Phil had come head on with that in such a harsh way.

But he survived. And Clint had come through--that's what mattered, now.]

I can't stop you from doing that, either.

[Phil's good arm slipped around Clint's waist, squeezing tighter than he intended, just needing that contact, touch, to know this was real, and not some extended dream a man had before his death.]

We'll get through it, though.

[They always do.]

[ They always did get through it, but it didn't make this moment any less harsher than it was. Clint allows Phil to pull him closer, the gesture tight, but nevertheless appreciated. For a man who could handle pain with the best of them, he didn't mind the constriction, resting his cheek against his collar. ]

You should lie down. [ Should, as if he'd try to command his own superior, but it was an acknowledgement towards Phil's current condition, that while the man would be better off earning some rest laying down. Even as he says this, Clint makes no move to pull away, settling into the half embrace, clutching the man's shirt as he focuses on keeping himself composed. ] Phil, I -- [ He trails off, biting down on his lower lip before the words came out, before every hint of weakness was exposed. ]

I think I'll stay comfortable. I've laid down enough.

[He is tired of beds, tired of sleeping. He'd rather suffer a little discomfort and pain and have Clint wrapped up with him, than be in bed without him (though the thought that they could move there passes through is mind).

Rubbing his hand over Clint's back, he presses lips to the archer's brow, breathing in that familiar scent of his hair--sweat and the scent of the cheap shampoo that makes his hair look amazing.]

I know.

[He says it softly, lips nearly touching the other man's ear. While the words say one thing, he means 'me too.']

[ Even in the midst of this reunion, he has to laugh at Phil's words, the reassurance he offers when his statement was never completed in the first place. ] What are you, Han Solo?

[ He shouldn't be saying things like that, shouldn't be trying to make light of a situation where Clint had very nearly lost the one person he was close to. But the words and gesture are appreciated all the same and Clint presses tightly against him. Lips brushing along Phil's neck, he wants to hold the man and pretend they don't have any grief to carry, that they're both fine and none of them are injured, physically or emotionally. He's carrying his own scars from the fight, but they'll never be as serious as Phil's own. ]

Don't leave me.

Was it the dashing good looks that gave me away?

[He smiles lightly, laughing softly in return--as much as he can without hurting his chest. It feels good to do this again; too long he had nothing to smile about, laugh about. Things are always easier with Clint here, even when it was bad.

He'll keep breathing--they both will--and they will make it all right, somehow.]

I won't.

[He can't promise; they both knew how things happened, but even if he died, he knew that somehow, he wouldn't be completely gone.]

You're stuck with me, Clint Barton. As sad as that might be.

[He shifts his head slightly, seeking out the other man's lips.]

Harrison Ford is more attractive though.

[ Just a slight concession of his love for Phil, because neither of them would even admit that openly; not that either of them needed to say it when it was obvious between them.

But despite their teasing and the soft laugh that Clint allows himself, what he truly does take to heart are Phil's words, that he's stuck with him no matter what. He doesn't return the sentiment, that Clint would be perfectly satisfied being stuck with Phil, because it's obvious in the way he returns the kiss, tilting his head up, pressing his lips firmly to the other man's. Reaching up to cup his neck, Clint knows he can't push his boss just yet, take this as slowly as possible while they're still putting themselves together. ]

Oh I'm wounded.

[A soft chuckle sounds before their lips finally meet, and Phil feels something loosen in his chest, relax. This is easy as breathing, now. Easier, considering his wounded lung.

Phil has his good hand on Clint's waist, so he can't do much more than lean into the kiss, tongue sliding along the seam of the other man's lips carefully, lovingly. They were anchors to one another. It may not be the best, always--but it was good enough. And 'good enough' sometimes was better than anything else that could be provided.]

[ He'd take it as it was given, worried that maybe any further pressure would damage the man, that Clint would do more harm than good. While Clint wanted to press things, he'd let his boss - his lover, he reminds himself as he deepens the kiss - take the reins as usual, following his orders on a regular basis.

Gripping his shirt, Clint pulls Phil closer, despite the awkwardness of their position, sitting side by side. The kiss is needed, his own lips parting openly at the invitation. ]

[When Clint pulls at Phil, he finally finishes the movement, shifting to straddle the younger man's lap. It's easier on his chest, then, giving him the closeness without the pressure against his stitches, the slowly heeling scars.

It allows him to deepen the kiss as he wants to, finally, sliding his tongue into that wet heat, sighing softly as the familiar taste of Clint entered his mouth.]

[ They shouldn't be doing this here in his bedroom, when Phil is still recovering and the grief between the two of them is still too near and dear to Clint. He can handle situations like these with ease, and has been able to in the past, dedicating himself to a life of neutrality and focus. But Phil is altogether a different man and while he reciprocates the kiss and the movement, there's still a bit of hesitation (this isn't the best course, phil).

Leaning back against the bed, he kisses back fervently, lips parting to allow Phil his usual control. Pulling away only for a breath, Clint pauses, bringing his hands up to cup the man's face as he offers a slight smile. ]

Can't be good for that injury of yours. [ Not that he'd stop, reckless as he can be from time to time. ]

No, it can't.

[Phil gives him a small, sardonic smile, fingers smoothing over Clint's shoulders with a cool control. One he's forcing on himself, as he's forced to admit--]

I'm actually not supposed to do anything that could elevate my heart rate for a month.

[That doesn't mean, however, that Clint has to suffer from the imposed medical sentence.]

[ It might mean he doesn't have to suffer, but it doesn't mean he'll take favors like this, not when Clint is compelled to keep both of them on an equal level. He'll take care of Phil as needed, even if he's suffering, because in the end all that matters is whether or not Coulson is back on his own two feet and recovering properly. ]

You should stop then. [ Because Clint won't force him either way, let Phil make his own decisions. He's always been the follower to Phil's leadership, his own input not necessarily important in the long run so much as it is another perspective. ]

Can't have you landing in the hospital again.

I know.

[Phil lets out a low 'huff' of breath, the only real sign that he's frustrated with the situation. He's thankful-greatful to be alive, but there are things he'd like to do that have to wait.

Pressing his lips to Clint's, he shifts off of the other man, laying against his side, instead.]

Doesn't mean I will be happy about it.

Hurt // Comfort Meme

Agent Phil Coulson | MCU

10 | 12

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