[ He goes back to staring at the room, shakes his head; if he doesn't know then he can't tell him, break the news to him that he's not just gone, but he's gone, gone, forever gone, never coming back gone. ]
Nothing, it doesn't matter. [ Plastering on a smile. ] Bet it was good getting to catch up with your friend, even if it was short-lived.
No, c'mon. [ Flopping into the space beside Clint. ] I am a responsible adult shaped person. [ And sometimes - sometimes even kids can understand the pain of being alive. ]
[ He's hesitant, doesn't want to put this on him, however grown up he may be, but he also does want to talk, a part of him, even if the rest wants to run and run and never stop. ]
He - he's - [ He swallows the lump in his throat, takes a deep breath, and tries again, this time his voice is quiet, almost a whisper, but it doesn't break. ] He's dead.
Oh. [ Fury whines as though sensing something, and Stiles' fingers clench slightly. He could say that nobody really dies in the Marvel universe, but this -- this is too close for comfort. He knew Phil, he knew him and trusted him and he's not some fictional character, not for Stiles. ]
No reason you should. [ He shrugs, not meaning it to be harsh, but because here it didn't matter, here everything was okay and he could pretend. He can't now. ] But people come back. Right? This is the one place where people can come back.
Yeah. Of course. [ Because the City doesn't care who's dead or alive or even if they have been here before. Phil could come back, he could return at any point and he'd still be here. ]
[ He nods, smiles, even makes it believable; he promised Phil he'd be okay, that no matter what happened he'd pick himself up and carry on, and it shouldn't be any different to the other times he's had to.
But he doesn't delude himself into thinking he'll come back, the Natasha here isn't even his Natasha - nothing's that simple. ]
Guess I'm gonna be needing more of those cooking lessons from you, can't live on these things forever, however amazing they are.
No, that's totally fine. [ He grins, bright and trying to be helpful. ] I'm a good teacher. Even my dad knows how to not burn water now so you'll be okay in my capable teachering hands.
We lived off burnt toast for like a month after my mom died. [ Chewing his own burger carefully. ] So I taught myself how to cook. He can now make his own pasta in case I'm not there. It's totally an improvement.
You installed smoke detectors, right? [ He manages a playful smile, taking another bite of burger and a sip of coffee to wash it down with. ] Pasta is a step up from warming cans of food up, tossing things in the microwave doesn't always end so good.
We'll learn pasta first. I make a mean spaghetti bolognaise. [ He wants to ask if Clint and Phil were together, but then maybe that's just reassuring himself of something, it's not his place. ]
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Nothing, it doesn't matter. [ Plastering on a smile. ] Bet it was good getting to catch up with your friend, even if it was short-lived.
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He - he's - [ He swallows the lump in his throat, takes a deep breath, and tries again, this time his voice is quiet, almost a whisper, but it doesn't break. ] He's dead.
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Oh crap, Clint. I'm sorry, I didn't know.
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But he doesn't delude himself into thinking he'll come back, the Natasha here isn't even his Natasha - nothing's that simple. ]
Guess I'm gonna be needing more of those cooking lessons from you, can't live on these things forever, however amazing they are.
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[ He can tell there's something there, Stiles a little transparent around the edges. ] Don't make me tickle attack you.
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[ Flail. ] You're an assassin and you choose to tickle?
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[ Literally. ]
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He eat puppy chow as a kid or something?
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Something like that.
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