Here it is...
Phillip looked up from the agent he currently had on his knees in a headlock when he heard the commotion on the other side of the training room. He threw the agent on the mat, and did the 'good match' bumping of the fist. Phillip grabbed a towel from the bench and dried off some of the sweat before heading over to the mess of people.
More agents, higher levels than Phil is, push their way through the newbies trying to get glance of whatever's going on. Phillip knows that this isn't a fight, people would be cheering and yelling for whoever they were rooting for until a trainer broke them up, but no, everyone's dead silent. A medic team shows up and and shoves everyone aside.
And all who couldn't see before gets a clear view of Clint Barton, Hawkeye, passed out in the middle of the training room floor. The whole place erupts with questions.
"Did you see what happened to him?"
"Did he get shot?"
"Isn't that Barton?"
"Is the shooter still here?"
"Nah man, we'd all be dead if someone got the jump on the hawk."
"I think he's having a stroke."
"He did look all disoriented."
"Where's his kid, isn't he on base?"
"Why's he having a stroke?"
"Is he already dead?"
Phillip heard none of this. Only the roaring in his ears and sound of his heart and pushed through the other agents to get to his father. He came out of his trance when eventually Fury entered the room and had to hold the boy back from interrupting the medics. They had Clint on a gurney and out of the training room soon after Fury's arrival.
"Look. They'll do everything they can." Was the only words of comfort Nick would offer him.
An occipital stroke. Left side of the brain. Caused by a blockage of blood flow from his tumor.
His tumor.
What tumor? Phillip didn't have any knowledge of the tumor killing his father. That was quite the conversation between Fury and him.
"What the hell do you mean 'it was caused by a tumor'?" Phillip asked the older man when he was explaining to him what happened. "He never told me any of this."
"I didn't expect him to." Fury said, almost stoically. "Didn't want your pity, didn't want anyone to worry. And let me ask you something Barton, did you honestly expect him too?"
Phillip didn't answer him. Of course Clint would never tell them. He probably couldn't even admit to himself that 'damn, something other than a bullet could kill me'. The red head sat down in those hard plastic chairs that he knew all too well. "Do you know, what will happen to him now?"
Fury sighed and interlocked his fingers. Not wanting to say this now and definitely not wanting to repeat it when the other members of the Avengers get down to the base. "Blindness. Maybe permanent. Numbness, lets just say he won't be too good on his feet... Phillip." The kid looked up at him. "He won't be able to walk, or see again."
Clint sat out on his balcony. The crisp November air not even bothering him anymore. No, not much bothered the old assassin, not after he was stripped of everything he knew. He's lost all feeling in his feet and some in his legs, his fingers have been numb, useable but numb, ever since he woke up in SHIELD's medical wing only four weeks ago. He feels for the glass that he can no longer look for, some protein vitamin shit. Clint can't even drink a damn pop without throwing up twenty minutes later.
He forced Amelia to go back to school. He's not letting himself slow her down. At least Phillip was able to get Clint out of the base, back home. Huh, he thought thought he'd be calling this place his home. "We're not rich, Tony's rich. We are just permanent guests." He would always tell Phillip and Amelia that. No, they could not spend ridiculous amounts of money just because Tony was offering it, it was almost offending, but Clint knew he just loved to spoil kids.
Phillip took a break from SHIELD. Kid was still a bit angry at Clint for not mentioning it once, at all, but he wasn't about to leave his father alone in that damn apartment. Clint hated that his son was taking care of him, it seemed like (oh god the archer was actually getting sentimental) just yesterday he was that little baby he was singing American Pie to. Clint might have just been a little glad he didn't have to see his son see himself so miserable.
He hated the thought of leaving behind everyone though. All they had done for him. Clint would love thank Abigail if he saw her again. She was the one who was actually there for Amelia. Like an older sister to her, to all of them mostly. And Mark, that kid stood by Phil through all the shit. The two boys were inseparable growing up. Fred and George, Fili and Kili, Sherlock and John. Hopefully it won't end for them like it did for their comparisons. It's not like Peter never did anything. He was like the supervisor for all the trouble the kids got in to. He was even Spider-Man. Clint actually thought it was pretty cool.
Tony and Steve and Bruce and Darcy were the ones he really needed to just say thank you too. They helped not only his children but himself as well. Through Natasha, and Ribner and everything.
He hated leaving them.
And he hated that he was selfish enough to think that staying here was worse.
Clint died a few days later on November 17. It was peacefully, in his sleep. Like he deserved. The archer was wrong his prediction to see Phillip's twenty first.
Phillip stood in front of only about ten people at Clint's funeral. He was asked to speak, which he wanted to, but as of right now, when he was standing in front of the few people who actually knew him well enough to come here, he totally chocked.
Steve quietly stood from his seat in the small crowd and quickly made his way next to his nephew. The captain slung his arm around the boy's shoulder before whispering in his ear. "Take a breath." Phil nodded, blinking his eyes and looked to the ground. Steve stayed where he was and took the slips of paper from the stand and spoke Phillip's words to the crowd in front of the casket.
"My father, was one of, if not the, greatest men I have ever known. He was there for me, and Amelia, through everything life could throw at us. I knew when my mother died, all he wanted to do was isolate himself. But he put everything aside and made sure that we were fine and healthy before he did anything.
"My father was always a bit strict with me and my sister growing up, and it took me almost too long to figure out why. He was gone a lot, and I guess he needed some reassurance that we wouldn't do something stupid when he was gone. Trust me, there were times when I could tell that he was just so done with all of the shit that I threw at him, but he never left, and he almost never lost his temper. I hate to think how stupid I was not to realizing everything that my father did for me.
"The man put everything he had into getting me and Amelia the life that he never had. I knew he hated the fact that he couldn't control everything that happened to us. And god knows the man tried to change that with all the stubbornness that he had. That stubbornness saved his life more times than it probably should have. I guess these past few months, it just got tired of trying.
"It may be a good thing that the old man finally gave it all up. I can only guess what was goof through his mind when the scan came on the screen and he saw the tumor on his brain. He hated that Fury put him on early retirement, and I know he hated how he only got progressively worse and he couldn't do anything about it. And I can only hope that me and Amelia being there in his last days, can be as half of comforting as he was to us.
"I think he didn't exactly want to leave yet, but I know that he was miserable here. And I hope, I /hope/, that wherever he is now, he no longer has to be in pain. I don't want to remember my father like he was when he was sick because that wasn't him. He was amazing and brave and deadly and stubborn. That was Hawkeye. But Clint, he was everything a dad should be. He gave us more patience, and love and just anything more than we deserved.
"Now it would take a lifetime to explain him to anyone, and I think by now I've talked enough. And I'm probably a complete wreck. Its sort of ironic because one the last things he said to me was "Don't you freakin cry at my funeral." Sorry Dad. But, for right now, all I can say now is that Clinton Francis Barton was, and will forever be, the greatest man that anyone could ever hope for as a dad. Thank you."
Steve finished the eulogy. A few somber, soft claps were heard as the two men made their way back their seats. Amelia took her brother's hand in her lap but said nothing, biting back tears. The rest of the ceremony was quiet. Nothing like the archer would've wanted. No, Clint would love to see it with Bon Jovi blasting in the background, the place lined with purple and hawks on his head stone.
Everyone eventually filed out. Phillip was left standing by the head stone, it started to snow lightly, he thought it was fitting. He also thought it was a dumb ass idea to him a funeral outside in November. Phil had to smile though, Clint had always loved snow, so did Natasha. He remembered when he was little they would sit out on the balcony when it first snowed, sometimes they'd pull him out there, Clint would sit him on the railing, and Natasha would keep telling him that he'd drop her son fifty floors off the edge.
Amy came up behind him, eyes red and still burning. "Your speech was nice." She said quietly, shifted her weight from foot to foot. "Even if it was part bullshit."
Phil raised an eyebrow at her. "And why do think that?"
"He was sort of ass." She stated as matter of factly. "Like yeah, he'd bail us out of jail if we happened to be there or help in some life threatening situation, but seriously, he was a total dick. There were days after mom died where Aunt Darcy would come over and make sure we'd ate. Other times he just totally dropped us off at either of their floors and drown himself in mourning. Bullshit he didn't isolate himself from us."
"It's a eulogy Amy you lie to try make other people feel better." The older brother shoved his hands in his suit pocket. He let her continue though, he knew it was all anger, even if it was true.
"And comforting my ass. A week after Ribner I kept having nightmares, you know he said when I tried telling him? He'd just say 'it's alright Amy, he can't hurt you anymore, just to sleep babe.' I know it's all he could really do but it wasn't very convincing to a six year old. Dammit I went to sleep in your bed after a while. You remember that?" She turned her face to him, Phil nodded and let her retell it anyway. "I went over to your room crying and I kept begging you to just slide over a little bit. You eventually let me up there and it ended up with me kicking you all the way off, but you didn't say anything about it."
Phil smiled at her. "You sound a lot like Mom. You see that?" She bit her lip and shook her head. The brother wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Like the way you always bite your lip when you're mad. Or how you snap back in Russian sometimes. That little eyebrow thing when someone's being stupid." He pushed up his eyebrow with his pinky and tried to mimic the expression. Amelia crossed her arms and tried not to laugh. "Or how you do that when you don't want to think something's funny. You don't remember, but you're a lot like her."
"You're such a girl." Amelia smiled at the points anyway. She leaned into Phillip's side. "But you're like him too. With the whole, 'I see from a distance thing.' And that you love to piss off Fury. And fight. And be an ass."
"Thanks." He scoffed as she continued.
"But," The blonde pressed. "You are really brave and shit."
Phillip had to let out a laugh at that one. That was the Abby rubbing off on her. She'd been spending way too much time with her, splitting a small house over in California.
It made the red head a little sad to think that Amelia and everyone else would be gone by tomorrow, the floor back home would be left empty. Pete would go back to his fancy science university, keep being Spider-Man. Mark would be back training to be a physical therapist. Abby would be some film-artist person, Amelia would still be undecided. And Phil would still be SHIELD. It was almost like, this would the actual last time Phil would get to see them. Until something worse happens.
"You do something great Amelia. Alright? I want you to go back to school. Find someone. Someone who makes you feel safe again." Phil squeezed her.
Amy squeezed right on back. "You too Phil. And just, don't die. Not for a while?"
He huffed a laugh. "I'll try."
"And see David again?"
He gave the blonde a small, sad smile. "Maybe."
They stood for a while longer in a comfortable silence, after a while Amelia eventually started to head back home. A sleeveless dress in November snow wasn't her best idea. Phillip stayed, not thinking about anything, just watched the snow slowly cover the lid of the coffin.
"You know," He started to speak. Not really to Clint, he didnt exactly think he could hear him, it was jus that he had been talking to his father for 20.999 years. The last time was only hours before he officially turned twenty one. "She was right. About all the things you did. You weren't the best, but I know you tried. I also know that you loved Mom more than anything, but you still tried for us. And, I guess I just want to say thanks old man. For trying."
Unbeknownst to the son, a man, a blonde, standing and happy and full sight, was watching him. He had already said his farewells to Amelia, silently and unheard, but meaningful. He would stand there until Phillip would place a single hand on the coffin as a last goodbye, and be on his way. This man, unseen by the rest of the world, would whisper a soft 'you're welcome Phil'.
Only after then will two other people come up behind him, also unseen and unheard. A woman with fiery red hair, free as a spider and happy than she ever thought she would be years ago. Along with another man in a suit that had no blood stain around his heart. They'd say nothing to each other until Phillip was out of sight.
Then simply walk away.