ᴡʜʏ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄʀʏ | 𝐦𝐜𝐮 & 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

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𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 . . .
    𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙻𝙾𝙶𝚄𝙴. ▏︎ ᴡʜʏ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄʀʏ

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         Phil Coulson sits slumped against the wall with a gaping wound in his chest where he had just been stabbed by a magical spear, dark crimson colored blood was suddenly leaking from the corner of his mouth. He knew it was only a matter of time before his very last breath came, but of all the things to off him, it had to be a Norse God, who specialty and title was that of mischief and magic. Of course, the very thing that Phil Coulson had been researching his whole life since that accident years back, was the very thing that was gonna kill him. Phil must admit, even in this situation, there's gotta be some cosmic irony. One thing that was for sure about this horribly dire situation, Coulson's daughter was going to beat him senseless in the afterlife. She was gonna absolutely destroy him and then call May to help. He shuddered at the mere thought of a furious Melinda May.

    As his eyes stare blankly ahead where he had to watch the Norse god of Thunder plummet to his possible death, he focuses to his life long friend and Director of Shield, who looks quite crestfallen before he crouches before him. "I'm sorry, Boss," Phil barley manages to say. "The God rabbited."

"Just stay awake. Eyes on me," the bald dark-skinned man instantly replies. To most who didn't know, Nick Furry, like Phil, the eye patch having man sounded his usual strict and serious self. But to a man like Phil Coulson, he could hear the desperation soaking though his words. He could hear the mere desperate plea, the worry and the tears he was shoving down to the deepest of deepest depths. All of which made the situation all too real.

With a sad smile, Phil gulps, almost humorously. "No. I'm clocking out here."

"Not an option."

"It's okay, Boss. This was never gonna work. I mean, I'm supposed to be raising a teenager but she's-"

"Bullshit," a sharp young feminine voice snaps, the voice like music to Phil's ears though he recognizes the fire behind her words. She's pissed. Thoroughly, undeniably, pissed. All anger and bitter bite. She had a furry hotter than the burning sun.

"Here," he finished lazily. Coulson than laughed, it was something weak and fleeting. In all of his blurred vision, he stared at the tall blonde girl before him as her delicate pale features twist in horror, than disgust, than finally, sadness and anger. It was like watching multiple reactions go off at once. A mere ripple effect in water. Phil Coulson supposes that it should be something upsetting. That he shouldn't be reassured by his adopted daughter's anger and sadness. Yet, oddly enough, the very familiarized feeling of his blonde adopted daughter's anger was almost... almost reassuring. calming. A welcomed familiarity. A tidal weave of fondness washed over his features as he stared at her.