You know Coulsons modern story, but do you know his past? Phil Coulson had a past before S.H.I.E.L.D, that no one knows. Until now...
It was one normal winters night, some time ago, and a young 20 year old Phil Coulson was at the local bar with his best friend, Chris. Phil had been friends with Chris since kindergarten, they had always been as thick as thieves. They had saw themselves through high school, and since graduation, they had shared a flat together. Chris was artistic, he wanted to go to an art university and paint for a living. In this area, Phil had always differed. Phil was very much academic, he had passed his Physics exams with straight A's, and wanted to pursue a career in Ballistics Investigations. Chris and Phil were the same, but different.
They were out at their local bar, Stacey's, because this was they last night they'd see each other. Chris was off to arts school tomorrow, in Washington. He would stay at his parents tonight, and in the morning he would leave for his new beginning. Phil would stay here, in New York. For the last five minutes they had sat in silence, and Phil suspected, like himself, Chris was thinking about his future. "Alright Bud," sighed Phil. "Lets head home, eh?"
"Yeah," exhaled Chris, with a back-cracking stretch. The bar stools screeching on the wooden floor as they stood, Chris and Phil shuffled out the bar, the iron door closing with a bang. They stood in the typhoon-Esq rainstorm, sheltering under their suede jackets. Then, Chris took a long glance in Phil's direction. "Phil," Chris hiccuped, drunkly.
"Whats up, mate?," Phil replied, tipping his tired head to the side.
Burping slightly, Chris pointed to Phil's face, mumbling, "You're my best friend."
Phil laughed. He had told him this time and time over. But something in his voice made the statement sound different. "And you're my best friend Chris," Phil said, blinking in honestly, his eyelashes catching the falling droplets.
"Yeah I know Phil, I know I am." Then all stupidity vanished from Chris. "Phil. We may not see each other again. For a while, atleast. Who knows, weeks...months...I don't know...Phil. Please, don't forget about me."
A heavy lump rose in Phil's throat. He was never good at goodbyes. "Aw man Chris, I couldn't forget about you. Ever. We have phones mate, I can text you."
"Yeah, I know," Chris slurred, sniffing slightly. "Ill miss you bud."
"Ill miss you too."
Chris snickered. "I know mate. But. Phil. You're my best friend and always will be. No one can replace you man. We've went through everything together." With a sigh, he continued, "Goodbye Phil." He held out his hand. Phil stared at it. Sliding his hand into his friends, he replied, "See you Chris." Sharing a quick hug, Chris turned and started up the long, dark, wet alley, his feet echoing off the cobbles. Phil watched him go, unsure if the water running down his cheeks was raindrops, or salty tears. As Chris was walking, he turned his head, his blond hair sticking to his face. Looking straight at Phil, his green eyes reflecting in the streetlights, he smiled, and lifted his hand in a slight wave.
That was the last image Phil had in his head. The last image he had before a bang sounded, and a bullet passed through the side of his friends turned head, and with blood dripping down Chris's face, he dropped to the ground in a dead heap.
