If Barney had been an upstanding, understanding person like Phil had been. There might have been no question. But Clint knew his brother and what he carried with him. He knew there wouldn't be one ounce of forgiveness in his brother's eyes when he finally got his wish to die and reunite with the other man in Hell. It was something Clint just believed he would have to face on a later date. When he was less traumatized at the events that had occurred so shortly and in rapid succession in his life rather than anything else.

He laughed at that, shaking his head a bit. "You jus' as bad at cookin' as I am, Mr. Coulson?" He chuckled as he started walking towards the hallway so he could head down and get his backpack. What Clint could have really used was what he got. Someone to support him. Someone who didn't fear physical contact with him that he really just wanted to hold until everything just wasted away.

Clint had already had his calender, marking down the days. If he remembered correctly. He had about a week. A week to brace Phil on what was going to happen and how to prepare for it. Or a week to find somewhere suitable to hide until it was over and hope to everything that he didn't hurt anyone in the process. Clint stopped at the foot of the stairs, turning and looking up at the other man. "Why are you doin' this for me, Phil? Openin' your house to me." No one was this nice. No one.