Clint didn't know how to react to the laughter, or the admission that Coulson's cellist had never been real in the first place. He was caught between the twist in his gut that it was just another lie to add to the pile of growing ones he'd been fed by someone he'd trusted, and something else. Something that felt a little bit like relief. He didn't dwell on the second feeling for long, choosing instead to remain silent, and listen to Coulson speak.

He was tired. Not just from the obvious reasons, though four days of determinedly not sleeping would do that to you. He was emotionally drained too. Six months of not know, of having no closure, though Fury had tried to force it. Of being caught between grieving and stubbornly trying to find out what had happened to Coulson, beyond Loki running him through.

He wasn't sure he could quite forgive him for staying hidden this long. Especially not for the complete bullshit he was spewing, that sounded like it was exactly what Fury had told him to say, should he be asked. "For the record, no one told me you were… dead. Until after. In that stupid Shawarma place, when I suggested we bring some back for you. Just- it's a load of shit. All we needed was time. Not… this." He sighed, leaning back against the counter, all the fight draining away. "You should go lie down."