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Clint spends some time fussing and cleaning up a few things. Not quite ready to clean up just yet. He's got too much nervous energy left over from the last altercation with the Big Bad. By the time he finally does shower up and change into a t-shirt, soft flannel and comfortable jeans it's after the food he'd just thrown on the stove to warm up is nearly done.

He's really glad they went through a bit of just making a bunch of soups they could just reheat on the burner. Add a few veggies. Bruce knows that Clint's cooking skills have improved but he should not be trusted with too big a task. He's fine with that. He can manage to cut vegetables fine at least.

He gets some frozen dinner rolls in, something good to go with the soup stock and finds his way out to Bruce.

Bruce hears the footsteps approaching and is grateful for it. He knows Clint can walk silent as a shadow when he wants to, so the agent's being kind enough to make some noise for him. He can also smell the slowly growing scent of soup as it heats, so he can safely assume dinner's in the process of being readied.

Not sure if Clint's got his hearing aid in, he just signs over his shoulder with a quick glance over: Need help?

Clint knows that Bruce is already on edge. He doesn't want to make that worse, especially not in this safe space they've carved out for themselves. It's already weird enough having to bring the team here. He's still got the aids in, mostly for the benefit of the rest of the people inhabiting the space at the moment.

Still, the bit of sign over his shoulder earns a grin. It's warming to see. When he was a kid, he hated it. Thought it left him in a bad way, who would've guessed he just needed better people around? Not him at the time.

"Nah, think I've got it handled unless you want to add something else," he says as he comes around to sit on the deck next to the other man, drawing his knees up enough to rest his arms on them loosely. "Still have all ten fingers, too."

There's a faint smile at that and Bruce huffs quietly as he ducks his head. "I still don't get how you can handle all sorts of sharp edges without a single cut except in the kitchen."

Jokes aside, Bruce stiffens a bit when Clint sits next to him, having to stop himself from automatically shifting away because it's still too fresh and dangerous and it had taken the better part of the past hour to convince his mind and body that he doesn't need to just pick up and leave. Yet.

He rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat, asking, "Everyone okay?"

"Kitchen requires a lot more thinking so I overthink," he tells him easily enough. Everything else comes to him like breathing. Built and honed over so much time. A kind of muscle memory.

Clint notices the way Bruce tenses up and relaxes purposefully, letting one leg slide out from where it was so it's more a sprawl. He can tell what he's thinking but he doesn't plan on bringing that up unless Bruce does. Things go wrong and the instinct is to go to ground. Go to what's familiar. As close as they are---

Familiar is running. That's what's safe. "Don't think okay is the word for it, that witch did a number on 'em." He can't help but think that if she'd come after him first maybe he could've stopped this happening to the others.

"Just a little."

Bruce barely remembers the violent rush of feeling Wanda's magic sink into his mind. It hadn't been just him, but she'd somehow bypassed his own mind to get at the Hulk, and the terrifying rush of rage that had followed had been sheer blind panic and a childish need to stamp out the source.

He sighs and rubs a hand over his face, pinching at the bridge of his nose. "Tony's lucky he got out alive."

Glancing over the peaceful greenery surrounding them, Bruce wrings his hands, squeezing a bit at the base of his fingers and thumbs, trying to find something to just do before he gets restless again. "It's only a matter of time before all our luck runs out, isn't it?"

Clint doesn't have a lot of personal experience to guide off in regards to this. It's the second time Nat's been put under by an opposing force and left to face down demons she thought she'd buried. Suppose it's the same for Bruce as well.

With what happened here compared the beginnings of their team on the helicarrier? It feels very far away today.

Clint nods at the comment and licks his lips. "He is but he did, so focus on that. Don't do the rest to yourself."

There isn't a lot of good to grab ahold of at the moment. He's not exactly good at pep talks. He's not good at the whole hopeful turn of it all. He's a realist. He sees what's in front of him and what he sees? What they're up against? Bruce beats him to the punch with the question, like he's reading his thoughts and his own hands rub together as his chin drops towards his chest with a sigh. "Yeah. Looks like."

He clears his throat a little. "You know, way back where Coulson found me I would've just---bugged out." It's a hard thing to say. Harder thing to put on the proverbial table but there it is.

Much like Clint just reassured him of Tony's survival, Bruce counters quietly with, "Maybe, but you didn't."

They're trying to focus on what is rather than what could have been. Bruce isn't too good at that, especially in a positive way, but he's trying for Clint. It's funny, really, how they both do this. Try to be positive where the other is negative, the blind helping the blind to stay on the rocking wagon that seems hellbent on throwing them off.

"Be pretty awful to dip out on a good partner in crime," he offers back. Clint isn't sure he'll get his meaning but he hopes so.

They have options. They could just---go. Leave the saving of the world to someone else. Get out while the getting's good. Tony and Cap had been talking about ending the fight out there before tempers flared.

Maybe it's time for that. There's no shame in throwing in the towel.

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