He had heard the intercom, had recognized Shion's name, had twisted his face in a grimace and let it end at that. Any mourning would be for his sake, instead of for the boy's, because the guy was being-- what did Hawkeye know? He couldn't fathom it. He couldn't ever quite understand how the Capitol brought back the dead. But Shion might be tucking himself in bed at that moment, or might still be in a morgue and frozen and being sewn together by robots. After the announcements, he had found a nook in the third floor and fallen asleep. He thought it was a victory, a small one, that he made the third and second floors his camps. Slowly but surely, he was crawling up the building-- slowly but surely, he was getting away from that damned basement.

In mid-sleep, his gut twisted because he shouldn't have been so complacent. He hadn't helped anything at all. In mid-realization, he jumped.

Someone had screamed, and that someone was close. Maybe this time would be different, and in an instant Hawkeye is slinking towards the source. It doesn't take long before he sees the figure on its own, before he catches the smell of the injury. Oh Christ, he thinks, and he's still too asleep to make out distinctive features. But he saw no weapon at the ready, saw no other movement around. Rushing forward, he wouldn't have had the time to survey the surroundings all that well, anyway. What a lousy time to not have a first aid kit. For the love of God, why didn't he have a first aid kit? "Easy," he starts, kneeling where Rat's laid himself out, disarming and low. "I'm here to help."

But he'll be damned if the hair didn't look familiar and--

ah-ha.

"I'm going to help," he repeats, stricter.