"Too bad you've only got the eyelashes," he shoots back, short and dry and everything Rat's games weren't. Banter, though, he couldn't resist. After a clear look at the gash and the swollen skin around, exposed flesh wanting to find any semblance of what it used to be to hold on to, he clicks his tongue. A simple tut, because the alternative would be to ask how or why and Hawkeye thought he knew those answers already. Something that slips from him for a moment is the mention of the Last Guy, and it isn't until he starts prying open the first aid kit and searching for an ointment, isn't until he slips a hand in a pocket of his to take out a strip of cloth, clean as can be and acting as a bandage now, it seems, that Hawkeye mouths a confused little "Who-"

Then he starts actually answering Rat's little question. "Bad."

Was that good enough for the fella? Possibly not. "I don't know what you were thinking trying to brave it out when you should have stayed off it. Is that really why you planted yourself here? It hurts you? It's infected, that's what. And unlike Whoever-The-Hell you saw before, I'm not interested in an amputation." The ointment went on the cloth strip, the tube of it unmarked, and Hawkeye only hoped the sponsors in their fucking infinite wisdom and magical medicines had given a cure-- if a solution to this mess was only that simple. And because Rat is a boy who just rubs him the wrong way, Hawkeye added, "For one, because I don't have a bone saw handy." Which was such poor form, but.

They'd live.