Clint's seen a lot in his life, but amputation? Yeah, that was a first for him. Being the one amputated on was even worse, but it's done already and he's got no choice but to move on. To listen to Bruce and Sam as they took care of the mess of what was once his arm, nothing but to be careful with the flesh and blood and bone left. Mostly, this means he doesn't think about it, because when he does, Clint goes cold, hollow.

Easier to sleep it off, easier to think about the familiar ache in his knee and the hollow in his gut than his missing limb.

So when Bruce shows up, greets him like nothing's wrong, it's a relief. Clint's smile eases a little truer, small and faint. Fades a bit at the reminder, though. He looks up from where he's buried in his nest, legs curled in tight, and nods a in understanding.

"Yeah," he gathers himself, plants his hand on the floor and levers himself up into a sitting position. "Yeah, okay."