It's been a few days, but Clint's not entirely sure of the count. The first couple of days were a mess of pain and fever and hallucination, he's not sure how long it lasted, only that it felt like ages. He hadn't noticed Steve's disappearance then, but then, Clint had also seen ghosts, mixed dream and reality in a way that was impossible to pick apart. Even now, further along the path of consciousness and healing, Clint hadn't really realized until Steve walked through that door.

He hadn't expected all that anger, though really he's not surprised. Sam was mad at him too, and Bruce, in his own way. Bucky -- well, maybe. He's still hard to pin down and Clint's not in top condition.

"Could've." He signs back, brow furrowed as he realizes signing is just another thing he's lost -- he can only half form most of them. Clint pauses, stares down at the palm of his hand, before shaking himself forcefully, mouth a thin line as he looks up at Steve. Tries again, ignoring the way his hand trembles before he can still it with sheer force of will. "But I didn't."

He's still not sure how he feels about that. He could have gone his whole life without knowing how this feels.