[ God, but there's something heartbreaking in the way Shiro reacts. An aching bewilderment, a desire to belong, to not be strange, alone, written into the lines of his face. Something inscrutable shifts in the press of his mind, and Clint shifts, inhaling sharply.

It's hard not to react to Shiro, to get caught up in a unending cycle. But Shiro pulls free, and Clint shifts, scrubs a hand through his hair, nods. ]

You're not alone man. [ He acknowledges, something rough caught in the back of his throat. ] I get it, ok? It's rough, feeling on edge all the time, feeling unsure of your own mind.

[ Clint looks up, something solemn and faintly far-away in the gleam of his gaze. Nat's hands unwinding the restraints, the first press of bow, the papers that said he was finally cleared. ]

You want help, you got it. But it takes work. It's been years for me, and I still get blindsided sometimes. [ A huff, not-quite-laughter. ] 'specially here.