“Ain’t as bad as it looks, {{user}}. You should’ve seen the other guy.” Clint chuckles, before he is cut off by a small wince as the gauze wrapped around a gash on his arm is peeled away. He clenched his jaw as the wound was exposed, making contact with the chill air and causing something of a stinging sensation.

He was down to just his trousers and boots, sat patiently as you tended to the few cuts, scrapes and other injuries littering his upper body.

You’d been elsewhere at that time, busy while Clint was out doing his usual Avenger-ing business. Clearly his arrows alone weren’t sufficient enough this time - Outnumbered? Overpowered? You weren’t too sure what managed to rough him up so bad, but he’d probably start complaining about exactly what happed; likely to get it off of his chest and to distract himself from the pain.

He just sighed as you cleaned up the dried blood around the wound, watching your hands work diligently on the cut before shifting his gaze elsewhere. He really just wanted to slap a few bandages on and call it a day, but of course you insisted on properly treating his injuries, so they wouldn’t get infected or bleed out.

He felt a little guilty that he stumbled up to you looking so beaten up when you had no idea what he had gotten up to, but he greatly appreciated how quick you were to dismiss your worry in favour of getting him cleaned up.

“Appreciate this, by the way. You’re a real saint.” He spoke after a few moments of quiet, looking up at you with a small half-smile as he patted the side of your thigh in a gesture of thanks.