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"I totally get it," Tony says, making Clint jump. Tony is too close — no, just the right distance away, not close enough to touch. "The not being touched thing. I get it. I don’t like being handed things. It’s kinda like that. I don’t like people I don’t know touching me either."
"How did you — ?"
"Please," Tony says, smirking. "Genius, remember? Look, if you need anything, let Jarvis know, okay? Coulson said you like high places, so I’ve given you the highest floor under mine."
Clint actually has to swallow hard at that, because Coulson, and because Tony’s working around him in just that same easy way. “Okay. Tony — thanks.”
"No problem."
—-
"Clint," Steve says, softly. Bruce is asleep in his seat, and it’s just him and Steve awake. The hum of the engine is kind of soothing, actually, blanking out the other noises that sometimes get under Clint’s skin.
"Yeah?"
"Have you learned anything new, this week? About archery?"
Clint stares at him.
"I’m sorry if that’s not appropriate," Steve blurts, into that awkward pause. "I just know it’s something that Coulson used to — and I know that you — "
"I was reading about the Welsh longbow," Clint says, a bit too loud. "Some people call them English longbows. There doesn’t seem to be much of a difference. They were huge, six feet long. They used yew wood, mostly." He stops, gives Steve a look like, ‘You want me to go on? Is that really okay?’, because he knows the rules, has a list of them in his head. Coulson was the one who helped him learn those rules.
Steve smiles. “Yeah? Go on, I wanna know.”
—-
When Clint wakes up with his cheek against the grip of his bow, for a minute he’s just relieved. He’s in one of his nests, everything’s just right, and no one’s gonna mess anything up. Or talk and talk and talk like Tony sometimes does. Or —
He sits bolt upright when he remembers the meltdown he was having. It was just too much, after the hyperfocus of a battle. People sticking microphones in his face and asking him for statements. Steve not quite able to deflect them all, even as he tried to work them through the crowd and get them home. And then —
He rolls over, peeks out of the nest. Bruce is there, tired and rumpled, not a trace of green about him. He’s fallen asleep with his head at an awkward angle. Clint remembers him blurring back into big and green, making a path for Clint, Hulk’s own confusion akin to Clint’s own. Making a way for Clint to just get to his nearest safe place.
And then he stayed. Kept people away, maybe.
Clint finds his weighted blanket in the corner (just where he left it: good) and drapes it over Bruce carefully before climbing back into his nest.
—-
It’s Thor he expects to be the worst one, once Steve’s proved he can adjust to all things new. Thor is, after all, from another world. They probably don’t have people on the spectrum there. But there’s some bullshit press conference, and behind the podium Clint’s fingers are just itching for his bow, for the way the grip fits his hand and feels against his skin, and Thor just leans over and places the hammer down beside Clint.
"I find it comforting," he says, in his slightly-too-loud rumble, before moving back to his microphone.
Clint touches the handle and the grip feels right to his hand.