"I'm sorry," he mumbles, and it's gibberish that he hears and that Guy must have heard, too. So he draws a breath, and everything still stinks, but the tanks weren't following and neither were the cadavers. He draws a breath and tries again- because this wasn't Korea, wasn't even real. Nightmares could be terrifying all they wanted to be, but they'd never hurt like getting crushed by tons of T-Rex had hurt.

He fights to fend off the smile. It'd be mad to smile now.

"I know you were trying to help-- you did. I'm just. I'm sorry. I appreciate it. I do." And the final bits were rushed and hinted at hysterics, but he couldn't be blamed for that. He latched on to Guy's words. 'Running'. He couldn't run, he rationalized. He was out of shape. He'd just lose his strength, along with his mind. He'd walk the path, and maybe it would lead to the same conclusion Guy's had. Maybe it'd be better, and he'd get out. "I'm a real chicken," he begins, and clears his throat. "I don't know why I keep being dragged to places like this. I'm really no fun in these situations. I don't process catastrophes like they want us to. We had training, alright, but I'm a doctor from Maine."

And he shrugs, but it's a shudder. "This is more confusing to you than for me, though." And that's not a question, even if Hawkeye supposes it should be. So he amends that. "Isn't it?"