The truth is, Clint's not the most touchy person out there. Reaching out for Sam is a comfort, yeah he's reaffirming belief that Sam's alright, but it's faintly selfish. A need to make sure, a need to keep him steady and close and sure. He needed to think, but he needed to make sure they were fine too.

Even if they're both feeling somewhat exposed, insides scoped out and set on display. Clint shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot as he spots that vulnerability written carefully in the lines of Sam's face. He doesn't pull away though, hands locked, leaning closer just a tad.

"Yeah," Painfully soft, quiet in the space between them, "Yeah, we're good."

He's not sure what else to say but that, what to follow this through with. The betrayal from earlier has faded, sour and bitter, an echo upon his tongue.