While Clint was normally used to being pulled about, the fight or flight tension that seemed to always settle on fight made him a little more sturdy on his feet. For a moment until he realized it wasn't one of gen Z grabbing him.
It took him a moment to refocus on the man's face as he crouched down. It'd been a while since he'd heard a corpse's head explode, but the brain should have muffled most of it. Unless he was loud. He didn't entirely hide the alarm from rounding his eyes at the accusation though quickly tried to play it off, recovering the instinct to hide the fact that he just wasn't sure how loud he'd been.
"I wasn't that loud, probably?" That was more of a question than a dismissal. He furrowed his brow and looked from Varric to the hallway they'd come from, to the splintering glass that would probably be an easier exit with another well placed shot. To the door that unlocked from this side that would probalby be a more sensible exit if had more time then reached for his own duffelbag, zipping it closed and going to see if he could unlock the door. It clicked and swung open easily enough and the parking lot looked clear. But Clint couldn't help be a little disappointed that he'd made the smarter choice for once. It always felt so anti-climactic leaving burglaries through the front door.
Even it's how Natasha would have done it.
"Church place." He tried to speak more softly now. "The white house two buildings down is might have food they're like a shelter I think. But the door's open so.... might get bitey?"