Maybe they could all just take turns braining about stuff. At least then there'd be two people to snap the other one out of it. It'd sort of helped him the other day. Or at least gotten him to a place where he'd realized he was being an asshat and that he ought to shut up. And that counted for something, he figured.
He poked his foot in Nat's general direction, until his ankle was pressed against hers under the table and wondered if he shouldn't just do it for Bucky too, because that kind of touch was grounding and unobtrusive and he clearly needed a little something. But Nat was on it anyway, a light touch and that seemed right and fine, so he just decided to keep on keeping on.
"We wouldn't have really brought you vegetables," Clint said to Bucky, a little hushed like it was a near apology for even the thought of it. "And obviously it's the underside. Left. Yes, it matters, Natasha. Before you ask." Listen. If Bucky was trying -- and he obviously was -- there was no reason not to just continue this awful conversation.
He reached across the table, picking the fork up to steal some of the frosting. "It's weird. Because it's obviously cake. But not normal cake. Also I had to explain cock and balls to an old alien lady with four arms so. I'm probably going to space hell."