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ʙᴀʀᴛᴏɴ (cauterising) wrote in somerealityrpg,

Considering things from a logical standpoint, Clint knew that entertaining the mere notion of a brain surgery that wasn't tried, tested and a proven minimal risk was bordering on insanely stupid; he was sure had Natasha heard him instead of Nate then he'd have another concussion to deal with. But as it stood, this long, with this injury, and these side effects, Clint would likely plunge head first into insanity sooner rather than later.

He got why Nate, and Morgan and Lila, were so dead set against it. But he was also entirely done with being blind, helpless and feeling adrift.

"Sure, it's better than the burnt toast smell that may be my brain eating itself or my son's attempts at making breakfast." He hated that things were still experimental, that it was still a maybe and not a for sure. He'd heard it enough from Joan, and reasonably he knew that it was Joan's way of not getting their hopes too high without dashing the possibility that it might heal on its own.

Clint had deep wells of patience, it was something he'd cultivated for years as a sniper. But even he was over this.