[ He’s silent. The little boy is no threat to him—his arm is covered, and such a small thing couldn’t possibly damage someone indestructible as he, after all—so the Winter Soldier does not understand the feeling he’s getting in the pit of his stomach.
It’s not fear—not for himself—but it’s distracting. Upsetting, almost.
And if he were further along in his reclamation of his own humanity, he would recognize it as something close to concern. ]
—-still.
It’s not safe to wander. Or talk to strangers
You never know what kind of danger people might be.
[ He, more than anyone, would know that. ]
{ Clint grins at his words, seemingly unaffected in a negative way. There’s little he’s scared of anymore, and he was never scared of strangers. Especially ones that looked at him like his big brother does. He squints back up at him and notices the probable hobo seems uncomfortable. He smiles wider to try to offset the fact } Dad’s at work. and Ma doesn’t care as much, ‘slong as I stay in town. Always says the town’s safer than home.
'Sides, my big brother taught me to punch. See? { Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew better than to throw punches at strangers. But demonstrating how he could seemed like a good idea, especially to someone concerned about his safety. So he aims at his abdomen, not particularly thinking of the consequences, and not meaning to do any harm. }
