[His closet? Davesprite's posture visibly perks up, but—nah, they can wait. He's got pizza. He crams another bite of it into his face hole, but still gives Clint an enthusiastic thumbs up in return the one he makes. It's pretty great to see him move his hand so freely.]

[But is he okay?]

I'm not dead or an anomaly or brainfucked by degrading nanowhatever. Get me some Flinstones vitamins and teach me how a kitchen is supposed to work, and I'll probably kick malnutrition's ass pretty quick.

[He'll let Clint handle the who and why, for however much answer they got to that. Instead he asks him his own question.]

D'you think SHIELD could check mine too? Though they probably would want to anyway. Not every day you get an orange bird guy with glowstick blood from an alternate dead universe showing up.