"Watch the broom turn metal," Winter mutters, but he can't deny he doesn't really want to touch them, either. He wants his fingers to look normal again. He wants it so bad. "Get one. And there's trash bags in the closet, too. I'll get dressed again. And then we can take them both outside and toss a grenade at them."

Maybe that will help. Or maybe it will go away in time, like with the crab plates. (Maybe it won't, like Yelena's eyes and teeth and hair.)