"Yep." He doesn't at least feel compelled to check over Clint's ribs. At least not when his desire to... take care of Clint and be very sure is given a concrete direction. He stands up with a decided lack of effort or soreness and goes to grab the water that Clint brought, and brings the bottles back (and cracks the seals along the way).

He drops down to a crouch, puts the bottles down and offers Clint a hand. "Be careful. Your ribs are going to scream once the endorphins start wearing off."

That's not guilt. It's just... where his head is. It'll get back to normal.