Clint had reacted even before Coulson's orders. There was no clear line of sight, not here, not with the wind kicking up dust and sand and debris and other things he couldn't pick out in a blinding swirl around them. The wheel shuddered in his hand and his knuckles turned white as he tried to keep control, paying more attention to the vehicle than what was happening outside of it.

So when he caught the figure of a person outside his right-0hand window, it happened too quickly for even him to react, although he tried, the SUV skidding sideways as he yanked on the wheel.

It wasn't enough to avoid the tell-tale thud of a body hitting his hood though.

Clint's pulse pounded as the SUV spun sideways before skidding to a stop and he sat there frozen for a moment, eyes wide and staring at the clear view in front of him.

"Shit," he rasped out, feeling his hands tremble, and wasn't that embarrassing, because it's not like he hasn't had to do things like this before, has purposefully bowled people over, but they were usually bad guys, people shooting at him, not some random stranger blinded in a freak desert whirlwind.

"Shit. Coulson, did I just... Fuck!"

And he didn't bother waiting for permission or orders or anything before he was scrambling out of the vehicle to search for the unlucky bastard he'd hit.