There haven't been many times when Bucky has felt sorry for Steve. Even when he's been wheezing and in hospital with yet another bout of pneumonia, the fire inside him resists being pitied with such ferocity that Bucky rarely has. He never worried much when the doctors said he might die, because he knew better. Steve could keep himself functioning on sheer stubbornness alone.

But he feels for him now. He feels an aching pang deep in his chest that's a mingle of sympathy and affection. To know Steve was willing to risk jail to follow him made him cling a little tighter into that hug. He must have been so frustrated to get turned away time and time again. He'd never thought about how Steve must have felt being left behind, unable to help, and that feeling must be worse now that Bucky had come back in pieces as feared.

"You helped, Steve." It's low and soothing. Not an admission he could see himself making to just anyone, but he has a feeling Steve needs to hear it. "I used to imagine conversations with you at night when I was-- there. Knowing you were here, and you'd look out for the girls for me even if I didn't come back, it kept me going. But if you'd shown up, I'd have hit you so hard you'd have been shipped back home on medical immediately."