It feels like pointed barbs digging in. And he knows that's not what Steve's going for. That doesn't keep the feeling from happening. They've been skirting around talking about any of this too directly, save for when Steve had so bluntly pointed out that the magnitude of their losses were incomprehensibly different. And he does not want to get too direct about it, because he's pretty sure he'll collapse in on himself, simply stop and never start again, break and shatter into too many pieces to clean up.

And maybe he won't, but is that a risk he's willing to take?

"I'm not worried," he repeats in a little snap. "And everything hurts like hell, all the time." He would prefer not to be an open wound every second of every day. Sometimes one has to suture himself back up. "If you wanna deal with my shitty parts right now, this is a hell of a time for it."