Dying. Yet another thing that Jim wishes he didn't know as well as he does, the source of countless nightmares over the past year, even before the whole Halloween clusterfuck. But Steve seems like he's handling it okay, enough that he can talk about it a little anyway. Not that Jim is eager to press him for the details. That kind of shit is strictly volunteer-only, and for damn good reason.

There's a lot about Khan's invasion that Jim still doesn't know and probably never will, but honestly, he's kind of fine with that. He's seen what one Augment is capable of already; his imagination can do the rest, thanks very much. No need to pry into someone else's trauma just to get confirmation of shit he's already guessed at, not unless it ever becomes tactically relevant, and he hopes to God it never is again.

Moving on is a small mercy. Jim may not have any personal experience with the kind of dysphoria Steve is talking about, but it's not hard to grasp the idea. The guy basically doubled in size overnight, it'd be more a surprise if that didn't mess with his head a bit. "Muscle memory biting you in the ass, huh. You ever forget how strong you are now?" he asks as he seeks out the wrist tape and begins wrapping his hands.