With a sad sigh, he wraps his right arm around her loosely. There's a part of him thankful that none of his sisters lived to see him like this, but that instinct he'd always had to protect and take care of all of them and Steve, too, is still there under all the extra layers. He wants so desperately to make sure no one else will ever be hurt or used the way he was and he knows he can't do that. Nothing he can say will erase her pain any more than words could erase his own, but she's not alone and he can't help feeling a kinship with her.

"The old Bucky was a good guy." He can say that now. It's easy to recognize good when you've stared into the face of evil and done its bidding. "New Bucky's surviving. You're still real, even if they changed you."

But he gets it. There's still such a distinction in his mind between Before and After. He still has moments of complete disassociation. How could he not after how much they'd fractured his mind? She's just as fractured as he is, but she's surviving, too.