Hell, Soldat doesn't even know. All they know is that is the same face, the same voice. The same person. They finally move, and it's to shakily scrub a hand over their face. For once, they're not crying. Big emotional moment, and there's no tears at all. They hardly even feel anything but shock and the persistent headache. A headache isn't even the kind of pain they're used to ignoring.

(Not the greatest sign, pal. I know. God, Steve. How could I do that.) But it feels more bewildered and lost than angry or upset. Their happiest memories all come from Steve, and they-- shot him. Stabbed him. Hit him again and again while Steve just lay there and let him.

"Christ," they mutter, squeezing their eyes shut against a memory they do already have. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I. Should have waited. Done that later."