Steve closed his eyes and curled up a little smaller, tighter, still forgetting sometimes that he was so much bigger than he was as a little boy, curling up against his mother when he got scared or anxious or had a bad asthma attack. "I don't...know how." he whispered a few minutes later, his voice so much smaller than when he was at war or in command of his team. "I don't know how to talk about it without getting lost to it. I lose control of myself and it's so hard to get back." he told her, looking over her shoulder about the mess on the floor, the DVD still playing quietly on the TV, showing him as a hero, a warrior, not a scared 24 year old kid who had nightmares every night and no one to write home to. "It's all the stuff from my footlocker. They saved it after I was frozen. Howard saved it. Then SHIELD saved it. Then they gave it back. And they gave me...DVDs, files, books. Captain America was a hero long after I was gone." he murmured, just staring at everything over her shoulder. "When I came back...they were all so...Captain America was back and he was gonna save them and it didn't matter if it was me or someone else with the shield and the uniform. No one needed Steve anymore." he whispered, voice going shaky again. "I see it every time I close my eyes. Killing and fighting and death, aliens and wormholes and Tony falling...Bucky falling. It never goes away, but...that doesn't matter. Captain America is there to save the day."