It was Bucky's turn to look timid as he nodded in answer, cautiously meeting Steve's gaze. He did remember. He wasn't sure why he remembered this so clearly when most of his earliest new memories blurred together, but he thought it had something to do with strong emotion: the things that clung to the surface of his mind were usually excellent or terrible, rarely mundane. This was also something no one else could know, that no one else had seen — not even HYDRA. As far as he knew, HYDRA had worked out ways to remove memories, but never to extract and interpret them.
Maybe this was real. Maybe it was a dream, but maybe this Steve wasn't something they had designed to deceive him, or keep him complacent. Though it was a more reasonable theory than he realized -- when Alexander Pierce was still a young recruit, the physical similarities between Pierce and Steve Rogers had been quickly recognized and exploited on Arnim Zola's suggestion. Zola had been the closest thing Bucky had to someone who knew him for decades, the only point of consistency, and the only person who really knew enough about the man Bucky was to use it against him. Now, it made his stomach turn to think that he might have mourned his passing.
"I also shot you," He pointed out, pressing his lips together in a firm line as he lowered the gun a little further. His hands didn't shake at all — they never did. But you couldn't have called him relaxed. There was a strange potential energy in his stillness, like the visible tension of tightly coiled spring, or a rubber band stretched almost to the point of snapping. He didn't entirely understand why he thought this needed to be mentioned. Why he wouldn't let Steve forget that he was dangerous, even for a moment. It wasn't the only strangely human instinct they'd never quite managed to train out of him, but he didn't know if that made his actions better, or worse. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have needed saving."