He didn't immediately react to the question. He didn't recognize the name, assumed that his target was talking to somebody else - until it processed. It was the same name his target had called him before.

He curled so he could look at his target - he was sitting up, arm wrapped around his waist, his face broken and bloody and bruised. Where were they? Somewhere safe. Somewhere they would come for him and make it hurt less.

"You're Steve," he said instead, then immediately winced from the sound of his own voice. He was lying curled half on his belly, left arm unresponsive and right a rictus of pain.