Steve winced a little - but it was because he'd just promised not to call Bucky Buck, and then he'd done it again, not because of what Bucky was saying. Even so, he did Bucky the courtesy of listening to him, like he'd asked, even if it was hard to hear. Very hard. It made him want to get up, to run out of there, and find these animals - because they were the animals, not Bucky - and make them pay. Bring them to justice. Or maybe just kill them.

For a long moment, he sat, not wanting to get up, to move toward Bucky. He was afraid that even that would scare him - he didn't know what touching him would do, even if his first instinct was to put a hand on his shoulder, his back. Even so, after a minute, he couldn't sit there while Bucky cried. He set his sketchbook and broken pencil aside, moving to crouch next to Bucky and Penny, without actually touching him.

"Bucky," he finally said, quietly, "It's not your fault. If I have to tell you that for eight months - or eight years - to make up for it, then I will. Whatever it takes for you to start believing me."

He knew he probably didn't have eight months here, let alone eight years. But that didn't mean they couldn't stay in touch. And it didn't mean he wouldn't keep his word. "Bad things happen to good people. Sometimes horrible things. That doesn't make you a bad person. That makes the people who do them monsters."