[Since the comm obviously isn't going to be much use, he winds up tucking it into his jacket pocket again. The question's a distraction, and sort of a welcome one, because it's a familiar topic that isn't difficult to explain, or talk about in the first place. So he talks, and the words feel a little mechanical, but so do his footsteps and breathing, like this is all just something he's been programmed to do.

Which is okay. It means he'll probably get out of this alive.]

Steve used to have a lot of health problems, but he always acted like he didn't. He didn't stick out so much when we were little, but after a while he was always the shortest guy in the class by a lot and definitely the skinniest. [Which is not at all what people probably assume when looking at Steve as he is now, but it's all the God's honest truth.] People picked on him a lot, and he'd always try and give back as good as they got when they tried to fleece him for his lunch and shit.

[His voice gets more than a little wry, even if he still feels like a machine, like he's just going through the motions because he has to, because there's no other option.] I had to bail him out of fights about a million times, but I don't think he ever wanted me to.

We didn't have a lot - our parents died when we were pretty young, his mom and then my dad a while later - so I always was trying to figure out ways to make sure he was eating enough so he could actually start putting on weight. I don't know how much you know about US history, but the Depression really friggin' sucked.