Those words help. They help... a lot actually, almost unexpectedly so, and Steve glances up when he feels B's boot bump his leg, a weird mix of surprise and gratification on his face.

He can't explain, not even to himself, quite why or how they help; it's not like he feels completely better, like that worry isn't there, that inadequacy. But what B says also makes sense and Steve can't pretend otherwise.

He's not the person he was before, who wanted to help everyone. But even then, he knows, he'd understood you couldn't. But you still had to try. Because people aren't numbers, aren't statistics. If you thought you could save even one, then you had a duty to get up off your ass and try.

He'd done that for Bucky, after all, a long time ago.

"Yeah," he says, softly. "I - yeah." After all, when he tries to change things for everyone, that's when it all goes terribly wrong, isn't it. He can't be that guy anymore. That guy is - gone, and B still loves him anyway, and Steve wonders how many times he's going to make B point that kind of thing out before he gets it through his thick head.

"You are so smart, you know that?" You'd better know it, B. (You probably do. You are smart, after all.)