"No. Older wounds than that. From the war."

Steve winces as he gently works his hand, feeling a pop of bone and tendon shifting back into place as he forces his wrist around in a full rotation. It aches at being reset, but a little less so. He lets Tony fuss with the wrapping, distracting himself by watching the play of light over the bandage, Tony's hands, chest, face, the kitchen table and floor.

"Sorry I woke you. I don't even remember you climbing in."