[ The familiar calling card slides between Sam's cracked ribs like an ice cold knife, and for a moment, he just has to stamp down every emotions that rises like a tidal wave. Because it's Steve, and he's here. Solid and alive. Not old. Just... Steve... and Sam doesn't know how to feel about it. So he tries not to feel too much at all, not immediately. Lets the emotions rise up and refuses to be pulled into the undertow. ]

So I've gathered. You never take me anywhere nice, you know.

[ It sounds light and flippant, but there's a wheeze in his breath. Sam's not in great condition right now. But he's pushing himself, letting Steve hold most of his weight and refusing to give up, to give in. He's stronger than Steve knows him. Has been trying with a super soldier and wielding that shield for three years now, and his shoulders have learned to carry the weight well.

They move until they reach a quieter part of the labyrinth, no sounds of pursuit or other anguish, other than the very distant sound of someone crying. Sam taps Steve's shoulders, quietly signalling that he needs to stop. And the moment they do he presses a hand to his ribs - still carries his other arm at an odd angle. Still limping. If Steve takes a moment here, he'll see Sam's face is mottled with cuts and bruises, and that while he's wearing a combat suit, it's decidedly not his usual colour scheme - matching the shield in deep navy with red and white, a star prominent on his chest. The wingpack is there, too - but it looks broken.

Sam feels along his ribs, best as he can through the padding of his suit. ]

So. You took the knight in shining armor thing too literally, I see.