"This is the island," Jason states, half-question as he looks between Bucky and the gun in his hand. It's...his own, just as this room is his own, and yet like nothing he's ever before laid eyes on.

"Jesus," he breathes, looking up again with eyes that grow steadily wider. "Your arm." He startles at the tiny burst of steam escapes it, all the moreso when he sees how Bucky's leaning. "Shit, does it hurt? How does that not burn you?"