Bucky and Daisy. A pain made fresh by the past forty-eight hours. Even though it only happened a week ago, it feels somehow like a cauterized wound being reopened.

"It is important," Neal agrees quietly. Even if it's their own names. Even if they came back. What happened to them doesn't go away. He remembers, he defended Bucky before, insisted that he cared about the dead whether he knew them or not, and Neal still thinks that's true.

He also just doesn't want to think about Bucky and Daisy.

Neal clears his throat, gathers himself. "I'm thinking after we're done with this room, we see how much of the next bedroom over we can get before we break and rinse off. Have you eaten today?"