He fell still, just listening, letting that explanation stir memories up. He wasn't digging for them this time, he knew that would just scatter them again like fish in a pond, but letting them surface on their own. He could remember, or thought he could remember, breaking up at least one fight to rescue a then-smaller Steve.

It had to be more than one, enough of them that he'd given up counting. He remembered that much, he'd finally stopped counting because of how often it happened.

It was once those fragmented memories had more-or-less settled into place that he realized why he always slowed when he walked past blind alleys, he was still looking for a fight to break up.

He blinked over at Steve then, brow still creased, sorting through the pieces and parts of memories he actually had, "You always said ..." He looked entirely puzzled once more, brow furrowing more deeply, shaking his head just once, "Always said you could handle yourself." Even the handful of times he'd actually come home beat half to hell, and that he definitely remembered, if only because he remembered the condition he'd left Steve in on the bank of the river.

(ooc: no worries! I'm sort of throwing things together piecemeal from what I do know)