"Yes," he repeats, trying to comfort him. "You're at the diner. You're in Temba. Not the mall. Not Hawkins. And I'm Steve Rogers. Smaller than usual. Looked like this before I joined the army. Bones are brittle, so, try not to fight me, all right?"

He does pour Billy that glass of water, and brings it over to him, putting it between them, on the floor. "Do you want me to talk to you, or is it better if you do all the talking?" he asks. At least it seems like the words are sinking in. He's fighting it.