He flinched very slightly, drawing in a shaking breath at the feel of another hand settling against his skin. It had been a long time since he'd been touched without the intention to direct or restrain or hurt behind it, but clearly none of that was the case here. The man on the other side of the bars was clearly helpless, exhausted, hurt, and he hurt to see him this way. Even if he couldn't remember why he should know him any other way, the sight was indescribably but no less definitely wrong.

Yet the other man was reaching out to him, reaching back. That meant something. That mattered - it had to.

He was so lost in these strange, overwhelming thoughts that he almost didn't realize that the man had spoken. Then he swallowed, nodded. His mouth twitched for an instant into something he no longer recognized as a smile. "Yeah." He felt quite cold, here on this bare concrete floor, pressed up against these bars, but he apparently ran at a higher temperature than "normal". Whatever that meant.

He could often remember snatches of conversation between the scientists and the guards, but could no longer remember his own name. It was like someone had built a great wall or dug an enormous pit, and if he looked too deep he'd just...fall.

He let himself continue touching, as much as he could reach. Just touching, gentle, careful, his body almost moving on its own in response to that indefinable sense of familiarity, like he could remember who this man was from touch alone. He stroked through the stranger's hair, trailed his fingertips along his cheek, rubbed his hand lightly over the back of his neck to maybe impart some warmth.

Then he faltered, catching sight of the swathe of stark white bandages. "Your arm..." Gone, obviously. It shouldn't be.