Partly it's just that Steve's metabolism is a full-speed freight train. He's hardly invincible, but he's designed for stamina and strength. The nightmares don't help, granted, but he wasn't looking for sympathy. He genuinely gets by on the amount of sleep he gets, most of the time, provided there's work to do, and it was useful during the war.

Why have they never had slumber parties, anyway? PTSD parties. They all have bad nights. Steve could have made popcorn and cocoa.

Meanwhile, Steve pulls the sweatshirt over his head, which dislodges the pencil behind his ear, and he looks comically confused as it drops to the floor out of nowhere. He picks it up and tosses it onto the table, then scoops up the bag that houses his battered combat suit and slings it over his shoulder. Stealthy, it is not, even with the bright parts scraped and sanded down.

"Better send Romanoff with Rocket. She won't be left behind, one way or another." He worries his lip.

"Are you sure I'm the one to keep you on the rails?" As soon as he says it, he realizes Tony has a point. Rhodes would be as good an option, maybe, but Banner is awfully good at taking a cue from Stark and following along, he and Natasha don't trust one another well, and apparently he doesn't get along with small furry animals.

"...I'll be sure to bring you back in one piece."