Rogers wants to come over, to offer him a hand, to wrap an arm around his shoulders once he stands, but he doesn't think that would be welcome. Still, one arm awkwardly shifts for a second, like it's thinking of doing that of its own accord, before he simply waits for Winter to rise, trying to keep his expression - well, it's not neutral. But comforting. Steady.

"Ready to go home?" he asks, softly.