Steve Rogers

What the hell did I just do. I use the back of my hand to push blood moving sluggishly from a gash in my brow away from my eye and manage to stand. It’s suddenly quiet without the plane’s engine roaring in my ears or the bike rattling as it tears down the uneven runway. Zemo clearly doesn’t know we’re still here or there would be a lot of shouting. I look at Bucky, my jaw set, my shoulders almost square. What the hell did I just do?

“I stopped it.”