I’ve watched Baron Zemo die before. I took no satisfaction from it then, either. I almost let his body fall in my momentary shock, but I catch it by the shoulders and set it on the catwalk. Not especially ceremoniously, but I don’t just discard it, as much as, moments ago, I would have been happy to. I turn to where the shot rang out from, where Bucky’s standing, gun in hand.

“Bucky, why-”