he who hesitates is toast

"Charlie carrier's forty-five degrees off the port bow," Hill tells them. There's a pause, then two gunshots before her calm voice returns. "Six minutes."

"Hey, Sam?" Steve's sprinting, but even his top speed can't outrun a rocket. Like the one HYDRA is about to shoot at him. "I'm gonna need a ride."

"Let me know when you're ready," is the response, even as Steve leaps into the air and off the carrier's deck, an explosion going up behind him. "I just did!"

As he falls, Steve tries to spread his body, to increase the wind resistance against him, against the shield, and does his best not to feel the knifeblade of a frigid alpine wind, or to hear Bucky's scream echoing off the valley walls. A shadow falls over him, and then his arm is nearly yanked from its socket as Sam grabs his wrist, yelling as he pulls them both upward and onto the relative safety of Charlie. "You know, you a lot heavier than you look," Sam tells him, as they head toward the control center.

Steve shrugs. "I had a big breakfast."