Not dead.

The Target- Steve? -is alive. For now. It is the best compromise the Winter Soldier can bring himself to make. He bends down and listens for a pulse. It is faint, but present.

He allows himself a moment to study the face of the man he has just inexplicably rescued. He still can't place it, but he will. He has to.

He finds the radio headset still clinging tenaciously to the collar of the man's uniform and though he knows he should leave the man to his fate, he presses the Emergency button instead. He knows they will track the signal.

He leaves his Target - Steve - bleeding and semi-conscious, but alive in the sand. Visions of strange, but familiar faces tickle at the edges of his brain.

Bucky.

Who the hell is Bucky?

He staggers into the trees, mind buzzing with questions. His feet test the terrain automatically. He covers his tracks without realizing he's done it. His mind is busy; ticking furiously, trying to fill in gaps he has only just realized are there.

Something changed in this last confrontation. It makes his head swim. He doesn't know why he can't repress it. Something in that face, the name… it all ricochets around his skull until he wants to scream, just to let it all out. To the end of the line. It means nothing, but somehow it means everything.

All he knows for sure is that this person must not die. Everything else is just… chaos.

A chopper explodes into view over the trees behind him, gracefully pivoting and making straight for the heart of the city. He glances at it with a grimace. Automatically his training takes over. The way it flies: so careful, fast, and direct. They'll have found him, Steve, on the sand. He must be alive. No one flies that fast for the dead.

He has a fighting chance, then…

The Soldier isn't entirely sure why he suddenly feels better knowing this. He also doesn't particularly care for the way that hopeful, blue-eyed face is staring at him from inside his own head. There is something in those eyes that tears into him. It hurts and he doesn't know why.