Steve stands aside, allowing Bucky to get on with it, and paying attention to every detail. He doesn't know Russian, it's something Natasha's been trying to get him to learn, and now he's wishing he'd had chance to move further along with it. But the broken English he gets well enough, between the cries of pain.

He's not sure how far he should let this go, thrown off by watching Bucky, the kid who never gave up on him even when he did, taking these actions with ease.

"Let him go," he hears himself saying before his brain catches up with his mouth. "He's hurt. He's not stupid enough to take both of us on in his condition." He gives the guy a look, towering over him to the point of casting him in shadow, and he tilts his head, all authority in his tone. "Are you?"

The guy mutters something in Russian, again, but when Steve nudges his leg with his foot, the guy splutters for a moment before coming to his senses. "N-no, not stupid."

"That's what I thought." Satisfied, he gestures with his head for Bucky to step back, move aside. "But if we cross paths again, the outlook won't be this optimistic for you."

He's got his shield firmly in his hand, a gun he doesn't care much for loaded and ready at his belt, and a knife that both Natasha and Clint insists he keeps with him at all times, whether he's got enhanced strength or not.