Pain ripples from his center, intense and agonizing. He groans against the back of his hand, which flew forward just in time to break the fall for his face; still, the sharp crack of his own knuckles against his cheekbone was no picnic. Distantly, he can hear concern in Bucky's voice, but whatever small amount of focus he can drag away from the pain is trained squarely on the beast now hovering above him. It roars again and, strategist that he is, Steve can guess what it will do next. More likely than not, he will be lifted up and tossed into the opposite wall like a rag doll. Before that can happen, he forces his hands flat beneath him and pushes up.

"Stay back!" His voice is hoarse yet insistent. Once, their roles were switched, with Bucky standing up to the foes that Steve wasn't strong enough to face on his own. But that was a long time ago, and in the moment, his thoughts addled by the pain he is in, the only thing running through his mind is the fear of watching his friend die again. It doesn't dawn on him until he's back on his feet that it must be T.J. standing at the edge of the alley. Then, angry with himself for having forgotten even momentarily, he channels that fury into a heavy blow and aims it at the beast.