Bucky's chest surges as more water is sucked into his lungs. He coughs again and more of his blood taints the water around him. The fingers tightening around his limbs pull him deeper into the endless, ruddy tank, but he can still hear the faint call of a name. He looks up toward the distant halo of the tank's lid and wonders if someone's calling for him. But he doesn't have a name. Soldiers don't have names. Those pulling him down have names. Maria, Howard, Nicholas.
Through the heavy, red water, through the layers of acid-burned steel, through the jade tower, and the contorted bramble of trees, he can feel something- someone- warm and bright like summer.
What do you deserve, Soldier?, Pierce's voice fills the tank.
Nothing. He deserves nothing. He failed. Failed. Broken soldiers don't deserve anything.
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Through the heavy, red water, through the layers of acid-burned steel, through the jade tower, and the contorted bramble of trees, he can feel something- someone- warm and bright like summer.
What do you deserve, Soldier?, Pierce's voice fills the tank.
Nothing. He deserves nothing. He failed. Failed. Broken soldiers don't deserve anything.