Bucky struggles against the grip pulling him deeper into the water, the blood filtering from his lips with every attempt to suck in a breath. He can't seem to swim against the tide and his limbs weaken as he struggles. In a blink that familiar presence floats beside him and Bucky knows him, but has no breath to speak his name. All he can see is a split throat, blood pouring from a mortal wound and nothing but cold, unfeeling emotion. Like Maria, like Howard, like the dozens of skeletons weighing him down.

Dead. He's dead. This man that brought so much sunshine into his life is dead.

You failed, Soldier rings in his ears. Pierce. And he's right. Bucky knows more than anyone that he failed. Time and time again, he's failed. Failures are not tolerated.