As Sam brings forth those memories, Bucky begins to remember them himself. It's hard to think of anything outside of the tank and HYDRA, but the hand in his hair is so real and so tangible, he can't stop the flow of external memories. Waking up in a cot with Sam beside him, bumping knees and laughing over drinks. Even more so now, the human part of Bucky wants to enjoy those memories, to revisit them and remind himself that he's more than what HYDRA made him.

He remembers the forest surrounding the frosted barbed wire, how there's more than the programming and the guilt that weighs him down now.

And yet he's still here, in the tank, unable to fight against the overwhelming guilt. It feels like a hundred steps back, like he's slid back to the beginning. If one incident is enough to do that, who's to say that another won't completely destroy him?

He's failed. As a person, as the Soldier, as everything he was meant to be.