My arms are free, but I find I can't move them. That doesn't mean I won't damn well try- but it's fruitless. I can scarcely lift my hand from the ground.

As a soldier, I had never really looked past the end of the war, not the way Bucky did. It had taken so much time- lost time- before I could. With him here now, again, it's like another chance, but for what... I can't think clearly. There's something to be said, but.

"Th' shield," I try to say.

"Bucky... you... the sh..."

The diffuse sunlight behind Bucky's head makes everything go white, details blur. I wish I had known sooner he was still alive. I wish I hadn't failed him the first time. This almost looks like that, but it's quiet, and before everything goes black, not quite as cold.