A/N- Here's chapter 3! Thank you all for your amazing reviews. Just, wow. Thank you so much. Each one makes me so happy! So, I'm posting this chapter a little earlier than planned but it's my birthday tomorrow so I thought I'd be nice :p I hope you all enjoy!

Disclaimer- I own nothingg related to the Marvel universe

He couldn't breathe and the world was flying passed him and he couldn't breathe.

He was falling and falling and floor was rushing up to meet him and his head was pounding.

He couldn't breathe.

His lungs burned as they were frozen in place by the ice that was killing him and nothing passed his lips but desperate gasps for air that wasn't there.

He was drowning.

The water was choking him and he was sinking and he couldn't fight it.

He wouldn't fight.

Because this was what was meant to happen.

He was supposed to die.

For Peggy and for Bucky and for everyone.

He was supposed to die and he wasn't going to fight it.

He couldn't breathe and he was dying but that was okay because he was meant to die.

He was going to save the world and he was going to do it for those who deserved to live in it. The good people and the ones that fought for what was right. The men and women who were better than him.

Because he was nothing- useless, worthless, nothing, nothing, nothing- but a poor kid from Brooklyn whose only qualities came out of a bottle. There was no place for him anymore. It was better for him, for everyone, if he died.

He had to keep Peggy safe.

Had to keep her safe.

Apart from Peggy was dead.

Dead and cold and gone.

She was dead and he hadn't been able to save her and he hated himself because Peggy was dead.

It was all his fault.

He hadn't been able to save her.

And he was so sorry.

So unbelievably sorry but it didn't matter because she was dead.

They were all dead.

And he wasn't dying quick enough.

He was still falling, falling…

And then he hit the ground and the world ended.

Or it should have.

He could hear someone screaming but he knew it wasn't him because his lungs were still starved of oxygen and he had nothing to scream for because the world might not have ended but he had hit the bottom and he was finally dying.

He was happy.

Happier than he could ever remember being.

The darkness was coming for him and he surrendered himself to it.

'I'm coming.' He thought and he imagined his mother's face. She was smiling and didn't look as thin and drawn as she had in the last few years of her life and, oh, Lord, he had missed her, he had missed her so much. 'I'm coming, Ma.'

'Look at my baby.' He heard her say. 'Look at my Steve.'

She held out her hand and he reached out to take it.

"Wake up, Steve." She said but it didn't sound like her anymore. "Come on, buddy, wake up."

And she was fading, withering and weakening before his eyes, and he was losing her again.

"No." He choked out. "No, please."

He could hear the air as it rattled in her chest and taste the blood that welled at the corner of her mouth and she was dying and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"Wake up." Her lips said, though, the words didn't belong to her. "Wake up."

Then she was gone.

Light came then and it swallowed the darkness and any hope he'd had that this was the end whole.

He had failed.

Hot tears leaked from the corners of his eyes and his whole body quivered and quaked with movements he couldn't control. Warm hands tried to hold him still but they weren't strong enough to contend with his jerking and shuddering body.

Sound drained away until he could hear nothing more than choked grunts and laboured gasps for breath that somehow seemed to be coming from him.

'I'm sorry.' He thought over and over. 'I'm sorry.'

Because he had failed and everyone was dead because he was still alive.

'I'm sorry.'

And he was crying and sobbing because everything hurt and he was so cold, so, so cold, and everyone was dead and it was his fault.

'I'm sorry.'

Captain America had failed.

'I'm sorry.'

Steve Rogers had failed.

'I'm sorry.'

They were all gone.

"I'm sorry."

He hadn't been able to keep them safe.

"I'm sorry."

He didn't notice when thought became word as the seizure slowed and finally stopped.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

There was a familiar face staring down at him with dark, almost black, eyes and a serious expression.

'Howard.' He thought even as his mouth said, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

The face was speaking but he couldn't hear anything.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Then Howard disappeared and was replaced by someone he thought he should know but he just couldn't place.

There was a smudge of blood on the man's face, just above his right eyebrow, and the finger he waved in front of Steve's face was coated in red.

Steve knew he had failed this man, too.

Why else would he be bleeding- why else would he be dying?- if Steve hadn't done something wrong?

"I'm sorry." He heard himself speak this time but couldn't get his mouth to stop. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"I know." The other man said. "I know you are but I need you to follow my finger, can you do that for me?"

He could hear an engine running and people talking as a siren wailed and everything was too bright and it was too much.

"Steve." The man said again. "I need you to concentrate. Come on, try and follow my finger."

Steve tried, he really did, but his eyes wouldn't focus and nausea bubbled in the pit of his stomach when he tried to follow the movement.

"I'm sorry." He said. He stumbled and stuttered over the next word, "c-can't."

"It's okay." The man said and he was frowning. "I'm going to ask you a couple of questions and I want you to try and answer them, okay?"

"Okay." Steve whispered and exhaustion suddenly pulled at him, making his eyes flutter and shut.

"Hey, no sleeping, okay?"

"'Kay." Steve murmured and forced his eyes to open once more.

"There we go. Do you know where you are?"

"No."

"What about the year? Can you tell me what year it is?"

"Future." Steve answered because he was cold and Howard was gone.

"That's right. Do you know who I am?"

Steve's eyes were threatening to shut again and they wouldn't focus on the man's face but still he tried to remember his name.

Nothing would come and sleep fogged his brain, making it impossible to think or remember, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep.

"That's okay, you're doing okay so far." The man told him. "Now tell me, what happened? How did you hurt yourself?"

"Drowned." He mumbled and suddenly he was wide awake and he couldn't catch his breath.

He was cold and it was choking him and killing him and there was no air.

There was no air!

He was drowning and the water was so cold and the ice was swallowing him.

"No!" He shouted because it couldn't be happening again. Not again. Never again.

"Steve, listen to me. You're safe, you're okay. You're in the back of an ambulance on the way to the hospital. You got hit by a car and you've hurt your head but you're safe, okay? I need you to calm down. You're going to hurt yourself."

But Steve wasn't listening because something was holding him down, dragging him down to the bottom of the ocean, and he couldn't breathe.

He had to get free.

He began to struggle, wriggling his body and kicking his feet, as he tried to fight his way to the surface but he was stuck.

He was stuck and he was going to drown.

"Stop the ambulance! I can't- Thor? Tony?"

He swung his arms with all his might and for a split second he was free and he could breathe and he was going to be okay before there was the terrible groaning and shrieking of metal and a roar that made his whole body tremble.

There was a cool blast of night air as the walls of the ambulance seemed to collapse around him and he was free and he could breathe and he wasn't going to be trapped in the ice again.

The feeling of relief didn't last long.

There was another roar and then a huge, green fist struck him on the chest with enough force to send him flying through the air.

His chest immediately exploded with pain and his vision greyed as the street exploded into action with bright lights and the crunching of metal and a familiar thunderous voice and the cracking of concrete.

He could feel consciousness slipping away from him as he sailed through the air, his body limp like a ragdoll, and he fought to move his limbs so he could control his descent but there was nothing he could do. His body refused to listen to his mind's sluggish commands and so he let oblivion claim him to spare himself the pain of landing.

He was already unconscious when metal arms caught him.