Bucky fights, of course he does. His hands lash back at Thor, both of them, blood and pain in the right. He lost the machete when he fell, the weapon skittering away across the surface of the lake and out of reach.

The first blow against the ice leaves him dazed, the second cracks the ice and the skin on the back of his head. Bucky lurches, his punch with the metal fist swinging drunkenly as his vision blurs and doubles. The third slam downwards breaks through the ice, the freezing water an instant shock to the Soldier's system.

He's going to die.

The fight was lost the moment he slipped. Thor is too big and too strong. He can barely see anymore, barely think between pain and cold. He's going to die.