NEVER COMING HOME

I Will Stay Forever Here With You, My Love

What a fate it was, to drown. The water like stone in his lungs, a dead weight in his body. What a fate it was, to fall into the arms of death without a fight. How brave, to welcome the dark as an old friend, hung by the buried hope of a light guiding him home. His last thought before his body stilled was that of a man more beautiful than the burning sun, more precious than any stone. The last thought before his heart slowed was of a man who's laughter echoed him in circles, the lines that creased around the corners of his eyes showing the ghost of his former happiness. He died with a flicker of a smile. It had been too long a day, but he was coming home. 

*****

Steve had changed almost entirely since the night he'd joined the army, and almost entirely again after agreeing to take the serum. One thing that remained unaltered, however, was his hopeless devotion to his soldier. His James.

God must have hated Steve, for it to end this way. But he never could have hated Steve more than Steve hated himself. He had killed somebody, once. He had let his best friend die. Steve had saved millions as an Avenger, yet he had been so painfully unable to pull one man from the side of a train.

Now, Steve had a mission. A soldier cold as ice. A ghost story. A legend. A man believed by many to have never existed at all. Most myths seemed rooted in truth, however, and the Winter Soldier was no different. He was terribly real. He was very much alive. The soldier was dangerous.  Murderous. Filled with rage. He was the greatest asset HYDRA could ever have wanted, and he stood now before Steve in all his glory. 
The soldier wore a black mask and shaggy hair over his eyes, but there was something about him that Steve recognised.

******

There was something about the Soldier that Steve recognised. Like a memory that faded 'til it was nothing more than a faint whisp, the gentle hum of a mother's lullaby, or the quiet breeze in early Autumn. A memory like a photograph frayed 'round the edges, so fragile that it could hardly be touched without turning to dust. It was something that lay beyond the flare of hatred in the soldier's eyes, something more than bloodthirst, more than an itch to kill. It was the coming home after a long day, the lingering scent of smoke on his pal's shirt. Steve wondered very vaguely how he managed such happy thoughts while his shield hacked into the cold metal of the soldier's arm. Wherever his mind had landed him, it was in a time and place very far away from the moment he was in. He didn't consider for a second that his heart lay mere inches before him, just in arm's reach. Steve had never considered who exactly The Winter Soldier was, nor who he could've possibly been. To Steve, he was only a weapon. Only a mission. To Steve, he deserved only to be destroyed. 
Perhaps he would have done just that, had the soldier not torn away his mask, and perhaps the soldier would have died that night, had Steve not seen familiarity through the cracks of a scarred face and the mass of tangled, twisted hair. 

James Barnes had a distant look in his eye, as if he were lost in a deep trance. He considered Steve, his brow furrowed, and he appeared to be making a decision. Steve pulled his shield before the trigger went. He was in battle- a real battle, with guns and with fists and a very real possibility of death. This wasn't a back-alley or a playground scrap. This. Was. War. Barnes had said it himself, many years ago. Not that he would have remembered. He hardly knew his own name, let alone a few words of incredible insignificance he'd once said to a friend.

That was the real sting. Barnes didn't remember. He didn't remember himself, and therefore he didn't remember that Steve wasn't the enemy. Not the one to kill. He must have forgotten somewhere along the way that they were together, 'til the end of the line.

*****
'He doesn't know you.'
'He will.'

That was the one thing Steve was entirely sure about. That James Barnes would remember him. It could even be in a century, for all he cared. As long as James would remember how beautiful Steve's name felt on his tongue, nothing else mattered. Not that moment, nor anything to come in the future. As long as James Barnes would remember? Maybe then would it all be okay.