Work Text:
Journal Entry: Date Unknown
I don’t even know what day it is anymore. I’ve been holding everything in for so long, I’ve forgotten how to safely express my emotions.
I haven’t cried or yelled or screamed in years. Decades.
And I usually am great at bottling things up and just taking them out on a punching bag, or twelve. Staying in complete control.
But right now, I’m honestly pretty close to losing said control.
He called my name... Before he fell to the ground.
Before he disappeared into a pile of dust…
It was the worst pain I’ve ever felt.
Worse than watching him fall the first time.
Worse than not knowing if he was dead in the snow under the train tracks or alive and in pain.
Worse than seeing him with all of those women, watching them act as if they were entitled to him. As if they deserved him in the first place. As if they cared about him as much as I did.
And it certainly hurt just as bad as, if not worse than, the years of yearning for his touch.
For his love.
For him.
I finally had him back. Finally.
And that purple bastard from space took him from me.
Why couldn’t it have been me? He deserves life so much more than I do. He deserves to live and feel, without Hydra or anything else to hold him back or hurt him again.
God, I’d do anything to get him back. To go back in time and save him somehow. To finally grow the courage to tell him how much he truly means to me.
Something always rips him away from me.
Why can’t I just live my own life? Be with him? Why can’t I ever have happiness?
I don’t think I can do this bullshit anymore. But I have to.
I’m “Captain America” and they expect me to lead.
They always fucking do.
Even when Stark practically begs them to see him as the leader..
And with all of this pressure, I’ve developed a feeling that everything is my fault.
Thanos winning.
My fault.
Lives being taken so abruptly. So suddenly.
My fault.
Bucky’s death.
My fucking fault.
Stark’s still God knows where, as well as the rest of Rocket’s friends, that kid from queens, and some doctor that Bruce keeps bringing up. And I can’t help but feel responsible for that as well.
It’s 11:45pm and I should probably sleep. I have another day to put up with tomorrow.
Goodnight, journal.
It’s been four hours and I still can’t sleep.
I can’t stop thinking about him. His smile, his laugh, his eyes, his voice.
Every time I close my eyes I see it. Over and over again..
Nobody’s gonna read this, so I guess I can say this here.
This stupid little thing that keeps me up at night.
My name is Steven Grant Rogers.
I’m a soldier, a leader, a friend, a source of comfort for many, a symbol of hope, a scruffy little punk from Brooklyn..
And I’m in love with James Buchanan Barnes.