Deepest Secret Nobody Knows

Steve laughed a bit, he couldn’t help it. He stood in the doorway of the shop, his mystery man standing in front of him. He knew it was an odd reaction and probably not one that the man had been expecting but there was no stopping or changing his reaction.

“You’re my friend? Don’t you think following me around and sneaking into my apartment are weird things for a friend to do?” Steve said with an ironic smile. His questioning made James switch back and forth from one foot to another, like he could turn around and run at any moment. He wasn't used to this feeling anymore, most people tended to be afraid of him. Steve didn't seem to have anything that he was truly afraid of.

“I want to explain, if you let me?” James said as he wrung his hands together. Steve took note that his left hand was covered by a glove; a hand that he was pretty sure was unlike any other hand he had ever seen. Steve looked him in the eyes and he could tell that the man standing before him was being completely earnest. His logical mind couldn’t explain it, he trusted this man. He took a step back from the doorway, just enough space for James to walk into the shop. A split-second look of hesitation crossed over James’ face until he slipped through the threshold. Steve closed the shop door behind him and re-locked the deadbolt. He watched as James looked around, taking everything in; perusing the shelves.

“I almost came into the shop at least a dozen times. Never built up enough courage to come inside, it’s beautiful in here.” James said as he turned back to look at Steve. The line between his brows told James just how confused he was without having to say it out loud. James wanted to start talking and not stop, spill everything from the beginning but he knew that Steve would just write him off as crazy. He had to start slow, build the past back together, layer on top of layer until the whole picture presented itself.

“That would have been a more conventional way to begin a friendship.” Steve said, the serious look on his face translated to his tone of voice. Although he was happy to finally be talking to this stranger, Steve felt that the time to be coy was over; he wanted answers. James pursed his lips and tried to think of the best way to say what he wanted to say. Without sounding crazy but, he lived it and it still sounded crazy.

“Do you think it’s possible to have lived two lives at once?” James found himself asking quietly, he didn’t need to look at Steve’s confused expression to know that his question sounded ridiculous.

“I don’t understand what you’re asking.” Steve crossed his arms over his chest. James didn’t know how to explain everything in his head. This was the most he had even spoken to a person in years, most of the time he just gives his superiors monosyllabic answers; he told Natasha as little about himself as he could get away with. It felt good to talk to someone, but he didn’t know which thought to say first, where to begin.

“Have you ever woken up from a dream about another time, but it felt so real? Or gotten déjà vu from a place that you absolutely know you have never been before?” The line between Steve’s eyebrows lessened for a split second, his eyes looked as if he was far away. Lost in his thoughts, trying to grab at hazy memories. When he spoke, it was slow and calculated; each word being chosen carefully.

“Sometimes I have this dream... I’m lying on a mattress on the floor, my arms and legs feel cold…someone comes up behind me and…wraps me up in a blanket…” Steve closes his eyes to try and get closer to the memory of his dream. James couldn’t stop himself, he took a tentative step closer to Steve. The first signs of tears in his eyes reflecting against the easy lamp light. “I can smell salt water and soot and-“ Steve stopped. He opened his eyes and was surprised to see James standing closer to him. He noticed the tears threatening to spill onto his cheeks but didn’t say anything about them.

“It’s just a dream. People have reoccurring dreams all the time.” He punctuated his words with a shrug. It was beginning to feel unusually warm inside the shop, Steve was wishing that he wasn’t wearing such a thick sweater.

“What if it wasn’t a dream, what if it was a memory?” James offered gently as he wrung his hands together in front of him, trying and failing to hide his nervousness; Steve took notice. He thought that this had to be the craziest thing he had experienced in a long time. This man, who was still a complete stranger to him, was telling him that his dreams were just memories.

“That's impossible.” He heard the words come out but there was doubt interlaced between each one. He didn’t believe his own words. James took another step closer, Steve didn’t back away. Standing this close, Steve had to crane his neck to look up into James’ piercing blue eyes.

“Nothing is impossible.” James whispered, and Steve scoffed back, wanting to roll his eyes at how predictable the words sounded but he stopped himself. He felt that James was towering over him now, they were standing so close. Steve could feel his heard pounding in his chest, he couldn’t quite put his finger on whether he felt safe or afraid. He couldn’t control his emotions or his actions as he reached out slowly for James’ left hand. James froze in place, no one ever tried to touch him, let alone touch his metal arm. Steve hesitated for a second before using both of his small hands to take off the well-worn black glove that covered James’ metal hand; the leather worn rough from constant use. Once it was off, James looked to Steve’s eyes to try and gauge his reaction but Steve’s eyes themselves never left the gleaming steel; it shown brightly from the lights surrounding them.

“Like having a metal arm?” Steve asked, his voice just above a whisper. He took his index finger and traced a line along the palm of James’ metal hand. James closed his eyes and huffed out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding in. Steve looked up at him at the reaction, but James still had his eyes closed.

“Can you feel that?” Steve asked, red travelling across his cheeks and neck. James only nodded, the air around them was thick like sinking sand; neither of them daring to move so they both stood still. Steve felt almost silly, he knew virtually nothing about this person and yet, there he was. Standing alone in a locked shop; possibly entertaining the idea that any of his dreams could have been more than that. He continued to hold James’ hand in both of his but after long minutes of static breathing surrounding him, Steve spoke.

“If my dreams are actually memories then what does that make me?” He asked, and James finally opened his eyes, pulling his attention away from Steve’s hands to gaze into his wide-eyed blues. A small, sad smile told a story that spanned across his face.

“A man out of time.” Each word brought forth a sadness from deep within him. “Just like me.” James took a step back, his metal arm dropping between the two of them. He looked like he was about to unlock the door and leave Steve there without another word. It wasn’t enough, Steve needed more than that.

“You can’t just go, not now. I…I need more.” He was almost desperate, he had just begun to learn about himself, he couldn’t just stop. He hated himself for sounding so small, but he couldn’t help it. He wanted answers, he needed them.

“I’m leaving but I’m not going anywhere.” James said. God, he wanted to stay. He wanted to sit Steve down, start at the beginning and tell him everything but he knew that truly wouldn’t accomplish anything. Details of their lives sounded too unbelievable. He wanted to explain everything and be honest, not have Steve think he was insane. Steve barely felt himself blink and James was gone; Steve was once again alone in the bookshop. He locked the front door again and noted that a stillness had fallen over the shop once again. While James had been there he felt a hurricane; the air around them swimming and moving constantly; electric. Now that he wasn’t there, Steve felt the weight of quietness baring down on his shoulders.

The first thing he did when he got home was pull out his laptop and Google “James Barnes” and the first page of search results gave him a mixture of intense headlines, (“Is WWII veteran really Winter Soldier?”, “Winter Soldier responsible for UN Summit bombing?”, “The Winter Soldier is a hero, don’t @ me!”.) but the first link that he actually clicked on was his Wikipedia page. He wondered how someone like James could have a Wikipedia page but the world these days was a curious place. The first thing he noticed on the page was the photograph, it was old. Black and white, of a young man in a perfectly crisp looking U.S. Army uniform. It looked like James but the man in the photo looked so young and fresh faced; the exact opposite of the man who had been in the shop with him tonight.

“James Buchanan Barnes (b. 1917- KIA 1944/2011-Present)."

He read and reread the dates, over and over until a sharp pain began between his eyebrows. He continued to scroll and skim through the biography.

“James Barnes was born in Indiana in 1917, his family relocating to Brooklyn, New York shortly after his birth because his father was killed in action during WWI. Good in school, held down a steady job at the shipping docks from the age of 14. He was drafted in 1941 and sent to England. Eventually earning the rank of Sergeant, Barnes ran a team of soldiers that specialized in locating Hydra bases and immobilizing them. In 1944, during a covert mission somewhere in what used to be the Soviet Union, Hydra cornered Barnes and his team. Some survived the attack, but Barnes was never found. In 1945, his status was changed from MIA to Killed in Action. His surviving family members were presented with a Distinguished Service Cross in an intimate ceremony in Washington D.C. Notable speakers were newly appointed President Harry S. Truman, Colonel Chester Phillips. His mother and sister, Rebecca were joined by the surviving members of Barnes’ team and close family friend, Steven Rogers.” He froze. His rational mind of course was telling him that the name was incredibly common, it was just a coincidence. The other part of his brain was screaming at him, telling him that of course this couldn’t be true. Somehow this was an incredibly elaborate prank.

Born in 1917? James looked thirty, at most; not 100 years old. He knew that these days impossible things happened all the time, but this was almost too crazy to believe. He clicked back to Google and hit the next link. A YouTube video titled, “Director Fury hounded by Questioning: S.H.I.E.L.D. press conference.” It was dated just over two years ago. A thrill ran through his stomach as the video buffered. A man’s face appeared on screen, one eye obscured by an eye-patch, the rest of him looking incredibly tired; like he had been answering questions for hours.

“Sir, I’m from the Post. I’m just wondering what kind of security measures your team and yourself are taking so that you can avoid an infiltration like this from happening again?” A voice off screen asked and the man, Fury answered right away. He had some of these answers prepped and ready to go.

“We have brought in technology and espionage specialists who are working around the clock to keep these kinds of things out of our organization. S.H.I.E.L.D. is still committed to keeping this world safe from anyone or anything that tries to threaten it.” He finished but the reported wasn’t done just yet.

“Is it true that the Winter Soldier is one of those agents? Doesn’t it seem out of place to employ a previous agent of Hydra to keep Hydra out of our government?” The reaction of Fury was palpable, even through the small video screen Steve was watching from.

“I assure you, Sergeant Barnes has been working with us since the fall of Hydra and his mind has been cleared of their influence. Who better to hunt them down from the inside then someone who has been on the inside themselves? As someone who’s a decorated war veteran you think he would have earned a bit more respect than what your showing him. That’s all for your questions.” Director Fury said with finality before stepping away from the microphone and out of frame. Steve continued to watch the screen even after it went black, his brain was trying to process and make sense out of everything that he had just read and watched.

Something he knew for a fact was that people don’t live forever. He stood from the love seat and stood in the middle of his living room and felt completely lost. He looked around the room, at all his possessions and he felt like none of them belonged to him. Usually he felt comfort in his books and his blankets but looking at them now, he felt like they belonged to someone else. The muscles in his chest constricted and tears began to pool inside his eyelids. He didn’t know why he wanted to cry but his body was overcome with the feeling. What was he crying for? A life that wasn’t his?

Once the first tear hit his cheek, it opened the flood gates. He found himself unable to stop the steady flow of tears. He stepped over to his record player and found that his Billie Holiday record was still inside. Now he could only think of how James must have put the record there to try and jog his memory, awaken something inside of himself that he didn’t realize he had been repressing. He put on the record and let the piano tones wash over him, the melancholy of the song guiding his tears out with its melody. He laid down on his love seat, pulling his knees up his body and wrapped his thin arms around himself. His cheeks were streaked with wetness and skin blotched red from his overwhelming emotion.

“Please remember…please remember…” He repeated the words to himself like a mantra. Closing his eyes tight and tried to search his tired mind for some kind of lost memory but his mind couldn’t land on one single thing. It was overwhelmingly frustrating; he knew he had to get some answers. He couldn’t just lay there and wait for the answers to fall into place. He stood from the love seat, resolve suddenly thrumming through his veins. If answers weren’t just going to present themselves to him then he was going to have to go out and get them himself. He walked towards the front door, grabbed his jacket and he was out the door once again; out into the cold night.

There was an endless stream of loud knocks at the door that pulled Sam out of his restful sleep. He pulled himself out of bed, the sound echoing through his apartment; putting every cell of himself on high alert. He approached the front door with caution, most people didn’t go knocking on people’s doors in East Harlem in the middle of the night. He looked through the peep hole on his door and was relieved to see the top of Steve’s head on the other side. His relief quickly turned to concern because it was the middle of the night and Steve never showed up anywhere unannounced.

He opened the door and Steve breathed out a huff air, glad to stop knocking. His knuckles red with constant contact with the heavy door and Sam wondered how long he had been knocking before it had woken him up. He immediately noticed that Steve’s eyes were red and sad, his friend had been crying and for a long time. He ushered the man inside without a word; closing the door and locking it behind him.

“Steve, what are you doing here?” Sam asked, and Steve just shrugged. He used the sleeve of his jacket to wipe the streaks of tears off his face.

“I don’t know, I think I’m going crazy.” Steve’s voice was quivering, he couldn’t control it. Sam could tell that he was shaking like a leaf even though he was bundled up. A million thoughts swam through Sam’s mind, but he didn’t want to crowd the smaller man. He watched as Steve paced back and forth through his small apartment.

“Who am I?” Steve finally asked, and Sam was taken aback; that was the question that had been weighing on Steve all night. Sam was at a loss; how could he possibly answer that without completely ripping apart everything that Steve knew about his life?

“You’re Steve Rogers.” Sam answered quickly but it wasn’t enough, and he knew it.

“Am I the Steve Rogers that was born in 1992 or am I the Steve Rogers that attended his best friends funeral in 1945?” Steve asked, his voice strained from another sob threatening to escape. He knew it sounded insane, but he asked it anyway. Sam froze and processed what Steve had said; he glanced down at his feet to avoid Steve’s glassy blue eyes.

“Shit…” Sam muttered under his breath and Steve knew what that reaction meant. It was true. Steve stopped pacing, walked over to the couch and sat; he wasn’t sure how much longer his legs could support him. A silent tear slipped down the full length of his cheek. He tried his best to take deep, calming breaths but he felt like he couldn’t fill his lungs completely; he was breathing but it felt like suffocation. All Sam could do was watch him helplessly. He always thought he would feel relief when Steve eventually learned the truth, instead he felt like a traitor; betraying the confidence of his closest friend.

“For the last few years…” Steve gravelly voice broke through the quiet. “…I’ve had dreams. I always wrote them off as an overactive mind but in my dreams, I was always cold. Wandering through streets of New York, they should have been familiar, but they were old…or in an old apartment, one that didn’t belong to me. I would be shivering uncontrollably until arms would come from behind and wrap around me. Sometimes I could turn around and look into this person’s eyes, blue like an unpolluted sky but I could never see their whole face. I couldn’t ever speak words in my dreams. I could only speak in numbers, 32557038, over and over and over and I don’t know what it means.” He looked up at Sam for some guidance and that look, that completely lost look that Steve wore across his face nearly broke Sam. It reminded him of how Steve looked at him five years ago, asking Sam to wipe his memory to save. He knew then the memories that he was choosing to erase, the minute details of his love that he was willing to give up so that Hydra wouldn’t get ahold of secrets far more revealing. Sam didn’t regret what he did to protect Steve because it had kept him safe all these years, but he couldn’t help his heart from breaking for his friend.

“They aren’t dreams…” Sam said, uncrossing his arms so Steve wouldn’t interpret his stance as too guarded. “I think they’re remnants of memories, your brain working overtime to remember things that were erased.” Sam tried to explain.

“Erased? How do I get them back?” Steve said, his steel gaze boring a hole in Sam.

“I don’t know if you can…” Sam said gently. He could tell that Steve was frustrated and it was just building up inside of him, threatening everything around him with signs of a coming eruption. “James…he could be the key to unlocking all of this though.” Sam knew this was dangerous, as Steve’s handler he was supposed to keep him safe and away from any potential danger, not tell his best friend to go chasing down memories in the shape of the former Winter Soldier. He knew what the man had done before coming to work for S.H.I.E.L.D. but he couldn’t lie to Steve either. Steve was still, taking everything in as best he could.

“Tell me everything.” Steve said, resolve dripping through every word. Sam wasn’t sure what to do or say, all he knew was that he would go to the ends of the earth for Steve, if he needed answers, of course he would give him that. There was always a part of him that had always known that this day would come. Was it Steve’s steel resolve or the serum patching his brain back together, there was no way to be sure. All he knew was that he couldn’t keep lying. He sat down on the couch next to his friend and began to explain everything. Slowly and painstakingly, answering Steve’s burning questions as best he could. When all was said and done it was well into the night and Steve’s body ached for sleep. It was past appropriate time for Steve to take public transit home, so Sam brought out all the pillows and blankets that he could find in his hall closet and set him up on the couch.

Sam was about to retreat to the safety of his bedroom when Steve called out for him. His voice soft like he was calling across a great distance, but Sam understood it as a result of exhaustion; he was mentally drained to oblivion.

“Do you know anything about me and James…about us before the War?” Steve asked, he wasn’t usually a shy person, but he couldn’t stop the red that twinkled against the paleness of his cheeks. Sam didn’t know what to say at first, he remembered Natasha telling him that James had been watching Steve, following him; but he didn’t know if Steve knew any of that.

“I don’t think many people do that are still alive. You never talked about him much, all you ever told me was that the two of you shared an apartment in Crown Heights before he was shipped off.” Sam said, watching Steve look off into the middle distance; once again lost in trying to discern between memories and reality. Sam nodded to himself and escaped to his bedroom. He was happy to be alone, away from his friends pleading eyes.

Steve lay still on the couch, heavy, soft blankets weighing down on his chilled body. His cold fingers pushed his hair out of his eyes as he tried his best to relax. Recollections of strong arms enveloping him kept bombarding his line of thinking. He always thought it was wishful daydreaming but now he thought better; this was an honest to goodness memory. One that was so strong that it was pushing its way to the surface. He closed his eyes to chase it down, the nighttime sounds of the city lulled him into a fitful sleep.

His body was freezing, he couldn’t understand why; he was in bed with his sweater on, the sleeves pulled down over his hands and his thick wool socks pulled up as high as he could get them. Even with all his layers and his blankets surrounding him, he couldn’t fight off the cold. He was tossing and turning, rubbing one foot across the other, trying to warm them from the friction, no matter how much he tried, the cold refused to leave him. He let out a huff of air, a frustrated sigh that caught the attention of the person sharing the bed beside him.

The person turned to wrap their arms around Steve’s frail ribcage; he was suddenly swathed in a blanket of warmth down the length of his shoulders to the back of his knees. His sighs of frustration turned to sighs of relief, he cherished the feeling of strong arms encasing him.

“You’re tossing and turning.” A deep voice spoke just beside his ear, all he could hear was the steady breathing next to him. Steve wrapped his hands around the arms that held him, trying to pull him as close as he could; wanting the fire to sink deep down to his bones.

“It will be a miracle if I survive through this winter.” Steve said, not quite thinking through the words that he was saying, or the affect that they could have on his current company. He felt the man’s arms stiffen and his breathing catch for a moment before he brushed it off and shrugged his shoulders; his chin resting on the back of Steve’s shoulders.

“I overheard my boss talking about how he got one of those fancy new oil heaters, maybe we can stay with him when it gets really bad.” He said, trying to make it sound like a casual suggestion, nothing to get defensive about.

“You know I don’t want any handouts, I can take care of myself.” Steve said, his voice deep and determined. A small huff of laughter escaped from the man behind him. He felt the arms loosen around him and suddenly, he was being turned around so that they were looking face to face. For a moment, Steve missed the feeling of heat up against his back; when he felt nimble fingers pushing his fair hair out of his eyes he forgot all that there was to be irritated about. There was no cold, no springs in the mattress poking into his side. Just soft touches and sky-blue eyes looking back into his. He closed his eyes and reveled in the feeling of hands tracing all the soft and sharp lines of his face and neck.

“I know better than anyone.” The voice came out as a whisper and a tremble traveled up his spine. He felt soft lips travel down his jaw line to settle in the crook between his neck and shoulder, on instinct Steve fingers went up and into his dark hair; short on the sides but plenty to hold onto on top. The shivers and trembles and shaky breathes were things that he could never get enough of; if he could have moments just like these every day there would be no reason to leave this apartment. The world could move on without them, he had everything that he needed right here in his bed. Growing impatient with the slow and steady ministrations being done to his neck, Steve tightened his grip on the man’s hair and coaxed him upwards. Leading his lips to the others.

“Come on Buck, kiss me already.” He said, all his cold and bitterness melting away at the sound of laughter surrounding him. He memorized every crinkle beside his eyes before closing his to the world. Just before soft lips grazed against his, his memory went foggy.

No, not yet. Let me remember the feeling.

Steve opened his eyes, his vision taking it’s time adjusting to the light streaming in through the windows of the sixth-floor apartment. Echoes of honking, loud chatter from down below broke him out of his reverie.