Based loosely on the song 'I Want Christmas Back' by Everfound.

Steve sat at the desk in his room at Avengers base. His door was locked, and the only light in the room was what filtered through the window. No one knew about his files; the folders full of memories and regrets that he kept locked away. He wanted to keep it that way.

Those folders now sat on the desk in front of him. Some were open, showing the faces of his comrades. Morita, Dugan, Jones, Dernier.

Barnes. He was still filed as deceased, and Steve wondered if it was almost better when he was dead. Memories of a falling helicarrier and the shell of the man he had once called his best friend flooded Steve's mind. As much as he wished that he and Sam could find Bucky, he knew that his friend would never be the same. He dreaded having to face that reality.

He shook his head; this was too painful. He moved on to the next file.

'Margaret "Peggy" Carter' read the cover. He opened it, revealing a picture of his first love. 'RETIRED' was printed right below the photo. He remembered the hasty kiss that they had shared the day that he crashed the Valkyrie. He wished he had known that it would not only be their first, but also their last. He remembered visiting her at the nursing home. It had pained him to see her that way; her withered form and deteriorating mind. He knew then that he should have looked like that too, if fate had been so merciful back in 1945. It might have been pictures of his children in the frames on her nightstand.

He knew that he would have married her, if he hadn't crashed the plane that day. He would have retired from the army and built her a beautiful house in the country where they could raise a family. Where he could have played catch with his son and taught him how to fish and how to stand up to bullies. They could have all driven to church on Sundays, and had lazy picnics in the afternoon. He could have gotten a normal job, maybe as a cartoonist for the paper, and supported them.

He missed her. He missed all of them. He felt so lost, so misplaced in this new era. It made him sick to think about how unfair it all was. He should have died in that glacier. At least then he wouldn't have woken up to a world where everyone he held dear was dead, or close to it. Now that Christmas time was rolling around, it was even worse.

He remembered his last Christmas with the Howling Commandos. They all had gotten drunk off their rockers at some bar in Germany. Jacques had taken over the piano, and was pounding out awfully choppy versions of Christmas carols combined with a drinking song here or there. Dum Dum was cracking ridiculous jokes all night, Bucky right along with him. Morita, Falsworth, and Jones were singing along loudly and off-key to the tunes that Dernier was playing on the piano. Peggy was wearing that stunning red dress again, which had him flustered every time he caught a glance at her. He and Peggy were the only ones who had remained sober that night. After the guys had all stumbled out of the bar, the two of them had stayed. They sat by the roaring fire and talked about their pasts into the early hours of the morning. He could still feel the warmth of the fire on his face; still see how it reflected sparkles in Peggy's soft brown eyes. It was the best Christmas he had ever had, even though he wasn't home.

Ever since being awoken in the 21st century, he had lived through three holiday seasons; and while each had still been awful, they had gradually gotten a little less painful. He had spent the last two Christmases with his new family, the Avengers. That was when he had begun to feel more at home in this new century. Still, he had spent many days locked in his room, mulling over lost time and painful memories. He didn't dare tell anyone. How would the public - how would his teammates - react to the realization that Captain America, the fearless leader, had been reduced to a husk; a shell of the man he was seventy years ago. What would they do if they found out that Steven Grant Rogers had died in 1945, and that the man who had led them into battle was something less?

Steve was startled out of his train of thought at the sound of JARVIS's robotic voice. "Captain Rogers, the Christmas Decorating Party is about to begin. Mr. Stark asked me to inform you."

"Thanks, J," he said, wiping his eyes. He didn't really feel like going down there at the moment. Even if it was just the team - no guests - he kind of just wanted to sleep... or at least try to.

He closed Peggy's folder, his eyes lingering on the photo as long as it was visible.

Five minutes later, he was still sitting at the desk, staring at the wall. He knew he should go down there. He knew that being around his friends would lift his spirits, even if it was only for a little while.

But he couldn't move.

He couldn't bring himself to get up from that spot. The weight of everything bore down on him like a thousand tons of bricks, or like swimming through a pool of molasses.

So he didn't bother. Five more minutes passed, and then another five.

He was disturbed from his gloom once again by a knock on the door. "Steve?" It was you.

He sat up and took a deep breath. He couldn't ignore you. He knew you would probably get JARVIS to open the door anyway. So, he stood from his seat, wiped his face, and tried to compose himself.

You knocked again. "Steve, are you in there? We're gonna put up the Christmas tree."

He cleared his throat. "Just a second."

He made his way across the room and opened the door. You were standing there with a big smile on your face. You had strings of glittery tinsel stuck in your hair and on your sweater, which had a knitted picture of a grumpy looking cat on it. When you looked up at him, however, your smile fell.

"Are you okay?" you asked, your voice laced with concern.

He cleared his throat again. "Yeah... Yeah, I'm fine. I was just going to go to bed a little early tonight."

"Steve." You frowned skeptically. "It's only five-thirty. Are you sick?" You stepped forward, reaching up to feel his forehead, but he quickly stepped back.

He knew he couldn't let you touch him. You were an empath; and he knew he would never hear the end of it if you found out how he was feeling. You'd probably tell him that he should talk to the team, and he couldn't.

"Uh, no. I'm okay. Really, (Y/N)." He knew it was pointless to lie to an empath.

You gave him a look that told him you weren't buying it and stepped toward him again. He gave in. He tilted his head toward you so you could actually reach.

Your fingertips had barely brushed against his skin when you gasped, recoiling. You backed up several steps, anguish etched on your face. When you met his eyes again, you had tears dripping down your face.

The contact had made him feel better for a brief moment; had relieved a bit of the weight from his shoulders. But one look at the pain you were now in made him feel even worse. You didn't deserve that. He shouldn't have opened the door in the first place.

"(Y/N), I'm sorry. I... I shouldn't have-"

Before he could finish, or before he even knew what was happening, you slammed into him, wrapping him in a tight hug. Instantly, the burden over him lifted. He felt guilty that it was you who were taking it, but he could finally breathe easy. Even if it was just for a few minutes.

"Why didn't you tell someone?" you asked. Your voice was muffled by his shirt.

He took awhile to answer. What was he supposed to say? "I didn't think it was a good idea."

You looked up at him, still crying. "Steve, that's not good. You can't just bury everything. How long have you felt like this?"

He didn't want to tell you. He knew you would never see him the same way again. But he didn't want you to leave either. He could feel the anger, the regret, the sadness, all of it, draining from his mind. His muscles were relaxing more and more with every second that you held onto him. Your powers were like a drug.

He couldn't meet your eyes as he answered. "Since I woke up." He hung his head. "It gets worse during the holidays."

"It's been that long?" You pulled away, but took his hand in yours, refusing to break the contact that you shared. You stepped around him and gently tugged him into the room. He sat on the edge of his bed. You pulled the desk chair over and sat across from him.

Steve ran his free hand through his hair. "I thought..." He exhaled, trying to put the words together clearly. "I thought that if I told you all, then you wouldn't see me the same. How could I expect you to follow me into battle when-" he looked down. "When I'm..."

And then he told you everything. All the poisonous thoughts that had festered in his mind for the past three years were spilled out. He couldn't tell if it was even your powers anymore. You just made it easier to say. He suddenly wanted to share it all with you; every nitty gritty detail of his painful memories; every feeling of despair; every moment that he felt completely and utterly lost. So he did. It was all on the table now.

When he finished, he looked up at you. You were silent, pondering over everything he had just told you.

You began slowly. "I can't pretend to know what it's like to lose everything. I'll never know what it's like to have everything I've ever known ripped away from me like you have. To be honest, I wouldn't be able to handle it."

You took both of his hands in yours. "You said that you were scared everyone would think that you're weak for still feeling this way. But I think you're even stronger than anyone will ever know."

He looked at you, confused.

"You've borne this burden for so long, with no one to come alongside you to help you carry it.

"Steve, it's not a crime to have regrets. Just because you're Captain America doesn't mean you aren't human. Humans aren't meant to be thrown into a century that isn't their own. They aren't meant to survive being buried in a glacier for seventy years. You should hold your head up high, knowing that you did survive that. The past three years may have been hard, but you survived those too.

"You're the strongest person I know. And not because of some super serum." You poked his chest above his heart. "But because of this."

You paused, looking into his eyes. "You have a family. We all support you and we don't want you to be suffering like this. Everyone has problems... I mean look at us! We're a mess! But what makes us a family is how we choose to look past the hurt and the shame and the regret, and come together anyway. Because that's how family works. The past that you carry is a part of you, good or bad, and whether you like it or not. Just like the arc reactor is a part of Tony, or the Red Room training is a part of Natasha. We can't change the past; but you get to choose how you let it affect you."

He looked down. You both were silent for a while.

"Look, I'm not expecting you to go down there and pour your heart out to the whole team right this second. You don't have to tell anyone if you don't want to. But don't just push everything down. Wallowing in grief never did anyone any good. Okay?"

He nodded.

"Can I ask you to promise me something?"

After a slight hesitation, he nodded again.

"Promise me that you'll let me know whenever you start feeling like this? I want to help you, Steve, but I can't if you don't let me."

"I promise." It was a hard promise to make, and he wasn't sure if he'd always be able to keep it. But telling you everything right now wasn't as hard as he'd thought it was going to be. You weren't acting inconvenienced or uncomfortable at all. Your touch and the sound of your voice was so soothing, and he felt significantly better.

"Thank you," you said with a tiny smile.

"Thank you, (Y/N)." Steve looked into your eyes. "You've already helped so much. More than you know."

"I'm glad."

"We should probably go down to the party now, shouldn't we?"

You looked over at the door. "Yeah, I guess so." You turned back to him. "Are you good?"

"Yeah. Let's go," he said, standing.

As you stood, you went to pull your hand away, but he held it tight. You glanced at your intertwined hands in confusion, then up at him. He frowned, not wanting to admit that he still needed you. But you seemed to understand. You smiled, and together you left the room and walked down the hall.

To be continued...