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There were so many people over the years that Steve Rogers had held as they died; cradling them in his arms as a final comfort.
Friends, lovers, enemies, strangers alike. He held them all, covered in mud, and blood, and ash and bile, soaking with seawater or rain.
He held some who were lucid, speaking until the end, and some who were half gone murmuring to people that Steve couldn’t see. He cradled people who were finally at peace, and people who were begging not to go.
He hadn’t been able to hold the one person who had mattered most.
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