“Steven, son of Sarah, I have been expecting you,” the voice was enough to send a chill down his spine. He would have recognised that voice anywhere, even if he hadn’t been forewarned.
Sam had instructed him to do this part first - the worst part - because it would make the rest seem like child’s play but Steve had never been very good at following instructions. He’d returned the time stone first because that had been the easiest all he had to do was hand it over, and travelling to New York meant ridding himself of two stones in one trip. He could feel the power of the stones humming through the case from the moment he picked it up, and he wanted to rid himself of the burden as quickly as possible. The scepter had been trickier since he had to use one of Scott’s discs to enlarge the scepter and then use Shuri’s smart tech (he hadn’t been listening to the explanation, something to do with nanobots) to refix the stone back in place. He’d faltered when it came time to hand the case back over to Sitwell. It meant shouldering the responsibility for all that came after - know what the stone would do to Wanda, what the destruction Ultron would wreak. Countless lives would be lost because he replaced the scepter - the alternative was the end of the galaxy but that didn’t make it any easier.
Logically, it made sense to return the Tesseract next. He slipped quickly past the guards, and deposited the cube (newly reformed by Shuri’s unfathomable nanobots) right back where Tony had retrieved it from. He’d escaped the building quickly, he didn’t stop to look at Peggy’s office and he certainly didn’t look for Howard. It was a mission and he was professional. Besides, he always knew he was going to see Peggy again.
And that’s what he did. He used one of those precious vials of Pym Particles to return back to Peggy in 1948. He had earned this - he deserved it. He had fought with the power of a God against an army of monsters and he was still standing. He had won. He deserved this dance. Still, that didn’t stop him staring at her door for ten minutes, with only the hum of Mjolnir to calm his nerves.
Predictably, Peggy opened the door and pointed a gun straight to his head. He had never loved her as much as he did in that moment, she was beautiful, strong and completely aware of her own value.
“Not bad,” she said, still keeping the gun pointed at him. “But Steve Rogers is dead.”
“Peggy, I…” he began. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. In his mind, he had always knocked on her door and she had welcomed him. Had been so pleased to see him. Had wanted him, loved him. Completely. Without question. But that was a fantasy, and that was not his Peggy Carter - not at all. “I just wanted to see you.” He said, allowing the tears to fall from his eyes.
“Steve?” She asked, her voice slightly shaky but her aim remaining true. He nodded with a watery smile. “You’re late.” She said, voice clipped. A test - he thought.
“I took the long road.” Her eyebrows drew together and she looked at him, really looked at him. No doubt she saw the pain in his eyes - she always knew him better than himself.
“You owe me an explanation,” she said, lowering the gun.
He explained everything. Well not everything - that wouldn’t be fair to her. But she seemed to believe that he was from the future. She gave him tea, and fresh scones that she had made that morning (“baking helps me unwind,” she explained). They both cried, and Steve felt younger than he had in years. Just a simple kid from Brooklyn.
“So, you came back to be with me?” She said flatly after the story was told and they had lulled into silence.
“I…” she smiled at him and bought her hand to his face.
“You owe me a dance.” She said with a smile, and pulled him to his feet.
They moved together as one, and in that moment he could see their life together unfolding. He could see all of the happy years. He could feel everything that he’d lost. She looked up at him with nothing but love in her eyes and when they kissed it was as perfect as he always imagined it would be.
“Steve…” she looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “You can’t stay.”
“I know,” he admitted.
“Let’s just enjoy our dance.”
One perfect dance - he didn’t step on her feet - and he could finally feel what he was missing. It satisfied a curiosity in him. It offered her closure that he had robbed her of when he crashed the plane into the ice. She didn’t even blink when he tapped his wrist and the suit appeared out of nowhere, she just offered him one more kiss and let him blink out of her life for sixty years.
Guilt coiled within him, but he was only a man - he reasoned - sometimes it was acceptable to allow himself to feel.
Kickstarting the process again, he chosen - once again - to go with the easiest option and returned the Power stone. The wrist device helped him arrive at just the right moment, and Quill was still unconscious. His limbs were bent up into an awkward position, which might have made Steve smile once upon a time. But not today.
He had a mission.
From his pocket he pulled out the empty shell, which had retracted back into a small round disc. He reached the tower of light, and snapped open the case, holding the disc above the power stone. As Bruce said, it wrapped itself around stone and he was left holding what looked like an ornate ball. He took a long moment to look at the light - Rhodey had warned him against shoving his hand in there. Fortunately, carefully aimed throws were his specialty and he lightly threw the orb so it was caught up in the light beam.
Four down and only two to go.
The weight had been substantially lessened, but the gnawing at his stomach only seemed to increase.
Returning the Ether was done in cold detachment. He couldn’t allow himself to think about what was coming - what was going to happen to Thor’s family in a few short hours. He was a soldier and he had to be focussed on the Endgame. It was not his business to trade lives, not even when they were his friends. Thus, he brutally stabbed a sleeping woman with a violent infection, left his only companion on the floor by her and made his exit.
And then came the Red Skull.
All of his nightmares come to life.
An omniscient ghostly figure. It was almost as if a higher power had designed this very moment to punish him. Punish him for being not moving on. Punish him for being more than a man - punish his arrogance. To put his living nightmare in the place he had lost someone so dear to him was little more than an exercise designed to show him exactly how weak he truly was.
“I’m not interested in conversation.”
“No, I don’t suppose you are.” The German-accented voice returned. “Know that you can’t kill me, Captain. I have moved past what you call life.”
“I’m really not interested,” he replied, drawing himself into a fighting stance. The red skull looked at him with something approaching pity.
“I don’t exist to fight you. What you seek is over there.”
Cold anger twisted in his gut. He wanted nothing but to continue their fight - to end it once and for all. But how do you fight a ghost? Steve certainly didn’t know and he’d been trying for ten years.
So, he ended up at his final destination. All he needed to do was drop that stone over the edge and all would be done - the universe would be saved - he could finally rest. He stared down into the abyss before he stepped back to finally rid himself of his final burden. Without allowing himself to think he took a running leap over the cliff.
As he fell he finally found peace.
***
“Steve.” Someone was calling his name through the haze, but the voice sounded distant. There was a weight on his chest. Hands were shaking his shoulders. But that wasn’t what he wanted - he just wanted to rest. “Steve, you have to wake up.” The shaking became more insistent.
Groaning he sat up without opening his eyes and the weight on his chest shifted to his lap. He wanted oblivion and he wasn’t ready to give up on that dream. He was trying to contemplate what had gone wrong - struggling to fight the rising dread that he was going to wake up and miss another century - or worse. He felt his breathing increase and there was a hand on his face.
“Steve, Steve, open your eyes and look at me.” The voice commanded, but the hand was comforting.
He was a soldier - he did as he was instructed.
“Natasha…” he breathed. Another hand came to rest on his face.
“Steve, what happened? Why are you here?” This was as close to panicking as he had ever heard her - it seemed out of character. Maybe this was hell? Wasn’t that what he deserved. “I… I remember falling. Why am I…” alive. The final word remained unsaid.
“I jumped.” He said, looking at her. Her eyes were so perfect - just as he remembered them, and her face was framed with tendrils of red. “We’re dead.” It was the only logical answer. She moved a hand from his face to his chest.
“Zombie’s don’t have heartbeats.” Her hand moved from his chest and maneuvered his hand to her own. The beat of her heart was steady through her suit and she rested their foreheads together. “We won?” She asked after a minute - an hour - a day - what did it matter anymore and separated their heads.
“Tony…” he trailed off, and she nodded in understanding, and wrapped her arms around him. “We thought you…” he said into her neck.
“I’m right here,” she soothed. And God, she was so much more put together than he was. “We can go home.”
“I’m home,” he replied, drawing her closer. True to form, she huffed out a laugh.
“You always were dramatic.” She kissed his cheek and extracted herself from his arms to stand. He followed suit. “Please tell me that flies.” She pointed to the spaceship - the notion still seemed so strange to him - which was exactly where he had left it parked before him.
“I’m not completely incapable,” he said. The comeback felt right, he could feel his heart lighten. “I don’t have any particles.” He admitted. He’d always meant this to be the end of the road for him. She produced - from where he didn’t know - a cracked vial to stow him.
“Staying together is more important than how we stay together.” She said with finality, holding out her hand and leading him back onto the ship.
“Now who’s being dramatic,” he found himself replying with a smile.
She stopped and turned to face him.
“Well, some of us aren’t so used to coming back from the dead.” She said simply.
“I…” he started, but she stood on her tiptoes to kiss him. When she pulled away, he drew her back and kissed her again - just because he could.
“I’ve been waiting almost a decade to do that again.”
“And you didn’t think to practice?” She shot back, smiling that perfect smile of hers.
“I was waiting for the right partner.” She rolled her eyes at him, linking their hands together and marching them back to the ship again.
“Come on Rogers, we have a whole universe to explore.” She looked over her shoulder at him and offered him a smile. He could almost hear the romantic music swelling. “I might even teach you to dance.”
If this was a dream he didn’t want to wake up.