Archive of Our Own ^beta

Steve lifts his head from the unobtrusive seat in the far corner and spots him. Had he really been so young at the time? He doesn't remember it that way.

The grief on the young face that carries the coffin is striking for it’s depth, even amongst this solemn scene. Steve wanted to help carry it himself, but he already is carrying it; he did, a lifetime ago.

The younger him takes a seat in the front row, a place of honor. When Sharon makes an appearance Steve winces, not because he doesn’t love her; she is his niece, and the associations he has of her have nothing to do with this period in his life, and everything to do with memories of a little girl running around their house playing Agent Carter, her pigtails flying carelessly as she played dress up in Peggy’s old uniform. 

No, it is the sight of his younger self watching her that makes him feel sick and want to run for the door, despite his grief and old joints that would protest. He wants to smack him. But Steve is grieving, a fact which he knows all too well. 

He wants to tell him that it’ll be alright, that he’ll see Peggy again all in good time. That after hopelessness and countless wars, after his friends are gone and his trust in institutions has dissolved, he will find his way back to her. And it will be beautiful.

Knowing what life his younger self will lead sends a sharp pain through his heart. But the thought is a hopeful one, too. 

The Steve who got his dance, his time is coming to a close. This is the end of the line for him, and soon he and Peggy will share a different sort of reunion. But this version of himself has years of loss and life and love to experience. 

More than anything he remembers what Peggy’s face will be when she opens the door. He remembers how the sight of him will make her stumble back, and how when he catches her she will melt against him like ice warming.

In his many years of marriage he has learned just how important that reunion will be to her. He had thought before, in some abstract way, that Peggy had moved on from his death easier than he did hers—that is until he stumbled into her office in 1970 and saw the picture of his scrawny self on her desk, and then again in 1947, where he saw with his own eyes just how much his death had broken her, had broken her in just as many ways as hers broke him. And that his return healed her in the same ways too. 

This Steve, the one that sits next to Sam Wilson, the future Captain America—he hasn't learned enough yet to understand that not all wants are selfish. 

Sharon gives her speech, saying the words he needed to hear at the time. “Plant yourself like a tree and say, no. You move.”

He sees himself straighten up, a steely determination to his jaw. So righteous, so naive. But Steve thinks there’s a certain necessity in life for that kind of attitude; If no one was fresh and vital and idealistic nothing would get done. Nothing good, anyway. 

There’s a saying that used to run through his head after he woke up from the ice that he gained from a visit to a local church. Not a Catholic one, which he was sure made his mother roll in her grave. The pastor looked out onto the congregation and told them, “You were born for such a time as this.”

At the time it had made him angry. A kind of sick irony that curled up in his throat and came out in a dark laugh, made his fists clench and the older woman in the seat next to him shoot him a strange look. 

The pastor came up to him afterwards when he saw him lingering in a pew after everyone had gone. “You really believe that?” Steve asked. “That we’re meant to be right here, right now?”

The man had hair whitening at the temples. There was no way he was older than Steve. He looked thoughtful and nodded. “I do. God puts us right when we’re supposed to be and right where we’re supposed to be, if we follow what we know to be right in our hearts.”

Steve nodded slowly. 

“What’s eating at you son? If I may ask.”

He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, but if he did the tears would inevitably come. “I…” he swallowed. “I don't know,” he finished lamely. 

Everything. That was the answer. Everything.

“Ah, well, the feeling of being directionless in life is actually very common. People don't often talk about it, but nearly everyone feels that way at some point or another. Just remember God loves you and that He has a purpose for you.”

Steve blinked away the wetness at his lashes. He was ninety-something years old, but he had only lived twenty six of them. He was young in so many ways, and yet so old.

“You’re welcome to come back anytime,” the man told him with a warm clasp on the shoulder. Steve couldn't remember the last time someone treated him gently and with such care. Like he wasn't capable of carrying the world on his shoulders and not crumbling beneath it.

He did come back, every Sunday until the church was decimated in The Battle of New York. Pastor O’brien was killed trying to herd people to safety. Steve spoke at the funeral. 

Was he meant for such a time as this? he couldn't help thinking. The pastor had saved countless lives, and Steve lost another friend. It had to mean something. It had to.

After all these years Steve thinks he finally understands. He needed to be here. He needed to be here and hear the words Sharon was saying over the collection of a lifetime’s worth of friends and acquaintances, people he didn't know then but he knows now. He needed to be here to take a stand when no one else would. 

He needed to get beaten half to death so that Bucky could be set free of his programming, because if he hadn't he would still be being used as a machine to sway the world’s fate for countless generations, and with it lose the last remnants of himself.

You were born for such a time as this.

He needed to lose Peggy, to lose everything, because it set him on the trajectory that the world needed. He needed to sacrifice everything, because the price of freedom was high and he had to be willing to pay it, even if no one else did. He needed to tip the balance here just as he had in his own time, because, as Phil Coulson once said, “The world could use a little old fashion right now.”

He followed the trail. He trusted his intuition. He never hung his head. He did what was right. That blind will to do good had seen him through, and when everything was gone and he thought he had served his purpose, had given his life, he got one. He was given his reward. He was given rest.

You were born for such a time as this.

He can see it all now. He can see the hand of God in everything.

Everything will be okay, he thinks as he looks at that young tear streaked face. 

Everything will be ok.