Steve Rogers

I let the bike fall onto its side as I stand and follow Bucky. I can see what he’s doing, and I don’t want him to. I don’t want him to accept this, and I don’t want him to try to tell me to. This is wrong. It always has been. I screwed up, and spent the rest of my life desperate for a way to rectify the mistake. And now that it’s done, what? I’m supposed to learn some cosmic lesson about not being able to change the past? Again? There’s supposed to be some grand reveal that things had to happen this way for a reason, that I should accept that? Like it was destiny, like it was fate?

Like hell.

“No,” I say, “it isn’t. This isn’t right.”