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“Do you really hate yourself that much?” Steve’s body was hunched over his walking stick. A single repulsor blast could end him.
“You’re supposed to be a Futurist, reaching towards the best possible outcome. I know you know this isn’t it, isn’t you; I can see it.” Steve sounded meditative in his old age--less Captain America, more the Steve who often didn’t sleep enough.
“You have no idea what it’s like--being me. I found the message I left. I told you to only bring me back if I was forgiven. All of this is your fault, Steve Rogers.”