Fix-it once again. Don't own anything...

The war is over, Steve. We can go home.

For once, maybe the war is really over.

But where exactly is home for him anymore?

The Avengers were...disbanded, this time with more finality than the last, the world being sent into another whirlwind of chaos—this time, a more joyous cacophony of disarray than the last—and the place he'd come to call home for the past five years had been obliterated to rubble and dust.

They'd made it, they accomplished what they planned. They made the one outcome that Strange saw coming years ago a reality.

Yet they still lost two people.

They still lost something.

Right after everything, when the dust had settled and everybody got the chance to finally just breathe , a part of him had wanted to shake Strange. Ask him why the hell, out of all the possibilities and realities, that that was the only way. Ask him why the hell somebody always had to die. Why was there always a catch? A sadness to their victory.

He didn't though, knowing it would've been all pointless to do so. Because he knows. He's fought enough wars and battles in his lifetime to know the cost of happiness. The feeling of having something yanked away from you without any warning, you're own sense of familiarity and comfort being ripped out of your grasp...it's a reality that even if once experienced before, it still hurts like a missing limb.

So somehow, he'd went to Tony's funeral and Natasha's. He'd stood stiffly behind Rhodey and Happy, watching as the softly rolling water gracefully carried away the wreath of flowers holding the proof that Tony Stark had a heart.

(Although Steve knows he's seen enough proof to never need the old arc reactor as validation.)

He watched as Pepper pulled Morgan closer to her side and held her tight, heads touching, and he felt like he was on the outside looking in. In on something so private and personal that he felt he didn't deserve to be a part of.

Tony's daughter...so young, so damn young, to have her father taken away from her so suddenly. Steve could hardly stand the thought, and almost threw up afterwards.

Natasha's followed after, a few days later, and he remembered going through the motions of walking alongside Clint and his family. Her's was quick too and it was quiet and simple, with only personal friends and family in attendance, the way she'd want. He'd listened distantly as Clint spoke about her, recalling how he couldn't even finish before his own voice betrayed him and he had to stop completely before resuming. He'd registered Fury's firm hand grip his shoulder briefly as he walked away, and Steve thinks that if had been paying closer attention, he could've confirmed if the shine in the man's eyes were unshed tears.

He'd remembered walking away mechanically, one of the last ones to leave, when Bruce mentioned that the machine was almost completed and needed somebody to make the trip, explaining the instructions and plans.

And so he'd volunteered quickly without even giving a second thought, to be the one to return everything. It'd already made logical sense, considering Mjölnir was one of the things needing to be put back.

He'd considered it a mission of sorts. One last mission. And maybe that was part of why he had elected himself as the carrier and deliverer. He needed to see it all through, for his own sake.

But he was going alone. And don't get him wrong, he couldn't have been more relieved and happy at the return of everybody, but he wanted to be alone for this. He wanted time for himself. To think, to get his bearings straight, to make some sense of everything that had happened in the span of the last few days. He needed time. And he'd been glad that Bucky and Sam had understood that without actually having to discuss it much, as they opted to wait and help alongside Bruce while he was gone.

So he'd put on the suit and gathered the hammer and case, telling them he'd be back, leaving with the sound of Bruce's countdown in his ears.

•••

It's all going along smoothly, Steve hopping from time to time, places to places, like the Bunny on Easter, leaving eggs and goodies, except he instead has colorful stones that have the power and ability to shatter the universe.

He's quick and efficient, going straight for the goal each time without running into any major hiccups. He meets the Ancient One, gets to see that damned scepter again, gets to meet Thor's mother, and then is graced with the honor to watch a god-awful dance routine by an idiot.

He doesn't return any of them in any semblance of sequenced order, but he knows it doesn't matter anyways. He realizes it's tedious to go ahead and move back in time and then have to move forward once again, but that's also something he chooses deliberately for his own reasons.

And when he sees her again, he makes his presence known, prepared this time.

"Oh my god," she says, her lips parted and her entire body frozen.

"Hi, Peggy," he says, feeling a rush of emotion as he looks at her. She's older, but she's still classy and elegant as ever, as she's always been. "I'm sorry I'm late."

She moves ever so carefully forward, gaze scrutinizing him like she had done with all those soldiers back then. "Steve? Is it really you?" she says in disbelief and awe, hand slowly reaching up to touch his chest.

He nods and takes her hand in his. "Yeah, it's me."

She releases a big sigh and looks up to study his face even more closely. "You look tired, Steve," and she smiles with a hint of sadness.

"I...well, I am tired," he confesses with a soft smile.

"I'm glad you're here, finally, but I have to ask..how?"

Steve exhales and looks down for a second. "It's a long story, and I wish I could really tell you, but…"

She shakes her head gently, curls bouncing and grazing the top of her shoulders. "Not everything needs explaining. It's been a long time."

"I know, Peggy, and I'm so sorry. I made you a promise, and I want to see it through, even if it's long overdue." He extends out his other hand for her.

And she takes it with a beautiful smile that he hasn't seen in years.

•••

He saves this for last.

That he had planned, and maybe it's because having the stone on him feels like he has a part of her still with him, or maybe it's because he hasn't wanted to deal with going to the place where she'd sacrificed herself and died.

And so by the time he's making the hike up the craggly steps, he feels drained. He's felt tired before, when he had gone on in-depth missions that lasted for weeks, or like after battles when your body feels limp after all the adrenaline it's pumped...but now he just feels bone-weary.

You look tired, Steve.

And he is. He's so tired anymore, tired of all the loss, tired of having to always have something in his life change without any control, to lose another someone he cared about. He feels like everything's just taken its toll, and he wonders what he's going to do with his life now. It seems odd to ask himself such a thing, but it's been nagging him at the back of his brain ever since he left the seventies. He's begun to realize that his shift of focus had been somewhere completely different during the past five years, maybe even before that, when he had been on the run. There was always something to do, some sort of tragedy, some sort of conflict to contend with. Some kind of battle to fight.

His thoughts continue on as he makes his way to the top, no longer carrying six stones, but one.

He takes a second to look around him, and it's depressing. It's dark and desolate, the air cold and bitter, and there's a wind that whips across his cheeks with a stinging harshness that almost feels good.

He tenses as he sees the morphing figure of black descend from out of nowhere, and his hands clench at his sides. For a brief second, he wishes he has his shield with him.

"Welcome, Steven, son of Joseph."

It's weird, because when he sees the face of his old, long lost enemy, he just feels more resignation. As if it's more stuff for cataloguing and digesting, and he just takes it like all the other things that have been thrown at him.

"What a pleasant face to have as a greeting," he says dryly.

The crimson version of Darth Sidious (Natasha would be proud—along with agree) stays afloat where he's at, face unmoving. "It's been awhile, Captain."

"I'm not complaining."

"You're here to return the stone." It's not a question.

He simply nods.

The cloaked man floats over to the edge of the cliff, and Steve moves to follow behind him. "People don't come back to return it. You're a peculiar man."

He ignores him. "Just take it," and this time, he sounds tired.

But he doesn't move to take it, just stares out into the empty space, unemotional. "That's not for me. You must return it where it came from."

"And where the hell is that?" Steve snaps, impatient for this all to be over.

"Where the original sacrifice was attained," he replies plainly, the ends of his cloak swirling as he turns away.

And Steve knows. He moves closer to the edge, and a part of him dreads looking down. He doesn't know what he's expecting, if he really wants to see. See the ground, how high up he is, and know that's where she died. That she had been where he's at and then she had been down there in an instant.

He takes a deep breath, his feet moving even further, and he looks down.

But there's nothing, and all he sees is emptiness.

He feels himself take a gasp of the thin air, and he needs something to hold himself up. This was worse. He hadn't gotten to prepare himself with the possibility of her not being here, only trying to prepare himself for seeing her one last time.

One last goodbye.

"There—there's nothing there! She isn't there! She fell, she died down there, she couldn't have just disappeared!"

"Her physical presence is no longer here," the levitating figure answers back, drastically calmer.

Steve shakes his head quickly, denial wrapping around him like a comfort blanket. "That's not right. There has to be something."

"There's nothing there. Only her soul remains within the stone, Captain."

He retracts back, eyes snapping back toward that ugly disfigured face. "Then what will happen to it when I return this?"

"I know not what shall happen."

"What do you mean you don't know? You have to know!"

"As I said, people don't come back to return it. Not willingly. I know not what will happen to her soul once you return the stone."

He looks down at his closed fist, where the light shines out through his knuckles. He can't do this. She's no longer there, but her soul remains in here, in the stone. And it's all he has left. "Give me something at least. Worst case in scenario, where will her soul go if it leaves this?"

"It may depart to where all the other souls go, or it may not. I cannot give you a guaranteed answer," the Red Skull informs him. "You have to let it go."

Steve opens his hand, and stares at it. He wants to curse at the damn thing, wants to throw it against the jagged rock pillars behind him and hopes it shatters. But he doesn't want to let go either.

It's all he's got left of her.

He steps back up to the ledge once again, and this time looks out beyond into the distance, out into the dark swirling skies and clouds of purples, blacks, and grays.

See you in a minute.

He almost wants to shout liar out into the air, say she made an empty promise and she's gone and he's on this depressing planet with this stupid stone all alone.

He doesn't though. All he can do is just stand there, not even registering the silent tears that are rolling down his cold cheeks.

He's not sure how long he just stands there, doesn't even care or bother to look and see if Red Skull is even there anymore; but once he's ready, he straightens. He breathes in a shaky breath, and glances down again, taking one last look at the glowing gem in his hand.

I'm sorry.

And he lets go.

•••

There's a big flash of light and he thinks he sees Peggy.

It's time for you to go home, Steve.

I know.

She's wearing a dazzling smile as she fades away.

•••

He's in water.

He remembers hearing a big whoosh, and then the blinding white light, Peggy, and then nothing. But now he's lying in some sort of pond and the stone's officially gone, so he thinks it all worked. He grunts slightly as he hefts himself up completely, feeling heavy and soaked.

And before he can think of anything else, he hears a gasp from somewhere behind him.

And he turns his head so fast, it's nearly a wonder he doesn't get whiplash.

But it's not as fast as his feet move.

"Natasha? Oh my god, Nat!"

He's scooping her up, pulling her up without even thinking, yanking her to him into a huge hug in one breath. Holding her so tight to him, that he realizes she still needs to breathe.

"Steve?" she mumbles into his neck.

He draws her back to look at her. She's still wearing her mission suit, and her hair is still in that braid that he thinks makes her look so young, and she looks exactly like she had when he last saw her, but that feels so long ago. "Tell me this is real. Please, tell me you're real," his voice sounds desperate to his own ears, but he doesn't even care as he looks into her eyes, pleadingly.

There's an emotion in her gaze he can't name as she smiles, just barely smiles, and nods her head. "I'm real."

And he sighs shakily as he cups her cheeks, so slowly and tenderly, as if he's still afraid that she'll disappear right before him. "You're here," he breathes. "You're alive. Clint came back and you weren't there, you were gone, you were dead, and I didn't get to say goodbye, I didn't even get to—fuck. Fuck, Nat." He rambles on and stops himself, eyes close to brimming over and voice unsteady.

She brings her own hand up and touches his cheek, shaking her head softly. "It's okay, it's okay. I'm here, Steve. I'm alive. I'm right here." And with her other hand, she grabs his and brings it down to the pulse point in her neck, rubbing soothing circles over his knuckles.

He leans down and presses his forehead to hers, relaxing as he feels steady thrumming of her heart, feels her beneath his own fingers. "We won," he whispers.

She lets out a small choked laugh, feeling her own eyes sting and her vision blur around the edges. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he says. "We can go home."

He feels her nod, and he reluctantly pulls away, hating the emptiness it leaves. But he grips her hand in his, refusing to lose complete physical contact with her.

And as they're about to make the jump, she's grinning at him, echoing of a time before, but this time, they're going together. He can't help but smile an ear-splitting grin back at her, giving her hand a light squeeze.

And for the first time in so many years, he feels lighter. He feels like he can finally move without it being like he's attached to a lead-filled balloon, he feels relief to his very core, he feels happy. He feels content.

He's home.