The old man's face carried a gentle smile — the kind that only came from years of wisdom and acceptance.
His eyes were calm, filled with the serenity of someone who had seen through life's storms.
He approached slowly and chuckled.
"Why so downcast, young man? What's troubling you?"
His voice was aged but warm, tinged with sympathy.
Was this really the same spirited Steve Rogers, the man once known as Captain America?
But Steve wasn't in the mood to deal with this overly familiar old stranger.
He just wanted peace — a moment of quiet where his mind could stop screaming.
Was that too much to ask? Why did even solitude insist on being interrupted?
Without even looking up, Steve muttered coldly, "Old man, you'd better leave. I just want to be alone right now. Don't bother me — I'm not exactly in a good mood."
Yet his rough tone didn't faze the old man at all.
"Ah," the elder sighed softly, "you've really changed. The old you was humble, gentle, and a true gentleman."
The words made Steve's head snap up. His eyes locked onto the old man, a sudden spark of hope flickering in the confusion.
"You… you know my past, don't you? Who am I? Tell me who I am!"
Steve grabbed the man's arm, his eyes filled with desperate pleading.
"No rush," the old man said with a faint smile, patting his shoulder kindly. "There's still time for everything."
Before them lay a still lake, its surface glimmering faintly under the pale winter sun.
The air was cold, the grass withered, the trees bare — a portrait of time's quiet cruelty.
To the old man, the scene reflected himself: a life nearing dusk.
Yet he knew the seasons would change again. The withered branches would bloom once more.
Flowers can bloom again… but youth never returns.
Humans were fragile, yet powerful — able to inspire, yet fated to fade.
Still, seeing the strong and changed Steve before him filled the elder with both sorrow and relief.
To meet another version of him before the end — perhaps this was God's final kindness.
"You were once the greatest hero in the world," the old man finally said, his voice trembling with memory.
"You saved America. You were the very symbol of its faith."
Steve listened silently. Those fragments still echoed in his foggy mind — Red Skull, Hydra, war — but he wanted something deeper. Something different.
"I already know that part," he said softly. "I want to know what I don't remember. Please… tell me that."
The old man smiled knowingly.
"Patience, young man. You should learn not to rush."
"The man you are now is strong — powerful beyond measure. But the man you once were was small. So frail that any grown man could knock you down."
Steve blinked, looking down at his muscular frame. "I was… that weak?"
The old man chuckled. "You don't believe me?"
Steve shook his head. "No… I just don't understand how I became like this."
"Ah, that's fate," the elder said, his tone wistful. "Unpredictable fate."
He began to speak slowly, as if recalling another lifetime.
"Over sixty years ago, you were a scrawny kid from Brooklyn — thin, sickly, suffering from asthma. At that time, war had broken out.
The country called for men to enlist, but you failed every physical. You even forged your name again and again, but were always rejected."
Steve's eyes widened in shock.
Sixty years…?
No wonder everything felt unfamiliar. The city, the people, even the air.
"Peggy…" he whispered. "After sixty years… is she even still alive?"
He trembled, tears filling his eyes. His voice cracked.
"I'm sorry… Peggy. I'm so sorry."
For a man like Steve, tears were rare — but heartbreak had no pride.
He sank to his knees, pounding the frozen earth with his fists, his voice breaking in despair.
"How could I have disappeared for sixty years?"
"Frozen," the old man replied simply.
Steve looked up in disbelief. "Why? Was it Red Skull?"
"Yes," the old man nodded. "You went down with him. But you didn't die."
"Then how did I… become like this? So strong?"
The old man smiled faintly. "I'll get to that."
"You couldn't enlist, but your heart never gave up. One night, after a movie, you were beaten up for scolding a fool who insulted the soldiers. You were knocked down again and again — yet you refused to stay down."
"You picked up a trash can lid and shouted to the world…"
"I can do this all day."
The old man laughed softly, his eyes moist with memory. "Ah, what a foolish, stubborn kid you were. But I miss that spirit."
Steve froze — then clenched his fists tight. That line… that defiance… that was him.
He exhaled shakily. For the first time since awakening, something in his heart settled.
The old man nodded gently. "Yes… that's the Steve Rogers I knew."
"Later, Bucky rescued you. You kept trying to enlist, kept failing — until one day, you met someone at the Stark Industries 'World's Fair of Tomorrow.' Your persistence moved him."
"Who?" Steve asked eagerly. "Who changed everything?"
"His name was Abraham Erskine," the old man said, a tear glinting in his eye.
"He was your benefactor — the man who defied everyone to make you the world's first Super Soldier."
For a brief moment, the old man's face softened, filled with nostalgia and pain. He blinked back the tears.
He hadn't protected him — not well enough.
And across that quiet lakeshore, time itself seemed to bend — as if two eras of Steve Rogers stood together under the same cold sky.
...
Author's Note:
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