I live in a world where instead of staring at peggy creepily and rummaging thru her office, steve rogers went back in time to brooklyn in the 1920s and watched a single mother picking her bloody, bruised boy off the ground. the perspective changed from steve watching them, to steve being the boy. his mother holds him gently, but with an iron grip. she tells him, you always stand up. you always stand up.

when steve is on the ground in the final battle, body broken and failing, his breath wheezing and his teeth stained red, he hears his mother’s voice in his ear. he remembers who he is. he’s not the guy who sits in basements mourning, he is not the guy who lets his grief or sorrow or pain demobilize him. no matter how much the world throws at him, he cannot let it keep him down. he is the man who stands up when no one else can. when no one else wants to. when he thinks even his own poor legs can’t hold him.

he stands up, looks thanos in the eyes, and says, finally believing it, “I can do this all day”