There is a flash, before the gas canisters burst.

Steve doesn't see it.

His eyes are screwed shut, his mouth quirked into an untimely smile, his finger still pressed against the trigger of the gun in his steady hand. In between the seconds, when the crack of the gun has yet to sound and the bullet is but millimeters out of the barrel, there is a flash.

(Later, Steve learns that it was The Flash, and that things don't make sense anymore, or at least as much sense as fighting the literal god of war at a German military base; or maybe they do, and this is life now, and he's just got a hundred years worth of catching up to do.)

-o-

When Steve opens his eyes, he is sure he is dead. How could he not be when there's an angel standing beside him, staring him straight in the face? They are just how he imagined them to be (in the last moments of his life, at least): dark hair tumbling over sculpted shoulders, an honest smile accompanied by silent laughter, and best of all big brown eyes, full of unabashed hope and love and wonder and – well, the tears weren't products of his imagination, but dead men probably shouldn't complain about heaven not meeting their expectations.

The angel speaks (and the voice is one he thought he'd never hear again, repeating the last thing she said to him in a tone so different yet so similar to the shout on the tarmac).

"Steve."

"Hi," Steve answers quietly, staring up and the angel and wondering why the sky in heaven was so dark and cave-like. If anything, that was supposed to be the sky in the other place. And this was definitely not the other place.

"It's really you," says the angel, still breathily laughing as she swipes her fingers across his forehead and pushes his hair out of his face.

"Yeah," Steve says with small laugh of his own, unsure of the joke but delighted all the same, "it's really me."

With her help, he sits up in the bed, and it's then that he realizes he might not be dead after all, and that they are not alone.

There are others standing in the shadows; a man shrouded in black, another in red, another in blue– none smile the way Diana does and that would concern him but–

Diana.

"Diana," Steve says softly, blinking away the haze of his thoughts of heaven.

She nods at him to continue, reaching out to take his hand. He feels more breathless now than when he was flying the plane out of range.

"I'm alive?" He asks, already knowing the answer.

"You are." Diana smiles, all teeth, and repeats, "You are."

And with that, Steve sits up straighter and the questions pour out of his mouth without pause. "H-How? The plane? The– The gas? The War? Ares? You killed Ares? Where is everyone?"

"Slow down, Steve," Diana says, as she takes a seat beside him on the bed and tucks something into his trembling free hand. She closes his fingers over familiar smooth glass and weathered leather, and it feels like only a moment ago he was handing the watch over to her.

"The war is over. I defeated Ares. You're safe now, and I promise, I can answer every question you have later." Her eyes widen for a split second before she continues and says (mostly to herself), "We have time."

"Okay, okay," Steve says slowly, nodding steadily and moving closer to her. "Questions– Questions later then."

She kisses him, and it's just as perfect as their first. He has a sneaking suspicion that every one that follows will be perfect, too.