The sea of people seemed to part for him, though no one really saw his face. He was used to that, somewhat. Somehow, despite all the fame and fortune, all the press, he still blended into a crowd. It helped that no one here actually knew him, and likewise, he knew none of them. He thought, once or twice, that he saw someone younger with Peggy's eyes in the sea of solemn black, but they passed over him without recognition.
He stepped up to the casket. It sat there closed, which distressed him. It didn't match what he had been told about how it ended, and things not matching his expectations seemed to be a harbinger of doom. What could have happened to warrant a closed casket? What would it mean for him, for everyone, for the rest? He shook his head to keep the thoughts from taking over as he remembered where he was, as he remember who lay in that reddish-polished box. This was not the place for that.
"Are you family?" asked a mourner behind him, casting a shadow on the casket.
"Not exactly," he answered. "I learned a thing or two from his grandpa, but that's ancient history."
They stood in silence for a moment, as another figure walked up, putting the casket in shadow. Steve fought a shudder, and the woman said, "I heard his grandpa was a hero."
"Runs in the family, I guess." Steve gave a little nod and stepped away. He'd seen enough ghosts.