Chapter 1

Steve Rogers was dead.

I knew that with every fiber of my being, but admitting to it? That only seemed to widen the yawning chasm of grief in my chest, only seemed to make it harder to breathe, to pretend anything else mattered in the slightest.

That single fact chased me through every day and haunted my sleep at night – when I got any sleep, that is.

Steve was dead.

I still couldn't get the image of it out of my mind. I'd watched helplessly as my best friend was beaten to the ground by the Mad Titan Thanos and then saved by the timely intervention of Tony Stark.

But then Thanos had put Iron Man out of the fight and Steve had picked himself up for one last round. That was something I admired about Steve. He always got back up, even when he was losing.

Thanos had fired the Infinity Gauntlet. Steve deflected the energy beam back at Thanos off his shield and the Infinity Stones exploded. I was knocked senseless by the blast.

When I woke up, Steve was lying there, dead.

That was exactly three weeks ago.

Now here he was, sitting down opposite me in a small street corner café in NYC and smiling gently.

I stared at him, too stunned for words, hardly daring to believe what I was seeing. "Steve," I managed finally. "But … you're dead."

He nodded, and the faint spark of hope that had ignited in my chest died.

"Your Steve is dead," he said softly.

"What do you mean?" My voice was rough, choked with an emotion I couldn't hope to name right now.

Steve smiled again, a smile that I knew so well it made my heart ache to see it. "Ever heard of Earth 616?" he asked.

"No." Everything about this conversation felt surreal, like something taking place in a dream. Maybe it was.

Steve sighed, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair. He watched me for a moment, as intently as I was watching him, then said, "I should probably start at the beginning."

"Okay."

And he did, explaining that he wasn't from this Earth. He was from Earth in a different version of reality, known as Earth 616, and he was on a mission to return the Infinity Stones to their proper times and locations after the Avengers time-traveled and borrowed them to defeat Thanos in their reality. He'd almost finished the task, but had taken what he called a "wrong turn" in a place called the Quantum Realm and ended up here instead of on Asgard.

While trying to get his bearings, Steve had realized he was supposed to be dead in this reality. Sheer luck had taken him past the coffee shop I was in as he headed to Avengers Tower in search of answers.

I would have called the story ridiculous if anyone other than Steve had told it to me. The whole thing was so far-fetched, so unbelievable. I was still struggling to make sense of it.

Add to that seeing Steve alive and well – regardless of where he was from – and I was thoroughly at a loss for words.

"Let's go for a walk," Steve suggested.

I was quick to agree.

We left the shop together and set off along the sidewalk. It was fully dark and I only noticed that Steve was casually carrying Thor's hammer when the lights of a passing taxi glinted off it.

The fact that Steve was worthy of the weapon didn't surprise me in the least, and though I was curious, I didn't ask about it. From the sound of it, things had gone very differently in his world's fight with Thanos, and I was hesitant to know too much about it. I didn't think knowing who lived or died, or who was on what side, would help. The grief of one reality was more than enough to bear.

We reached Central Park and wandered through it in silence until, without planning to, we stopped in front of the newly constructed Heroes Monument. The life-size stone figure of Captain America stood tall on the marble plinth, shield in hand and flanked by the sculptures of the other Avengers and Guardians who had died in the battle against Thanos.

I'd heard the monument had been built, but had never come to look at it. The idea had seemed too painful, and there were almost always people around here during the daytime anyway.

I watched Steve as he stared up at the statues. His expression bore the marks of grief as he looked at me. "You've lost a lot."

"Yeah." I swallowed hard.

Steve sighed, and I could see a war raging in his eyes. "Bucky," he began, "do you remember Howard Stark?"

I blinked, confused by the question. "Yeah, of course," I answered, frowning. "Why?"

Steve paused again, biting his lip. "Do you remember … a mission involving him when HYDRA had you?"

I froze, the implications of what he was asking hitting me like a brick. "Oh, no, no. In your timeline, did I…?"

Steve nodded, but there was also relief in his expression. "So not in this reality?" he asked.

I shook my head. "I remember everything and that never happened," I said firmly, sickened by the thought that somewhere in another time and place I had killed one of the best men I'd ever known.

Steve let out a slow breath. "That's good," he said quietly, and I could only guess what thoughts were going through his mind. "And HYDRA, did they ever make any more Winter Soldiers?"

I swallowed dryly, trying not to imagine the kind of horrible things that seemed to have taken place on Earth 616. "No, I'm the only one," I assured him.

"Was," he corrected with a frown.

I shrugged. "It's still all in my head." Steve was the only person I could ever imagine admitting that too.

Steve sighed again, and this time I could clearly distinguish the frustration mixed with everything else in his gaze. "I want to help," he said quietly. "I want to fix everything for you, but…"

"You don't want to mess with reality?" I finished. A slight smile tugged at my lips. "It might be a bit late for that, pal."

He chuckled dryly. "Probably. Have any of the team had any contact with Wakanda?"

"That little African country near Uganda?" I asked. "I don't think so."

Steve grimaced. "Blast. I wish I knew–"

"Hey." I put my hand on his shoulder, stopping him. "It's not your job to fix everything in everyone else's realities, Steve. You've saved yours. Maybe mine turns out better, maybe it doesn't, but I don't want you to spend the rest of your life worrying about it. Okay?"

Steve bit his lip, but after a moment he nodded. "Alright, partner. But do me one thing: Find my diary and read the entry dated July 30th."

"I, uh, found it already," I admitted. The week after Steve's death, I'd gone to his DC apartment and sorted through his belongings. It hadn't been an easy job. I'd taken the diary back with me to NYC, but I'd never been able to bring myself to actually read it. "How do you know what's in that entry?" I asked.

"I can't be completely sure you'll find anything, and I can't say much more than it's a habit of mine I'm hoping might extend to this reality," Steve replied cryptically. "Will you do it?"

I nodded. "Can't refuse the last wish of a dead man," I said, and I was only half joking. It actually wasn't that funny.

"Thank you." Steve stepped closer and put a hand on my shoulder. The storm in his eyes had calmed. "You know, I was glad to find you in a coffee shop," he said after a moment, smiling slightly.

"Why?"

"You can't get drunk on lattes." He gave my shoulder a squeeze.

I simply smiled, not trusting my voice. "What are you gonna do next?" I asked after a moment.

He sighed. "I have a mission to finish." he raised Mjolnir slightly, reminding me he had to return it. "Then I'm going to find Peggy."

I smiled, though it tore me that he had to leave. "All the best with that, pal," I said, and I meant it. "If anyone deserves to be happy, it's you."

Steve smiled. "That's what the other you said." Then he stepped forward and we hugged.

This was goodbye of a completely new type. Not a deathbed farewell or a simple see-you-later. We were about to go our separate ways forever, not ever knowing what would become of the other.

Tears trickled from my closed eyes as I rested my chin against Steve's shoulder. I wasn't ready to lose him again. I would never be ready to say goodbye.

Steve's eyes were damp too when we parted. He smiled sadly and took a breath, then looked up at the statue of himself once more, frowning slightly. "There's something not quite right about that," he said. "I think it's–"

"The nose," we finished together, and I almost laughed. Almost.

Steve grinned. "Yeah. Well, I'm sure they did their best." Then he became serious again. "Take care of yourself, Buck."

I managed a smile. "You too. Say hi to Peggy for me."

"Will do." He set Mjolnir down and tapped a button on the watch-like device on his glove. Instantly his body was encased in a red-and-white armored suit. He retrieved the hammer and met my gaze, shutting the visor of his helmet with the tap of another button. I could see his eyes, still locked on mine, through the closed visor.

Then Steve pressed one last button and was gone, vanishing into the Quantum Realm.

I don't know how long I stayed by the statue after that, but when I finally returned to Avengers Tower the sun was just starting to make an appearance, its light slipping through the gaps between buildings.

I went to my room and pulled Steve's diary out of the small box of his belongings that I had brought back from DC. It was a black, leather-bound journal, its pages covered in a familiar tidy handwriting. The cover was slightly worn from handling.

I sat down on the edge of my bed and without looking at what had come before, I flipped to the last filled page in the diary and began to read.