A/N: Hello everyone! I've been reading and writing fanfiction for a long time but this is the first time I've felt confident enough to post. This story and its characters have been with me since I saw Avengers: Age of Ultron way back in 2015. Oh how times have changed since then, but I've managed to plod away at this story ever since. Thank you to anyone who reads. Reviews and follows are always welcome, and as always, enjoy :)

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Marvel Comics Universe. I do not claim ownership of the characters of the world I am borrowing. The only character I own is my OC. The story and situation is a work of my imagination and is not ascribed to be official story canon. The work is intended for entertainment outside the official Marvel Cinematic and Comic Universes.

Prologue

Brooklyn, New York City

September 13th, 1945

Peaceful bird song sounds in the trees above, breaking the gloomy silence that taints Green-Wood cemetery. The discolored leaves flap slightly in the autumn breeze and cast long shadows across the grounds as day slowly transitions into night, the days getting shorter as each day passes and New York is thrust toward another harsh winter.

In the cemetery, the sounds of the bustling world outside are non-existent. It's steadfast and tranquil, an area of suspended time undisrupted by reality and a place of stored memories that simultaneously serves as a cruel reminder of the consequences of conflict and life. An odd place of both celebration and mourning for those taken too soon. Flowers have been left before each grave, some half-heartedly thrown on the grass and others strategically placed in decorated ceramic vases. Upturned mounds of dark soil litter the grounds, hiding the unfortunate casualties of war.

At a loss for how to behave and how to feel, women dally before the graves of their fallen sweethearts, a bouquet in one hand and their fella's dog tags in the other. Their once pristine appearances are stained by dark mascara tear trails and unkempt curls, an absence of care that settled in as soon as they received that fateful telegram.

One young woman kneels at the top of a grave, staring blankly at the grey headstone before her. It's rather plain – an engraved grey stone, rounded on the top, sitting in a bed of grass and flowers. The woman is lost in her memories, a thousand-yard stare hardening her once soft facial features. She holds on tightly to a bouquet of roses she purchased from the corner store, turning her knuckles white.

Reaching out a shaking hand, the girl trails her fingers over the two engraved names.

"Sergeant James B Barnes, March 1917 – February 1945. Captain Steven G Rogers, July 1918 – February 1945. Devoted friends 'til the end of the line," it reads, and her voice trembles as she whispers it aloud.

She sits silently for what feels like hours. Her head begins to spin, just as it does sometimes, a tangled thread of thoughts. It's when her vision seems to blur black around the edges and her stare turns distant, as if she is seeing past what lies in front of her, that the panic starts. The images of a flashback fill her mind before she can stop them – blood all over the beautiful grass and a barrage of gunfire overhead, mud and water everywhere in the tight confined space that's closing in on her, restricting her from following the group of men before her. A flash of two familiar men falling and disappearing into a stark white nothing–

With a strangled cry, the bouquet in her hands crinkles under her crushing grip, the petals bending misshapenly and the stems snapping. It hits her suddenly as she sits before the grave, like a sack of bricks, that the two most important figures in her life have left her behind within a matter of weeks of each other. Her brother is lost somewhere in the harsh ravines of Europe, whilst the great Captain America has crashed HYDRA's plane somewhere in the Arctic Ocean. She allows herself to cry, burying her face in her hands, holding tightly to the poor bouquet. Her cheeks soak with salty tears, her shoulders racking with sobs that had been held in for weeks prior.

A wail across the cemetery mingles with her own sobs and jolts her from her trance. On instinct, she searches for a threat, but her eyes only fall on the wailing blonde woman five gravesites down from her who is uselessly dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief.

She turns away quickly, not wanting to stare at the grieving blonde, and sighs deeply, her whole body sagging as if she is trying to sink into the ground. She wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," she whispers to Steve and Bucky. Stray tears roll down her cheeks and she roughly wipes at them, trying to stay composed. "It happens sometimes, especially now that I'm home. I'm sure you both know."

Absentmindedly, she attempts to straighten the ruined bouquet. She gently snaps the stems straight again and flattens out the bent petals, returning the bouquet to some sense of its former beauty. She lays them down in front of the headstone before she can damage them anymore, her hands shaking. She breathes in and out – slowly, steadying – and wipes another bead of a tear from her cheek.

"And…" She pauses, taking a second to gulp and just breathe. "I-I'm sorry I couldn't save you. But I hope you are okay, wherever you are. I hope you're together. Look after each other."

Behind her, she hears the clicking of heels as the wailing woman escapes the cemetery, her sobs growing fainter the further away she gets. When she finally gathers the energy, she thinks she might follow by example, and stands on shaky legs. Hardly caring what she looks like, but knowing it would resemble someone dragged through the bushes, she decides she doesn't want to give anyone a fright. She runs a hand quickly over her limp, brown hair, and straightens her skirt.

"I miss you both so much, and I love you even more," her voice wavers. She places a kiss to her fingertips before pressing them against the cool headstone, between the two soldier's names.

Then, she forces herself to turn away.

"Far beyond this world of chances,

Far beyond this world of care:

We shall find our missing loved ones,

In our father's mansion fair."