Epilogue

Steve sat at his dinette table, only the small overhead light casting long shadows against the blackness of the night. Outside, Brooklyn breathed its steady rhythm of life no matter the hour or day. That gave him hope and was the only buoy he could cling to keep him from sinking into the murky dark horror that was before him.

Bucky's notebooks sat spread across the table.

"I think he left these for you." Sam said holding out the backpack before they left the tiny shack in the German woods. Bucky had been gone for almost an hour and it was clear he was not coming back.

Rogers took them, silently, and though they didn't amount to much, they were as heavy as the world.

There was the one with Steve's face on it. Several pages had been removed and a name on the inside of the cover scratched out as well. But what remained made Steve smile because he was there in those memories. The stories of their childhood were still with both of them.

He wasn't ready for the notebook with the menacing Hydra head drawn neatly. Steve knew Bucky did the art and was objectively impressed with his ability, being he was a proficient artist himself. The cover stayed closed.

"You might not want to pull on that thread." Widows voice warned.

Too late, he thought, looking out the window into the lamp light speckled dark. He saw his reflection in the glass. Too late.