AMERICA'S POV

My breath comes first. Then my sight. Then my fear. I don't know what just happened, but I'm currently lying in an uncomfortable heap on the ground, so I decide to fix that first and stand up, brushing the dust from my pants. I must have passed out. My hair falls into my face almost instantly, blocking my vision, and I tuck it behind my ear. 

I glance down at my hands, momentarily jolted by the metal one before remembering that it's been like that for two years now. I catch a stray curl: dark brown. Scars litter my arms, as well as a few new scrapes. It's me, all right. 

Am I dead? The thought is stupid, but I'm just so confused. That would explain the lack of people. To be honest, if I am really dead, I don't understand why I'm in a Heaven that looks exactly like Wakanda. 

"What's going on?" I whisper, glancing around the desolate forest. No one seems to be around, no one whatsoever. For a moment, I'm terrified that I'm gone, that Hydra has somehow gotten ahold of me again. I screw my eyes shut and back against a tree, fighting the growing panic in my chest. It's okay. You're America. America Rogers. 

My eyes fly open and I quickly pull my necklace out from under my suit, the one that Steve gave me for our three month anniversary. Today, it also holds my engagement and wedding ring, to keep them safe during the fight. It's okay. You're America. America Rogers. 

I use repetition like a lifeline, gripping onto it and the necklace with all that I am as I sort through my tangled thoughts. What happened? What happened? Then I remember one word that brings all of this mystery to a close. One name.

Thanos.

He snapped his fingers.

"Steve?" I yell, my voice hitching as I begin to jog down the hill in search of him. I move slowly, or at least average speed, my eyes scanning the fields. No familiar shield in sight, and neither is my husband. The panic returns as desperation creeps into my voice. "Steve? Steve!"

What if he's gone? What if something happened to him? What if he's hurt?

"America? America, where are you?"

I bolt into Sam's arms, desperate to find comfort in anyone. I don't know when I became a hug person, but I need proof that this is actually real. 

"Sam, what's going on? Where's Steve? What happened? Where's everyone else?"

"I don't know what's going on," he replies, glancing around uneasily. I run my hand down a tree, letting the simple motion keep me calm. "Don't run off, okay? We'll figure this out."

I nod. "I won't." From behind me, I hear a new voice.

"Hello? Pietro? Valeria?"

I spin around and shout her name. "Wanda!"

"Val!" My sister runs up to us, worry in her big brown eyes rimmed with red. Was she crying? I pull her into a tight hug. She's shaking. "Do you know where Pietro is? I can't find him anywhere!"

"I don't know where anyone is." I bite my lip. My fingers tap against my leg quickly, little blurs of movement. This particular nervous habit used to freak people out.

"Steve! America!" Bucky's raised voice startles me despite being far away.

"Hold on," I mutter before taking off down the hill and finding Bucky and Anna fretting over each other. They both embrace me the minute they see me, identical expressions of confusion on their faces. 

Anna and I both ask, "Where's Steve?" at the same time. "No."

I shake my head. "Do you two know what happened?"

"No," Bucky says, shaking his head. Why doesn't anyone know anything? I hate uncertainty. "But we've got people missing."

"I thought he snapped his fingers," Wanda says quietly. I didn't even realize that she followed me, and Sam stands behind her. "What if something happened and they disappeared instead of us?"

"That can't be it," Anna insists. "I just don't understand. They were all here before."

I think through everything I remember. He got all six stones. He snapped his fingers. I found Steve. I passed out. That's it. 

The wind picks up around us, roaring in my ears, rustling in the nearby trees. Bucky holds up his gun defensively, Wanda's hands burn with scarlet magic, and I pull a knife out of my boot.

A glowing orange circle forms in front of us, spitting rust-colored sparks around. It levitates down slowly to the grass. A man I don't recognize steps out, a tall man with a pale face and a red cloak. I'm sure I've never seen him before. He surveys us all for a minute before speaking. 

"I need your help," he says. Everyone collectively takes a step back, everyone except Wanda. Her powers swirl around us, warning the man not to mess with her or anyone else behind her.

"Who are you?" I somehow find my voice before everyone else. He holds out a hand, and I walk forward, putting a gentle hand on Wanda's shoulder and whispering, "it's okay" as I pass her. She lowers her hands but doesn't banish the magic. Even though she doesn't need to be, I'm grateful for her protectiveness. 

"I'm Doctor Stephen Strange." The name sounds familiar. It takes a moment, but then I remember where I've heard it: he was on a list of Hydra's threats. "Master of the Mystic Arts. Sorcerer Supreme." I don't know what that means, but it's probably important.

"Where is everyone?" Sam asks.

"Back in New York at the Avengers facility. They're fighting Thanos right now and they need our help. There's no time to waste. It's been five years."

Five years? 

"Hold up, it's been how long now?" Bucky asks, his blue eyes widening. I can't believe it, either. I missed five years of my life. We all did. It's 2023. Steve is out there somewhere, maybe all by himself. What if he's moved on? What if he's forgotten all about me?

"Five years," Strange answers shortly. I can tell he's impatient with the lot of us. "They need our help."

"Mr. Strange, sir!" A higher-pitched, nervous voice yells from inside of the orange portal. Out steps Spider-Man, bouncing uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "Sorry to interrupt, but, um, Mr. Wong wants to know why you're taking so long." 

Strange rolls his eyes when the kid isn't looking. Pinching his nose in frustration, he asks, "Are you guys coming or not?" 

I glance at the group, but the gesture is unnecessary. It's not even a question for any of us.

"We're coming."

The queen is back.