Prompt response: What if Steve Rogers woke up to a post World War Three world? Dark, everybody has some sort of issue. Nothing from the Marvel Universe is mine. Few comic characters show up, but mostly movie-verse.

Steve thought he was hallucinating. Hunger, that was it, hunger and fatigue and having walked for who knew how many days and who knew how many miles ending up who knew where. All that added up to a very realistic hallucination of a wooden barricade, the smell of smoke and cooking food, and the shouts of human voices. Looking up, he decided that it was a very good hallucination, indeed, since there were also people there, including a very grim looking man holding a bow with the arrow pointing straight at his head and a woman standing next to him holding a knife.

"Name." The woman called down. "Origin, destination."

Steve opened his mouth, but nothing came out – it wasn't that he'd forgotten how to talk, really, but what was the point, if there was nobody to hear him? Watching as the man's jaw tightened and the bowstring was drawn back just that much further, he finally managed, "I don't understand?"

The man leaned over, eyes not leaving Steve, and held a brief whispered conversation with the woman. Standing up straight, she elaborated. "Your name, where you're from, and where you're going."

That Steve understood. "Steve Rogers, Captain in the US Army. I'm from Brooklyn, New York. And I've no idea where I'm going, I'm just trying to find out what's going on." He jumped, then, as a rope slammed into the wall in front of him.

"Climb." The woman called down. "Try anything, and he's got enough arrows here to make it so that you're nothing but a pincushion by the time you hit the ground."

"Like to see you try, folks," Steve muttered, grabbing the rope and climbing up. Hands reached out, grabbing at his clothes and helping him over the top. He could feel those same hands pat him down at the same time, and he let them, until the hands started pulling at his shield. "Leave that one alone, please." Very realistic hallucination, Steve decided. He wondered if he was actually lying on the ground someplace, about to die.

"So, Steve Rogers, Captain in the US Army, whatever the hell that is, from Brooklyn, wherever the hell that is, why do you think you can give us orders?" The arrowhead was uncomfortably close to Steve's eye. "After all, he's the one with the arrow, and I'm the one with the knife."

The woman had a logical argument, Steve would admit. "Because the last thing I remember is it being 1943, and I'm crashing a plane into the Arctic, then I woke up to find myself in a forest, my shield is the only thing I've got."

"You got strange idea of what is and in't yours." The arrow slackened, slightly, as the man finally spoke. "Mockingbird?"

"Remember that kids' story of Cap 'Merica? He's got the shield, the suit, and he knows the date. Might actually be true."

"Huh." The man didn't take his eyes off Steve. "Leggo. Slow."

Steve followed the woman – Mockingbird, he remembered, and what an odd name that was – with the man following, arrow still pointing straight at him. "Can I ask something?"

"Just did, but can." Steve was trying to place the man's accent, but couldn't figure anything out.

"Where am I, when is it, what is going on, and who are you?" Steve couldn't hold back his questions. "Last thing I remember, it's 1943, I'm crashing a plane into a very frozen ocean."

"'M Hawkeye." The man said. "She Mockingbird. We are walking to Hatten, no idea about a date, you wanna talk to the Boss or Agent for that. But sound like you been sleepin for a while, if you don't 'member. Now shut up."

Steve kept his eyes moving around; things were looking slightly familiar, and he wondered why. They passed through a tunnel, then things started to become even more odd. For a forest, Steve thought, everything was surprisingly...linear, and he thought he got hints of buildings through the trees.

"Stop." Hawkeye ordered. "Mockingbird."

The woman let out a loud yell, almost a yodel, and Hawkeye relaxed. "You know, Hawkeye, just because you can see the all clear..."

"Next time, you walk with bow." Hawkeye's voice was affectionate. "We got cover, he is play'n fair, and I ain't had to draw bow that long in ages." His voice firmed up. "'Kay then, we still walking. Not that we don't trust you...but we don't trust you."

"Huh." Steve muttered. "This is becoming too strange to be a hallucination. Ow!" He jumped as an arrow poked him in the back.

"Mornin', sunshine. This ain't a 'lucination, welcome to the real world." Hawkeye moved up to walk next to Steve. "Hatten." He waved his hand around in demonstration. "After the bombs, after all 'lectric wen' way. Gran Centr'l, all in."

Steve had to force his legs to keep moving. "Grand Central Station? Manhattan?" Hawkeye's accent had slurred everything together. "Bombs?"

"Talk to Agent. Or scientists, they nuts enough to want to 'member." Hawkeye shrugged. "Me, don't care, as long as I got Mockingbird, something to eat, 'n someplace safe to sleep."

"Time was, you would've." Mockingbird gently slapped Hawkeye's shoulder. "Of course, time was, you actually used your brain. Although don't worry, babe, I don't recognize what he's saying, either. It's not you."

"Time was," Hawkeye bit out, "I didn't have a hole in it. Time was, I coul' talk and folk's'd know."

"I understand you." Steve felt obliged to say. "It's just...I've not been around people since I woke up until now." He kept scanning the room, and stopped when he saw somebody that looked familiar. "Howard?" He ignored Hawkeye and Mockingbird as he started to head over to the man. "Howard!"

The man flinched, not turning around. "For the last time, my name is Tony, bird brains, when will you finally learn that? Dad's dead. He's not coming back. I'm sorry that his little experiment meant that you've got issues, Clint, but stop blaming me for them. I've got enough problems of my own."

"Weren't us, Tony." Hawkeye drawled. "Myst'ry Man here, says his name's Steve from Bookyn. Mockingbird thinks he could be Cap 'Merca."

"Ah." Tony slowly turned around. "So, mystery man who looks astonishingly like things my dearly not lamented father left behind, what's your name?"

"Captain Steve Rogers, US Army. I'm from Brooklyn." Steve was starting to feel frustrated. "And can somebody tell me what's going on here?"

"Go talk to somebody else, I'm busy here." Tony waved them away irritably. "I may have figured out a battery, but need to talk with Bruce about it and he's off downtown, waiting for the right time to try and get to Ellis Island without letting the Shore folks know."

"Just don't blow the place up, Tony." Mockingbird wrapped her arm around Hawkeye's. "And since you've already heard Clint's real name, mystery man, I'm Bobbi. Nice to meetcha."

"Ma'am," Steve nodded. "Clint, goes by Hawkeye. Bobbi, goes by Mockingbird. Tony...Stark?"

"Don' let him hear that." Clint nodded. "Man got anger problems."

"You don't help, babe." Bobbi lightly scolded. "Especially when you start shooting arrows at his stuff."

Steve had to hold back a laugh at Clint's wordless whine, as the two escorted him deeper into the terminal. A nod from Bobbi had a pair of what were obviously security guards opening a door.

"Hawkeye and Mockingbird, where's the Widow?" A voice came from a chair.

"Lurking someplace, as usual." Bobbi said. "Found someone you might be interested in, sir. He says he's from 1943 Brooklyn, Captain Steve Rogers."

"US Army?" A man moved closer, taking a close look at Steve. "Ah. Well then. Welcome to the year 2020, Captain. It's an honor. I'm Agent Coulson. Call me Coulson."

"Agent." Clint snorted, drawing a small giggle from Bobbi. "All 'bout name."

"Easier for some people to say, obviously." Coulson had obviously used that line before, Steve thought, based on how quickly he responded. "Although if some people would just listen, and follow the instructions of the scientists, maybe some people wouldn't have issues with words that have more than two syllables."

"Mock-ing-bird." Clint clearly said, leaning forward. "No prob."

"And yet, you can't say Coul-son." Coulson shot back. "Besides, it's not good if you can't say your own wife's name, right? Try saying fundamental."

Bobbi coughed, lightly. "You two can have this out another time. Coulson, new guy?"

"Please?" Steve was confused and lost. "It's 2020? That's nearly 80 years that I've missed?"

"Yes, well," Coulson glanced at Clint and Bobbi. "Bobbi, can you go get Tony, please? Clint, you just sit there and be quiet. Steve, you sit down, too. Tony has information that he hasn't shared with the rest of us, maybe he'll share it with you." As Bobbi left the room, Coulson moved around, lighting candles. "So, 1943. World War Two ended in 1945, when the US dropped two atomic bombs on Japan, and that started an arms race the likes of which the world had never seen before. Everybody wanted their own nuclear bomb, everybody wanted to be the ones with the biggest bomb. Have you seen the moon yet? No matter, you will eventually. But everybody also wanted to be the ones in control."

"And so they kept on making bigger and bigger bombs, because obviously the threat of nuclear warfare worked out so well as a preventative." Tony slammed the door shut behind him. "Only problem was, all the spies kept on stealing secrets, so the minute that one country had the biggest bomb, all the others had the same thing. Coulson, I told these people that I was busy."

"You can't get any further until Bruce gets back, Tony, and you've been working for nearly a day straight now. We ran out of coffee two weeks ago, so you can't do your usual until the scavenging team gets back."

"Fascinating. I'll get right on finding a substitute...oh wait, thanks to Fury, I can't." Tony's voice was flat. "Shove it, featherbrains. If I want to be mad at Fury, I can be mad at Fury." Steve realized that Clint was growling, and Bobbi was tense. "So why did you want me in on storytime?"

"Because maybe you can tell me what happened?" Steve threw out, wanting to lessen the tension in the room. "And Coulson said that you knew things that he didn't."

"Ah yes. Ask the pacifist to describe a war." Tony started to slowly pace, the candlelight flickering across his face. "What is war. War is ugly. You know that, you were in the last war that could even be considered even remotely polite, when compared to what followed. World War Three. A nuclear holocaust the likes of which nobody could have imagined. The entire Midwest, turned to glass. From the Mississippi river to the Rocky Mountains, nobody can even think about entering that part of the world for at least another century. Last we heard from Europe, everybody was dead or dying. Except for England, which has become incredibly feudal, think back to the stories of kings and knights and serfs. King John isn't the nicest of monarchs, but he's better than his mother was; rumor had it she bombed all of Ireland one day because she was bored. No clue about the rest of the world; it's just too far away. With me?" At Steve's nod, he continued. "So, who had the biggest bomb, who 'won' the war. Obviously, nobody really won it; the entire world lost. But thanks to my father and a collection of men who shall remain nameless, the US had developed a metal that made everything that much bigger."

"So, wait." Steve interrupted. "We did all this," he waved his hand around, "to ourselves?"

"Give the man a prize." Tony snapped.

"Tony." Coulson interrupted. "Everything happened so quickly, and so long ago, that not a lot of people these days remember a time when you could flip a switch and get light. Hop in the car for a Sunday drive. Go to the store for a can of beans. That sort of thing. Most of this happened in the 70s."

Steve saw Clint nudging Bobbi out of the corner of his eye when the silence started to drag on. "And the rest happened about a decade later," she threw out.

"Yes, once the Midwest was bombed, a truce was called. No official end of hostilities, mind you," Coulson shook his head, "just an agreement that there wouldn't be any more nuclear weapons."

"Unfortunately." Tony's shoulders were tight. "My father. Again. Just because he couldn't play with radiation, didn't mean he couldn't play with other things. And he did." He whirled, hearing a snort. "Shut up, Clint."

"Don't. Blame. You." Clint leaned forward, clearly enunciating his words. "Blame your dad. Like you. Trust you."

"And I'll fix it, one of these days." Tony ran his hand through his hair. "Where was I. Yeah. EMP."

"EMP?" Steve didn't understand the term.

"Electromagnetic pulse. It wiped out everything, sent us back to before Ben Franklin had the great idea of sending a kite up in a thunderstorm with a key attached." Tony shook his head. "That, combined with the loss of most of the world's population, meant that we've been a little...stuck. For about thirty years now." He waved at Clint and Bobbi. "These two, for example. Sure, they've got some memories, but nothing at the same level as Coulson and I. The most the bird brains can remember is electric lights, heating, refrigeration. More on a level of what you're probably familiar with, but they can't remember what it all means. How good are your memories from when you were ten?"

"Howard kept working, though, saying that he knew how to fix everything." Coulson took up the thread of the conversation. "Unfortunately, there were a few...accidents along the way. One of which ended up taking his life."

"My father," Tony announced bitterly, "was nuts. He didn't let anybody or anything get in his way on his quest for perfection, for the next great miracle. He's the reason we're like this today. Anybody surprised? No? Good. He swore, until he zapped himself one too many times, that SHIELD had it, it being the key to at least getting a little bit of juice back, if not being able to light up the whole world. Well, SHIELD's bases have been explored, at least the ones that Fury will let us into, and the Helicarrier happens to be a few hundred feet below sea level, so searching that is right out."

"Been in all." Clint spoke up. "Nothing. Widow looked. Nothing. I think."

"Yes, well," Tony finally sat down with a low hiss, rubbing at his leg. "I'll figure it out. I know I'm close, I just haven't finished reading all his damn journals yet. And on that note, happy campers, which one of you wants to help me out? Bird brains and half-blind hermits excluded, so Captain Relic, that means you." He reached down, and Steve watched as he rolled up his pants leg. "It may look real, but it gets a little sore after too long. Catch." Steve awkwardly caught what turned out to be a fake leg. "And now, my living crutch, onwards and downwards, I'll even spot you the subway fare this time."

"Why is it," Steve was half-carrying Tony down a flight of stairs, "that you all seem to truly believe that I'm not just making everything up?"

"Simple." Tony held up his hand, panting slightly, and Steve responded to the unspoken request to stop. "Coulson. Clint and Bobbi follow him around like two puppies and what he believes, they believe, and he's of the firm opinion that you are Captain America, the legend of old. Bit of hero worship there, maybe, don't know. My father had pictures in his things of you and nobody would ever dream of wearing that get up these days, especially since the good ol' US of A is no longer around, let alone willingly say that they were from 1943. You were his one success, incidentally, he'd say that all the damn time." Tony's breathing evened out, and he nodded. "Okay. Bruce will question it, but he questions everything, and the Widow...nobody can predict her. She just thinks what she wants to think, does what she wants to do. She's probably insane, but in the manner that you give her an objective, she'll get it done, even if she comes limping in three weeks later. Just don't point her at anybody friendly, and if you need to redirect her...attentions, tell her to go find Jim; he's the poor guy that pissed off Coulson. Let's go, these stairs don't get any shorter."

"What about that other person you were talking about. Fury?" Steve started moving again. "What's his deal?"

"Gotta love the naïve." Tony nodded. "Fury, you ask three different people about him, you'll get three different answers. Clint's devoted to the man, Bobbi and Coulson just as much. I can't stand him, because I'm of the firm opinion that he had a very, very large role in bringing the world to this state. After all, he encouraged my father. Bruce is pretty neutral; he owes Fury a bit, but knows that owing a debt isn't the same as being owned. Widow...she's nuts, who knows. But you'll have to meet him and form your own opinion. Just should warn you, don't be swayed by a few pretty words. Turn left here."

Steve helped Tony drop into a bed, making sure that a candle and Tony's leg were both within reach. "Thanks for the information, Tony. I know that I've got a lot to think over."

"Do." Tony was rubbing his leg. "One other thing, because the knuckleheads upstairs won't think to tell you. Don't go out after dark. And as much as I love to say otherwise, those three are probably the safest people for you to be around for now. I'm not counting myself in because you can't use a one-legged guy in a fight too well. Clint and Bobbi are damned good fighters, and Coulson can hold his own, even though he barely leaves that room these days and can't see more than three feet in front of his own face. Let them all tell you their stories, but it always seems to come back to the same person."

"Your father?" Steve headed for the stairs.

"My father." Tony nodded. Watching as Steve left the room, he sighed. "Welcome to the new world, Captain America. Too bad you didn't stay asleep."