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Chapter 3: On the Road (Again)

"Finish each day and be done with it. You have done what you could. Some blunders and absurdities no doubt crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day. You shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense."

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Dawn shone through the curtains and a golden figure stirred on his hospital bed. A groan forced its way up his throat and he coughed at the itch it left behind. God, he hadn't felt this weak since the day he first got hit with the plague. What kind of madness had happened this time?

Memories flashed by and he remembered everything. It was an alternate universe and he got hit with something called kaiju blue. From the blood of a monster he helped kill. In an alternate universe. Great.

The dryness of his throat forced him to take action. He heaved his eyes open with more effort than it should have taken and looked around for a carafe of water. Instead he saw a room that reminded him greatly of the nursing home he last saw Peggy in, complete with bland flower paintings. The big difference was that in this room a camp bed held a snoring head of dark hair.

That Tony was here sent a jolt of happiness through Steve. Even with all the excuses in the world to leave, he had stayed. "Tony?" he called hoarsely.

The man jerked awake immediately. "Steve?" he asked, cautious hope in his voice as he sat up.

"Can you get me some water?" Steve requested. His cheeks burned at the need to ask for help with such a basic thing.

"Yeah, of course, anything you want," Tony rambled, springing to his feet to get it. There was a plastic jug on the C-table beside the bed, accompanied by a mug. The moment he splashed some water in the mug, he plopped a straw in it and hesitated before he pushed a button to lift the head of the bed.

It felt strange to sit up but not do it himself. The water that he sucked up gratefully through the straw was worth it. "How long have I been out?" Steve asked once he drained the cup.

"Two and a half days," Tony replied with suspiciously bright eyes, "They kept coming in here yesterday to remove your body. I knew you'd make it, though. You're Captain America. Nothing keeps you down for long." He gave a short bark of laughter that was quickly stifled.

The faith Tony had in him was gratifying. "I don't feel much like Captain America right now," Steve admitted, stretching his arms and legs as best he could. They were stiff and uncooperative.

"No one does when they're sick," Tony said with a wry grin, "Now it's time to shove this in the doctor's face. Don't fall asleep for another two days or seventy years or whatever." He got up from the bed with several cracks of his joints, but ignored that as he hobbled out of the room.

Left to his own devices, Steve smiled fondly at the open door. It was just like Tony to stay at someone's bedside for days and then run off the second they wake up. The smile widened when he heard a woman's shoes tapping on the linoleum floor after the soft patter of Tony's sneakers, and the man explaining that, "Yes, he is damn well awake. I swear to Frigga I'm not lying! See?"

The moment she saw him, the doctor's mouth dropped open. She simply stood in the doorway, eyes bulging behind her glasses, as she stared at Steve, who smiled sheepishly at her.

"Sorry, Tony's a force of nature," he apologized cheerfully. He didn't feel sorry, but it was polite to say so.

Before his sluggish mind knew it, the woman was running every test on him that could be done in a hospital bed with little equipment. The reflex tests, ears, nose, dilation of his eyes, throat (very very light blue, she reported faintly), blood pressure (normal, she said with shock), and heartbeat (well within normal range, she concluded before having to sit down a visitor's chair).

"So doc, what's the prognosis?" Tony asked cheerfully, the cat that caught the canary as he leaned on the end of the bed.

"You, sir, are a medical marvel and if you don't mind, I'd like to run some tests to see what exactly is causing this unprecedented recovery," the doctor said, still staring like she couldn't believe her eyes.

Steve licked his lips as he decided how to word what he was going to say. He had seen exactly what kind of chaos the super-soldier serum and trying to replicate it could cause. The Hulk was the least of it. How could he live with unleashing that kind of Pandora's Box on this universe, which had never needed it?

"I already know what caused it and the side effects are too ridiculous to even think about it," he told her honestly if not truthfully. The agony he went through during Project Rebirth, he wouldn't wish on anyone.

Though she looked unhappy, the doctor nodded and stood up. Pink was beginning to flush her face, but her eyes were still large behind her glasses as she brushed off her slacks. "Alright then Captain Rogers, I'll update your chart and have something brought in for you to eat. Take it slow, don't try to rush. It'll only be soft foods, but if you continue to recover you'll be transferred to solids. I'll be back every hour to monitor your recovery," she told him, business-like, before she left.

The door was shut behind the doctor, and Steve and Tony were left alone. "Is it really that big of a deal?" the super-soldier asked, shifting to get comfortable again.

"Everything I read said that there was no chance. You start coughing up blue, you're dead," Tony said softly. The way he looked at the man in the bed was like a cherished dream had come true.

Not for the first time, Steve was intensely grateful to Dr Erskine and his serum. It let him be here with Tony. As always, he hid that sappy thought and instead gestured to the plastic pitcher of water. "Can I get some more of that?" he requested brightly.

"Anything you want," Tony said, hurrying to do so, "Anything you want as long as you don't fucking sleep." He offered the cup again, half full and straw included.

"Language," Steve chided him, reaching out to hold the mug himself. When the worn hands stayed and helped his own shaky ones balance it, he swore his heart nearly beat out of his chest.


When Marshall Stacker Pentecost signed into work on December 17, 2019 he thought that he would see a death certificate on his desk. While he believed the strange man who claimed to be the deceased Tony Stark, he needed some kind of proof of his story.

What with Stark having insisted on a Viking funeral, the woman cremated, Barton's grave destroyed by a flood, and no found record of the last, it was the only way. He could prove if nothing else that the man named Captain Steven Rogers was a super-soldier, or that he wasn't. If that was true then the rest automatically became more likely. The thought alone was mind-boggling.

What would a super-soldier even do? What would one be capable of? The video of the aborted kaiju attack only provided glimpses of the possibilities.

However, Pentecost was a deeply practical man. There was no value to daydreaming of what a super-soldier could do if there wasn't one. Until the day it was proven that there was, he would act like he had never heard of the notion and assume that Rogers was ordinary and Stark(?) was insane.

So when he found a stack of a few different papers on his desk that morning, Pentecost was naturally intrigued. Before he left yesterday he had put Stark's hunch into the system. The look he got from the techs when he requested they look for a Steven G Rogers born July 4, 1918 in New York wondered if he was losing it.

Now he held in his hands a birth certificate, a death certificate and various census records. The birth certificate said that a boy named Steven Grant Rogers was born to Sarah Rogers and her deceased husband Joseph in Brooklyn, New York on July 4, 1918. The census records said that he lived with her for at least twelve years and she was a nurse. The death certificate said that he died at age fourteen of pneumonia. There were no pictures and no more detailed information, just the brief promise that this person once existed.

A last paper caught Pentecost's attention. It was out of place with the others, crisp and precise rather than old and poorly preserved. The header of the Franciscan Hospice in Beaverton stared up at him.

Intensely he read the letter through once. Frowning with disbelief, he did so again. A third time finally made it sink in. Releasing it to sit on top of every other piece of paperwork that proved the existence of one Steven Grant Rogers, Pentecost chuckled and shook his head.

No one had ever survived kaiju blue, not young or old or sick or healthy. There was no way to prevent it from progressing once it began poisoning the human body and no way to treat it once a person showed symptoms. Anyone who figured it out would probably get a Nobel Prize.

It looked like he had some application forms to send out, he thought, vaguely impressed.

Captain Steven Rogers had survived the night and woken up at half after five this morning.


It took three days for Steve to be released from the hospice center, only happening through sheer force of personality. And, of course, the threat that he would leave against their advice if they insisted on keeping him here a single minute longer. From the looks that they gave each other before handing him the paperwork, they decided that the wrath of someone who didn't seem quite human wasn't worth it.

The paperwork had come through from Marshall Pentecost, just as he promised. Packets of forms and requirements and whatnot were piled up in Natasha's arms as she waited with Clint near the doors. It contained all they needed to hitch a ride from Seattle to Kodiak Island, where classes would begin on January third.

The Marshall must have influence everywhere, Steve thought, impressed. Whatever strings the man pulled, he had managed to get identity documents made out for the four of them. All they'd had to do was fill in the blanks and send them back to the Anchorage Shatterdome.

It was lucky that some of those were ration cards, and from the top tier too, Clint explained after an info gathering session. The red ones were for the important people, like Steve remembered A stamps being back in his war days. Theirs were all red.

Looking at the land transportation networks (almost totally destroyed with each kaiju attack) and water transportation (non-existent), it looked like air travel was the only way to go. Then they saw the price of getting anywhere and quickly decided that they were stuck walking. From Portland.

It visibly hurt Tony to be so broke they couldn't even catch a flight. Days later, in the middle of some forest, he was still pouting. He had perked up for a little bit when his skills were able to barter them camping supplies in return for repairing a car, but it was a brief thing.

"Hey, Tony," Steve called. It didn't bother him very much, the walking. The depression and anxiety that his friend displayed was what worried him.

The genius looked up from poking the fire with a stick. "Hm?"

"Do you think we're doing the right thing?" Steve asked in a low voice. Nat and Clint were asleep across the campfire and he didn't want to wake them before it was their turn to keep watch.

"I don't think we really have a choice, Cap," Tony said with a grim smile as he shifted the logs.

Steve hummed thoughtfully. From what he had been told, that sounded accurate. The two choices they had were to go to prison or go to jaeger academy. He didn't want to have to escape from prison. "I have to ask… What has you so worried?" he questioned in a casual voice that betrayed nothing of how badly he wanted to know.

It looked like Tony was going to try to fake him out. Then he remembered that Steve could see exactly when he was lying and deflated, staring sightlessly at the twirling flames. "What use am I?" he asked, almost too quietly to be heard.

"Huh?" Steve wondered if he heard correctly. Tony couldn't have said what he thought.

"You heard me Spangles," Tony snapped quietly, looking away from the fire in order to glare at the blonde beside him.

"I heard you, I just don't understand. Why would you think that you're not of any use?" Steve asked, honestly confused. Was there something he was missing? He wouldn't be surprised; much of the 2010's he still wasn't quite up to date on and now here he was ten years after that in an alternate universe. Everything had gone topsy-turvy. In one day.

The smile on Tony's face was bitter as he turned back to the fire. "I may be a genius, but I require tools and parts to make anything. To get those, I have to have money, which I don't have, and I have no way of getting cash if I don't have the tools," he explained, voice going deeper and more vicious as he spoke, "It's a big fucking cycle that I'm not sure I can get out of without help from that goddamned Marshall, and I fucking hate asking for hand-outs from the government."

It bemused Steve just how much Tony thought he needed to stand alone. "That's when you depend on us," he said with a small smile. He stilled his friend's hand from jabbing at the firewood again.

Tony turned his head, dark eyes broodily demanding.

"Ever since the team formed you've been taking care of us. You house us, feed us, buy us clothes," Steve told the other man, "And before you say it, I know you don't get us designer stuff because anything else would make you look stingy. You do it because you like spoiling us. Do I need to remind you of that advanced copy of Sherlock season four you got because Bruce wouldn't say he wanted it?" He raised an eyebrow.

Mumbling to himself, Tony ducked his head and shrugged. "What, you're my team," he mumbled.

"Exactly. We're your team. You've done everything for us. Now let us do something for you," Steve urged him, slowly leaning in to make his point, "When I was the useless one, you never let me face the world alone. You were always there to answer questions or just sit with me. Now let me help you get on your feet." The smile that tugged at the corner of his lips was sappy and he knew it. In the flickering shadows, for all intents and purposes alone with the object of his affections, he didn't care.

"It's like you said, I'm the one who takes care of you," Tony said quietly, "What'll happen now that I can't?"

It hit Steve like Thor's hammer. Praying he was wrong, he asked, "Do you really think we'd use you like that?"

The silence around Tony said enough. He did. It hurt more than Steve cared to admit that he would think so little of the Avengers, so little of him.

"You're an important member of our team," Steve said, wondering if this was penetrating Tony's thick skull at all, "Who was it that took that nuke through the portal when the Chitauri came? Who saved me from getting flattened by half a building last week?" He paused, smiling sneakily. "Who takes all the heat when something goes wrong and Fury starts yelling at us?"

"Who else would do it?" Tony responded, somewhere between shy and apathetic.

"You're able to do things that no one else can. You see flaws in my plans and provide other options, even if you do disobey in the process," Steve said, and hoped that he wasn't getting too mushy. "Why would you think that?" He wanted to understand why thoughts like that even crossed Tony's mind. What had happened to him to make him think such terrible things not only about his teammates but about himself?

There was silence for a long time, but that was okay. As long as it got him thinking, Steve was more than willing to wait however long it took to get the answers he needed.

Just when he thought that it wouldn't be tonight, Tony responded. "Everybody wants something from me," he said with a wry twist of his lips, "Women want to brag that they got into my pants, men rub elbows and try to get into my pockets, the feds constantly try to get me to make more weapons… Even my dad just wanted someone to take over his company so that he could retire to look for you full-time. No one but Pepper and Rhodey ever liked me for myself. Not even I do. So why would anyone else?" He spoke with an indifferent tone, but the words that tumbled out of his mouth betrayed him. Every horrible thought he had about himself, every bit of loathing, was plain as day.

It made Steve hurt. This time he couldn't resist and turned his friend's face to look at him. "I will say this one time, and that's it: you're the best thing that's ever happened to this messed up world, and you're one of the best things that's ever happened to me. I like you for yourself. And you should too," Steve said, looking straight into those deep brown eyes he was crazy for, "You drive me up the wall and make me angry and do everything with too much flare and too much flippancy. But you're a man of your word. You don't like innocent people getting hurt, and you'll do anything for the people important to you. You're so smart it makes my head spin and in your own way you care too much about everyone around you, so much that it hurts every time you even think about saying goodbye. But you don't have to, not until your heart stops or ours do. We're not going anywhere because you're Tony. Do you understand me?" He willed the man to, not sure what else he could say before his feelings spilled out more than they already have.

The wonder in Tony's eyes was child-like, almost awe. "Working on believing," he joked, "I get what you're trying to say though, Cap. Thanks." He smiled, and the whole world suddenly felt brighter.

Steve leaned a little closer, their noses almost touching. It would only take another inch, a few more seconds. And Tony wasn't pulling away. No, he stayed right where he was, eyes soft and wide as they watched him intently.

Just another inch…

A noise came from the other side of the campfire and they both jumped back on instinct. When he looked, Steve gave the archer's sleeping body a dirty look. Of course, Clint had to snore right then. He probably wouldn't get up the courage to do that again for another few days if not weeks.

"Well, I think that's a signal to get him up," Tony said with a high-pitched, nervous laugh.

As Tony kicked Clint awake, much to the archer's mumbled displeasure, Steve sighed and got his own bedding ready. It was another two days of walking to Seattle and he already knew the road would be even longer with this unspoken thing out in the open. Well, kind of.

Confusion and disappointment roiling in his gut, he sank down to sleep. At his back, he heard more than felt Tony wiggle into his own sleeping bag. Then their backs bumped together and they stayed like that.

"Night Cap," Tony muttered.

"Good night, Tony," Steve replied. A dopey grin took over his face as he curled into the sleeping bag and pressed his back more firmly to the man behind him. He could live with this.

Several minutes later when they were both asleep, Natasha gave Clint a look. "Did you really have to ruin their moment?" she asked in a whisper.

"What, they were getting ridiculous," Clint complained with an eye roll in the direction of the sleeping men. For how close they were, they may as well have just shared a sleeping bag.

"They were close to getting together," Natasha hissed, displeased.

For a moment, Clint was quiet. "Oh," he replied eloquently.

"Yes, 'oh,' Clint," Natasha said with a dirty look, "If they go back to trying to pretend they don't like each other, or if, gods forbid, it gets any worse, I am holding you personally responsible. Got it?" She knew she looked mutinous and intended to use that to full effect.

Hands in the air, Clint scooted away on the log. "Okay, okay," he agreed hastily.

For a moment they were quiet, watching their teammates somehow intertwine even more through the fabric of their sleeping bags. It was frankly adorable. The goofy grins on both their faces as they pressed together in their sleep made Natasha gag a little bit.

"You know, I never thought Stark felt that way," Clint said more seriously. He was watching the fire now, contemplating what he had blatantly eavesdropped on.

Natasha's lips went tight. Apparently they hadn't done a very good job in appreciating Tony, if he still felt that they might have been using him. "I knew something was wrong, but I just thought that he was paranoid," she murmured.

"How do we fix this?" Clint asked immediately for ideas. That was him, always wanting to solve a problem as quickly as possible.

"For starters, let's not ruin his moments with Steve anymore," Natasha suggested dryly.

Though he grimaced, Clint nodded.

It wasn't much, but it was a start.