I was supposed to publish this chapter tomorrow, but it looks like you're getting it early. I need to reach you readers too much to wait for any tomorrow. This is important.

In response to the big reveal that Marvel comics put out yesterday, I want to assure those of you looking at this chapter that I'm not buying it. I refuse to acknowledge HYDRA Cap as canon. I refuse to write the real Steve Rogers as anything other than the little guy from Brooklyn who would stand up to a bully no matter where they're from or how many of them there are, and would get up to fight again no many how many times they knock him down. I would write a life model decoy, a skrull, a brainwashed Cap that way, but never the real thing. I promise.

Please don't let Marvel get away with this. Boycott the films, don't buy the merch, and throw a royal bitch fit on every single form of social media you have access to. Stand beside that river of truth and tell the writer of this horrific thing, "No, you move." Because Cap deserves better, because Chris Evans deserves better, because we all deserve better than this.

I dedicate this chapter to Jack Kirby and Joe Simon, the original creators of Captain America. They made a golem figure, a protector of the Jewish people, in response to Nazism. We will take this character back and return him to what you meant him to be, I promise.

Disclaimer: I own nothing under copyright. Needless to say, Cap would not have been made into a fucking Nazi if I did.


Chapter 3: Off to the Races

"They say a person needs just three things to be truly happy in this world: someone to love, something to do, and something to hope for."

Tom Bodett

When Pepper left, Tony allowed himself to slump over onto his workbench. Dying was an exhausting process and he really wished he could just skip to the end of it already. Kind of.

As he looked over at the armors he had been working on for the past several days, he allowed himself a grim smile. Rhodey's was complete, just unarmed. The arc reactor on Steve's should be finished that night. He just had to hang on a little longer.

The thought was rattled from his head by the lab door opening. Was Pepper back already?

"Tony, we need to talk." Fuck. It was Steve again.

"What's there left to talk about, Spangles?" Tony asked with a sharp smile as he stretched and then flitted back to the armor he was altering. Before he could pick up his tools, a large hand wrapped around his wrist. Immediately his heart started beating out a samba and he prayed Steve couldn't feel it under his icy fingertips.

From the look on the blonde's face, he either didn't notice or was ignoring it. It was the same look as when he first woke up and thought Tony was lying. "You're being ridiculous," Steve answered bluntly.

"In case you haven't noticed, that's just me," Tony said, giving a pretty little smile that as a kid had always made him look just a little girly. As an adult it had become a good way to make people laugh and drop whatever topic he didn't want to talk about.

For a split second he could have sworn that the corner of Steve's lips twitched. Then he was back to being serious, face set in that hard Captain America expression that made Tony's heart beat a little faster and his pants get a little tight with the intensity. "More than usual," Steve amended. "You gave Pepper your company, Tony. If that's not reason to worry, I don't know what is."

Admittedly, the Cap made a good point. It would be so easy to admit what was going on. Two little words could explain everything, dissolve most of the tension that hung heavy between them and they could make the most of the last few months of Tony's life. Might even be able to save it; not even he had been able to get any vibranium to test, and maybe Steve would let him take a couple of microscopic samples.

But then he'd have to see those pretty blue eyes sad for however much time he had left. He'd have to put up with being treated like glass and Steve pretending that really, I'm fine Tony, you worry too much about me as he tried to get him to see doctors that wouldn't be able to do a damn thing. He'd have to watch the hope leave and he couldn't stand that.

"I just don't want to deal with the damn paperwork anymore," Tony grumbled. Even if he wasn't dying he might have handed over the company just for that reason.

Steve's smile was grim and there was an unusual shine to his eyes before he blinked. "When we were in DC, I put in a request to have my old things delivered here. On a hunch, I requested Howard's too," he said, the change of topic unexpected, "I thought you might like to have them. He had some interesting ideas."

"As much of a dick he was, he was a genius," Tony acknowledged bitterly. If anyone had other possibilities, it would be his dear old dad.

"If there's anything I can do to help- anything at all- let me know." There was a faint twitch of Steve's lips and a sad look in his eyes when he left the lab, Tony silent with shock behind him.

Alone now, the inventor looked from the doors to the suit and back again. "What's the expected arrival date on Howard's effects?" Tony questioned. He went back to his tools, planning to finish this and then go upstairs and hopefully find his favorite super soldier.

"Between eight and ten tomorrow morning," JARVIS answered.

Okay, Steve would be awake for that. The man seemed to sleep as little as Tony did.

For the first time in days, Tony had a sliver of hope. Even if he couldn't find anything in his own research, maybe there was something in Howard's notes.


The day after their confrontation found Steve poring over his old belongings. There was a copy of his costume and one of his dress uniform, several sketchbooks, letters, and boxes for medals that he never really opened. It all looked just like the last time he saw it, when he sealed the foot locker closed with the intention to not come back for it.

Aside of the crates that belonged to Howard Stark, there were also two more army foot lockers: Tony's and Bucky's. The thought of his best friend was still too painful, so Steve put that one under the bed until he could find the strength to open it. With trembling fingers, he went through the other.

There were very few belongings in it. Most had been given away in his will, Steve remembered, a book and his tools to Bucky, and his portfolio and the arc reactor to Howard.

Wait. Howard. Arc reactor.

The thought was enough to make his eyes go wide, and Steve sprinted down to the workshop where he had put the crates for Tony to go through later. Hastily he rummaged through the storage containers one by one. If the arc reactor that he had smashed was still in there, they'd have a lead.

It wasn't until he was on the fourth crate that he found what he was looking for. In a foam lined box, a piece of metal smaller than his fist glinted, smashed beyond almost all recognition but too good to be true right now. Reverently, Steve lifted the box out and onto the table.

That done, Steve took a deep breath and let out a shaky laugh. If he hadn't already been a little mad, his life now would do it quickly.

As Tony wasn't up yet, he went back upstairs to go through the rest of his inheritance. No matter how strange the concept was, as the very man he had received it from was snoring in his own bedroom.

Calmer now, Steve catalogued everything in Tony's locker. There was an extra set of clothing and one of boots, a dress uniform (that he remembered being very well fitted), and several boxes that must have contained medals. A battered leather journal was tucked in beside the briefcase that folded out into the Iron Man armor; when Steve flipped through it, he found page upon page of chicken scratch writing with grease or blood sometimes staining the paper. His own name jumped out at him a huge amount, but he saw Bucky's even more often. For the moment, the journal was put aside.

With shaking hands Steve removed the Iron Man armor from the foot locker and ran his fingers over the cold metal. It was dusty and old, but hopefully would work if needed.

Memories poured through Steve as he handled the technology that had been so far ahead of his time. The first time he saw Tony in that alley. The fight with the Winter Soldier. The promise to go flying when Tony could find a way to recharge the suit.

When he realized that Tony had managed to keep that promise even before he made it, Steve let out a watery laugh. How was this his life?

An idea struck him. "JARVIS?" he asked the all-knowing AI.

"Yes, Captain Rogers?"

"How would I charge and make any repairs necessary to an Iron Man suit without Tony knowing?" Steve asked, praying there was a way. There must have been a reason it was left to him instead of being destroyed.

The instructions were surprisingly simple: take it down to the lab, unpack it on the landing pad, and enter a certain sequence of numbers, then a password, on the screen that pops up. As he worked (and hoped Tony didn't come in just yet) Steve actually felt hopeful that he could do something with this.

"I must ask, Captain, how is it that you have an Iron Man suit with my own coding inside of it that sir has not yet made?" JARVIS asked once the machinery accepted the suit.

"Time travel," Steve answered, walking back to the crates to unpack further, "You can't tell anyone about this, JARVIS." He couldn't even begin to imagine the nightmare if the world at large found out.

It wasn't even thirty seconds later that a sleepy Tony stumbled into the room. "Steve? I thought you'd be making breakfast," he commented with a jaw cracking yawn.

"It's past lunch," Steve answered with a look at his watch.

Tony shrugged and allowed his eyes to wander through the lab, lighting up when he saw all the new toys and papers. "Unpacking for me? How sweet," he said evenly as he dove into a box.

Between the two, everything was on various tables and benches within the hour. "There are also three models of the Stark Expo of '74 over there." Steve pointed at the huge boards leaned carefully against a wall.

Most of the day besides dinner (Steve was insistent) and sleep (even more so) was spent buried in notes and papers. There wasn't much Steve could do except provide some context for the stranger and more baffling inventions, so he organized it all in piles of 'inspected' and 'not inspected'.

It took Tony nearly a month to find the broken arc reactor, which had gotten buried under a mound of paperwork somehow. "What's this?" he asked, holding it up.

Seeing it back in Tony's hands made Steve's heart speed up. It was right where it belonged. "I don't know for sure," he lied, "but it looks familiar." He wanted to say exactly what it was, but he bit his tongue and waited for the other man to figure it out. Saying too much would be disastrous.

Tony mumbled to himself as he poked at the inner workings, before he went still. "Is this… No, it can't be," he said, shock making his face go blank.

"What?" Steve asked, even though he knew.

"It looks like an arc reactor. One that somebody smashed up good," Tony answered, examining it further.

"Think it might help?" Steve asked hopefully. If anyone could figure out how to recreate this miracle of technology, it would be Tony.

"Might…" Tony muttered and took it to his workbench to continue prodding at.

More at peace than he had been for weeks, Steve gave his man's back a soft smile before he left the lab for the day.

No, instead he finished looking through the old foot locker. The only thing he hadn't gotten to was a letter that had been hidden behind the Iron Man armor. It was labeled 'Tony' in Howard's messy script and unopened.

For several minutes, Steve debated over whether he should open it. That would be a huge breach of privacy since the intended recipient was actually alive, but Howard had known that Tony's possessions would all go to him.

In the end, curiosity won out. The letter read,

April 24, 1945

Tony,

You're one slick son of a bitch. I have to say that before I get on to business. It's too impressive to risk forgetting to tell you.

I'm not sure how long my memory will hold out. Everyone but Steve has forgotten you and the details are slipping from me faster than I thought possible. It's why I'm writing this now instead of waiting to see you again before I tell you.

When we met, I thought you were an asshole of the highest caliber. When I saw that you were just as brilliant as you were arrogant, I let it go. Geniuses like us rub people the wrong way more often than not.

Things still didn't add up. I don't believe in God, and I don't believe in psychic powers, but you knew too much. It wasn't until I looked in a mirror and saw you over my shoulder that I realized exactly what happened. Time travel, huh?

You must have known you were going to die. If I'd known, I would've strapped you to a chair safe in the lab until that mission was over. You'd grown on me, see? And no parent should have to bury their child.

I gave Steve the shovel talk, you know. Hurt him and you die, and all that jazz. I should've given it to Barnes too. I didn't realize he would have been the one to do it, or else I probably would have killed him myself.

Barnes went not long after you did. I think the guilt might've been too much. I can't say I'm not still angry at him. Partly because he took the easy way out, and partly because it made Steve a walking corpse.

He was destroyed when you died. He barely sleeps anymore, doesn't smile, just wanders the base like a ghost. I think when you died, in a way he died with you. I don't think he'll survive much longer. The only thing keeping him going is revenge. Once that's complete… I don't want to think about what he'll do.

But no matter what happened, I'm grateful that I got a chance to meet you and see the man you'll become. It isn't often a man gets to be one of his son's peers and really know what he's made of. Stark men are made of iron, I've always said, and you have more steel in you than any of us.

I can't wait to meet you the proper way, even if I won't remember what you'll become.

Your father,

Howard

By the time he finished the letter, Steve was trying to not cry. There were already numerous splotches where Howard's tears made the ink run.

Well, his old friend hadn't got it wrong. From everything that he'd seen, Starks really were made of iron. The name Iron Man was ironic in that sense.

Darkly, he mused that Howard was more spot-on than he knew in his assessments. While what led to Bucky's fall was all bad luck and there was nothing to be done, the fall itself was on purpose; their hands had connected yet his friend allowed it to happen. Less innocently, Steve had known exactly what he was doing when he crashed into the ice. Wherever Bucky and Tony went, he would follow.

For a brief moment, Steve wondered what he would have done if he was there to see the end of the war. He shook his head and folded the letter, then gently replaced it in the envelope. It was obvious.

He would have tried to reintegrate himself into civilian life, and when that failed he would have blown his brains out with his Colt.

But that was neither here nor there. Like it burned him, Steve dropped the letter back into Tony's foot locker and went for the journal. He delicately fingered the leather spine and crinkled pages.

Before he could convince himself out of it, Steve opened the book to the first page and read,

Mar 17, 43- Accidentally landed now when fighting WS. He escaped into Brooklyn. I'll find Steve and stick with him until I know more. Too dark and quiet on the street.

Each entry was similar, mentioning Steve or Bucky in nearly every one. Apparently he had to use his future knowledge to convince Dr Erskine to recruit him, managing to skip the medical exam. Then there was the entry from the day of Project Rebirth.

Jun 22, 43- Figured it out. WS is here to commit suicide. Plans to kill Bucky before train, maybe before Azzano. I will try to be attached to the 107th to keep that from happening. Hopefully arc reactor won't be discovered when captured. Don't want to leave Steve but have to until jailbreak.

That was the longest entry so far, and made Steve's chest hurt more than any of the others. It was a rollercoaster of emotion to read about what his beloved had thought and felt during those days, even in tiny entries a few words long.

Reading the words that the future version of Tony had inscribed was enough to move him into action.

It was time to make sure Tony survived long enough to write this.


Not much could surprise Natasha Romanoff and she took pride in that. She could read people like books, gauging their darkest secrets and convincing even more out of them (and their machines) until she had what she needed. Combatants very rarely took her by surprise, whether in dark New York alleys or blazing Irani deserts.

Tony Stark was no exception. While he was handling his impending death better than expected, he was still the arrogant, self-absorbed womanizer that had been described so often. Admittedly he was just as smart as they all said, perhaps even more so, with a poker face most spies would be proud of.

The rest of those Natasha had been briefed on were just as she was told. Pepper Potts was a formidable businesswoman, tough as nails at the negotiation table and the most capable CEO that Stark Industries ever had; she also had insomnia and anxiety attacks from the stress. Happy Hogan had just proved himself to be capable (for a normal bodyguard) and gutsy but not exactly a gentleman. Colonel James Rhodes, she hadn't met yet.

Of all the people in the world, it was Captain Steven Rogers who surprised her. Profile said that he was the sort of sickeningly good man that Natasha hadn't believed existed, patriotic and believing that humanity is, at its core, good. He probably saved cats from trees and walked old ladies across the street, too.

At first meeting, Stark dragged her over to meet him. "And this is Steve Rogers," he introduced with a bright smile, "Steve, this is Natalie Rushman, my new PA now that Pepper got promoted." He looked from one to the other approvingly as they shook hands.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr Rogers," Natasha said with a polite smile. It was difficult to not call him Captain.

"We'll probably be seeing a lot of each other," Rogers returned. The minute his hand touched hers, he went stiff and his face froze slightly. Before Stark was able to see it, he put on a mask of gentle geniality that didn't reach his suddenly cold blue eyes.

Stark went back to his boxing practice with a, "Play nice, kids," and an obnoxious smirk at the blonde.

Though Rogers rolled his eyes, it was decidedly fondly. The moment his friend was busy, he turned back to Natasha with one of the coldest expressions she had seen since she left the KGB. "Don't even try telling me you're not dangerous," he told her, accepting no bullshit, "Every cell in my body is screaming so and you're not doing the best job of hiding it."

Not giving anything, Natasha simply tilted her head to the side.

Smile unfriendly, Rogers leaned in to loom over her more effectively. He was using every weapon he had this side of a physical altercation to try to intimidate her. "If you hurt Tony, you'll be lucky if the fish find you," he stated, like he was talking about the existence of the sun.

"Hey Spangles, no canoodling with the PA!" Stark called from the ring, distinctly annoyed.

In a moment of true mood whiplash, Rogers looked over his shoulder with a wide grin. "Nice try, Tony! Nothing's happening!" he returned with a shake of his head.

"Well get over here, if nothing's happening!" Stark said with a pout.

With a last glare to Natasha, Rogers turned his back and walked away. He didn't even look back.

It was difficult to resist the urge to take advantage of that. Natasha had just been given one of the biggest insults possible, and she hated it. He was telling her that she wasn't a threat worth even a thought, not strong enough to take him in a potshot.

For a moment Natasha stood watching the two men. Now that they were both in the ring, Rogers warming up and Stark taking a drink of something green, they almost glowed. There was no more pouting, no more glaring, just big smiles and teasing comments. If she didn't know better she would think there was something going on.

On the way out with Potts, Natasha took advantage of her status as a newcomer to ask some questions. "I'm sorry, I have to ask, but who exactly is Mr Rogers?" she asked politely.

Potts smiled over at her. "I can see why you would be curious. Things looked pretty intense over there," she commented, before she answered, "As far as I'm concerned, he's one of the best things to happen to Mr Stark in a long time. Makes him eat and sleep on a regular basis and everything." She seemed rather impressed with that feat.

"I mean…" Natasha trailed off hesitantly, like she was embarrassed to ask. To reinforce the idea, she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear to hide her face for a moment.

"I know," Potts said with some sympathy, "I don't think we'll ever get a straight answer from those two. It wouldn't be anyone's business, but with our jobs…" She rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath about nude videos and Maxim cover girls.

This was an interesting development, Natasha had to admit. She mentally filed it under things to put in her report before she had to be Natalie Rushman again.

Later that day, Fury took her report via video call. At the end he prompted, "And Rogers?" He knew she would gather intelligence on Captain America as well as their primary point of interest. It was one of the things that made her so valuable.

"He is extremely protective of Stark," Natasha reported with a grimace, "and has a very good sense of who's dangerous." The encounter in the boxing gym was fresh in her mind.

"He figured you out?" Fury asked, grave and shocked and impressed at once.

"Not my identity, just that he thinks I need to have an eye kept on me around Stark," Natasha answered smoothly.

Fury sighed and said with heavy irony, "I am very glad to hear he's still human. The way he's talked about is like he's perfect, and I don't trust anyone without a dark side." He let a corner of his mouth tilt up in a parody of a smile.

Similarly, Natasha allowed herself to snort. "Oh, he has a dark side," she told her boss, "He told me that if I hurt Stark, the fish will be lucky to find me." It was one of the more poignant threats she had received recently.

"Captain Steven Rogers said that to you," Fury stated blankly.

"Yes, sir," Natasha confirmed. She couldn't believe it either, at first. This was Captain America and he had threatened to kill her and very thoroughly dispose of her body. It refused to process for a while.

"Keep an eye on both of them. Stark mainly, but whenever you can, Rogers too," Fury instructed after a moment of thought.

Upon agreeing, Natasha ended the call and lounged back in her chair. This mission had gotten more complicated than anyone thought. What started as surveillance on Stark for the Avengers Initiative ended up being surveillance on Stark and Rogers, for the Initiative and the world at large.

It was a very good thing she was the Black Widow.

Two days later, she was in a private jet headed for the Circuit de Monaco, already wishing that Rogers and Stark would stop giving each other those looks when the other wasn't looking. Or that they would do something about it. There were five bedrooms in the plane, they could use one of those and everyone would be extremely grateful for it.

When she looked to Potts, the other woman grimaced at her. Apparently this had been going on for some time.

Almost as much, she wished that Rogers would stop looking at her like one of the HYDRA idiots he had fought in the forties. It was one thing to actually be a spy wanting to do harm. It was another to be a benevolent spy, if that were possible, and get accused otherwise. Sometimes forcing a pleasant smile onto her face felt like she was breaking her lips.

It only got worse when they all got ready to make their grand entrance. The look that Stark had when Rogers stepped out of a room in a tuxedo was pure, panting lust. The other way around wasn't much different, just better hidden.

As she adjusted her dress, Natasha wondered if this was going to be her life for the next several weeks. She was probably going to snap and shove them into a broom closet together at some point.

The confrontation with Justin Hammer and Christine Everhart was not unexpected. What was, was realizing that Stark had gone missing, Potts was subtly twisting the knife in Everhart's back, and Rogers was in the restroom. Upon seeing her target in full driving suit on one of the televisions, Natasha couldn't help gaping along with her new employer.

Luckily, Rogers reappeared right then. All it took was a single look around for him to notice what was wrong. "Where's Tony?" he asked, dead serious.

In answer, Potts jabbed a finger angrily at the television.

The race had started and Stark was in sixth, Natasha noted. Not bad, considering his lack of training for this.

"Oh my God," Rogers groaned and slapped his own forehead with a large palm. Before anyone could convince him otherwise he was rushing out of the restaurant.

"Natalie, Natalie!" Potts called, obviously in a furious panic, "Did you know anything about this?"

With another disbelieving look at the screens, Natasha shook her head. "No, this is the first I've seen of it. How can I help?" she responded quickly.

"Where's Happy?" Potts asked, obviously making a plan.

"Right outside," Natasha answered. That was where she last saw him, anyway.

"Get Happy, I need Happy," Potts said, panic overtaking the anger in her voice.

"Right away," Natasha responded. She hurried away to do what she was told, but watched the screens every chance she got.

What she saw was a nightmare. The cameras had gone from the race to where a man dressed like one of the pit crew members waded out onto the track and- Fury was going to hate this, he had electric whips capable of slicing the front off a race car.

Finally Happy got there, took Potts, and Natasha was close enough to free for the time being. All she could do was call in and watch what was happening, but it was better than nothing.

The cameras couldn't decide what to focus on: the race, the guy with the whips, or the car that had broken through the barrier and was going the wrong way on the racetrack. Natasha already knew that car contained Happy and Potts. It only made her more interested in what she saw.

Unable to be warned in time, Stark couldn't stop fast enough. He skidded toward the man with the whips and got the front half of his car sliced off for his trouble.

That was when Rogers arrived on the scene. He vaulted over the fence dividing the spectators from the race and stood between Stark and the other man. "That's enough," he declared, loudly enough to be heard by the microphones, "Stop before innocent people get hurt." The way he stood was not overtly threatening, but he was ready for a fight if need be.

The stranger laughed and shook a whip at Rogers, and it descended into a game of chicken. For all that Rogers was enhanced, he was still human and he knew it. Without his famous shield, all he could do was dodge and throw debris and hopefully get close enough to land a solid hit.

One of the whips wrapped around his wrist, but instead of struggling to free himself Rogers used the whip to pull the stranger forward. From the pained cry he gave, the whip had burned straight through his sleeve and into him. That would surely need medical attention later.

"Who's that?" asked Everhart, ever the calculating journalist.

"Some friend of Mr Stark's," Natasha replied in an unsure tone, playing up her job as the oblivious assistant.

When Rogers got in a good punch to the face, the entire room cheered. It made the stranger's neck snap back and gave the captain an opportunity to rip the whip wrapped around his arm off the rig.

That was when Happy and Potts arrived on the scene, the latter tossing a red and gold briefcase out the window before they skidded away again. The cameras were unable to capture what happened next but Iron Man flew from the burning cinders of a wrecked racecar. "My turn, Cap," his metallic voice said.

Gratefully, Rogers saluted Iron Man and was forced to backflip away when the remaining whip nearly sliced him in half.

Once Iron Man entered the fight, it was essentially over. Down to one whip, the stranger did not stand a chance against the most advanced weapons system yet seen. He put up a good fight, making the man in the suit unable to use his repulsors, but Iron Man pulled a trick from Rogers's playbook and wound the whip around himself to get in close.

Something on the chest of the rig was crushed and the whole thing powered down. It was over.

The stranger was dragged away by armored police, laughing and cursing.

The man in the armor, probably Stark, held out a hand to Rogers. It looked like he was asking for a hand to be placed in his.

One was, and the blonde wound himself around Stark in a way that looked far more intimate than should be allowed. Even with an injured arm Rogers clung on closely, face buried in the fried neck of the armor. He had experience in flying with Iron Man, from how he knew exactly where to wrap his arms around and where to step on.

They took off into the sky, becoming a blur of black, red, and gold until they passed out of view of the cameras.

The whole room was chattering about what just happened, except for Hammer. There was a look in his eyes that Natasha really didn't like.

She took the opportunity to order herself a drink. When it was over she was going to maim Stark for making this mission so difficult, she decided.