Heads up: This is a long one, kiddos. Hold onto your butts.


Steve pulled open the front passenger door and then reached out to catch Tony's elbow and keep him from tipping over. The worst of the illness had passed and he hadn't vomited in over twelve hours, but his balance was still unstable and he had a hard time focusing on things sometimes, so Bruce had reluctantly left the decision up to Tony as to whether he was feeling well enough to go to DC for the meeting with the Senate sub-committee.

Given given the fate of the team was on the line and it was Tony, there was no real question in any of their minds if he would stay home or go. None of them could really offer any good arguments for staying anyway.

That didn't mean that every single face that passed Steve to climb into the back seats of the large SUV was anything but grim. All of their teammates cast glances at Tony, ranging from narrow-eyed to furrow-browed, but they all kept their peace.

There hadn't even been a discussion over who got to ride in the shotgun seat, Tony's arguments that he should because he might puke anywhere else—and, also, he was the best navigator they had, don't even start with him on this one, Clint—a waste of breath. Tony hadn't actually seemed satisfied with the lack of resistance, but he was very obviously not up to making a big deal of it and had instead silently sulked for the rest of the elevator ride.

That Steve would drive had also been a silently unanimous decision, and Steve wasn't sure if he should be flattered or insulted, given that he knew how most of the team felt about his driving.

He pushed the thought aside with a sigh as he handed Tony the Iron Man suitcase armor—that Steve had argued over, but Tony was not to be dissuaded and Pepper had finally said it was a lost cause and Tony would be the one to deal with puke in the delicate works if he used it unnecessarily—and then shut the door.

Everyone was seated and safety-belted and ready to go by the time Steve circled the front of the vehicle and climbed in, but after settling his seat and mirrors and things he still asked, "Are we ready?"

"Not yet," Tony said, clutching the red and gold briefcase in his lap, head tilted back and eyes closed.

Steve eyed him warily, catching the concerned faces of the others in the rearview mirror, and said, "Tony, I…"

But there wasn't really anything to say. They couldn't not go, and Tony had to be there as much or more than any of them. And, given the senator in charge of the subcommittee hearings was none other than Senator Stern, there would be no understanding or rescheduling.

In fact, if their food supplies weren't so closely monitored by JARVIS, Steve would suspect that this illness had been deliberately inflicted on Tony to keep him home.

Tony took a deep breath and said, "If I turn on music how likely are we to end up dying in a fireball?"

Steve rolled his eyes and flipped on the stereo himself, but left it on whatever station was currently playing as he shifted into gear and pulled out of the parking space.

"And if I put it on something that came after the 1940's and isn't easy listening?"

Steve wanted to roll his eyes again and tell Tony that he could put it on whatever the hell channel he wanted, but he knew very well that Tony was antagonistic on a good day and this was not one of those. Besides, Steve didn't actually hate modern music. He might do his best not to challenge Tony's incorrect assumption just because he found it perversely amusing to make the man listen to Glenn Miller and Bessie Smith, but his iPod had artists from every decade of the twentieth century, thanks to Darcy's helpful suggestions.

So instead he just said, "Whatever you want is fine, Tony."

Tony fiddled with the buttons and skipped from station to station, listening to half a song before changing his mind. Finally, however, he found one that seemed to pass the test and stayed there.

By the time the had made it out of the city, Tony was dozing to the sounds of one of his classic rock bands, Bruce was explaining something called a "license plate game" to Thor in the middle seats, and Natasha and Clint were disagreeing quietly but fervently in the rearmost seats about a mission to South Africa from sometime before Steve had been found in the ice.

Steve checked the GPS on the dashboard screen and verified they were on the right freeway and what their next exit was—though it was some ways down the road—and then settled in to enjoy the drive.


It was shortly after they stopped for gas near Cherry Hill, New Jersey, that he noticed the car behind them that was content to keep pace with them instead of passing like every other vehicle on the road. Steve wasn't trying to be annoying to the other drivers, but he also didn't see any reason to break or even bend the posted speed limit, and that was why there were other lanes for passing anyway.

But the small black sedan had merged into their lane about six miles back and stayed there.

That wasn't illegal, of course, but he noticed it all the same, something about the vehicle setting off his gut. He squinted, trying to make out the license plate number, and then scanned the car for anything else distinguishable about it.

It was a pretty normal car, the kind of commuter vehicle that half a dozen people on the road in view right now were also driving. It changed lanes to the left with an abbreviated signal, but that only made it fit in more rather than less.

He huffed and shook his head. It was probably just overspill from paranoia about his teammates opinions' of his driving. Still, wouldn't hurt to give it a wide berth as it went past. And maybe catch a look at who was in the car.

He looked past Clint blankly staring out the window from his new seat behind Tony—there had been some shuffling of positions in the back at their last stop, most notably Bruce swapping with Clint so he could nap. Thor had moved to the seat behind Steve so he could better see the vehicles passing them and look for new license plates to add to his tally. Natasha remained in the back but on the driver's side now as well, her eyes closed and ears plugged with an audiobook.—and checked the right lane was clear to enter.

It was and he signaled and slid over after the three second wait and slowed down a little. A horn blared and Steve watched the car that had been behind them slam on its brakes as the suspicious car cut it off to get into the lane where Steve had been.

"I thought such close maneuvers were forbidden outside of the racing and demolition arenas?" Thor said, but he sounded like maybe the call had been a little close even for him.

"They are," Clint said. "That guy's just a fucking asshole. He's on his way to an accident and he can't be late. Good job there, though, keeping us out of it, Cap. Looks like your granny-driving is good for something." Steve glanced in the mirror to see him and Thor both glaring out the window.

Steve's eyes narrowed. If he hadn't changed lanes right then, there was no way an accident could have been avoided. In fact, it was less his skill and more pure chance. The car behind had been riding their tail for the last ten miles and the black car had started moving before Steve had properly cleared out, almost before he'd even started moving to the side.

His reflexes were better than most and he wasn't sure he could have pulled off the other car's maneuver without an accident. Surely an average commuter with no specialized training couldn't either.

What was it Darcy was always saying? It wasn't paranoia if they really were out to get you?

A glance at the car's driver saw the man—dressed like a businessman in a suit, but slamming the heel of his hand on the wheel and cursing. It didn't look like a "Why won't these fucking idiots get out of my way?!" sort of anger either. Steve had a fair bit of experience with that look on the faces of his fellow drivers.

This was more like, "Dammit, that didn't go the way I wanted it to!" It wasn't conclusive proof, but it wasn't something he could just ignore either.

Steve pressed the brake, letting the traffic carry the black car ahead of them. He wondered if they should wake Bruce so that he wouldn't be startled out of his nap if things got dicey, and his eyes involuntarily swept over Tony as he checked his passenger-side mirror.

The briefcase had been shifted to the floor just behind the center console, still within reach, but not taking up valuable space at his feet or sitting precariously in his lap and keeping him awake as he clutched at it whenever it slid. Tony had loosened his tie and undone a few buttons on his shirt, and the pull of gravity had caused him to slump, sunglasses askew on his nose as his head had lolled into an uncomfortable looking bend of the neck and giving the billionaire a decidedly rumpled look. It was odd given his normal care for his appearance and actually made him look surprisingly vulnerable.

Steve was torn on waking him too, knowing Tony would prefer to know what was going on but hating to interrupt his much-needed rest for what was, so far, not actually a problem.

That was when Clint said, "Hey, Cap?" in the tone he usually reserved for mission-related information delivered via comms and Steve's attention was pulled back to the road, scanning his mirrors for the problem.

First came the large box truck that sped into a clear spot on their left side, but opted to stay right ahead of his blind spot instead of passing them.

Another SUV like their own merged across three lanes of traffic to get right behind Steve, and his fingers tightened involuntarily on the wheel.

"Clint," he said, but the archer had already turned in his seat and said, "Wakey wakey, Bruce. Sorry, but nap time's over."

Steve caught a glimpse of Natasha pulling her earbuds out and sitting forward in her seat, Thor frowning and leaning closer to the window before asking, "What is going—"

"Hang on," Steve said, gritting his teeth and tapping the brakes, then yanking the wheel as soon as they had clearance to get over behind the box truck.

He heard Tony curse and saw him flail in his seat, but was more focused on checking his blind spot again to get over one more lane.

"What the hell is going on?" Tony asked, hands gripping the armrests as he pushed up to a straighter sitting position, sunglasses tumbling into his lap. He released one hand to try and catch them, but was too sleep-fogged and sick and fumbled them instead.

"Goddammit, Rogers," he cursed, but Steve just said, "Sorry. Hold on again," and floored the accelerator.

The powerful engine responded beautifully, roaring and throwing all of them back in their seats just a little as they raced on past the box truck.

He had to slam on his brakes again and nearly wrenched his neck turning to look over his shoulder so he could slide into the next left lane when the sedan re-appeared and flashed brake lights right in front of them.

The SUV was also coming over, the three vehicles working in coordination to trap them over here instead of in the slow lane.

Steve gritted his teeth and muttered, "Do I look like I was born yesterday?" and swerved into the emergency lane, narrowly missing the guardrails on his side.

Tony leaned toward Steve sharply, a startled, "Jesus Christ!" spilling from his lips as the SUV tried to block them and failed, instead scraping the mirror and a few layers of paint off of the passenger side of their vehicle.

Steve snarled and shot a glare at the driver of the other car, then, with a check to ensure that the far lane was clear, wrenched the wheel, pushing them both back onto the road proper.

Behind him he could hear Natasha on the phone with someone in authority, presumably SHIELD, requesting assistance in clearing the roads ahead of their position.

"Steve," Tony said, hand groping across the divide to clutch at his arm. "Steve, there are cars. Steve! Cars! STEVE, CARS! SHIT! " He flinched down in his seat, arm over his head, and a truck honked long and loud as the two cars raced past, then bullied their way into the lane in front of it.

"You drive like my Jane," Thor said approvingly, and Steve wondered if it was the adrenaline rush causing the hairs in his arms to stand out or if that was Thor's doing.

"Let's hope Jane doesn't ever do this," Steve said, and at the last possible moment swerved to the left, then barely cleared the car he was passing before swerving back to the right across two lanes to pass two more cars.

A clear stretch of road lay before them—for about half a mile anyway—and Steve returned to the middle lane, Clint's fingers digging into the side of Steve's chair as he watched how close Steve came to clipping the car next to them.

"If you can avoid an accident for the next ten miles or so, the roads should start to clear up," Natasha called from the back. "They're closing all on ramps from here to Maryland and will start routing traffic off as well."

"Good," Steve said. "Keep me updated if anything changes on that front."

"Will do," she said.

"Is everyone buckled up?" he asked as he veered to the left to cut off the enemy SUV trying to go around them.

"Are you planning something that will require us to be?" Clint asked warily.

"Not right now," Steve said, "but you never know." He slammed the heel of his palm down on the horn and cut to the right to block the sedan trying to come around the civilian cars that hadn't yet slowed down enough to take themselves out of the equation. Steve snarled and veered back the other way, honking his horn the whole time, pumping his brakes occasionally to try and convince them to back off.

"Oh God," Tony said breathlessly, clutching at his own door armrest and Steve's center armrest. "Is there anyway we can stop with the swerving all over the damn place?"

"I'll do my best, Tony," Steve said, "but motion sickness isn't going to be much of an issue if they manage to pin us down."

Steve yanked the wheel to go around a minivan, and Tony just said, "I can't look," in a strained voice and covered his eyes again.

"Do we have any kind of a bucket or bag in the car?" Steve called back over his shoulder.

"Why?" Thor asked, confused.

"Because Tony's about to blow chunks, I'd bet," Clint said and bent to check under the seat before something out the window distracted him. "Hey, Steve—"

"I see it," Steve said, eyes flicking between his mirrors. He caught a glimpse of Tony out of the corner of his eye and cursed. "Dammit. Where's that bag?" he snapped. "And get me one of the water bottles and some of the napkins from lunch."

A water bottle appeared in his peripheral vision and he reached for it—missing when he had to grip the wheel and swerve around a car going five under the speed limit in the left-most lane.

"SLOWER TRAFFIC KEEP RIGHT!" he snarled, angrily getting back into the lane after he'd passed them.

Natasha muttered something that had Clint huffing and agreeing, "Tell me about it."

"Blow chunks of what?" Thor questioned.

"It means throw up," Bruce said quietly. "Vomit. Puke—"

"Can we stop listing synonyms before I give a live demonstration?" Tony asked.

"Here," Natasha said, and handed up a small plastic grocery bag. "Give this to Tony." Thor passed it on just as Clint swore.

"The rest of their backup is here, Steve," he reported. "I've got three SUVs blocking the road behind us and a second big-ass truck leading the way and coming up fast."

"I see it," Steve said again, yanking his gaze away from Tony and white-knuckling the steering wheel so hard he could feel it give a little under the strain.

One of the SUVs dropped back suddenly, but it was only to allow another big truck to pass it before the gap was closed again.

"Fuck," Clint hissed. "They're coming up on the left—"

"Hold on!" Steve yelled and the tires jarred them as they skidded over the asphalt into the next lane.

The truck kept coming and slid to the side in front of them and Steve barely had time to fling an arm out across Tony's chest before they were up on two wheels and pointed at the off-ramp. They clipped the water barrels and the windshield became a wash of blurry liquid for a hellishly long moment before Steve could get the wipers on and clear it away.

"Dammit!" he snarled and slammed the heel of his hand into the wheel. He was nowhere near the center, but it was hard enough to startle a short honk out of the horn, which, in turn, startled a squeak of distress from Tony.

The sharp curve of the road and the fact they were heading into a more populated area had Steve slowing down, and that brought one of the trailing SUVs in close and fast.

"Brace yourselves!" Steve said, and the whole car shuddered as they were rammed from behind. Tony moaned and the fingers of the hand that had come up to pull away Steve's arm dug in instead.

"Sorry," Steve apologized shortly, then in a more harsh voice directed at the other car, continued, "There's nowhere for me to go, asshole!"

That didn't seem to affect their decision to roar their engine again as they surged forward and hit the rear bumper so hard that it came off with a crunch and was lost under the tailing car's wheels.

That at least forced them to slow down, even if unintentionally, and Steve redirected his attention forward, cursing and laying his hand on the horn in the hope that no one would enter the intersection ahead even though it was green for the cross-traffic.

"Turn here, Cap," Clint said. "Try to lose them in town."

"I'm not endangering civilian lives—"

"No, he's got a point," Bruce said. "If nothing else, there are plenty of places to turn and you have more options."

Steve's lips pressed together, but at the last possible moment he stood on the brake and yanked the steering wheel. They cornered on two wheels and there was a horrifying moment when Steve wasn't entirely sure they weren't going to just go rolling off into that supermarket parking lot.

"Thor! Lean right!"

Thor did as ordered and the wheels on that side came down with a thump, the back end fishtailing for a moment before the tires caught and they jumped forward again.

Steve heard Natasha's phone ring and a sharp, "We're off the freeway. Forget trying to close roads, just get emergency services here to clean up behind us."

Steve realized he'd made a tactical error the second they were under the overpass. Up ahead, one of the SUVs had clearly jumped the freeway median just to try boxing them in and he'd turned into it like an idiot. "Shit!" he snarled and then, " Hang on to something!"

" Shitshitshit!" Clint snapped out in a rising pitch, bracing against Thor leaning toward him. In the back seat, Natasha and Bruce were likewise trying to distance themselves from the broadside of the SUV they were sliding directly toward.

There was a moment of suspension where sound blanked out and all Steve could see was the SUV growing out his side window and he gripped the steering wheel, but he couldn't do anything more than keep them from completely losing control and rolling into the other vehicle.

Then the world exploded in sound and the glass shattered next to his ear, sprinkling him with razor-sharp pebbles like a cascade of diamonds.

Steve shook his head as the sound came back into focus just in time to hear Tony retching in the passenger seat. When he looked over, though, it was worse than he expected, a spiderweb of cracks in Tony's window decorated with a bright smear of red. Tony's head hung down, blood dripping obscenely onto his pants to mix with the multicolored hues of his half-digested lunch, as only the seatbelt kept him upright.

"Oh God, Tony!"

Steve reached for the other man and got a groan when his hand made contact with the nearer shoulder, but then a revving engine beyond drew his attention and his face set into a determined mask. They meant to pin them here between the two cars and Steve had a problem with that.

He grabbed the gearshift and moved it smoothly back and down, watching the approaching vehicle race forward.

Clint groaned behind him and then said, "Uhhh."

Thor's voice was tight as he said, "A car approaches, Captain."

Natasha actually sounded nervous as she said, "Steve, they're coming. Steve. Steve—"

At the last moment he floored the accelerator and the car lurched forward, immediately swinging into the turn Steve forced onto the resisting wheel. They just cleared the spot as the other car—squealing as the driver crushed the brake pedal underfoot—slammed into their waiting partners.

Steve kept his eyes on the road, but he couldn't quite keep his mind there too. "Thor, support Tony's head. Bruce, I need to know his status." God, there had been so much blood. But Tony had made a sound when Steve touched him before, that was good. Dead people didn't make sounds like that. Now they just needed to keep him that way.

"Aye, Captain," Thor rumbled and carefully cradled Tony's jaw, easing him back against the headrest and the holding one palm under his chin, the other on his shoulder.

"Excuse me, Clint," Bruce said, and climbed over the seat to sit between the archer and the thunder god. "Do we have—" he started, then said, "Thanks," when Clint held up the first aid kit ready to offer whatever materials he needed.

Bruce pressed his fingers to Tony's carotid and counted off under his breath, then leaned forward to try and get a better look. Tony gave another groan and started to fidget under their hands and more than anything else that said he was okay. For now at least.

"Wh'appened?" he mumbled and more than one relieved exhalation filled the car.

"Thank God," Steve said. "I need you to stay with us, Tony."

"Yeah," Clint said, "nobody else can get away with calling senators assclowns and you know that's going to be relevant today."

Tony swallowed a couple of times, then drank greedily when Thor held a bottle of water to his lips at Bruce's directions. Steve eased around a minivan and sped up, coasting under a yellow light.

"Easy," Bruce said and folded a pad of gauze over on itself. "Just little sips, Tony."

"M'okay," Tony breathed groggily, when Thor lowered the bottle. He coughed and pressed a hand to the arc reactor, and rolled his head to the side to look at Clint. "You could do it, Katniss. I believe in the Mockingjay."

"Fuck you, Stark," Clint said, but it was affectionate and relieved.

"Well I think it's safe to say you're not too badly concussed," Bruce said, pressing the compress he'd made to the side of Tony's head. "Here. Hold this in place," he added, guiding Tony's hand up to the white gauze. "But humor me anyway and tell me who you are."

"Iron Man."

"Tony," Steve said.

"Not supposed to give me the answers, Steve," Tony said, lips curling ever so slightly. "Captain America's a cheater, who'd've guessed?"

They lurched to the side when Steve took a sharp turn, and Tony hissed, then said, "Okay, fine. God. I'm Tony Stark."

"What year were you born?"

"1970, which means I cannot be legally held responsible for disco, eight tracks, or zippered jumpsuits."

"Sorry, Doc," Steve apologized, eyes flicking between the road ahead and the rearview mirror. "That's going to have to be enough. I need you to move back to your seat and buckle up."

"Oh God, not again," Clint moaned, but he was likewise watching the windows and knew they'd been found.

The two big trucks were coming up fast, forcing other drivers to swerve out of the way—either into oncoming traffic or the parking lane on the other side of the road, occupied or not—to avoid being steamrolled.

Screeching tires and a handful of honking horns announced the return of the sedan from a side-street, and Steve's jaw tightened as he watched it pinball off of another car and send it spinning into a storefront. Whoever was behind this, they didn't care about hurting innocent civilians in their quest to take down the team.

The light ahead turned yellow and as fast as they were going they weren't going to make it before it was well and truly red, but a little bit of breathing room would be nice. Steve laid on the horn as he sped up and added shouts of, "GET OUT OF THE WAY!" as he zipped between two cars and toward the corner. It was covered by traffic cones and the cement looked wet behind the barriers. He winced, but it was pretty much guaranteed to be empty of pedestrians.

Clint was yelling, "SIGNALS! CAP, USE YOUR SIGNALS!" and Bruce said, "He doesn't have time for signals, Clint!"

Steve saw the opening on his left and took it, a trail of honking horns following him, and then very nearly spun out taking them through the last few seconds of another yellow light turn.

"That is not how you yield to oncoming traffic, Steve!" Clint protested. "Jesus!"

Unfortunately, at least one of the trucks was being driven by people far less concerned with the safety of themselves and others, because they didn't even slow down as they followed Steve around the turn, the crunch of metal and glass indicating accidents Steve couldn't see. The driver of the truck then sped up and tried to come around and side-swipe them from the left turn lane. Steve went to the right, but another dark SUV came through the intersection behind them and joined the chase on that side.

Tony looked over to see what was going on and screamed, "Fuck!" as they were slammed into, bullying them over into the truck on Steve's side.

The two vehicles pulled in tighter, as if to crush them between and Clint said, "Brakes!" and Bruce yelled, "REVERSE!" and Steve did both, shifting the gears as soon as the brake engaged enough. It threw them all forward before snapping them back and the most awful grinding sound came from the engine, but it caught and when he pressed the accelerator, they were free of the pincer movement and heading the opposite direction from their pursuers.

They were also heading the opposite direction from traffic, but that had mostly stopped behind them after they came through, so it was a matter of maneuvering around stopped vehicles, not moving ones for the moment.

They got back to the last road and Steve was again blaring the horn, his eyes glued to his mirrors, and he screamed into the intersection, alternating the brakes and the gas and wrestling the gearshift to take them through a J-turn and turn them the right direction.

Steve got a glimpse of the accident and was grateful to see it didn't look too serious. Everyone was up and moving at least.

Clint was pressing his hands to the ceiling and barking out a "Sweet baby Jesus!" as Thor gripped the door and seat back and said, "This adventure grows less enjoyable the longer it lasts!"

Bruce's lips moved silently and Natasha's expression was flat, but starting to look a little worn around the edges.

"We should try to find a place to stop and make a stand," she said when she caught Steve's eye. "Before things get worse."

"Oh God," Tony moaned. "Please don't let them get worse."

"How could it get—" Clint started, but Natasha slapped him upside the head. "Ow! Nat!"

"I will stab you through the spine if you finish that thought," she growled.

"Hey!" Steve barked. This was not the time to be threatening violence against themselves. They had enough problems with the people attacking them.

Natasha glared back, but she let it drop without further commentary.

Steve knew better than to expect they'd lost them at this point, there seemed to be no shaking them off no matter how much distance they got. He was beginning to suspect that their car was somehow being tracked, since he couldn't see any evidence of air support for whoever this was.

Natasha was right, though, they needed a better solution than continuing to run—the gas tank had been filled not too long before, but it wasn't infinite and all the maneuvering and hard driving had brought them just below a half tank. Then he saw what might be the perfect place to make their stand as he flashed by an intersection on a bloody red light to a chorus of honking horns and screamed insults.

Steve didn't know if it was Providence or just luck, but another blocked off sidewalk appeared on the left just as a truck engine roared behind them.

At the next intersection he swerved over to the other side of the tall planter median and dodged around a handful of cars before he had his chance.

"I'm going over the curb. Hold on," he warned, and Tony gave a pleading little grunt, but Steve just gunned it. They bucked and bounced and more curses came from the back.

The cement hadn't been poured here yet, which was much better since it would slow them down. Still, the rough ground, occasional pipe head, and a whole truckload of barriers, cones, and signs—including a "lane closed" diamond that blanketed the windshield and made Clint yelp before it rolled over the top of them—weren't helpful either. It was a bumpy ride and Steve gritted his teeth and thanked God that they weren't in one of the jeeps he'd driven back in the war. They'd all come out with loose teeth if that were the case.

He saw the end of the sidewalk construction where people were standing and staring at him in horror that was ever more clear the closer they got and with a harsh, "Shit!" he yanked and diverted them into an alley, the backend slamming harshly into the wall and taking a chunk out of the brick facade. Natasha cursed in Russian and Bruce's measured breathing became noticeably louder. Trash cans went flying with clang after clang after clang as they took them all out, the narrow road barely wide enough for the wide body of the SUV.

A dumpster loomed ahead, just barely sticking out into the road and Steve said, "Brace yourselves and lean to the left!"

The car scraped and screeched horribly against the brick and stone walls and his headlight dissolved in a crunch, but the dumpster rolled back with a boom and they made it past.

The truck wasn't able to make the turn behind them. They heard the crunch as it plowed into the corner of the building instead and Steve breathed a sigh of relief for the temporary reprieve. They'd be back, he knew, but maybe next time it would be on his terms.

That in mind, he slowed down and signaled before turning onto the main street ahead, ignoring Clint's muttered, "Oh sure, now he signals."

"He is doing the best he can," Thor said.

"Shut up, Clint," Natasha said. "You're just pissy because you're not driving."

Clint turns in his seat. "I'm pissy because the worst part of this trip was supposed to be Tony bitching about being sick, not re-enacting The Fast and the Furious! "

"It's not like this has never happened to us before!" Natasha snapped. "You ought to be thankful this time it's not your fault!"

"I ought to— It wasn't my fault last time either!"

"Everything in Budapest was your fault!"

"THIS IS NOT GODDAMN—"

"Pipe down!" Steve snapped and immediate silence fell.

The traffic was fairly light here and after the last half hour of driving, it seemed downright placid, so Steve took a moment to check on Tony. He grasped the shoulder nearest himself and said, "Hey, how're you doing?"

Tony's head rolled on his neck which sent a spike of alarm through Steve, but then he managed to lift it and look back with a gaze that was just this side of focused in a face nearly gray with illness and pain.

"Peachy," he croaked. And promptly vomited on the center console.

Clint jerked away with a sound of disgust. "Dammit, Stark!"

" Clint," Steve said and everyone froze.

There was a moment of tense silence, then Clint very quietly said, "Sorry, Stark. I…" But he shook his head, leaving the rest off.

"It's okay," Tony said, just as quiet. "Me too."

Before anything else could be said, the return to the chase was announced with blaring horns and several small crashes behind them.

"Everyone buckle up, hang on, and when I say so, lean to the right," Steve ordered.

Everyone did it, but Clint obviously couldn't help muttering, "Oh God, let it end soon."

"Steve," Tony said, voice a little desperate. "Steve, no."

"Sorry, Tony," Steve said. He counted off in his head, then said, "Now!"

The SUV that he'd been watching from ahead didn't slow down any more than he did and the front quarter panels met in a horrific shriek of metal and shattering of glass. It sent both vehicles spinning off in opposite directions.

The airbags deployed and for a few terrifying seconds all Steve could see was the inflated pillow of air and a white powdery cloud of dust. He coughed on it and tried to keep the car from rolling over by sheer force of will alone.

He came back to the moment as they took a fire hydrant off its pedestal and heard Tony calling his name between coughing jags. A hand groped for his shoulder, then a second and third joined it and he reached up and patted them all.

"I'm okay," he said, hoarsely, the impact of the air bag having temporarily stolen his breath. "I'm okay.

"Is everyone else okay?" he asked, forcing his voice to be stronger despite the way his lungs spasmed with pain at the effort. "Sound off."

Everyone sounded like they'd just survived a horrific car accident—which, well, they had —but since he got a response from everyone and no one was screaming in agony or talking about needing immediate medical attention he took that as a good enough sign and looked out his window to assess the situation.

He couldn't actually see much between the breaks and the air bag residue, just the few spots where it had broken out before, so he lifted an elbow and jammed it into the remaining scaled fractures.

The intersection was a mess, and with the water raining down just outside Thor's door his field of vision still wasn't very good for most of it.

"Steve," Tony said and the blonde whipped around.

"Yeah, Tony. I'm here. Are you okay?"

Tony swallowed and took a breath, then looked over, and his eyes were sheened with unshed tears of misery, but he sounded more exhausted than on the verge of breaking down. "I kind of want to die right now and just get it over with, but not in this shitty car, Steve. Not in a goddamned GMC. Please."

"You're not going to die, Tony," Steve assured him. "Not today and not while I can help it." Then he managed to crack a smile and added, "And definitely not in this shitty car."

"Good man," Tony said, patting Steve's shoulder. "You're a good man, Charlie Brown."

"There are people approaching on our right, Captain," Thor says. "And I do not think they mean to render us aid."

Natasha cursed colorfully in at least Russian, but possibly other languages as well.

"Oh God," Clint said, "I haven't heard that shit since Budapest. We're definitely fucked."

Steve checked the dash and, while the car wasn't in perfect condition, the engine was still running. It was good enough to get them at least a little distance, if not a true escape. They were almost to the spot he'd picked out anyway, so if it could just hold together that long…

He shifted the gear and placed his foot on the gas, then turned to Tony. "I'm going to assume that is a reference I don't get and ask you to explain it to me later, so hold on for me, okay?"

"You get us out of this alive and I will watch every one of those holiday specials with you in order," Tony promised.

"Wait," Clint said, as Steve looked Bruce in the eyes and got wavering, but not yet broken resolve. "No. Steve, no. Let's do this here! Let's end this once and for all! We can just get out and—" He yanked on the door handle, but Steve had locked it from his controls and hit the gas. "Shit!"

Steve swerved around the wreck of the other SUV—not faring so well if the steam hissing from the engine was an indication—and dove into traffic. Given the recent chase, Steve couldn't understand why people weren't getting off the streets and finding safe places to wait it out inside.

"Dammit, Steve!" Clint said, hitting the back of the headrest in frustration.

"Clint!" Steve snapped. "I am not going to tell you again!"

He slammed to a stop, sliding halfway into the intersection but not hitting the line of SUVs and a sedan blocking the road.

"Fuck!" Clint barked as he was thrown into the back of Tony's seat.

"And put on your damn seatbelt!"

Steve's movements were furious as he manhandled the gearshift into reverse and punched the gas, swinging the car around in an arc. He shifted into drive and took off as the drivers of the cars ran to get back in to pursue them.

Clint made a sound, but it was bitten off. Thor was not so reticent in expressing his views. "Should we not be on the other side of the road?" He sounded stressed, which was a fairly unusual thing, even in battle.

Steve didn't dignify that with a response because of course he knew he was on the wrong side of the road. It was the emptier of the two, though, and he needed maneuvering room and all the time he could get.

"We need to stop," Tony said, breathing harsh.

"I can't, Tony," Steve said.

"Steve," Tony repeated.

He was getting real tired of hearing his name said in that tone of voice.

"I'm trying!" he repeated.

His glance over was nearly their undoing, more chance than skill causing them to miss the truck trying to T-bone them.

Subtlety was obviously off the game board, the drivers were becoming downright suicidal in their efforts to stop the Avengers.

Steve clipped another of the cars, then a light pole, sending it to the street in a shower of sparks.

"I think I'm ready to get out now," Bruce said, barely audible from the backseat and under the rest of the noise.

Steve took that as his cue to floor it once more and they barely missed oncoming traffic as they entered the roundabout and bounced up into the little garden at the center.

Dirt flew in great clods as Steve stood on the brakes and they swung around to a stop.

"Everyone out!" he barked and Tony made a sound of relief and Clint said, "Jesus! Finally!" and all but fell out when Steve released the locks.

Steve stumbled getting out, a gash he hadn't noticed before in his thigh stinging as a breeze brushed past. It flipped his tie up into his face and he yanked on the knot, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside.

He limped around the front of the car, glancing back over his shoulder to see how long they had. No one yet.

Natasha and Clint were checking and readying the weapons they pulled out from the large cases that were always in the back. Natasha was slotting magazines in and tucking guns into a gunbelt she'd slipped on while Clint slung his quiver over his shoulder and flicked his bow open. Steve saw his shield propped up against the bumper and went to collect it.

There was a knock on Tony's window and a few chips fell down as he passed, then Tony said, "Steve, I can't— I'm stuck."

Steve swallowed the groan and then gripped the handle and yanked.

It wasn't coming free, and even bracing his hand and pulling harder wasn't doing anything but making the handle snap back with a thunk when his hands slipped off.

"Bruce," Steve said quietly. "I'm sorry, but—"

"Back up," was the only response, a deeper timbre somewhere between Bruce and Hulk. His skin was also in that transition stage, greening and growing. Everyone did as ordered except Steve who wanted to be close enough to take Tony from the big guy.

The door was yanked off and tossed aside with a screech and a squeal of brakes from someone not yet having exited the traffic circle dodging it. A moment later an engine revved and the last few cars trickled away.

Hulk reached in and Steve could hear Tony in that absurdly calm voice of his: "Hey there, Jolly Green. Glad you could make it. Watch the puke. Sorry about the smell."

Tony's seatbelt gave way with a snap under a single tug from the Hulk's massive fingers, then he was being carefully lifted out. Steve ducked in to grab the armor from under the middle seat while he waited.

"Set me down next to him," Tony said breathlessly. "Right— Aw, come on, big guy, not—" He gave up with a sigh and let himself be settled in Steve's arms.

"Thanks, Hulk," Steve said. "Get ready to smash."

Hulk growled in pleasure and picked up the whole broken husk of the SUV that had carried them this far, hefting it overhead.

Steve turned to carry Tony back behind the others, but he didn't even make the full turn before his leg gave out and he dropped to one knee with a grunt of pain.

"Shit!" Clint said, and came over, Thor on his heels.

"Take him," Steve said, voice strained with the agony coursing through his thigh.

"What the hell?" Tony said, but let himself be taken by Thor—for half a second anyway. "No, wait, go back! Dammit, Thor!"

Clint got a shoulder under Steve and hefted him back up. Steve was relieved to see his shield on the man's other arm. He snagged the Iron Man suitcase handle and let Clint half-carry him along.

"You gonna make it?" he asked as he helped Steve limp over behind the cement planter they were using as a terrible cover.

"I'll be fine," Steve said, but with less bite than he might have. Clint was genuinely concerned and seemed to be back on a more even keel now that they were out of the car.

Steve was eased down next to Tony and he leaned over to do a more thorough assessment of Tony while they waited for the other cars to show up.

Tony had other ideas though. "Let me see," he demanded pawing at Steve's leg to try and get a look through the blood staining the silk of his suit pants. "Steve, where are you hurt?"

"Easy, Tony," Steve said. "I'm fine. It's just a scratch. I've had much worse. Let me see your head."

Tony smacked his hand away with a glare. "My head is fine, it also has had much worse."

Steve bent a glare on him. "Tony."

"Steve," came the just as stubborn reply. It failed, though when Tony bent double coughing, hands pressed to the arc reactor as he gasped. "I'm fine!" he protested before Steve could even call him on his bullshit. He was white as a sheet under the blood and dirt on his face and he couldn't catch his breath. "I'm fi—"

The useless lies were interrupted when the Hulk bellowed and they both jumped, Steve instinctively shifting and crouching over Tony while his head snapped up.

Their SUV went flying and landed on the hood of one of the oncoming cars, flipping it up and over to land on its roof with a crunch. The other skidded as the driver tried to avoid the Hulk's approach, but he moved too fast and punched straight through the hood, burying the engine block at least six inches into the ground.

The people inside moved, but Hulk bared his teeth and snarled and they subsided.

"Put on the suit!" Steve snapped, shoving the case toward Tony.

"You have a— weird obsession— with demanding I p— put clothes on— Rogers," Tony said between coughs, but he was pushing up to kneel and fumbling with the clasp on the case. He got it open and the thing unfolded, reaching for him as he leaned into it.

He made it upright and the mask lowered over his face, but he only looked like he was going to be good for a second. Then he dropped back down like a puppet with cut strings. "Shit!"

"Tony!"

"I'm fine! I'm fine!" he insisted waving off help.

More cars came screeching onto the scene and Steve whirled, shield up. Natasha and Clint opened fire on them, leaving arrows sticking out of tires and spiderwebs cracking over glass.

The truck that had survived the chase came from the opposite side of the circle and Thor leapt up and came back down with a yell and a crunch as Mjolnir hit the center of the hood, collapsing it and propelling the back end up to hang in the air.

Steve straightened, his shield in his hands, and when he spotted that damn sedan that started it all coming up on the rear of the assault he twisted in place and let it fly. It bounced off of a power line pole and two buildings before ending up in the engine compartment right in front of the driver's face, the star toward the man. The car's brakes brought it to a screaming halt as it ran into the SUV in front of it.

Three minutes in and they were surrounded by a mess of smoking, ruined vehicles and terrified prisoners trapped inside, but no more arrived. Steve blew out a breath as his shoulders sagged.

They were all right there and Steve could see they were fine for the most part, but he still said, "Sound off."

"Romanoff," was the immediate response from Natasha before she headed toward the nearest SUV, her guns still up and ready. "I'll secure the prisoners."

"Barton," he said, and watched her go, following after a moment. He looked drained, no doubt feeling the comedown from all that adrenaline.

"Thor," he said, kneeling by Steve's side and looking them over.

"HULK!" was the triumphant roar that rattled nearby windows and set off one of their assailant's car alarms.

"Iron Man," Tony whispered harshly. He'd finally gotten the coughing under control, and probably didn't want to aggravate it. "Injured, but present."

"How're you holding up?" he asked and Tony shrugged one shoulder. Then he winced.

"I am going to want to clean out the hospital pharmacy when I get there, but I think I might make it. I hope."

"You will," Steve assured him. "I just need you to stay with me," he said, and put pressure on the compress that was sticking to the head wound with the drying blood, but not quite smothering it completely. It hadn't had a chance before Tony'd had to hold on for dear life.

"I'll do my best," Tony said, but his voice and his ability to keep his eyes open was waning.

Steve relentlessly pressed harder and Tony hissed, eyes flying open as he tried to squirm away.

"Dammit, Steve, that hurts."

"Good. Use it to anchor you. I want you awake when the ambulance gets here."

"So bossy," Tony muttered.

Steve looked down just in time to see him pass out, head lolling to the side.

He couldn't quite believe it, so he gave the other man a shake. "Tony. Tony!"

Steve held his breath until the JARVIS' voice came from the speakers "He is alive, Captain, but he needs medical attention. I will release the suit when needed, but until then I would prefer to keep him in as it will stabilize his broken ribs and allow me to continue monitoring him."

"Keep him safe, JARVIS," Steve said, pressing his hand into the cool cover of the arc reactor. As long as it stayed lit there was hope. There had to be.

Then he cursed. "Dammit!" He looked around, trying to decide which car within sight would be easiest to take. He'd make sure they were compensated later, but they needed a solution right—

"I am going to give Hill so much goddamned shit for this," Clint said as the roar of jet engines overhead drew all their eyes up.

Three Quinjets were coming around, one of them taking up a hovering guard position, the other two descending toward the empty parts of the road.

Steve thought that sending her flowers was a much more appropriate response.