He opened his eyes and then immediately closed them again, groaning as light stabbed directly into his irises. Rolling over onto his side, Steve noted that the ground he was laying on was hard, like paved cement. There was also a very distinct odor of days-old garbage and cat urine. And burnt electrical wires.

As the pounding in his head slowly began to subside enough for him to form a more coherent thought, Steve tried to remember what he'd been doing that could've left him waking up in an alley. Had the CIA caught up with them again? Or was it those guys with the circle patches?

A minute passed and Steve once again ventured to open his eyes. The experience was considerably less painful this time, giving him his first real look at the alley. It was a rather standard New York alley, dimly lit and full of trash. He'd seen plenty just like it in his youth. Although... despite it's rather ordinary appearance, something felt... off.

He was laying at the back end of the alley, a five-story brownstone walk-up to his left and some sort of small store to his right. There wasn't a logo or name on the plain wooden door so he assumed it was one of the few small, independent places holding its own against the many chain store moguls. Someone on the top floor of the brownstone was playing big band music and he could faintly make out several radios. Beyond the alley, he could hear voices as people went about their day, punctuated with some rather loud car engines.

Then something moved behind him and Steve whirled around into the crouch even as the something let out an agonized groan. Metal sung as it hit concrete ground beside him and Steve froze, realizing that he was gripping a leather handle in his right hand where for over a year there'd been nothing but empty air and a memory. He looked down, his eyes widening as he saw that his shield really was in his hand.

Suddenly, it all came back to him.

His head snapped up and he staggered to his feet. "Tony!" he called out gently, knowing his temporary ally's headache wouldn't be disappearing as quickly as his had.

He could just make out Tony's hunched-over figure in the darkness. It let out another groan and hands came up to cover his face. The sudden movement was immediately followed by a small cry of pain and then Tony's arms came down to cradle his injured ribs. Beside him, Steve saw the dented casing of the device that had knocked them out and transported them to this alley.

Someone gasped. Steve was instantly on his feet and facing this new threat.

It was a child. A boy of about twelve or so stood just inside the alley staring at him with wide eyes. Steve's eyes widened as he took in the boy's appearance: brown shorts held up with red suspenders that stood out on his white and blue striped shirt, all topped off with a brown tweed cap. Steve felt his breath stutter in his lungs even as his heart cried out for the sight that was so nostalgically familiar to him.

"Timothy!" a woman's voice called out angrily.

The boy looked over his shoulder. "Gosh mom, look, it's Captain America!"

A woman appeared at the mouth of the alley, eyes flashing with anger from beneath the shadow of a navy beret as she glared at the boy. Her eyes briefly flickered over in Steve's direction, momentarily widening in surprise when she saw him.

Steve, for his part, felt frozen to the spot from the moment he spotted her. From the half veil net on her hat, to the white polka-dotted navy skirt with bright red collar, and matching white gloves with small navy polka-dots, he saw a different woman standing her place, wavy brown hair being gently rustled by the wind as she glared with a similar fire in her eyes. The stance of a woman who didn't take nonsense from anyone, and certainly not from any man.

The woman looked away, turning her attention back to her son, her eyes narrowing once more. "Which does not in the slightest excuse you from rushing foolhardily after bright flashes of light when you had no idea what caused them!" she snapped.

Steve blinked, the Scottish lilt in her voice easily banishing the image his mind had conjured up.

"But mom," the boy whined loudly as he gestured for emphasis. "It's Captain America!"

His mother rolled her eyes. "First of all, you didn't know that before rushing into danger and, second of all, lower your bloody voice! If Captain America's hiding in a dirty alley, then he'd obviously on some secret assignment. Do you want to broadcast his location to all the Nazi spies following him?"

The boy instantly went silent, his eyes widening in horror and his lips sealing shut so tightly it made the corners of Steve's lips quirk in amusement.

Which was when Tony decided to finally attempt to get up, his movements loud and clumsy, and punctuated with another groan. Certain the mother and son were no danger to them, Steve turned his back on them and went to help Tony up. His former team member accepted his help, but froze for a moment and blinked in confusion when he realized who was helping him up. Then his unfocused eyes darted around to scan the alley.

"Oh dear, you look terrible!" the woman suddenly exclaimed from beside him. And then she walked over to Tony and examined the large bruise forming above his left temple. "You should see a doctor, I think."

"No, we can't," Steve said quickly. Even Tony turned to blink at him in confusion. Steve cleared his throat, suddenly thankful Tony had been caught without the suit because that would've been much more difficult to explain away. "I'm afraid you've guessed correctly, ma'am. My friend and I are on a top-secret mission for the war effort. No one can know we're here." Seeing Tony open his mouth to speak, he added: "It would be really bad if the Nazis managed to find us."

Beside him, Tony stiffened and then cursed quietly under his breath.

The woman, however, barely blinked, almost as though she'd been expecting the answer.

"Of course, Captain. I completely understand. So I assume you have a safehouse to get to then?"

Steve winced. "Uh, not exactly."

"There was a bit of unexpected complications with a piece of tech our enemy had developed," Tony jumped in, to Steve's relief. This sort of subterfuge had never come naturally to Steve and he hated the idea of lying to this woman who only wanted to help. "But I'm sure we'll figure something out!"

Tony ended his incredibly vague explanation with one of his signature devil-may-care grins. The woman looked amused.

"I'm sorry, you look somewhat familiar..." she said.

Tony stepped forward and held out his hand. "I'm Tony, Tony Stark" he said. "You've probably heard of my cousin, Howard?"

"Ah, yes, your cousin, of course. I can see the family resemblance quite clearly now." The woman looked amused as she shook his hand. "I'm Amy Williams, and this, as you've no doubt already guessed, is my son, Timothy. And if you're looking for a place to hide out, I think we can help you with that." She turned to her son. "Timothy, go run home and grab your old trolley. I think Ben might've thrown some of his baseball equipment inside. We'll also need that thick grey blanket from the cupboard, your father's old winter coat and one of his older hats, the brown one with the blue stripe should do. Ask Beth to help you if you can't find anything. Have you got that?"

Timothy nodded. "Sure thing, mom."

"Oh, and hurry back, but don't run. That would draw attention to you, understand?"

"Mrs Williams, this really isn't necessary," Steve tried to protest. "We don't want to cause you any inconvenience–"

"–Nonsense!" the redhead cut him off. "There's a war on and it is our duty to do everything we can to help."

Timothy turned to Steve, with all the solemness a twelve-year-old could muster. "Don't worry, I won't let you down, sir!" he insisted, his whole being shining with determination.

The corners of Steve's lips twitched as he gave in graciously. He gripped him on the shoulder and squeezed. "Then we're counting on you, son."

The boy grinned proudly and then ran off to complete his assigned mission.

His mother watched him go with pride shining in her eyes – along with a hint of amusement. Then she turned to them. "Well, I'll just go wait with the groceries. It'll look less suspicious that way. When Timothy returns, we can load up your equipment and cover it with the blanket. Shouldn't look too odd with the groceries in the cart as well. Then we'll go on ahead and I trust the two of you can follow discretely behind us?"

Steve nodded. "Yes, that shouldn't be a problem. Thank you."

The smile she sent him was slightly impish. "Well, it'll certainly make for an interesting story to tell after the war is over."

"Most definitely," Steve agreed.

As Mrs Williams made her way back to the street to wait for her son, Steve turned to Tony.

"So, I guess you didn't manage to turn Kang's device off," he said dryly.

Tony flashed him an irritated glare. "Noticed that did you?" he said. Then he sighed and rubbed his temples against what had to be an absolutely devastating headache. "Damn, sometimes I hate always being right."

"You're not always right," Steve pointed out mildly.

Tony froze. "Well, I was this time," he snapped a moment later. "We're just lucky it transported us to a time when that red, white and blue getup of yours can actually be useful."

Steve grit his teeth, but refused to let himself be baited. The last thing they needed was to argue in front of the kind woman who was so willing to help them. Taking a deep breath, he gestured towards the slightly charred device beside Tony.

"Do you think you can fix it?"

Tony made a face. "I really, really hope so. Won't know for certain, though, until I can open it up and get a look at it." He side-eyed Steve. "That was quick thinking with the top secret mission story, by the way."

Steve chuckled. "Actually, Mrs Williams was the one who started it. I just played along."

"Ah. Yeah, that makes a lot more sense."

Steve glared at him. Tony ignored it and went to kneel by the device to inspect the damage. It was, quite possibly, a thinly-veiled excuse to no longer interact with Steve. Steve let him get away with it.

Smuggling the two men into her home had been relatively simple. The subterfuge had probably only been slightly necessary, but Amy, of all people, knew all about the necessity of acting a part. Most of her adult life had been an act of one sort or another.

Thankfully, the children had taken to the story with solemn understanding – and some not-so-hidden enthusiasm – the boys giving up their shared bedroom to their unexpected guests without any complaints. They even helped clean up after dinner, though Amy had to stop them from badgering Captain America and Tony Stark for stories even though the two men looked more amused than irritated by three incredibly inquisitive children.

Well, Beth was mostly a young lady now, and Ben a young man, but sitting at a table with their hero made the maturity they normally took pains to cultivate vanish like magician's smoke.

The house was quiet now, with Amy's bedside lamp the only lone light shinning in the darkness behind her as she looked thoughtfully out the window. Outside, only streetlights illuminated the night as most of New York slept. It wasn't an oppressive darkness and Amy actually found it rather soothing. It allowed her thoughts space to leisurely churn inside her head.

Rory was working an overnight shift at the hospital so he didn't know about their guests yet, but she wasn't overly worried about his reaction. Her husband was nothing if not capable of rolling with any punches sent his way. He'd done more than enough to prove that.

No, his reaction wasn't what was keeping her up and leaving her staring up at the sky. It was the possibilities, the quiet rekindled hopes their guests' presence and the device they brought with them that were keeping her up.

Well, that was one of the things keeping her up.

A light summer breeze blew against her bare arms. Amy shivered, but it wasn't from the cold. Her jaw clenched in an effort to remain composed, though nothing could stave off the bone-deep dread she felt as she stared up at the sky.

Invisible to everyone else, the jagged crack that hung in the sky stared mockingly back, an omen of future disaster.