Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“So explain to me why you're the one certifying me for my driver's license again?” Steve looked to Clint walking next to him, who shrugged.

“You think I can't do it?”

“No, not at all,” he backpedaled. “Sorry. That's not—“

Clint grinned and gestured to the black sedan ahead of them. “Relax, Cap, I'm just messing with you. That one,” he said, tossing the keys in an overhand throw.

Steve snatched them out of the air with one hand and circled around the car to the driver's side. He started to unlock the door with the key, then remembered there was a button now. He pressed it twice and the locks clicked open.

Once inside, Steve took the time to adjust the seat and the mirrors and poke around, finding all the buttons and switches he may or may not need.

Clint watched with amusement, slouched back into the seat, arms crossed over his chest.

When Steve finally inserted the key and twisted it, Clint turned to look at the car in front of them.

“I've got level seven clearance, if only because that's what we,” he gestured with a finger between them, “are classified as. They didn't just give me that as a courtesy though. I had to earn it like Phil and Nat and Hill and everyone else. Which means, yes, I am qualified to certify you and any other agent of SHIELD on a great many things. But, since I'm me , they tend to assign someone else.”

He pulled down his sunglasses an inch and said, smirking, “You just got lucky today because Nat and Phil are both busy preparing a briefing for a mission that can't be pushed back and Hill is on 'carrier bridge duty this afternoon. Back out of the parking spot and head for the street,” he said, pushing the glasses back up and nodding at the northeastern corner of the garage. “We're going west on 4 th .”

Steve nodded, checked his mirrors and over his shoulders, then shifted gears. It was an automatic transmission—no one had said anything, but Steve suspected they were concerned about him handling a clutch. He hadn't said anything either, just smiled slightly at the thought. It wasn't like that was the only option available when he'd learned to drive the first time or anything.

If anything, they ought to be more worried about him driving without the clutch, but he was adaptable, Tony's complaints to the contrary aside.

“Shouldn't you have some kind of form to write things down on at least?”

Clint tapped his temple with one finger. “Unless you're planning to fail really horribly...”

“Generally, no, I don't plan to fail.”

“Then I think we'll be fine. Whenever you're ready.”

Steve eased off the brake, rolled slowly backwards, and turned the wheel for a perfect three point reverse.

Clint said nothing until he stopped, checked both ways, and pulled carefully out into traffic.

“Drive three blocks and then we're going to turn right.”

Steve nodded and flipped on his signal, checking his mirrors and over his shoulder for cars, then slid neatly into the next lane. He silently counted the required seconds off in his head before flipping the blinker back off.

Clint had been staring at him, but he relaxed with a huff when the clicking fell silent.

“So how're the art classes going?” he asked eventually.

Steve checked his blind spot for bicycles, and slowed down for the turn, stopping completely when the light changed to yellow, and ignoring the honking behind him.

“Good,” he said, looking away from the pedestrians filling the crosswalk. “I mean, drawing hasn't changed that much since the thirties, but a refresher in the basics never hurts.”

“Wait, I've seen your stuff. You can't CLEP out of that shit?”

Steve frowned and glanced over, but the light turned green, so he checked his peripherals and then pressed the gas pedal gently.

Once he'd completed the turn, he said, “Where next?”

“Two blocks and take a left.”

Steve nodded and changed lanes, squeezing between two slower moving cars and glancing over at the car that had been behind that raced into the open spot ahead of where he'd been. He shook his head, but said, “What's CLEP?”

“I don't know what it stands for, but it means you take a test and get the credit without having to waste time and money taking a class for shit you already know. Darcy was able to CLEP out of all of her English requirements because she took a bunch of AP—advanced placement,” he explained automatically at Steve's frown, “classes in high school. She tried to CLEP math and science too, but only got half of the math credits and none of the science.” He huffed a laugh. “How she gets on with Dr. Foster, I'll never know.”

Steve shrugged. “She told me she doesn't actually understand scientifically most of what she's reading, but she gets the patterns and can deduce enough of it to be able to put it into a logical order. Then it's just editing for grammar and readability,” he grinned and looked over after braking for the light ahead, “on a purely linguistic level, if nothing else.”

Clint huffed a laugh and raised a hand, but Steve was already refocused on the road and saw the traffic moving. He put it down without saying anything.

“I don't know if it's possible to CLEP,” he raised his voice in question, and saw Clint nod when he checked his side mirror, “out of art classes. I mean, I guess I could have asked my professors to advance me or something, but,” he shook his head, “like I said, it's good to review the basics sometimes. And it's not like I'm in any hurry. I don't exactly need the degree for my job,” he said dryly, making Clint laugh.

“So why are you getting it then?” he asked.

Steve remained silent through the left turn, changing lanes again and waiting for a gap in the traffic—and past several Clint would have taken, if the twitching fingers on his thigh were any indication—then swinging around and into the proper lane.

He gave the question some thought as he continued driving, Clint patient enough to wait him out, though he did direct, “On the right up here about three blocks is a Thai place. Parallel park and we'll grab lunch.”

“Okay,” Steve said, changing lanes again.

When Steve still hadn't answered, Clint said, “You don't have to answer if you don't want to. I mean, shit, I never even finished high school, so, you know, not like I can judge anyone's reasons for wanting to go to college.”

Steve frowned and did take his eyes off the road for a moment to look at his teammate.  “You didn't finish high school?”

Clint chuckled and shook his head. “Nah. Nowadays, I guess a kid who joined the circus could probably do it online or something, but back then it just wasn't possible.” He shrugged. “Didn't much matter anyway. I may not have ever read Moby Dick or learned the Pithygory theory or whatever—”

“Pythagorean theorem,” Steve corrected automatically in a murmur.

Clint waved a hand, “Yeah, that—but I got enough education in practical, real life stuff, so I figure it balances out. And, according to Phil, I apparently know all the math stuff anyway, since I guess I use it when I shoot. I'm not like Tony, though, where I can speak in algebra or calculus or whatever. I just...” He shrugged. “It's more of a feel than a think, you know?”

Steve did, actually. He could do his sums, of course, and even a few of the formulas and things, but when he threw his shield it was less calculations and more gut instinct.

“There!” Clint said, sitting forward and pointing. “Parking spot just past the restaurant. Hell yeah, the parking gods are smiling down on us today.”

Steve smiled wryly at that, and slowed, flipping on his blinker to indicate his intent.

Clint remained silent while he executed his parking maneuver, then nodded as the engine cut out.  “Good job on that. I know people who've been here since they were kids who can't parallel park to save their lives.”

Steve shrugged. “Is that the end of the test?”

Clint thought for a moment, lips pushing out in a considering moue. “Yeah, we'll call it good, I think. I can give you a rundown over pad thai if you want it.”

“I do. The rundown and the pad thai.”

Clint smiled. “Excellent. You're buying right?”

Steve laughed and checked before opening his door. “Sure. I'll buy.”

Clint nodded and got out on his side.

It didn't take long to be seated, even with Clint asking for a specific booth in the corner, and while they waited for their food, Steve said, “Even if I don't need to go to college to be an Avenger, I guess I feel like not doing so would be a waste of a good opportunity. Especially since apparently the Army is paying for it.”

Clint nodded. “GI Bill?”

Steve nodded.

“I think I qualify for that,” Clint said, then shrugged again. “Just don't know what good it would do me, and, like I said, I didn't technically finish—or start , if we're being really picky—high school, so I'm not sure I could do it anyway.”

“I'm sure something could be worked out—” Steve started, but Clint waved him off.

“Probably. I'm surprised Phil hasn't hounded my ass about it more, to be honest, but, eh. It’s not a big deal. I'm doing just fine without.”

Steve frowned, but let it drop for now. He wondered if Natasha could help him persuade Clint otherwise, or even Coulson himself.

Though if Clint really didn't care, he supposed that was his business. It just seemed a shame to waste the chance to go to college when it was so much easier nowadays. If Tony were here, he'd probably take the time to point out that it was, in fact, not 1942 and Steve needed to stop thinking it was.

That was a whole other can of worms though.

“So,” Steve said, then paused to thank the waitress as she set their plates down. When she left again, he said, “How did I do?” and scooped up some noodles.

Clint slurped down his first mouthful and then shook his head on a laugh. “You did great, Cap. In fact, I'm wondering if you and Phil aren't putting me on.”

“How so?” Steve asked.

“Because if I didn't know better,” Clint said dryly, “I'd think you've been practicing that exact route until you got it perfect.”

“I thought you chose the route?”

“I did,” Clint said. “That's how I know better. But, seriously, that couldn't have been more textbook perfect if you tried.”

Steve considered that, then shook his head. “I'm sorry, I don't understand. This is a bad thing?”

Clint laughed loud enough to draw a few looks from nearby tables, then said, “No, Cap, not at all. I guess I just expected something a little more... I don't know. You being...” he gestured with his fork, “ you and all, I didn't think you'd feel the need to go exactly the speed limit or check all of your mirrors every damn time you need to change lanes.”

“But it's the law, isn’t it?”

Clint sighed and stirred his noodles, then scooped up a mouthful. “Yeah, I guess it is.” He snorted softly. “I guess it is,” he repeated, and sounded rueful. “I just didn’t expect the guy who jumps out of airplanes without a parachute and against orders to...” He shook his head. “Well, anyway, you passed with flying colors. Congratulations.” He raised his drink and waited for Steve to tap it with his own glass.

They talked about other things as they ate, but Steve wondered about Clint's assessment of his driving. He'd seen the way other people drove, of course—Tony was a menace behind the wheel, even if he didn't ever actually get in accidents, which seemed to only be by the grace of God—but, well, this had been a test of his skills.

There was a time and a place for driving the way everyone else seemed to consider the standard, but it certainly wasn't while he was being observed specifically to see if he knew the rules.

Chapter Text

"Captain, I would ask you a question."

Steve checked his blind spot and then moved into the next lane. "Sure thing, Thor. What's on your mind?"

Thor hesitated, and Steve glanced over to see his brow was furrowed.

"You know I won't make fun of you, right? I mean, I may have been born on Earth, but so much has changed since my day that it sometimes feels like I woke up on another planet."

Thor smiled. "This I know, Steve. You are most patient with me and I appreciate your consideration. It is why when JARVIS cannot answer my queries, I would ask you before the others."

Steve frowned, slowing down for the stoplight. "Are they giving you a hard time?"

"No more than usual," Thor assured him. "And it does not offend me, but it can distract them from answering the question." He shrugged. "It is just simpler to seek you out if possible."

"Oh. Well, okay then." He lightly pressed the pedal and sped up, though well behind the other cars at the light. One or two from his lane jumped over to others to go around when it was clear he wasn't going to go racing off like it was a starting line instead of an intersection. They honked as they went past and one threw him the bird, but Steve just repressed the instinct to wave and smile in favor of ignoring them.

"I do not understand Midgardian naming customs."

Steve frowned. "How so?"

"Natasha seems to have many names, but not everyone is permitted use all of them."

"Well, does everyone call you Thor all the time on Asgard?" Steve asked as he slowed down for another light.

"Except on rare occasions, yes. I do know that one may answer to different names. My father is called Odin or the Allfather. Once he was called Son of Bors. But there are so many more variations on Midgard. To you Natasha is Agent Romanoff when working with SHIELD and Natasha at home. Miss Potts calls her Natalie Rushman at times, and Tony…has a seemingly endless list of things he may use for her name."

Steve snorted and flipped on his signal, then slid over to the right in preparation to turn. "That's not a usual Midgardian custom, that's just Tony."

Thor smiled. "Indeed, I have suspected that to be the case. But while I thought that such differences were a way to tell what relationship two people might have, I have since found that not to be the case. Or if it is, Midgardian relationships are far more complex than Asgardian."

"I see. Well, relationships can be pretty complex. I call her Natasha at home because she told me to, but it's professional courtesy when we're in a work environment—like SHIELD—for me to use her rank or title." His brow furrowed. "I'm not actually sure which 'agent' is. Maybe both," he decided with a shrug as he turned.

"As she told me," Thor agreed. "And yet Clint calls her 'Nat' or 'Tasha'."

"Oh, well, yeah, they're really good friends." Steve frowned. "Possibly more than friends, I'm not quite sure."

"I see," Thor said, but his tone said he didn't really. "But are we not also her friends?"

Steve blew out a breath and scrubbed a hand back through his hair. "Well, we're…" He sighed. "You're right, it is complicated."

He tried to find the best way to explain and Thor was, thankfully patient enough to wait.

"I don't want to make assumptions about what kind of relationship you and she have, but I don't think she and I are really friends."

"Does sharing battle not create the bonds of friendship?"

"Well, it can. I mean mostly, I think it does, but—"

"Do you consider us to be friends?" Thor said, and Steve had never heard him sound more uncertain.

"No! I mean, of course, we are, Thor. But not everyone… I was really good friends with the other Howling Commandos—the guys I fought in the war with, before the ice, you know. But I know other guys who didn't get along so well with their units." He shrugged again. "It kind of depends on the person, I guess. But we are. I mean, I consider you a friend so…"

Thor smiled broadly and clapped his shoulder. "I am glad to hear that."

There was a companionable silence for a few minutes as Steve navigated the streets of Brooklyn, and then Thor said, "Having a friend such as you to converse with is the only thing that makes such an interminably dull journey tolerable. I do not understand why your people gave up horses as a means of transport or why you do not allow races with your fellow travelers."

Steve laughed in surprise. "Aren't you learning to drive with Darcy?"

"I am," Thor said, sighing, "but there are many rules, most of which seem to be designed to take all the skill and pleasure out of it."

"I'm going to tell Tony you said that and he'll take you to the Grand Prix in Monaco."

"This Grand Prix is a place you can drive without all these restrictions?"

"Eh, something like that, yeah. It's a race, but not on a track, it's through the city."

Thor's expression grew thoughtful. "This intrigues me. And you will join us?"

"Yeah," Steve said. "I'd like that."

Chapter Text

Steve could practically feel the frustration building in the seat next to him.

Natasha wasn't glaring at him, but she certainly wasn't happy with him either at the moment.

Steve slowed down for the crosswalk when he saw an elderly woman across the street was just starting to cross in her walker.

He turned to ask her if he'd somehow offended her and saw her face was the careful blankness that said she was furious. He hadn't seen it since Tony had eaten the last of her Damsky Kapriz that she ordered specially from Russia.

Steve looked forward and swallowed. He resisted the urge to tap his fingers, but couldn't quite keep them from flexing on the wheel.

Part of him was tempted to just keep driving, but the elderly pedestrian wasn't even halfway across the street.

The tension crept higher and higher with every passing moment.

Finally he cleared his throat and leaned forward to look up at the sky. "Nice day today. Almost a shame to be driving."

She didn't answer immediately.

He glanced over and she was staring at the pedestrian.

She muttered something in Russian and rolled her eyes.

The silence stretched on while they waited for the pedestrian until Steve said, "So, uh, how long until you're cleared to drive again?"

He winced and looked away before she even had time to react.

"Not soon enough," she said.

The crosswalk cleared and the light turned green and Steve gratefully focused on traffic as he pulled forward—and had to slam on his brakes when a car from the opposite left turn lane cut him off.

He breathed out slowly and then jumped when Natasha started yelling angrily at the other driver.

He pulled forward when the lane was clear and they drove for almost a block before he worked up the courage to say, "So, um, is there… uh… something bothering you? I mean, if Tony said something again—"

"It's not Tony I'm upset with," she said quietly while staring out the window.

"Oh. Thor? Clint?"

She looked at him and he said, "I mean, I'm not trying to pry or anything, I just, if I need to say something to them—"

She lunged angrily, pointing at the window, but he saw the car and hit the brakes, letting the car into the lane since the driver seemed so determined to get ahead of him.

Natasha huffed angrily and Steve said, "Everyone is in such a hurry these days. I mean," he clarified, "not that people weren't in a hurry back in the… in the day. But it seems like they're in more of a hurry today."

"It's possible they are in a hurry," she said sourly.

Steve glanced at the clock and winced. Was Natasha late? When he'd offered to take her to HQ for her meeting, he'd asked what time and he'd gotten off the elevator on her floor four minutes early.

"Get into the other lane."

"What?" he said, glancing over and watching a gap barely big enough for the car to fit into close quickly.

She huffed again. "Never mind."

"I thought…" His brow furrowed. "Don't I need to turn right in three blocks?"

"Yes," she said, through gritted teeth, "but this lane is moving slowly because every incompetent taxi driver in the city is waiting for a pickup right here apparently."

"Oh." Steve craned his neck, but couldn't see any taxi lights ahead. No more than usual, and they were all moving. "I don't see—"

"Change lanes," she repeated, then twisted to look over her shoulder. "Now!"

Steve very nearly did it, but stopped himself before he veered into the path of another car.

He glanced at Natasha and she snarled and looked away, crossing her arms over her chest.

Steve flipped on his blinker and started checking his mirrors, looking for a chance to get over.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I'm not sure what I did, but—"

"Go!"

He glanced over and pressed his lips together and went for it.

The car behind them had to hit its brakes and the driver honked and waved an angry fist.

"Sorry!" he called and waved, ducking his head. He inched forward and into the lane, heat creeping up his cheeks when he couldn't quite fit and ended up blocking the lane he left.

Natasha rolled down her window and yelled back at the driver there in Russian gesturing emphatically.

Finally the light ahead of them turned green and he had room to finish his lane change and keep going.

They didn't make it through the light, of course, as it changed to yellow when the car before them reached the line.

He stopped and Natasha rolled her eyes again and snapped, "You could have gone, there's more than enough room. Look," she said and gestured angrily to the empty space behind the car across the intersection.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "But the light was yellow—"

"Which means to slow down, not stop! Red means stop, yellow means slow down! Or speed up. Whichever. The point is, you had plenty of time to go through the intersection."

Steve frowned and eyed her profile, but before he could speak she said, "It's green. Go."

He turned and checked the intersection, then rolled forward as cars behind him honked.

The rest of the drive passed in miserable silence and it only got worse when he shifted back to the right-most lane and then pulled up in front of the SHIELD office.

"What time should I pick you up?" he asked as she wrestled her braced leg out the door and lifted her crutches out of the back seat. He tried to help, but she jerked them free and so he let go and backed off.

"Don't bother. I'll have Clint take me. Hell, maybe I'll walk. Either way it would be less painful than watching you drive again."

"Natasha, I'm sorr—" She slammed the door and started her stuttered gait to the front door of the building. "—ry," he finished with a sigh.

He flipped on his blinker and, when it was clear, merged back into traffic for the drive home.

It was amazing to him that the mechanics of driving a car hadn’t changed that much in seventy years, even if the vehicles you did it in had, but somehow relating to other people had become something completely different. Not that he’d been that good at connecting to people as a scrawny kid. He’d known just as many people who wouldn’t spit on him if he was on fire as who would follow him behind enemy lines on a hunch.

But even given seventy years of his already paltry social skills rusting under the Arctic snowpack, he was doing badly at connecting with this new team. He’d been more right than he thought when he told Thor it was like waking up on another planet. He just wished he knew where to find a good translator.

Chapter Text

Steve was trying not to take the silence in the car personally. He really was.

Natasha had been quiet—until she wasn't, and it was a startling contrast when you weren't expecting it—and she'd been mad at him. He thought she had been anyway. He still wasn't entirely sure if it had been him or his driving or just that she was already upset because she was injured and that tended to make her a little cranky on principle.

He just knew that the last time he'd driven her had been unpleasant and that she hadn't asked him for or accepted an offer of a ride since. She was polite to him in the tower, but he still felt like…

He sighed and his companion for this trip shifted uneasily.

Great. Now he was upsetting Bruce.

He searched for a topic of conversation, but what came out was a sort of rushed, "You're very quiet today."

Bruce's head turned in his peripheral vision and he winced.

"I'm usually quiet," Bruce said. "Is that a problem?"

"No!" Steve said. "Not at all! I just…" He shrugged. "I don't know. Everyone else has had opinions on my driving."

"Oh, uh… Do you want my opinion on your driving?"

"Sure. I mean, if you want to share it. You don't have to. I'm just…" He grimaced.

He heard a huff and glanced over to see Bruce smiling slightly.

"I take it not all the opinions have been complimentary?" he asked gently.

"No, I mean… Well… Clint seems to think I follow the rules a little too closely? Thor thinks it's boring. Natasha…" He shook his head. "She really doesn't like my driving. Anything about it. At all."

"And Tony?" Bruce asked.

Steve laughed. "Tony doesn't let me drive. Probably because he already knows he'd hate it. I know I drive too slow, too careful, too… everything for Tony."

Bruce laughed. "Yeah, I can see that."

Steve slowed and signaled for their turn, waiting for the crosswalk to empty and trying to resist glancing at Bruce's face every three seconds to see how he was reacting to the decision.

He seemed calm enough, but then he always did and by his own admission he was actually always angry.

Well he wasn't turning green, so that had to be a good sign, right?

He finished the turn and then merged over into the next lane. Despite Natasha's obvious disagreement, he used the proper technique.

He thought about asking Bruce again for his opinion, but then their left turn came up and he decided that was an excellent reason to delay for the moment.

"I think you're doing fine," Bruce said, before he'd worked up the nerve after the turn. "I like your driving. It's much less… stressful than some of the others."

Steve gave him a crooked smile and said, "Really? You won't hurt my feelings if you have a criticism."

"No, no, it's good. Very smooth and unhurried. Careful, but not…" He scrunched up his face. "Not like you're trying to be careful, if that makes sense."

"I think so," Steve said.

"I am curious though," Bruce said after another turn.

"About what?"

"Is this how you always drive?"

When he wasn’t trying to outpace a Hydra caravan ahead of a snowstorm in the Black Forest? "Yes," Steve said, after a moment to change lanes.

"Oh," Bruce said, smiling. "Good. That's good." Steve thought he saw the doctor's shoulders relax a little.

"Why do you ask? If you don't mind," he added quickly.

Bruce shrugged and pulled his glasses off to clean them. "People just tend to be overcareful when dealing with me." He smiled wryly. "You know, because of the Other Guy. And I'm not saying they shouldn't be careful, it's just… nice sometimes when it's not about me." He winced. "That probably sounds really arrogant—"

"No," Steve assured him. "No, I think I understand what you mean." He smiled and Bruce smiled back.

There was more silence for a few blocks but it was far less uncomfortable this time. Enough so that Steve felt brave enough to follow Thor’s example and ask, “Would you say that you and I are… friends, Dr. Banner?”

Bruce snorted. “Well, if we are that’s probably going to end badly for you. ‘Colleagues’ is a safer term.” His face twisted and then he said, “Then again... acquaintances is probably the best classification. Yeah.” He made a polite sort of smile. “We’re acquaintances, Captain.”

Steve swallowed down the disappointment and forced his own smile. “Well, I definitely prefer it to enemies.”

Bruce’s smile widened. “Yeah, me too.”

Chapter Text

“Good God, they were serious.”

Steve frowned and checked over his shoulder, then eased into the next lane. Tony covered his face with his hand and huffed out a breath.

“Serious about what?” Steve said.

Tony blinked and looked at him, then said, “What?”

“You said they were serious,” Steve said. “Who was serious about what?”

“I did?” Tony said, then stared blankly for a long moment. Steve could practically see him going back through his memories to pick up the thread of conversation.

“That was like ten minutes ago.”

“It was not ten minutes ago,” Steve said, rolling his eyes, but his protest was in vain. Tony didn’t even pause.

“Are you actually going twenty-five? I am going to die of old age, the arc reactor is going to run out of power, before we even get across the island, let alone through Brooklyn at this rate. This is heavy traffic speed, Steve. This is what you do when it’s stop-and-go rush hour, but do you know what it is now? It’s four in the morning. Look around you. The streets are empty .”

“They’re not empty, Tony,” Steve said. “There are plenty of people out right now. I don’t know why, there’s no reason for them to be out, but they are.”

“Because it’s a free country, Steve, that’s why. You want to talk about reasons though? There is no reason to be going less than, like, fifty. Maybe fifty-five, if you're feeling impatient. The road is straight and it’s clear enough that you could have a drag race right now and nobody would notice. Why are you still going twenty-five? ”

Steve reminded himself that Tony was a good man and far less annoying than his father, if they were being honest about things, and if he could make it through three years of war and almost every country in Europe without killing Howard Stark he could certainly cross Manhattan Island without killing his son.

Tony was also sick, which was why Steve was even here in this car right now. That worked to cool his temper where the rest did not. His ma would make him sit in the corner without his pencils and paper for an afternoon for being less than understanding of how sickness could make a person difficult. That didn’t mean they didn’t deserve the extra patience and Lord knows he’d been given more patience than he probably deserved as a kid with every health problem under the sun.

“I shouldn’t even be here,” Tony muttered.

“Here on this Earth or here in this car?” Maybe if he got Tony talking it would help distract him from watching Steve’s driving.

Tony snorted. “Both, if my record of almost dying is any indication.”

Steve frowned.

“But I was referring to here in this car. I saved the world with a grade three concussion. I built a robot that was decades ahead of anything the world had while I drunk and in the hormonal throes of puberty. And it wasn’t a sex-bot. I would like the record to reflect that. I built a robot for something other than sex at an age when most guys would have probably sold national secrets to Russia for a reliable source of sex. If I can do all that—and I can, since I, you know, did —I can damn well take care of myself when I’m sick with a summer cold.”

His face screwed up. “What does that even mean? Summer cold? That’s an oxymoron and it’s just… it’s stupid. I’m not calling it that. Done. I’m cured. No more summer cold for me. Pull over so I can drive.”

“Tony.”

“And another thing I’m done with? Bruce. Why would he call you at three am to tell you I have an unspecified but definitely not lethal or in any way impairing illness? What did he even say to get you out of bed?”

Steve didn’t bother to repress the sigh. He just silently thanked his ma for not smothering him with a blanket if he had been half this annoying. “He said that he was going to get angry if he had to listen to JARVIS tattle on you one more time. He also said that you should thank him because if someone had to pick you up to get you out of the lab you’d much prefer me to him and the likely broken bones from being Hulk-slammed into bed or thrown out the window.”

“That’s ridiculous. Bruce is ridiculous.”

“It seemed like a pretty valid concern to me,” Steve countered. He hadn’t been as scrupulous in following the traffic laws on the way over because he’d been a little bit worried about arriving at the Tower to find Tony in a crater in the pavement outside surrounded by shattered glass.

“Those windows are reinforced. You can’t throw someone out of them anymore.”

Steve opened his mouth to say that being thrown at an unbreakable window wouldn’t have ended much better for him, but Tony just bulldozed on through the conversation.

“And anyway if he'd just undone the lockdown and let me into my lab, the problem could have been solved without getting you involved. A few keystrokes, a line of code or two, maybe a sharp word, and JARVIS would have let him sleep through the night like the big goddamn baby that he is while I changed the world.”

“Tony.”

“Why do you even have an apartment still?” Tony asked. “You have an entire floor in the Tower you can do anything with, rent-free. I’m not an awful landlord, I swear. I mean, how can I be? You cannot possibly be a worse tenant than I am and I’m not about to kick myself out.

“Think about it, Rogers,” he said, twisting in his seat. “You could be home already if you lived there. And you’d be close by if I blew something up so there wouldn’t be a need to kidnap me and drag me out of bed to stop me from working. Which, by the way? Was a completely pointless gesture anyway.”

He dug into his pocket and produced his phone which he flicked awake and started tapping at. “As long as I have my phone I can— Hey!” he protested when Steve snatched it right out of his hands.

His gaze followed it until it disappeared into the interior pocket of Steve's jacket and the zipper was pulled up to his neck. Tony scowled, then looked up to Steve's face and ground out, “Give me back my phone.”

“No.”

“I mean it. Give it back or I'll—”

Steve snorted and said, “You'll what? Glare me to death?”

Tony's eyes narrowed. “You're taking a big chance on pissing off the guy who fixes your gear.”

“Nah,” Steve said. “I happen to know the guy who fixes my gear pretty well, and he wouldn't sabotage anything that my life might depend on.”

Tony glared at him in silent fury.

Steve put the car back into gear, signaled, and checked over his shoulder for traffic. When it was clear he pulled away from the curb and resumed driving. Tony blinked and looked around in confusion.

“Are you—“ he started to ask. “Are you kidding me?! You pulled over? Can you really not concentrate on, like, two things at once? Driving and talking? Really? That's too complicated for your supersoldier brain?”

“I pulled over because I thought for a minute there you were gonna jump out and try running back to the Tower.  Although driving a car requires you to concentrate on far more than two things, Tony. Driving a motorcycle even more, and I do okay on that as well."

He shook his head. "I can drive and talk just fine, but there's no reason to distract myself unnecessarily by talking when I need to focus more on the road because I'm changing lanes. Or preparing to stop my passenger from doing a barrel roll out the door and probably into the river knowing my luck.”

Tony blinked and then said, “Good God, they were serious.”

Steve actually took his eyes off the road to glance over with a wry grin. “Yeah, you said that already. I still don't know who 'they' are or what they're so serious about.”

“You sound like a safe driving PSA.”

Steve frowned. “A what?”

“PSA—public service announcement. Like, don't do drugs, kids, and stay in school. Alcohol and pregnancy don't mix well. And, apparently, don't talk to your passengers while changing lanes because your car might spontaneously lose control and careen into a building. How are you even real?” he asked, hitting his stride. “I mean did my dad know what he was unleashing on the world when he helped create you? Or were you like this before the...” He gestured. “Muscles and hair and... whatever.”

Steve chuckled at that. “The muscles I got from the serum, the hair I've always had.”

Tony squinted in disbelief. “Really?”

“Yes, Tony. Really.”

“Huh. And the rest? The—“ He propped his chin on two fingers as he considered. “If it didn't come from the serum, then it's like you were born to be a model of good behavior, the antithesis of me, if we're being honest. Did he choose you specifically to be a pain in my ass with your always following the rules and responsible choices and all?”

Now Steve blinked. “Ah, no? I mean... Kind of?”

Tony's eyes widened. “He did ?! My dad chose you just to be a walking talking example of all of my many character faults? That's... surprisingly self-aware of him. And a little creepy, to be honest. How did he know you'd still be here—”

A hand was covering Tony's mouth, and Steve said, “Tony, stop.”

He was amused again as he took his hand back and coasted for the yellow light. He shook his head.

When they'd rolled to a complete stop, he looked over and said, “Tony, your dad didn't choose me. I meant Dr. Erskine. And he said he chose me for what I had inside, for the kind of person I was, but I don't think he was looking for the antithesis of you. Anyway, if that were the case, he'd have had to find someone more like Schmidt.”

His head bobbed to the side thoughtfully. “More humble, perhaps, but no less evil, because you are a good man. I think Dr. Erskine would have liked you, to be honest. He wouldn't have given you the serum, because the serum enhances everything and no one needs more ego than you have right now, but you don't need it anyway, so that's all right.”

Tony scowled at that. Then he pressed the heel of his hand to his right eye socket. It looked like the headache was getting worse. Steve pressed the gas pedal softly, almost just letting it idle into motion.

Silence fell and Steve watched Tony from the corner of his eye as he checked his mirrors. Along with the apparent sinus pain, Tony had one hand sort of kneading his stomach and he was an almost unending series of sniffles now. Not that it seemed to be helping.

At the next light Steve dug into the glovebox for a packet of tissues and handed them off. Tony stared for a second, but accepted them, wiping at his nose.

“The others. The, uh...” He grimaced and scrunched up his face against the pain. “The team. They were serious.”

“About what?” Steve said. His voice was laced with concern for Tony’s current condition, but he couldn’t help feeling the trepidation over whatever Tony had to say about the team’s opinion of him.

"About you. Driving. I know you're technically, like, ninety, but do you have to drive like it?" He peeked at Steve with one eye, the other still covered by his hand.

Steve frowned. "I'm not trying to drive like a ninety-year-old."

Tony snorted. "Could have fooled me."

"Yes, well, I've seen you drive. I don't think you have room to cast stones from that glass house of yours."

"What are you talking about? I have a perfect driving record. Well, for accidents anyway. And I'm pretty sure most of my tickets have to do with my name, not my driving. And my house isn't glass, it's lexite composite polymer and it can withstand the Hulk at his angriest, so I will cast all the stones I want, thank you very much."

Steve burst out laughing at that. “That explains… so much more than it doesn’t.”

Tony gave an indignant noise, but he was still massaging his forehead. “That doesn’t even make sense,” he grumbled.

It fell silent again as Steve changed lanes, turned and maneuvered some more, while Tony gave up on pressing the headache out and just covered his eyes to shield from the probably nauseating bands of light as they went from streetlight to streetlight.

When they again hit a straightaway in the form of the bridge out of Manhattan, Steve started humming softly, hoping not to wake Tony with the noise if he kept it low and gentle enough.

"You know they have, like, a hundred stations on satellite radio that play music from the—”

Steve jerked the wheel to the right in surprise and Tony finished his sentence with a yelped, “HOLY SHIT!" while grabbing the door and pressing a hand to the dashboard.

Steve straightened out into the proper lane and then took a deep breath.

"What the fucking hell was that?" Tony demanded.

Steve chuckled, his cheeks flushing hot. Hopefully Tony couldn’t see that, though. "Sorry. You startled me is all. I thought you'd fallen asleep."

Tony just stared at him while Steve glanced at the mirror out his window and then flicked his gaze back to his face on the way back to the road.

"What?" Steve asked when the pressure at the back of his neck got to be too much and it was either ask or hunch forward.

"You… I startled you? Oh my god, I take it back, drive like a grandpa, Jesus. If that's what it takes to keep from dying in a fiery wreck, by all means, act your age."

Steve rolled his eyes and shook his head, but said nothing. Tony’s sick , he reminded himself, though the reality was that Tony was just… Tony .

Who cleared his throat with exaggeration and said, slowly, "I'm going to speak now, is that okay?"

"Don't be an ass," Steve said, all of his nice polished manners gone out the window—something Tony seemed to be particularly skilled at causing. "Just don't pretend to fall asleep and then start a conversation out of nowhere and we'll be fine."

Tony opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked out the window.

Steve wondered what he’d been about to say, but dismissed the thought almost immediately. Trying to discern the mental processes of a guy like Tony was great way to give yourself a migraine and that was about it.

"Tony?" Steve said after they exited the bridge and made a couple of turns. "Did you pass out again? Because if so, I think it might be time to admit you need a hospital—"

"I'm awake!" Tony said, sitting up and turning back. "I'm fine. Just… thinking."

"God help us all," Steve said, but it was as fond as it was wry. He considered, then gave up. Conversation was better than worrying about Tony’s health. "About what?"

Tony hesitated—or just got lost in thought again, it was hard to tell which—then shrugged. "Nothing."

He wiggled his way back into a more comfortable slouch and said, "How much longer? I'd ask how far, but I know how far and how long it should take, if a normal person were driving. I'm assuming you know how long it will take at your preferred speeds."

"About fifteen more minutes," Steve said, resigned.

"Mmkay, I'm going to nap then. Wake me when we arrive."

"Okay. Good night, Tony."

Tony huffed a laugh, probably because Steve had wished him a good night when he was so obviously not feeling well.

He cracked an eye after only a second. "I mean it, wake me up. Don't you dare carry me inside asleep, I'm not a toddler."

Steve's voice was dry as the desert when he said, "No, of course not, where would I ever get an idea like that?"

Tony squinted. "You can be an asshole too, you know that?"

Steve laughed softly. "I never said I couldn't. Sleep, Tony. I'll wake you up when we arrive."

"You better," Tony muttered, then leaned his head against the cool glass of the window and let his eyes close.

Chapter Text

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 powerline 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.

Chapter Text

“Let the record show that the vigilante team known as 'the Avengers' failed to show up before this committee, and therefore are voluntarily surrendering all rights of—”

The doors boomed open, letting in a flurry of sound and camera flashes, and everyone in the room turned to see Steve leading Natasha, Clint, and Thor into the room. All of them but Thor—who’d summoned his armor during that last standoff and kept it on for the flight here—were still in the suits they'd left the house in that morning, and were bandaged and bruised from where Coulson had insisted they be checked out before he would allow them to take a 'jet the rest of the way to the Pentagon.

It didn't exactly match his once pristine Armani suit, but Steve had his shield on his arm. After the morning they'd had, he wasn't taking a chance that he would need it now and it would be uselessly waiting for him on the 'jet. A security guard had tried to stop him, telling him that he couldn't bring it in, but a few moments of a flat stare and a quiet word from the man's supervisor had quelled his concerns.

Likewise, Thor had Mjölnir in hand and Clint had his bow and quiver slung over his back and, though he couldn't see them since she’d surrendered the obvious belt, he was very sure Natasha was well armed as well.

“Ah, Captain Rogers,” Stern said with a smarmy grin. “So nice of you to show up. I was told you were a very punctual type of person, but, well, it's understandable that some parts of the story must be inflated a bit, right?”

Steve stopped at the table where Rhodey and several members of the SHIELD legal team, under the direction of Maria Hill, were seated. He remained standing while Clint sank into a seat and Thor followed his example. Natasha remained standing at his side, arms crossed over her chest.

“I apologize for our lateness,” Steve said, “but we had some... complications during our drive here.”

“I see. You got lost on the way to the Senate hearing in the Capitol building. It happens. You should have Mr. Stark explain to you how Google Maps works. I bet that would have been handy back in the day, right? Speaking of Mr. Stark, would these complications have to do with why two members of your team are missing? The summons was for all six of you, wasn't it?”

“It was,” Steve said, “and they do. Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner are currently under medical supervision—”

“Oh,” Stern said with faux sympathy. “Stayed up a little too late partying last night?” He tsked. “Well, that's just too bad. Send them my condolences, would you? We'll just have to proceed without—”

“Tony didn't overindulge last night,” Steve corrected. “He's in the hospital with injuries sustained in a series of car accidents this morning.”

There was a brief swell of chatter at this announcement before Stern restored order to the room.

“A series of car accidents?” he asked, dubiously. “How, exactly, does one become involved in a series of car accidents and why didn't someone stop him from driving after the first or second?”

“Tony wasn't driving the vehicle at the time of the accidents, Senator,” Steve said. “I was.”

That caught the politician off guard. “Excuse me? Captain Rogers, this is precisely why we asked you to be here, to determine under what aegis you operate and to limit your power if necessary. You cannot act with carte blanche just because you are so-called superheroes—”

Steve turned his head when Maria touched his elbow and told him he could sit. He was feeling just contrary enough to want to stay standing until the end, but his leg wasn't pleased with his stubbornness and the rest of him was tired enough to vote against the plan as well.

He nodded and accepted the chair Clint had pushed forward with his foot, Natasha seating herself after, next to him.

“Senator Stern,” Maria said and nodded to the technical specialist at the end of the table, who began typing on her laptop. The television screens around the room lit up, each showing a different news report of the chase, anchor reports interspersed with video of both aerial shots and on-the-ground filming.

“This morning the Avengers were attacked on their way to this very meeting. Captain Rogers utilized his training and superhuman abilities to minimize the damage and threat to civilian life. We are still investigating who is behind this, but we do know that the Avengers didn't seek out this threat. They, however, did contain it, and then neutralize it.”

A shaky—but remarkably clear—cellphone video of the Hulk smashing the engine right out of the second SUV played out, the cameraperson pulling back on the shot to show the otherwise empty roundabout.

“Mr. Stark was already in less than perfect health this morning, but he came anyway. During the course of the chase he was injured and had to be airlifted to a secure medical facility.”

"Minimized the damage? Minimized . I'm not even going to guess at the number of injuries to innocent bystanders right now, let's just stick to the fact that there are how many miles of New Jersey with damage to the roads, buildings, and public works now? Look at that!" he said and pointed to the screen where it showed the mess Steve'd made of the freshly poured cement sidewalk.

"That is taxpayer money being wasted , right there. And that's not even the worst of the damage that I'm seeing just in these few minutes of footage! How are we meant to justify the existence—the blatant favoritism —being shown these people just because they are stronger and faster than the rest of us mere humans?"

Thor shot to his feet, fingers wrapped around the shaft of Mjolnir, and said, "You would penalize them for being able to do what you cannot? For having the strength to defend you 'mere humans' from threats greater than you are prepared to battle? You should be honoring their courage, not treating them like dangerous beasts let loose among your children!"

"Okay, first of all, you're not even from Earth, so I don't expect you to understand our ways," Stern said. Steve had to grit his teeth at the patronizing tone to keep from saying something that Tony would be proud of.

Thor snorted. "I have seen more ages than you will live and I understand more than you know, councilman."

" And second of all ," Stern added, talking over Thor, "that's exactly what it's like. If we don't lay down rules and regulations, it will be just as bad as letting 'wild beasts loose among our children'."

There was a cough from the technical specialist at the end of the bench and when attention went her way she blushed lightly. “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to interrupt you, Senator. Uh, carry on.”

A moment later Clint laughed out loud and everyone stared at him until they saw he was pointing at the screens. "He's right though. Oh god, look at that carnage."

A PR event from a few months back where they'd dressed up in uniform and gone to visit children in a hospital was showing on the screen. Thor was lifting his arms with a half dozen children hanging off while Natasha and Clint were doing a tumbling exhibition down the hallway with a few of the older girls clapping and cheering.

Steve, sans his cowl, was laughing at Tony with marker on his face as they sat at a too-small table and fingerpainted with several toddlers. A sprinkling of dots and a bright yellow handprint were drying on the shoulder pauldron where one child had tried to get his attention and then had to hold on when he'd swung them onto his hip.

"Save them," Natasha said dryly. "Quick, save them from the monsters."

"This is cute," Stern said. "This is very cute. But visiting some children in a hospital, while admirable, does not negate the fact that you left a swath of destruction through the state of New Jersey while commuting!"

"Oh come on!" Clint said. "That makes it sound like we went on a bender for shits and giggles during morning rush hour!"

"Hawkeye," Maria said, shooting him a look. He stopped talking, slouching back into his chair, and glared at the ground.

"As I said,” she continued, “Senator Stern, this morning's incident was not instigated by the Avengers. They were attacked with the intent to kill them. Why? Because Captain America cut them off on the freeway?"

"Did you, Captain?" Stern asked.

Steve frowned, eyes narrowing, but Maria said, "Oh for God's sake. This was a calculated and coordinated attack involving at least seven vehicles and almost an hour of pursuit."

"And that's another question I have," Stern said. "Why did it take an hour for these heroes to stop and do something about this threat?"

Clint made a sound of outrage and Thor grumbled menacingly, but Steve was the one who said, "I did evade them, several times in fact, and they just kept—"

"Captain, stop," Maria said. She turned back to the senators and said, "This is not the inquiry board, nor are we prepared to discuss exactly what happened today until we have concluded our investigation of events. What I can tell you is this:

"The initial assessment of the incident shows clear and repeated attempts by Captain Rogers to minimize damage and preserve human life, both that of his teammates and of innocent civilians. There have been an as yet undetermined number of casualties, including that of Tony Stark, but there are no verified fatalities, except for two of their assailants. Most damage was minor, the sidewalk you referred to believed to be one of the more costly repairs to be made.

"In fact, according to my last report, that was already being taken care of by New Jersey Department of Transportation workers and should be finished within the original timeline. For a 'swath of destruction', those are some impressively small costs. So far, more vehicular injury, death, and property damage can be attributed to United States Senators last year alone." She leveled a hard look at Stern and held it while he scowled back.

Steve shifted uncomfortably at that, mostly because he was torn between frowning at the possibility that was true and trying to hide a smile at the way Maria had been as blunt as she usually was.

The response on the other side of the bench seemed to be similarly split, and after a beat, Maria continued. "Fortunately, we are not here today to discuss that either."

"How is Mr. Stark doing?" asked one of the senators who tended to be more sympathetic to their cause. Steve thought he might have a daughter who was a big fan of Tony's, but he couldn't be sure if he was confusing the man with someone else.

"I don't believe that's any of your business, sir," she said in a cool tone.

"Agent Hill," Steve said. She turned to give him a look, but he shook his head.

She pressed her lips together, then turned back. “Mr. Stark was already in less than perfect health this morning, recovering from a flu infection. During the course of the chase, he suffered several injuries and was airlifted to a secure medical facility—"

"He has a concussion, a sprained wrist, several broken ribs, and some other minor injuries," Steve said. "He'll be fine, though, thank you for your concern."

"The rest of your team does not appear to have escaped unscathed either, Captain," another senator observed.

"I appreciate your concern, ma'am, but it looks worse than it is. We'll be fine as well. Thank you."

More than one senator leaned to a neighbor and made a comment, murmured discussions popping up all along the table, and while it was clear not all of them were favorable, neither were they all unfavorable it seemed.

"While the discussion of today's events is very relevant to the decision before us, we have, as Agent Hill said, gotten off topic," Stern said loudly, and the other conversations died out in response. "We are here to decide if the Avengers will be allowed to continue their activities and, if so, under what oversight. I am, of course, concerned for their health—"

Steve heard Clint snort behind him and Natasha murmur something quietly to him in response.

"—but that is irrelevant to the—"

"These injuries are a direct result of their actions today that saved lives," one of the other senators said.

"Lives that would not have been in danger if not for the Avengers' presence," another countered.

"I think that depends on why this group was so set on eliminating the Avengers," one said. "It's not inconceivable that a terrorist group would see them as a threat and try to remove that obstacle."

"We don't know that this was a group of terrorists with a greater plan," came the argument.

"We don't know that it wasn't. The Chitauri came to our world from another part of space, but there is no shortage of threats among the people of Earth itself," a senator on the end said.

"The question we have to ask ourselves," Stern said, "is whether or not we're willing to accept the many and potentially grievous risks that come with allowing a group of what are essentially vigilantes to become a sanctioned part of our defense system."

"I move to allow the Avengers to handle threats that the United States military is neither equipped nor prepared to deal with at this time. I move that this status be provisional in nature under the direction of the Secretary of Defense and Joint Chiefs of Staff until such time as more detailed and complete regulations can be enacted."

"I second the motion."

Stern didn't look at all pleased as he called for the vote. "All in favor—"

"With all due respect, Senators," Steve said, standing up, "at this time the Avengers are not interested in becoming directly affiliated with the United States government."

That caused any and all discussion in the room to cease immediately.

"Excuse me?" Stern finally said.

Steve shrugged while Maria glared at him and said, "Senator—"

"No, Agent Hill, I'd like to hear this from the Captain's mouth, thank you." His gaze shifted and he said, "Continue, please."

Steve shrugged. "I have a great deal of respect for the men and women who work within the checks and balances of the United States Congress, the Judicial Branch, and the Executive Branch. I also have a great deal of respect and gratitude for the men and women in uniform who serve this country every day in the military and civil support agencies. I would like to thank all of them for their service and efforts to keep this country and its citizens safe."

Then he shook his head, "But I share the concerns of Tony Stark in regards to putting the control of the Avengers into the hands of the men and women who don't work within those checks and balances, who use the system to cheat it and take and use power that isn't theirs to have. We are are also concerned about what effects affiliations like this might have on our ability to work in response to threats that do not directly affect the United States.

“I bear the name and wear the colors of this country, but neither I, nor my team, are willing to turn a blind eye to the rest of the world’s needs. We'd like your cooperation, of course, but we don't need your funding and we're not interested in your direction or regulations. Thank you."

Steve saw one or two smiles, a few glares and scowls, and mostly perplexed expressions on the faces of the committee members.

"You expect us to support the organization of a private army on United States soil?" Stern finally demanded.

"No, sir," Steve said. "The Avengers are hardly an army and I already said we don't need your support." He tilted his head. "If anything, we'd like you to treat us just like all of our fellow citizens."

"Oh yes, because you're just like any group of superhumans who likes to save the world on the weekends."

Steve's smile grew lopsided. "Everyone has to have a hobby."

"Captain Rogers," Stern said, visibly annoyed and quickly losing his temper, "you seem to think this is some kind of game, but let me assure you that this is very serious indeed. It is our job to look out for the best interests of the citizens of the United States—"

"I understand how serious this is, Senator," Steve said, expression hardening. "Believe me, I do. If anyone is under the delusion this is a game we're playing, I'd say it's you."

"Oh please, Mr. Stark—"

"Has spent a considerable sum of his own money and risked his very life on multiple occasions, not because it was a game, or because it was profitable, or even because he wanted the approval of people like you. He did it because it was the right thing to do. That's all any of us want," he said, gesturing to the other three members of the team present. "To use whatever 'special' abilities we have to help people because someone has to. We're not going to try and take over the world or even New York City. We just want to be able to step up when we're needed and pitch in. That's all."

"I move to dismiss the motion to make the Avengers a provisional unit of the United States government," one of the senators said into the ensuing silence.

"Seconded," another called out almost immediately.

"You understand, Captain," a distinguished-looking female senator said, "that this may cause you difficulties in the future. The benefit to being under the direction of a recognized authority is that you are also afforded certain protections for your actions."

"I do," Steve said, "but I think that's more likely to keep us honest than giving us a chain of command. We're not like other teams," he added wryly.

"No, you're certainly not that," she said with a small smile to match his own.

This time Stern looked downright livid as he called for the vote. It wasn't unanimous, or even a landslide, but it passed in their favor. Steve was content with that.

The meeting was adjourned and the conversation level went from a buzz to an only slightly dimmed roar.

"That could have gone better," Maria said sourly as she turned to face him.

Steve smiled and said, "Maybe," he allowed. "But I'm counting it as a victory in my book. Thank you for your help today."

"Doing what?" she asked dryly.

He laughed and said, "Moral support. It's more important than you might guess."

She shook her head, and he thought she might have been amused and just hiding it. "Go. Be moral support for Stark. Just make sure he's not hacking into my mainframe this time," she warned with a pointed finger.

The agents moved out in a group, ignoring the media representatives trying to get a comment or a response.

"Ready?" Clint asked, standing and stretching with a wince when it pulled on sore muscles and other injuries.

"You heard Agent Hill," Steve said. "Let's go support our team."

Chapter Text

Steve knocked and poked his head in the room, smiling when Bruce waved.

"How's he doing?" Steve asked and entered, the others following him and taking up their usual spots around the room, Clint propping himself in the corner, Thor standing at the foot of the bed, and Natasha going to the head of the bed on the far side where she could keep an eye on the door and everyone in the room at the same time. Steve stood at Bruce's side and laid a hand on his shoulder. "How are you doing?"

"I'm good," Bruce said. He looked tired, but no more than usual post-change. "Tony's good." Then he tilted his head. "Well, he's Tony. Which means when he's conscious, he's kind of whiny, but—"

"We only need to worry when he's not," Steve said affectionately. He squeezed Bruce's shoulder.

"I am taking that as a compliment, even though I know you didn't mean it that way," Tony mumbled, then blinked his eyes open and squinted into the dim room. "What'd I miss? Are we fugitives?"

Steve shook his head. "No, Tony, we're not."

"Damn. I had the remote island picked out and everything."

"You may actually want to buy it anyway," Clint said, chuckling.

Tony's eyes widened and he pushed to sit up, hissing, but letting Natasha and Bruce help him. "Why? Oh god, what happened?" He sounded more excited than concerned, though.

"The committee offered us provisional status while they debated how to incorporate us into the existing chain of command," Natasha said.

"They didn't ," Tony breathed, then looked to Steve. "You told them to take their chain of command and shove it, right?"

Steve opened his mouth, but Clint answered with a snort. "Basically."

Steve felt a flush climb his cheeks. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'd rather not make it possible for them to decide we need to go solve all of their problems overseas." Especially the ones they'd caused by interfering where they weren't wanted or needed.

"You totally did, didn't you. Oh my god, I can't believe I missed it!" Tony said, sagging back against his pillow and slamming his fist—the sprained one, of course—on the mattress. "Ow!"

"You can get the video footage, I'm sure," Steve said, patting his calf.

"At least tell me that Stern had an aneurysm. Please, Steve, make a sick man's wish come true and tell me that much."

Steve smiled wryly. "No."

Tony deflated. "Aww."

"But it was a close thing."

Tony's smile returned, bright and brilliant.

"In the end, it was Steve's impassioned speech that turned the tide," Natasha said. She was smiling that tiny smile that he thought meant she was proud of him.

"Naturally," Tony said, beaming. "Naturally."

Steve turned to stare at Tony, then looked away before he could get caught. He didn’t know if he should be flattered or concerned that Tony was apparently proud of how he’d handled the Senate committee. "You make it sound like it was my words alone that convinced them.”

Natasha's eyebrow arched, Thor tilted his head, and Clint said, "Well us being beat all to hell probably didn't hurt, but, yeah, I think that was mostly it. I mean, you made Tony sound like a damn martyr."

"Ohhhhh, I bet Stern just loved that," Tony said with glee.

"So they're still deciding what to do about us then?" Bruce asked.

"Well, ish," Clint said. "For now leaving us alone seems to be their plan. Probably because Brit from Tech pulled a you," he said with a nod at Tony, "and hijacked their screens to show them the chase."

"She did?" Tony sounded delighted. "I'm giving her a raise."

"She doesn't work for you," Natasha said.

"Then I'll headhunt her first! Stop spoiling my fun."

"They saw all of the chase?" Bruce said, paling a little.

"Oh, yeah. Don't worry, Doc," Clint said. "I'm 98% sure they're far more terrified of Steve's driving than your little episode."

"Oh, here we go again," Steve said with a roll of his eyes. "They wouldn't let me drive to or from the Pentagon," he said to Tony.

Tony blinked, as if waiting, then said, "Right. No, that makes perfect sense."

"What?!" Steve said.

"What do you mean what?" Tony said. "I mean, it's not that you weren't absolutely badass on the road yesterday, I think we can all agree on that." He swept the room with a glance and they all nodded. "But it was a little…"

He barely had time to pause before Clint was finishing it. "Terrifying. Pants-shitting. Heart-attack inducing. I think I found Jesus in New Jersey and that's a sentence that I honestly would never have thought could cross my lips."

"He doesn't cope well with being a passenger during high stress driving," Natasha said.

"I would never have guessed," Tony said, and if you didn't know him, you might believe he was serious.

"I think our Captain did a fine job."

"Thank you, Thor," Steve said, glaring at Clint.

"And I must apologize for my previous comparisons to Tony's driving."

"That's very nice of you," Steve said.

"But I think I would prefer to ride with Tony in the future."

Tony burst out laughing and Clint just started saying, "See? See?! I'm not the only one!"

Steve's eyes widened and he sputtered incoherently for a moment.

"I don't know, I thought his driving was pretty impressive," Bruce said.

"Thank you!" Steve said, then eyed him warily. "Wait, impressive how?"

Bruce turned his head up to look at Steve and said, "No, no, I mean that in a good way. You were very in control given the situation. I appreciate that."

"Oh," Steve said. "Thank you."

"I never said your driving wasn't impressive," Natasha said. "In fact, I found it very impressive. Frankly, Cap, I never thought you had it in you."

Steve huffed. "I did learn to drive under wartime conditions, you know. It's not like the roads were all perfectly paved—or even intact with all the artillery flying around."

"Not that," she said. "Your language."

"I swear!" Steve said. "I swear all the damn time!"

She gave him a look that said clearly that she was calling him on that lie. "You do swear, but not like that, and I have never heard you so much as raise your voice while driving. I was beginning to think you weren't human."

His eyes narrowed and his jaw clamped shut, but before he could retort, he saw the glint in her eye. His anger leaked out like air from a balloon.

"You're teasing me." He looked around at them all, his shoulders drooping as they relaxed. "All of you are teasing me."

"We are," Tony said. He waited a beat and added, "We're serious about the driving though. I think I lost ten years off of my life and I'm not a young man anyway." That got a murmur of agreement—and a slightly more vocal response from Clint.

"I am never doing that again. Ever. ”

“Shut up, Clint,” Natasha said. Then she turned to Steve. “Thank you for saving our lives.”

“Yeah,” Tony seconded. “I never want to see you behind the wheel again, but I’m glad you were there today.”

“Indeed!” Thor said, clapping Steve on the shoulder. “Many thanks, my friend.”

“Thank you again,” Bruce said, reaching out to shake his hand. “As bad as it was, it could have been worse and that is because of you.

Clint grunted and Steve turned to see Tony poking him repeatedly in the side.

“Stop it, dammit, or I’ll take that finger off!”

“Do it and you’re explaining to Pepper what happened to her favorite finger.”

Steve rolled his eyes and Natasha, Thor, and Bruce chuckled with varying degrees of embarrassment. Clint just pulled a face.

“File that under things I really never needed to know , oh my god.” He wiped a hand over his eyes, then said, with a genuine smile. “Thank you for not getting us dead, Cap. Even if I think they should revoke your license.”

Steve gave a wry smile. “You’re welcome, Hawkeye, but I think you should tell everyone here who’s responsible for giving me that driver’s license.”

Clint gave an offended squawk and just like that the rest of the team turned on him.

Steve smiled, but it was mostly because of the warmth bubbling up in his chest. It wasn’t 1945 anymore and this sure wasn’t Brooklyn or even France, but for the first time since waking up he finally felt like he was home.