Steve didn't want to go back to the days of panhandling for tiny little scraps towards victory, but he was wise enough to keep his mouth shut about that for now. He also had no idea the scope of the resistance in this world, and how much good they could do without some serious numbers behind them.

It was a desperate position to be in.

So he laid down on the little cot that strained under the weight of a bulky super soldier, and closed his eyes, though sleep was a long time coming. And his dreams were restless, and upsetting.

It would be in the darkest hours of the early morning when Tony would awaken to a slight pressure on one foot, like someone had pinched one of his toes, and the silhouette in the gloom of the Soldier staring down at him. Little could be seen of him save for the scant gleam of metal from his arm, but the stench of blood and gunpowder would be overwhelming.