Steve's dreams were of Bucky. Of a time long ago, when they had been little kids sitting on a fire escape and passing a cigarette between them. He had coughed so much that blood had flecked his lips, but he had wanted so much to look as cool as Bucky had, with one of his Pa's cigarettes hanging from his lips effortlessly. He still didn't know that cigarettes were supposedly bad for people now.

When he woke with the dawn, yawning and stretching, he looked over at Tony in concern. The man looked godawful, pale with dark smudges under his eyes as if he hadn't slept a wink.

"...hey, you okay?"