"I always felt like I was meant to have been born in another era, another time." –Johnny Depp

Disclaimer: I own squat.

The world was black and silent... until it wasn't. Tony dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the oncoming vehicle. He crashed into the sidewalk, a man walking down the street ignored him as he calmly stepped over Tony. Tony stood up carefully, brushing himself off as he checked for any injuries.

"Oh shit!" Tony spun around frantically. He looked into the street and all around him, but his suit wasn't there. Left standing in the old blue jeans and simple white top he had been wearing under the suit, Tony fell back against a brick wall as he started to realize just what was around him.

In the drizzly rain in the dark of early morning, an old 1940's billboard hung above the building across the street, advertising the need for able and willing men to enlist. Only, this sign was not even two years old. A few vehicles parked alongside the road are old models to Tony, but these cars are still on their original engine and parts and working just fine. The man that had stepped over Tony earlier was a bit farther down the sidewalk, head bowed in his slow trudge to avoid getting the drizzle of rain in his eyes. From his spot against the wall, Tony could see the newness of the man's old fashioned suit that is currently of fairly high fashion for this war-burdened time.

"Fuck," Tony gasped, one hand automatically moving to protectively cover his arc. Tony's arc and suit were well ahead the technology of his own time and there was no telling what people of the forties might think of them and subsequently do to him. Tony slipped into a nearby alleyway after a quick glance around.

Tony wracked his brain for anything that he knew about this time. The only thing he could figure out about this time was the approximate year and that he was from 2014. What? Start over. Tony knew he was a genius. He lives in Manhattan in the year 2014. He was wearing his Iron Man suit when there was a bright white light. His parents, Howard and Maria, had died when he was young and he had no other family.

Besides that, Tony's memories were few, vague, and mostly unimportant. He could remember Jarvis comforting him during a thunderstorm, bits and pieces of his graduation, a few drunken evenings spent by himself. He remembers Howard's old friend Obadiah, the name accompanied by a vague sense of unease and betrayal. Then there's Afghanistan. He's pretty sure he remembers most of his time in the cave, but he can't be too sure. Tony knows he crashed the first suit and how he wondered around aimlessly for hours until. Until something, but he couldn't remember what. Anything between that moment and a few seconds before he was dropped into the forties was just empty. Great. Just great.

Tony's thoughts shifted to the... the present? Past? Whatever. A woman cried out again from farther down the alleyway and Tony turned and sprinted towards the distressed sounding woman. At the other end of the alleyway Tony found a man pressing a knife against a young woman's throat as he demanded all of her money. Tony assumed that, if left undisturbed, the man wouldn't stop there.

"Hey!" Tony yelled. The man turned towards him.

"Mind your own business, bub," the man's ugly scratchy voice replied.

"Why don't you let her go first?" Tony jauntily replied.

"Take a stroll, bub. This won't end pretty for ya," the man leered, turning the knife towards Tony.

"What's a matter, honey? Don't want to play with me?" Tony teased the man in a seductively low voice.

The man flushed with anger at Tony's jeer and took the bait. He stepped away from the woman, whom slipped away quickly, and took a few steps towards Tony. The man's hand tightened on the knife, his eyes daring Tony to make the first move. Tony lunged towards the his left and the man swung his knife in the same direction. Expecting the move, Tony readily jumped to his right and landed a hard blow to the man's stomach. The man bent over in pain just enough for Tony to knee him in the face where red blood began to rush from his nose. The man staggered back and glared at Tony. The man jumped at Tony whose limited field training hadn't included a man lunging just to take him down.

The man was a few inches taller than Tony and easily over fifty founds heavier, and Tony was knocked to his back under the man's weight. One of Tony's hands flew to protect the arc and the other to his head as the man began punching at random. He landed one or two fairly wimpy punches before one hit home at Tony's left temple. Tony's head snapped to the right, his vision going black for a few seconds. Blinking his eyes, the man scrambled to hold Tony's arms still with one hand as he raised the other. Recognizing the knife held against the woman, Tony pulled his arms free and shoved the man as hard as he could.

The man brought the knife down just as Tony shoved him away. Tony didn't know where the man had planned to land the knife, but it now ended up striking his left bicep. Tony hissed in a breath while the man, who had fallen onto his back, tried to stand up. Tony kicked the man as hard as he could in the head, sending him careening backwards. Tony jumped onto the man, whom feebly fought back, and rained blows down onto him until one well placed fist knocked the man out cold.

Tony leaned back and caught his breath. He eyed the man before crawling next to him. Tony eventually pulled the man's leather jacket off of him, and rather than aggravating the cut on his arm, simply draped the jacket over his body. Tony was beginning to get cold in his wet clothes, the jacket mercifully keeping and more water off of him and retaining some of his body heat. Tony began moving forwards, unsure where he was going or why. Some unknown amount of time later, Tony's frame was visibly shaking from the cold and he was tired from walking and blood loss. He found a quiet looking building that didn't appear to be too dirty, if a bit rundown. Tony's right arm braced himself as he slid to the ground and leaned against the wall. He pulled his knees to his chest, put his left arm on top of them, his right next with his hand clamped around the sluggishly bleeding wound, and his head fell tiredly on top. Tony's breathing slowed and exhaustion quickly took over.

- . . - - .

"Bucky, honestly. This dame will be just like the last one you tried to set me up with," a scrawny Steve Rodgers stated matter-of-factly as he walked down the stairs of his small Brooklyn apartment.

Bucky shook his head. "What'cha mean?" he asked innocently as he trotted ahead of his best friend.

Steve looked up at his best friend as the two reached the ground floor and sighed. "You know what I mean, Bucky. Dames just aren't interested in a guy like me."

"Aww, Steve," Bucky walked through the front door and held it for his friend. "You know that someone out there will just fall for yo-" Bucky stopped as Steve tripped.

"Hey!" Bucky yelled at the drunkard whose outstretched leg had tripped Steve. One leg was drawn up to his chest and supported his bowed head as his arms lay limp by his sides.

"Bucky, I'm okay." Steve looked to the man he tripped over. "Excuse me, mister. I'm sorry for running into you." Bucky snorted. "Are you okay?" Steve asked.

The man didn't respond. He didn't move.

"He's just some drunk, Steve. Leave him alone so we can get to the girls."

Steve ignored Bucky to lay a hand lightly on the man's left shoulder. When the man didn't move again, Steve shook him gently. The man hissed in pain, brown eyes finally squinting open in time to watch Steve's blue eyes widen as he noticed the blood on the ground next to the man. "Sir? What happened? Are you alright?" Steve heard Bucky impatiently tap his foot. "Bucky, he's bleeding."

"Honestly, Steve. You're far too kind to people that really don't deserve it," Bucky said sarcastically but knelt next to the man anyways. "Hey. Hey fella." He poked a bruise on the man's forehead. Steve swatted his hand away when the man let out another groan, lifting his right hand under the jacket draped on his shoulders. He slipped the hand into the left side of his jacket and left it near his upper arm. Steve pulled the jacket back to reveal a cut running diagonal across the man's bicep, blood sluggishly oozing from the wound as it joined the quite a bit of blood already dried onto his arm, his side, and the sidewalk.

"Bucky, help me get him inside."

"Steve, wait just a s-"

"Please." Steve looked pleadingly into his larger friend's dark eyes.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Fine," he huffed. "But when he kills you in the middle of the night, don't you dare start haunting me."

Steve flashed him a grin. "Deal."

- . . - - .

Tony's first thought after waking up were along the lines of How drunk was I and how hot was she for me to wake up in a place like this?

After quietly laying still for a few minutes on probably the most uncomfortable thing Tony had ever slept on, besides in Afghanistan of course, Tony's eyes fluttered open for the second time that morning.

"Good afternoon." Oh. Not morning.

Brown eyes drifted lazily towards blue.

"Afternoon," Tony slurred sleepily. A quick glance around the room, being an old fashioned and very small apartment living room, and he was reminded of where he was.

"My name is Steve Rodgers. What's yours?" the blonde asked kindly. The small man was sitting on the edge of a beaten coffee table in front of the couch Tony had been placed on.

Rodgers... Why is that name familiar? "Anthony Stark." No point in lying, the guy's a stick.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Star-"

"Tony," he cut in. "Mr. Stark was my father."

"Well, Tony. Are you alright? You had a pretty nasty cut on your arm. What happened to you?"

"I stopped a guy with a knife from robbing some lady," he stated bluntly.

"Oh, wow," Steve's eyes widened. "That was brave of you."

"Yeah, well. Look what I got for my troubles." Tony gestured to his arm, a white bandage stained with a line of red was wrapped around his bicep. Tony looked at it curiously.

"My mother was a nurse," Steve explained.

"Was?" Tony gingerly pulled himself into a sitting position on the lumpy couch.

"She died. Mustard gas. My father died in the war when I was a kid." Tony shivered, goose bumps covering his unprotected arms.

"My parents both died before my twenty-first birthday. Car Accident."

"I'm sorry."

"It was a long time ago. I'm sorry to you too." Tony pulled the small cover over his chest and arms.

"Thanks." The two looked around the small room in awkward silence. Tony shivered again.

"Why's it so damn cold?" Steve gave a small jump at the sudden question.

"Um, heater's broken. My landlord won't pay to fix it and I don't have the money to hire someone myself."

"You have any tools?"

"Yeah?" It was practically a question. "Under the kitchen sink."

Tony stood up, the blanket falling half on the couch and half on the floor. He strode into the kitchen and removed a small box of tool before plopping himself down in front of the silent heater.

"What're you doing?" Steve asked, still sitting on the coffee table.

"Well, 's the least I could do. You did save my life, after all."

Steve stared at him. "Wha-?"

Tony chuckled. "Don't strain yourself, kid. I was joking." He winked and set to the heater.

Steve blushed and looked out the small window. Who is this man?