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He wakes in a sweat. It's not new.His dreams have been filled with blood and death for a long time. The death of too many innocent people is on his hands. He still remembers the screams of dying soldiers; boys most of them. But tonight only one man's death is keeping him awake.It's been this way for months.Steve Rogers haunts his dreams.He gets up.He is drinking less. He's trying, but it's not easy. But now his hands are shaking and he knows the only thing that will sooth his frayed nerves is the buzz of something strong. He hasn't bought anything to stock up in days. Outside he has a bunch of empty bottles that remind him not to buy more. But he still has some whiskey left. He takes the bottle outside, prepared to lay his ghosts to rest for one night at least."Stark," the sheriff would have said. "Be a man and quit the drink."For once though, Timely is quiet. "You're dead," he mutters. "And I'm still here."Across the way the sheriff's office still stands as if nothing has changed, but these days Red Wolf sleeps there - not Steve Rogers.Tony takes a swig from the bottle and regrets it, even though the burn it leaves down his throat makes it better. He's not strong. He's never strong enough. He wasn't strong enough to save...Footsteps get his attention.He looks up.Where a second ago nobody had been a man stands now; tall and broad-shouldered and only a shape in the darkness. Tony's throat goes dry. Where did he come from?The ghostly shadow turns around and walks towards him in the moonlit night. Could have been poetic, if not for the nightmares and the drink. Goosebumps rise up and he freezes. He regrets that drink more than ever now.A blue suit... The strangest suit, a mask, broad chin... He stares. "Are you wearing a flag?" he slurs, sure now he's talking to a ghost.The man looks down at himself. Tony sees a shield in his hand. Red and white.A shield.Like a knight from ages past.The man, exceptionally solid for a ghost, takes the bottle from his grip. "You should quit that, Tony. Never did you any good."No Irish lilt.But something..."Who...?"The cowl is pulled back, but he knows before the blond hair falls into the man's eyes. "I'm Steve. I'm not from around here."He stares."I'm..." - haunted he wants to say, but the not-ghost ends his sentence: "Tony Stark, I know." And then the eerie apparition of a dead man propels itself forward and hugs him tight. There's a scar on his cheek that goes down to his chin and he smells of leather and soap. Against Tony's throat he whispers, shakily: "It's good to see you. It's like seeing a ghost. But you're here. Alive."He's not that drunk, he thinks.And the man feels real.He has no explanation for it.It's Steve.But bigger, slightly older, different, wearing fabrics that Tony has never seen before, carrying a shield that belongs to another time long past. It's too strange to be a dream.He pushes himself away, studies the apparition and then walks back to the smithy, opening the door while the man watches him wearily. "As good a night as any to talk to a dead man," Tony says and points inside. "For either of us."Steve Rogers, obviously not of Timely, nods and walks inside without another word. Tony thinks the most likely explanation for this new dream is that he has never really stopped drinking at all and all everything - all that has happened - is just in his head.He doesn't mind.If Rogers is alive in his head, he's going to stay there, never wake up.He walks inside and closes the door behind himself firmly to keep the world out.