Steve finds the Iron Man plushie on a table in the middle of the city, sitting between a stack of sunglasses and DVD cases. He chuckles when he picks it up, noting the uneven stitches and the red places that ought to be gold. It looks a little like a high school home economics project made by an apathetic student, but it’s still undeniably Iron Man and Steve is tickled.

Dom is elbows deep in a Jetta with a fucked alternator when he hears the familiar growl of Brian's car at the front of the garage. It's the deep-throated roar of American muscle, which still surprises him a little whenever he hears it. Brian's always been drawn to sleek lines and flash, but when he saw the hulk of the Challenger rotting in a junkyard outside Mexicali he'd grinned and said something about Miami and good times.