Chapter Text

And SJ is laughing, laughing hard without any trace of that horrendous cough that had followed him beyond death, and Bucky is standing there, eight years old and full of affront. Steve watches as SJ keels over backwards onto the sidewalk, clutching his sides, and then Bucky pounces, grabbing him in a headlock and ruffling his hair. SJ protests violently, feet scrabbling as he laughs and tries to push Bucky＊s hands away.

※You＊re a punk,§ Bucky says as he steps back, and his little voice echoes and lilts and dances, the sound drifting from far away. He＊s stood straight with his hands shoved in his pockets, a slight cocky tilt to his chin and Steve＊s heart aches because god, that＊s Bucky all over, isn＊t it?

※I＊ll tell Sister Marie you called me that,§ SJ retorts, and Bucky sticks his tongue out.

※You wouldn＊t dare, punk,§ he says again, and SJ is laughing and Bucky is laughing too. Bucky sits down next to him, the brighter than usual light shifting, breaking around his form as he slings a protective arm around SJ＊s shoulders. The light shines clearly on SJ＊s happy face, lighting it up.

This isn＊t a dream. Steve knows it without question. It＊s too real, too perfect, just like his stay in the multiverse had been. He＊s there but he＊s not; none of the versions of him can see or hear him, so all he can do is quietly watch them, full of relief that they appear to be back where they should be, with the people they always wanted to be with.

Steve smiles and steps away, turning around. The light around him shifts and breaks and he slowly wanders forwards through it, not even the slightest bit afraid. It＊s peaceful and calm and he doesn＊t think for a second anything here will hurt him. There＊s a break in the light to his left, a shadowy image appearing as hees closer. He turns towards it and takes one last step and then he＊s in someone＊s house, a neat and homely place that feelsfortable and inviting. SJ and Bucky and the warm New York street are gone, but the same bright light pours in through the windows, illuminating the scene in front of him.

※Not going, you＊re not going,§ a Steve Rogers in civilian dress is saying in a sing-song voice, mug in hand and eyes on the paper in front of him. He＊s sat at a kitchen table, empty plate at his elbow and a pile of paperwork stacked haphazardly at the other end next to a pile of neatly folded shirts.

※There is no way you＊re stopping me,§ a voice says, and a blond woman wearing SHIELD gear walks over, a sheaf of paper in her hands. She goes to swat the other Steve Rogers on the back of the head with them but he＊s too quick; he turns and grabs her wrist, pulling her close, hands moving to catch her hips.

※Stop it,§ she says, but she＊s fighting down a smile. ※Steve, stop. I＊m going, it＊ll be two days tops-§

※Nu-uh, not on my watch,§ he says simply, and she rolls her eyes.

※Iron Man needs me there,§ she says very pointedly. ※And you will not let anyone watch Tony＊s back but me, and you won＊t let anyone watch my back but Tony.§

The version of Steve pulls a face. ※Lies, you＊re all conspiring against me,§ he says, burying his face in her stomach and looping his arms around her waist. She laughs too, dropping the files onto the tabletop and smoothing her hands over his shoulders, eyes warm and full of affection.

Steve breathes out a soft laugh himself, turning on the spot again as the scene fades away into the light. He can hear voices all around him, soft and gentle and echoing, drifting through the light to be caught by sharp ears. His own voice, his own laughter, sometimes the words of others. Not all of them coalesce and form something he can see, but sometimes if he looks in just the right direction at the right time-

And he＊s in the Tower, and he＊s in the workshop with Tony. Tony is perched on a stool at his workbench, busy pulling something mechanical apart, tossing unwanted pieces over his shoulder and talking distractedly without turning around. His feet are hooked around the legs of the stool, his back a graceful arch that Steve finds himself wanting to draw. There＊s a Steve Rogers reclining on the couch, sketchbook on his chest and hands behind his head. Steve steps forwards, unheard and unseen.

※I＊m just saying, it lasted all of thirty-eight minutes before it was on Twitter. Someone blabbed; my money is on Barton.§

Other-Steve laughs softly. ※It wasn＊t Barton,e on.§

※The Mayor then,§ Tony says, and drops something to the floor with a clang. ※Actually, that＊s where my money is going down. He＊ll be trying to improve his public image, get some spin from the whole thing, which I personally find insulting.§

The Other-Steve shifts, turning himself onto his side and propping himself up on an elbow, moving the sketchbook to the floor. There＊s a thin chain around his neck and Steve watches as he reaches up and takes hold of the gold ring that the chain is looped through, resting gently against his shirt.

Steve realises who it is. He debates moving away, to see someone else, somewhere else.

He doesn＊t.

※You find everything personally insulting,§ Seven says, sliding his forefinger through the ring and zipping the band of gold back and forth on the chain. Tony obviously notices the sound because he stops, turns, and then he smiles, a soft gentle quirk of his lips and crinkling of his eyes that Steve hasn＊t seen before.

※You＊re wearing it wrong, I think I＊m going to take that as a personal insult,§ he says, and he puts down the gears he has in his hands and gets up, walking over to Seven. He perches on the edge of the couch, hip tucked in to the cradle of Seven＊s pelvis and reaches out to take the ring, turning it over in his fingers. Steve＊s heart does a strange skip as he sees a matching glint of gold actually on Tony＊s finger.

※If I catch it wrong on the shield it＊ll take my finger off,§ Seven murmurs, sliding a hand onto Tony＊s side. Tony hums, conceding the point, and then he sits back, expression bright and alert.

※Hey, if you lose a finger, will the serum grow it back?§

Seven＊s expression turns half exasperated. ※I＊m a super-solider, not a damn lizard.§

※I＊ll take that as a no,§ Tony says and Seven is laughing, pulling Tony down to him and kissing that smiling mouth, and his fingers fold over Tony＊s, both of them holding onto the ring. They kiss slowly, lazily, and then Tony pulls back to nudge Steve＊s nose with his own, and Seven is trying to catch his mouth again but Tony holds back just out of reach, smiling that same genuine smile. Seven laughs and lets go of Tony＊s hand to slip his palm onto the back of Tony＊s neck, pulling him in once more.

Steve watches them for a moment, quiet and still and contemplative. This could be him, he thinks, and it＊s not scary, it＊s not terrifying, it just feels＃okay. Maybe it＊s actually more okay than seeing a version of him with whoever the blond woman was, because it＊s Tony; he knows Tony and already has him has part of his life. It feels real, and maybe that＊s something he needs to remember, to hold onto.

※So, how much would I have to pay you to get you to change your name to mine?§ Tony is saying against Seven＊s mouth, and Seven laughs as he pulls back, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

※Sixty-four billion dollars,§ he says, and Steve can＊t hold back his smile at the look on Tony＊s face, the devious twinkle in Seven＊s eyes.

※I thought you＊d be sure thing for a handful of loose change and a milkshake,§ Tony grumbles theatrically, and as Seven laughs and laugh and laughs, the light gets brighter, the workshop fading around them. Steve steps back calmly, into the expanse of white and calm, breathing out deeply and shutting his eyes.

And Steve wakes up.

He blinks slowly, groggily, letting his senses be limatised to his surroundings. He can hear a soft tapping, the sound of someone breathing, the pattering of rain against the window. He swallows and then opens his eyes more fully, taking it all in. Everything seems dimmer than the worlds he just left, less blinding but more steeped in colour. It＊s not as bright, less heavenly and clean; it seems darker and duller but it＊s his world so he doesn＊t care.

He thinks about what he＊s just seen, and he smiles.

※Steve?§

He turns his head to see Tony sitting next to him, expression unreadable. His hands have stilled on his phone, and his eyes are fixed on Steve＊s face. He looks haggard and tired, dark shadows still under his eyes and stubble blurring the normally sharp edges of his goatee.

※I＊m okay,§ Steve says quietly, his smile fading somewhat. Yes, he＊s relieved that it seems that everyone is back where they should be across the multiverse and afterlife, but that doesn＊t mean he＊s off the hook. He＊s still got to deal with this here, and he honestly doesn＊t know where to start. Here in the dull artificial light with the sky overcast and gloomy outside, it suddenly seems very, very real.

※Here,§ Tony says, and passes over a styrofoam cup. ※Tastes like ass, but even bad coffee is coffee.§

Steve pushes himself upright, bending one leg at the knee and leaning forwards to take the cup with a nod of thanks. He fully expected for Tony to be nowhere in sight after what happened yesterday, so to find him here bringing Steve coffee is unexpected to say the least.

So is the way his chest aches when he looks at him.

※I got you these as well,§ Tony says, and twists around to pick up some things off of the table that＊s behind his chair. He turns back and hands over a paper bag and a tablet. ※Got all the important news stories from whilst you were out all loaded. Nothing major, but I know you hate being out of the loop.§

※And this?§ Steve asks, balancing the tablet on his blanket-covered knee and unfurling the top of the paper bag. The scent that immediately hits him is absolutely glorious and he can feel his mouth watering before he even realises what he＊s looking at.

※Kind of a thing,§ Tony shrugs. ※Cheeseburgers after near-death experiences. Wee to the club.§

※Tony,§ Steve says, and s

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