All heads swivel to look at him, some looking taken aback and some looking like they expected no less. He feels guilt roll through him the moment the words are out of his mouth; yes, he’s angry at Tony for what happened, but he’s aware enough of the fact it wasn’t Tony’s fault. God, Tony would never ever wish harm on him intentionally – the look on Tony’s face when Steve had been dying on the floor is seared into his memory, and god, the guilt and shame and terror he remembers witnessing makes Steve feel horrendous. He wants to go back and both punch Tony and pull him into a hug and tell him it’ll be fine.
“He’ll get you out,” Seven insists. “Trust him.”
“Look, he is not you,” Eight says. “And your Tony is not his Tony.”
“The whole world doesn’t revolve around Tony Stark,” Violet chips in with a frown, and Steve bites back a choked laugh because he’s really starting to think that it does.
“Your world didn’t,” Stephanie retorts, and they all hear the ‘but mine did,’ that she doesn’t say out loud. “This Steve is friends with Tony, so we can assume Tony will be doing everything to get him back.”
“He said Tony caused this,” Violet says, starting to sound angry.
“He didn’t cause it,” Steve says, and he pinches the bridge of his nose because now he’s been pushed into defending Tony, and how did that happen when ten minutes ago he was ready to yell at people for doing the same? He breathes out deeply, tries to regain some composure. “He didn’t cause it,” he repeats. “I got myself in a bad spot and asked for backup.”
“And he didn’t turn up,” Shield finishes flatly.
Steve winces and lowers his hand. “He did,” he says. “Just not quick enough.”
“I thought we were having a meeting about getting you home,” the Commander calls over, looking as unimpressed as ever. “Not having yet another session of arguing about Tony goddamn Stark.”
“We were,” Steve tries, but his exasperated voice goes unheard.
“See? Stark isn’t even here and everything ends up revolving around him,” Violet says.
“Can we not talk about Tony?” Shield butts in. “Look, if we get him home, then he’s going back to live with Stark and the Avengers. How is he supposed to go back to his life if all he can think about is how the rest of the multiverse slept with the guy?”
Steve’s jaw drops. “The rest of the multiverse?”
“No, not the rest of the multiverse,” a Captain in World-War-Two gear says vehemently.
“You didn’t make it past the forties, you don’t count!”
“I knew Stark and I didn’t sleep with him,” Violet interjects.
“So tell us why Sharon divorced you,” Stephanie shoots back, and his cheeks turn a blotchy pink colour in the exact same way the rest of the Steves’ do when they’re angry.
“Back off,” he warns.
“Oh for god’s sake,” Steve says, finally losing his cool. “How many of me have slept with Tony Stark?!”
Stephanie raises her hand, exasperated. Next to her Seven does as well.
That, Steve expected.
The rest of the Steve’s, not so much.
Steve groans, pressing his hand to his forehead as he looks around and sees that over half the god damn room have got their hands up. Steve looks over at the raised hands of the Steve who drowned and the one with the robotic arm, despairing. Some of them look a little embarrassed by their admittance, some look like they’re completely not bothered. A few even look happy, proud. For god’s sake, even Shield has his hand raised too, and is looking apologetic.
“Seriously?” he says weakly. “That many of us?”
Steve with the green uniform shrugs, unabashed. “If it helps, Tony was a girl in my universe.”
Over in the corner by the door, a Steve in navy-shield gear elbows Commander Rogers, other hand held up by his ear. “If what I did counts, what you did counts,” he says stubbornly. The Commander groans, pinches the bridge of his nose and half-heartedly raises his hand.
Steve starts to laugh, the sound a little hysterical. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
He looks up, pressing his palm over his mouth. His eyes scan the group again and he notices that most of the Steves that haven’t got their hands up are iterations of him from before the crash, most of them in 1940’s military gear, and of course the couple of Steves who never made it to project rebirth.
“We always end up back at Tony,” Seven says, sounding a little apologetic.
“Is Tony anything like Howard?” one of the Steves from the war suddenly asks, and Steve stares at him as he flushes, crossing his arms across his chest and looking obstinate. “What?”
“Please tell me you didn’t,” Steve asks weakly.
“Tell me you never thought about it,” War-Steve retorts.
Steve covers his face with hands and officially gives up.
Chapter 3
“Hey,” Pepper’s voice says quietly, and Tony shuts his eyes, braces himself ready to argue with her because he’s not leaving this damn room. If Clint and his bow and Natasha and her various stabby implements can’t threaten him into leaving, then he’s not going to move for anyone-
“Here.”
He opens his eyes, looks sideways and sees her holding out a giant cup of coffee. The gesture makes the lump in his throat come back, and he takes the drink wordlessly, hoping she knows how grateful he is.
“He’ll be alright, you know,” Pepper says, standing close. He lets himself slump sideways, resting his head on her hip. She slides a hand into his hair, strokes through it for a moment before gently pushing him back and sitting down in the chair next to him. She's in a neatly pressed business suit, obviously still busy with running Stark Industries whilst Tony's world has ground to a halt.
“Tony?”
“Not talking about it, Pep,” Tony says abruptly, because he can’t. If he tries he’s going to lose the grip he has on the last remaining threads of self-control he possesses.
“Okay,” she nods, calm and quiet, and Tony wishes that she wasn’t so good to him. He stares at Steve’s face and feels all sorts of terrible things churning in his chest, and suddenly the words are there on the tip of his tongue, and he stares unblinkingly at Steve’s mouth, willing them back into place, willing himself to keep it all locked down-
“I want him back, Pep,” he blurts out, and the words hang there, heavy and far too real. “I think – I think I need him back.”
“I know you do,” Pepper says quietly, and oh god, she understands, she knows. Her hand slides onto Tony’s shoulder, and he blindly reaches for her wrist, holding on tightly and wishing that the realisation didn’t feel so much like dying. God, if Steve doesn’t come back to him then Tony will regret it for the rest of his life-
The door behind them opens, and Tony roughly wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Yes, but his entire metabolism is faster,” Bruce’s voice is saying, sounding fed up. “His cell processing rate is, Tony – how many times faster than it used to be?”
“Four point three one three four,” Tony says tonelessly, and then blinks and breathes out, refocussing. “What are we arguing about?”
“The cocktail of drugs they seem determined to pump into Steve,” Bruce says. “I’m telling them it’s pointless because we don’t know why he’s in the coma. It’s not down to hyperglycemia, there’s no signs of intracranial pressure-”
“It’s pointless,” Tony agrees, and Bruce folds his arms across his chest and tilts his chin down towards the floor, eyes lifting to look at Tony as he takes over the argument. “He weighs two hundred and twenty eight pounds to begin with, two hundred milligram doses wouldn’t do shit even if he didn’t have a super-soldier metabolism. Hell, the guy can drink eight bottles of Macallans and not even wobble, I know, I’ve seen it-”
“You gave him eight bottles of Macallans?” Pepper asks, sounding astounded, just before her eyes narrow dangerously. “Hang on, which bottles?”
