[He had a problem with mothering people. And touching them. Steve had been called on it more than once but he kept forgetting for the most part, especially when he was with someone he sort of knew. He'd known several versions of Peter and it felt like they were friends, even though the current kid on his couch didn't know him from Adam. It was . . . really weird and disturbing when he thought much about it, so Steve didn't.

His sigh was loud and deep and Steve slumped next to Peter on the couch, running a hand through his hair before letting his head fall back, staring up at the ceiling himself for a minute before meeting the kid's eyes again. Thank god he was pretty sure the Peter next to him had already met Tony and probably knew . . . a lot. A lot more than Steve did actually, but that was a separate issue they could tackle another time. Or never. Never was also good.]


First, we're not dead. Despite what they tell us, we are not dead. Second, this place isn't Hell. It's a really tacky personal reality of some overpowered maniac who has the ability to steal us from wherever we really belong and who likes to play incredibly twisted games. Third, I don't know how to get home. Yet. I think that covers the most major points, but fire away with the questions.