Steve Rogers | Tony Stark
Steve wanted to help people, that's all he'd ever wanted. He'd taken the serum to help people, he'd fought in a war, fought aliens, done it all to help people. What these people needed was a meal and so he'd help there, do what he could. "Might have had a better set up if you'd been around," Steve said with a nod to the fire. It worked fine but it was primitive and something designed by Tony would have probably cooked things more evenly.
Tony's words struck him like a blow and it was everything he could do not to crumple his shoulders under the weight of it. Even once amended it didn't much help the staggering weight of it, how long Steve had spent looking at his phone and praying for it to ring, wishing for it and dreaming of the name that would flash on the screen. He'd been gone, but never completely. "I've been collecting what I could," Steve said, pushing forward through the blockage in his chest.
The smell of cooking meat would bring people out, because clearly they'd be in a similar position to Tony who was far more than just hungry. Steve broke the pieces up smaller and pushed them to Tony's side of the plate, they'd cool quicker, be easier to eat.
"There's not much to see," Steve admitted as he took another piece for himself, tossing the scraps onto another plate, probably for the dog he'd seen earlier. "I've cleaned the last house up here," Steve explained, pointing with the end of a bone. "Put together a bed. There's a garden and then back there some fruit trees."