It was surreal, to hear stories about the team, about After Thanos. For Steve it was so fresh, clutching at nothing as Bucky slipped through his fingers again. But they'd moved on, they'd kept fighting. Steve had felt like it would be fast, not long, that there would be more action. But Natasha was telling him it was five years, five long years. That hurt, the slow hurt that spread through him. They'd lost and Steve hadn't been able to fix it. So much for coming up with a new plan and when they had? Natasha had been forced to give her own life for it.
"I know," he assured her. Steve understood, more than anyone. He'd watched it all, watched them. But they never needed to talk about that, best to leave it unsaid.
Hearing about Tony though, well it explained the look in his eye, how he hadn't slept and Steve didn't tense, didn't gasp out the hot agony of it. Because he should be happy for him, he was happy for him. If anyone deserved a little piece of the world, deserved that kind of happiness it was Tony. A little girl, a real life. It twisted around Steve's insides, sick and guilt all at once.
As he breathed out he shook, a single tremble the only giveaway that something was ripped right out of his chest and it wasn't ever coming back. "He gave enough," Steve said softly, letting her down back onto her own two feet.