Hearing 'Captain America' said not once, but twice, sank a heavy weight into the put of Steve's stomach. It made him acutely aware of all he'd left behind, and why. The sensation of ash in falling through his fingers prickled like ants. His free hand flexed, banishing the imaginary sensation away as he tucked it into his pocket. An odd stance out of a man that usually stood with his shoulders squared and jaw strong.<br/><br/>Steve lowered the phone as it went dead, tucking this away as well, both hands resting in the folds of his drab sweatshirt. He'd made no outward response to M22 as Tony dismissed it, nor did he even try and intervene until he was sure Tony was quiet. At least for a moment.<br/><br/>"Thor has found something." He pressed on despite Tony's protests."A way to communicate. Perhaps more." Captain's All-American blues pinched at the corners, a hint of desperation. "You can't just sit here, wasting away, while there might be something we can<i>do</i>to fix this." He was used to Tony being difficult, obstinate, and worse, but he wasn't used to Stark giving up. If anything, Tony was the one that pushed and pushed, and even when he pushed so hard he went around in circles, he was<i>doing</i>.<br/><br/>When Tony stopped pushing, is when Steve knew the Avengers and what they stood for was truly fractured. Everyone that remained had just...faded. Faded as sure as the ash in his hands.<br/><br/>----<br/><br/>The titters and chuckles dried up as soon as Dr Strange came up on them. Peter wondered if the man wanted to project the intimidating air of high school Principal that took his job too serious, or perhaps a lawyer that was just good at making his case, what ever the desire, PeterP couldn't find help but squirm a little when the man fixed them in his sights. In the other world, it was easier to goof off, but Peter knew that the key to their return would always be in Stephen Strange's hands. While he was confident he and his name buddy could survive and thrive in most places, they couldn't do diddly-squat when it came to finding out ways to get<i>back</i>.<br/><br/>Peter raised the sack of dozen-a-shilling buns to the doctor, hoping to appease him a little away from hearing their 'mutinous' talk. When Strange got to the root of why he'd come down, Peter dropped the bag, eyes as big as the sticky buns.<br/><br/>"A-are you serious!?" He squeaked, jumping to his feet as if he might burst apart if he didn't move<i>right then</i>. "How? When? What happened?" He blurted, gravitating towards Strange as if he was trying to wrestle down the urge to hug him.<br/><br/>It really was his birthday! It was quite possibly the best birthday he ever had, which seemed kind of sad in the grand scheme of things but whatever he could be going HOME.  All he'd done since being trapped here is think of all the 'shoulda, woulda, couldas' he'd left behind in the other world. How he'd tell Aunt May everything. She deserved that much. How he'd listen to Tony more (but not too much!), how he wanted a cat. So many things that he thought he might not have the chance to do again because he was trapped here, rubbing dirt from his eyes and getting frustratingly acquainted with being able to tell the difference between what kind of animal crap was on the side of the road.