[ Remember that time you gave me the new wingpack, turned around, and were halfway through saying 'now it's not ready yet, but...' before you realized I'd already put it on and was gonna try and fly with it?

Anything to steer the conversation away. But Sam doesn't say that

Instead, he finishes the new bandage on Stark's horrific wounds, the best he can do for now, and discords the old ones, moves away from the bed to wash his hands. There's tension in his shoulders. ]

So... Steve retired. Day of the funeral. Went to bring the stones back, never returned the time travelling way. Went back the long way. Married. Wouldn't say to whom, but I mean... what are we, stupid? We know who he went back to and put a ring on, right?

[ Sam throws Tony a look, eyebrows raised. Like they're just gossiping about their team mates while calibrating Redwing. Like no time passed. Two years or seven. Sam sits back down. Leans back after a moment, puts his feet up on the bed next to Stark's legs, careful not to jostle him, but otherwise comfortable to take up the space. As if they're just chatting. As if nothing's amiss. Sam's good at doing that. At honing a mood to put everyone in the room at ease, as much as he can anyway.

Sam's glance lingers on Tony. ]

Do you... wanna know? About the service?

[ Not so much dodging as... trying to find the things that actually matter. Where to start and what to track back to. ]