He's not in the streets much now. So much of the town is closed off to them, unwelcome clear in the stares of people who could make things so much worse for so many if he lost his patience at the wrong moment - and his patience is stretched so very thin on the best of days that it's wiser to stay away. But he does have business occasionally. Reasons to find himself making his way through the bustle of a town he's been gradually distancing himself from, remembering in its far removed familiarity a walk around the block, a trip to the deli, warm sun on a bright New York day.

So when a voice cuts through that belongs neither here or there, not anymore, Stephen's world narrows, knife-edge sharp, expecting the onset of some new nightmare or for streets to fold in and swallow him up into a Void-induced life of his own making. But when he turns to look over his shoulder it's just Tony Stark. Alive, dressed local, taking issue with a local man. He's so close that the reality of him is almost undeniable, so close that he can just reach out and—

"Not now." It's a low command laced with bitter urgency (stress, it's stress) as he catches Stark by the elbow, firm, pulls him away to start into a walk down the street. His attention's fixed firmly ahead, jaw tight. Not yet daring to spare him another glance.