[He understands the feeling of that loss. Stephen has experienced it more than once, of course — the reality that those from his world might be swept away back home at any moment. Stark. Peter. Others.

But Thancred strikes at the newest wound, another layer of difficulty. The idea that they might have forgotten so far into the future, that the Summoned might have changed into something more than mortal and, in this ascension, their past lives meant little. Their homes were their homes no longer. Their responsibilities…

Forgotten.]

I forgot, too. Everyone, everything… that mattered to me from my past.

[Thancred doesn’t need to hear it; he knows himself, he saw it in Stephen just as the same applied to him. But he has to say it, as though it might eject some of the guilt and frustration from his own mind. It doesn’t, not really, but there’s still some comfort in commiseration.

The steel in his friend’s eyes quiets him for a moment, though, gaze raking across the man’s face. Stephen does what any person would do right now: takes another long, hard drink.]

...What did we become, Thancred? And I don’t mean gods. But our— [He doesn’t want to speak for him, so an addendum:] —my identity is so rooted in the past. The lessons I learned, the things I had to do. Sacrifices, pain. Celebrations and joy. Without it, I’m not even Dr. Strange anymore. I don’t know what that thing was in the future, but it wasn’t me.

I’m supposed to be stronger than that. Time should be a non-issue. [For a man who once protected the Time Stone itself.] It’s…

[He shakes his head.]

I’m just trying to say that I understand.

[But is it strictly the Singularity's fault? He doubts himself. He doesn't know.]