[Steven's vehemence makes Quentin wince and pull back a little. He is absolutely making things worse here, and he doesn't know how not to do that. Still doesn't fully know how Steven ticks, or how he can frame this in a way the other man will grasp better.]

No, see, that's- the thing. Over ten of us couldn't even meet half of him. [The words taste like ash in his mouth.] And I hate admitting that. It was spite. Stark had everything, when it felt like we had nothing. It's-

[Quentin gestures a bit inefficiently, looking lost.]

All we could do was trickery. Things that looked real. Making something actually real was... beyond us. We didn't have his resources anymore, or his funds. It was leftovers. Scraps. Whatever we could pull together out of old projects, since we all went 'fuck the NDAs.' He took our works, and tossed out whatever didn't fit. He tossed us out, if we didn't fit.