Tony is uncharacteristically quiet at the funeral. In fact, he doesn't say a word.
It's a little bit of a show, what with the military send-off and all. Cap probably would have hated it, he thinks, but not enough to put a stop to things. Not so long as it was tradition, one that meant something, that helped people get by. One side of his mouth hitches up into a smile as he imagines it, the face Steve made when he was being too nice to say he disapproved. Christ. Tony scrubs a hand over his face and presses the heel of his palm against his eyes.
There were so many people, some old, some young, most of them looking halfway to dead themselves from grief. An old soldier salutes shakily.
Tony considers leaving. Everyone here, these heroes -- they're his friends. all of them, and Tony, well. You save the world together a couple of times, so what, that's nothing. He adjusts his cuff-links, caught by the realization that Steve probably wouldn't want him here.
Or no, that's not quite right. Captain America didn't hold grudges.
Tony looks at the casket (closed, and god, he couldn't even find the fucking body for him, just let it get washed up by fucking policemen in fucking New Jersey, goddamn it--) and wonders if this is how his father felt that day, when the fabled plane had gone into the water. He thinks maybe it would explain a lot.
There's a microphone in front of his face, and Tony knows the drill, he says a few words. A good man. Gone too soon. Something about differences and heroism and the great state of New York -- honestly, he feels sick just listening to himself, but he knows it's what people want to hear, and he doesn't have it in him to be a real boy today.
Apparently, there's a wake. Bruce invites him. And because he never learns, he says yes.