Accompanying Stephen Strange to the new Avengers Compound was supposed to be Tonyâs first public appearance after his death. There was supposed to have been a process, like maybe some kind of announcement, maybe a press statementâ things. plans. things.
Instead, he panicked, cut and run, and found himself at a bar instead, dark glasses over his eyes and a cap pulled down over his face, trying to find some liquid courage at the bottom of a glass of scotch.
He was supposed to be good at the whole public appearance thing. He lived and breathed it, heâd been born with a mic in his hand and a spotlight on himâ except the first time someone had looked at him and gone âisnât that tony stark? isnât he supposed to be dead?â heâd justâ
(snap snap snap your fingers, donât mind the agony tearing up your insides and the way the whole world goes crazy, trippy rainbow colours, itâs ok, itâll be over soonâ)
  and found himself here.
âAnother round, if you donât mind,â he mumbled, shoving the glass at the bartender and pushing a crumpled twenty across the counter. No credit cards. No bank accounts. There just wasnât any precedents for the legal status of someone whoâd just come back from the dead, after all.
And because his luck was utter shit these days, someone sat down right next to him. âLook,â he said, âthe entire barâs empty, and you just have to sit right next to me?â
carol knew that tony wouldnât show, and she couldnât blame him. were their positions switched, she doubted she would show, either, and if she did, she wouldâve left early. two-minutes-into-the-event-early. she wouldâve gone somewhere to be alone, and she wouldâve fallen apart because she never did master the notion of hiding your emotions. so carol danvershe was going to hate her for it, but maybe that would be for the better.
she whispered to the others, âiâll be backâ, and instead of flying from the balcony like she might have on any average sunny afternoon, she walked quietly to the door, dressed in an untucked button up and black jeans. casual. non-avenger gear. just carol. chewie wove between her legs as she walked but stopped at the door when she leaned down to scratch behind his ears. âsorry, buddy,â she whispered. âno flerkens allowed. hold the fort for me, will you?â
and carol set out in the hot, humid afternoon, flicking her hair off her neck every few minutes to try and catch a cool breeze that would never come. mostly, she listened. no disguise in the world could hide tony starkâs identity â especially now. in life he was the face of the avengers, the face of advancement. in death he was the face of everything. his name was everywhere, big brown eyes smiling down at people to give them hope even after he was gone. it helped some. made them feel like heâd never really gone. it made things harder for others, to see him everywhere. a reminder that heâd never smile with those big brown eyes again.Â
it didnât take her long to find him. a whisper here and some gossipers there... tony stark? that tony stark? iron man? he died. the infinity stones killed him when he saved the world. but he was alive. i saw him. i know it was him. how do you know? it just was.Â
she followed the noise into the nearest bar, and found him at the bottom of a cup of scotch. she sat next to him silently and kept her eyes on the scratched up bar counter.
âof course not,â carol said, and plucked the twenty off the counter. she smiled at the bartender and offered her own credit card, seeing as units were an unacceptable form of payment on planet earth and most establishments didnât believe in the superhero discount. she flattened the crumpled bill on the counter, using her fingers to smooth out the wrinkles. âi donât have to do anything.â she smirked, looking at him from the corner of his eyes.
tony looked about the way she wouldâve expected. sheâd never died, and those who had never came back to life. he was, officially, one in trillions. âi chose to sit next to you. weâre friends, right?â she folded the twenty in half and offered it back to him between her index and middle fingers.
