Here lies Phil Coulson.
A good agent, good friend, and good man.
The glue that held us together.
October 13, 1974 - May 4, 2012
They come together.
The two of them are a team. From the beginning, there has never been one without the other. The hawk and the widow, the normal ones in this freak show. They've always relied on each other for support.
They never realized it before now, but they've always relied on him.
He was their mentor. That silent, guiding force that was always ready, always there with a helpful hint of a useful piece of advice, even when they didn't even know they needed it. He was the one that showed them the ropes, the one that taught them how the well-oiled machine that was SHIELD functioned.
And somewhere along the way, they'd become friends.
Now, they stand there, in front of the marble slab that says so little yet means so much. In front of the rock that is a monument that will never do their friend justice. The two of them are both crying now, but neither will admit it. She lets the tears roll down her face silently, while he blinks, trying to keep his composure. Neither of them wants the other to see them cry. They have to be strong.
Because that's what Coulson would do if he were here.
He cannot get the image of out his mind.
He cannot forget how bold the Son of Coul was, nor how calm he had been in the face of danger. he cannot forget the sense of relief that he had felt when the agent had walked into the room; after all, Coulson could contain Loki, could he not?
Those are the good things he will remember.
But there are worse ones.
Like the sinking feeling he got when his brother grinned his toothy grin, or the heart-stopping, soul crushing moment when Loki suddenly stood behind Couslon a bloody knife in his hand. He'll never forget how he banged on the walls of his cage, desperate to get to the aid of his friend. He'll never forget how he was helpless.
The worst thing, however, is the memory of the last time he saw Coulson.
The man's face was stark white, and his pale blue eyes stared blankly ahead. His suit, usually perfectly neat, was stained with his dark blood, and this fact was only shoved right in Thor's face each time the man took a labored breath that made his chest rise and fall shakily.
And the blood dripping from his lips...
He shudders, shaking his head.
It was his fault. If he had not fallen for his brother's tricks, if he had not been so stupid, he would have been there to protect and save his friend. He knew that he was too blame. No one would be able to convince him otherwise.
Thor sinks to one knee, pressing his forehead against the cool marble.
The death of his friend will forever weigh on his soul.
Closing his eyes, he reaches out and grabs the headstone with both hands. There is a bright white light, and when he finally looks at the stone again, he sees that the same symbol has that marks Mjolnir now marks the tombstone, just as he intended.
He stands now, and nods once, eyes never leaving the symbol that marks someone worthy.
Phil Coulson was a worthy man.
He wrings his hands, shifting his weight from foot to foot, the butterflies that are always present in his stomach going crazy.
He doesn't know what to say. Or do. As usual, he is helpless and lost, unsure of his next move. Should he just leave now? That makes the most sense. He didn't even know the man. They'd shaken hands, and exchanged nods, but that was the extent of their relationship. It feels wrong, being here. The others, they had so much more of a connection...
He's intruding on something that is far too personal.
But still, he feels like he should pay his respects. He may not have known the agent personally, but he heard what happened. He heard that Coulson went up against Loki with nothing but an experimental weapon and an idea in his head. He saw the whole in the wall that Coulson blasted Loki through, his last heroic act. He knows how terrifying the whole thing must have been, and how calm and collected the agent was.
Bruce never would have been brave enough to do it.
So he straightens up, eyes locking in on the name on the tombstone. With a deep breath, he nods. He hopes that sums it all up; how much he respected the man, how much he admired him, how brave he thought he was.
It's not much, but it's all he can do. Instead of making him angry, it just makes him sad.
Coulson deserves more.
He cleaned them up as best he could.
But as hard as he scrubbed, some of the blood just wouldn't come out. There's a stain still, and it's right over his face. Seeing it twists his stomach into knots. It's a reminder that he's failed to save a good man. Again.
The cards are in his jacket pocket, and he fishes them out as he stands before the tombstone. He places them against it, then steps back to look again. It's seems more like a memorial than a grave now, and he thinks that that's how it should be.
Steve clears his throat, and although he knows Phil can't hear him, he begins to speak anyways. "I just wanted to thank you. For all you did. I wasn't... I didn't believe in myself anymore. I'd let a lot of people down, but you... you kept believing in me. You thought I was a hero.
"But I'm not. I'm no hero. I'm a lab experiment.
"You are, though. You took on a god, and all you had was a gun. That was brave. Braver than anything I've ever done. You're a hero, Phil Coulson.
"You're my hero."
"You had better not be dead."
He crosses his arms and stares at the grave, like he's expecting for Coulson to just pop out of the ground and admit that this was all an elaborate prank.
"Do you hear me, supernanny? You're not dead. You're just pulling some badass SHIELD shit, and you're gonna jump out from behind a tree and tase me any minute. You're like Zorro, you're just waiting for the right moment to dig yourself out of the grave. You're just in the Coulsonsleep. You're not dead."
But nothing happens. Tony's just in denial. He saw the funeral. Hell, he payed for the funeral. A twenty-one gun salute, fireworks, and a float that was covered in roses and daisies and bunch of other flowers that had names he couldn't even pronounce.
Only the best.
Anger rose up inside of him. "You were an idiot." He starts pacing, throwing his hands up in the air in distress. "How fucking stupid could you get? Taking on Loki? What the hell were you thinking? Maybe you can tase me and watch Supernanny while I drool into the carpet, but a god? Idiot. Dunce. Dumb-ass. Imbecile. What is wrong with you? How could you just... you just..."
Tears are forming now. Tony swipes at them, letting out a growl. He's pissed, but he's also devastated. He doesn't know what his emotions are doing; they swirl around, forming inner turmoil that he doesn't think he's ever felt before, not even at his lowest points, when he's drowned himself in a bottle. He's angry at Loki for killing Coulson, but even angrier at Coulson for being so stupid.
So angry...
With a cry of anguish, Tony kicks the tombstone, knocking it out of place.
Then he storms off.
Hours later, he comes back.
He straightens up the grave, making everything just-so, just as Coulson would want for it to be.
When he's fixed that, he pulls a laser-pen out of his pocket. An actual laser pen. Because he's Tony Stark like that.
Hands oddly steady, he takes the little laser and engraves one word underneath the writing on the stone.
Avenged.