He was dead. By Hammer.

A sense of detachment appeared to come with being dead as he looked at what used to be his mangled body unfeelingly. He was okay with dying, he would have preferred if he hadn't but he had resigned himself to the fact someone was always trying to kill him and his sheer amount of almost deaths he was going to have to go at sometime and he couldn't always be so lucky.

But by Hammer? Seriously. Justin Hammer had to be the one who killed him? The incompetent fool who did not even have the redeeming points of being badass or remotely impressive. Justin Hammer was the floundering kid who bragged but had nothing to back it up, he would have been the one both ignored and belittled within boarding school. Wait, he was that kid, well that explained a lot.

He would have almost preferred having been decapitated by Captain Assface, even if it meant Rhodes wouldn't have received his leg braces. At least then he would have some semblance of bragging rights rather than a stain on his reputation. And he would have been the only one to go.

The children he had been giving a speech to, some of them passed by him like stars. He muttered his apologies that he couldn't have saved them. Apologies that he hadn't been able to predict this, and stop this. That he had not thought to bring more suits.

One suit could only save one, and he hadn't picked himself... but he hadn't picked these children either and they were paying for his mistake.

He had saw Peter and chose him in a split moment, but in saving Peter Parker he sacrificed so many more. He had brought him here; a sign of what he could do other than risk his life being a hero. Peter must have sensed something wrong as he reacted before the bomb even detonated, as he yelled "Mr Stark!" and made his way to the podium that's when Tony had spotted the bomb.

A Hammer one, those were dangerous as they were so unpredictable. He hadn't stop to think, he had sent the armour at Peter despite FRIDAY's pleas. Peter wasn't allowed to die by playing hero. Not for him. The bomb exploded the moment Peter was encased and sent back.

But Peter wouldn't have been there if he hadn't been there; neither would any of these kids. Neither would the bomb. He should have sent the suit at the bomb but he had panicked at the sight of Peter getting too close and all that was going through his head was 'Not Peter'.

He had been selfish and now it was too late. But Peter was okay and that must count for something. They all passed by, some giving him sad smiles at his apologies as they went. Peter had been released from the armour and was sobbing. But at least he was alive. He was a lucky one. The ones who passed him weren't. Fifteen children he counted. Fifteen bright minds who were going to do great things, but were cut short because he panicked. The others were tutors, some he recognised from his own time at MIT, others just so young. There was twenty-two stars that passed him by. Twenty-two people who would have lived if he had not been there. Then he was left in this state between two worlds. Alone. Until he wasn't.

"You weren't supposed to die this way." A woman.

"And these kids were?" His voice was tense and far too loud. He was angry. He would have died a hundred times rather than these children. Gone through Afghanistan, the wormhole and Siberia till he lost his mind rather than kids.

"You are important to your world." The tone soft and considering. It was angering at how matter of fact she made it, how as if none of them mattered compared to him.

"Not any more than them. They are the world to their families. The future to the world. I'm not important to the extent I outweigh any of them." "Everyone comes to me in the end. But very well, I've heard enough. I shall grant you a reward, my Merchant. After all you do not need to be alive to help your world."

"What?" His voice no longer sounded quite like his. "Oh, the amount of paperwork I'm going to have to do for this." She muttered. Then it was too bright, too much pain. Like he had his life flashing in front of him but only the bad parts and so fast that the agony all merged together. Then there was nothing.

Until he woke up in the Tower. And he was still dead.

He could not place how he knew, it was just a knowing. The kind you get in dreams where you just know and understand. There was none of that Sixth Sense or Beetlejuice nonsense of thinking you were still alive. At least in Beetlejuice they had the 'Handbook for the Recently Deceased' to help them figure out what next. He figured he knew he was dead as he had seen his body, he could not have mistook it for a dream when there was just this feeling of wrong.

But he could not be fully dead either as he was still here. It was like his very soul had been rubbed raw and red, but he still existed. However there was just this hole, a consuming emptiness where something used to be. And he was not talking about his body looking down at his incorporeal self. It was something else. Something important.

He just did not know what part of himself. But it was gone.

He supposed he was a ghost now, unfinished business and all that.

Guilt maybe, he was good with guilt, so much of it he could sink a helicarrier with the weight of his guilt.

The television was on.

"Last week, America was horrified at a terror attack at The Massachusetts Institute of Technology which resulted in the death of Tony Stark, seven MIT lecturers and five of the graduating class,"

Twenty-two. He had counted twenty-two stars that passed him by... but here they were saying that... he couldn't believe it but he wanted to. There had been fifteen children not five. He stared blankly at the scenes, the presenter's voice fading in and out of white noise.

"The images are graphic... Ten graduates are still in critical condition... councillor have been quoted that it was a miracle that as many survived as they did... some were pronounced dead at the scene however... lost of limbs... Doctors are working desperately to save... Stark Industries are providing medical funding and equipment... Doctor Cho's revolutionary Cradle..."

He wept. He should have died earlier, in Siberia, these causalities, fatalities... they could have been avoided. They could have been avoided.

He could not say how long he had been there in this room. Time seemed to pass differently when you were dead, too quickly as if he had been watching a time-lapse. No one could see him though, Pepper had drifted through the room several times. Dressed in black, hair pulled back and mouth strewn shut. Her eyes each time he saw them were just painfully empty as if she herself was a ghost.

If he had thought seeing Pepper hurt, seeing Rhodey hurt more. Although he loved Virginia Potts and James Rhodes both, they were different people, they took things differently. Where Pepper became blank, Rhodey raged and showed hurt so raw it would have killed Tony to see if he was not already dead.

Time slowed back down when he was with Rhodey, he could not bear to leave Rhodey's side when he was hurting so much. Technically he took to haunting Rhodey. Rhodey stayed in the tower, something Tony could not quite understand as when his parents died he could not stand to see any reminders of them. Rhodey however could not stand to forget for a second.

Rhodey was trapped in his wheel-chair with his anger and his pain. When Rhodey first let out a scream of animalistic lost in his grief when he was finally alone in the pent-house without the people who shadowed him as if to protect him from himself, Tony screamed too and the lights flickered.

That's when Tony learnt he could control his environment to an extent. Technology acted a little odd around him which scared him as he did not want to hurt his baby girl, not FRIDAY. Thankfully it appeared to be the case only when he was overly emotional or when he pushed himself into the technology. Slowly he began to reach out to Rhodey, to make him realise he was still here in a sense, to stop him from hurting. It was hard but sometimes when Rhodey was almost asleep or deeply concentrating he appeared to hear him. He did not understand a word he said but he could tell it was him, Tony. Rhodey never really took the thought of hearing him well.

Tony found that as opposed to haunting a location he haunted several people, he could interchange them and shift to them when thinking enough about them, it did not work with everyone as he had experimented to see who he could see. He couldn't haunt Bruce, nor Thor nor Natasha. Surprisingly nor could he haunt Pepper. He found this out when thinking about Peter, nothing ever said anything about him, he needed to see how he was coping. Then suddenly he was in the boy's bedroom. Arachnid Kid was trembling holding onto his surprisingly beautiful aunt, and he recognised the look in the boy's eyes. He had seen it far too often in the mirror not to. Guilt. Regret.

"He saved me, it's my fault he died. If I had only stayed back..." Tony couldn't bear it; he wanted to tell the kid that it was not his fault. Peter did not deserve this, Tony should not have invited him, he had just wanted Peter to see other options, other ways that he could help others aside from putting his life on the line. What was the point in his good intentions when they never worked out for the people he cared about. "Peter, it's not your fault." Tony gritted out despite knowing Peter wouldn't hear him. Peter reacted strangely though the moment he spoke, tensing up and eyes darting around the room. Tony was confused until he remembered the spider sense Peter had briefly tried to explain. What if it picked up on more than just danger?

"I would die a hundred times over just so that you could live Peter, so you better live Peter. Don't let my death be in vain, buddy. You're good, better than good. Great even so live, don't put your life on the line be a kid. Please just be a kid before you be a superhero." Tony pleaded for the message to get through whatever barrier there was between the ghostly and the living. As long as he did not take anyone with him, he could deal with a hundred deaths... somehow he had a feeling that he had died a hundred times over.

He almost screamed when he was pulled from Peter's room to elsewhere. That's when he learnt he could be forced from his previous haunting to another and that it hurt.

"We killed Tony Stark, we killed Tony Stark." It was that ant guy, the want to be Jiminy Cricket. He was half surprised he even recognised his voice as he had heard it what, twice?

"We killed Iron Man. You should have just left us in the Raft. We broke the law, we stay in prison. Sure, no trial but they could not keep us in custody in any old county jail as hey we destroyed a whole airport with minimal effort. A trial could have come later. But no we had to escape and leave the doors open for the really bad guys. We killed Tony Stark." Panic, regret, rambling and finally a hint of someone realising they may have been wrong and that all blame did not lie on the shoulders of one Tony Stark. Even if it was a little too late. Who even was this Jiminy? He should just go home rather than be involved in this so called media dubbed 'Civil War' as did he even know what was up?

"Tony Stark was the one who locked us up in the Raft in the first place. He brought about his own death." Wanda all but sneered. Seriously, why hadn't anyone given her a mental health test, she really was not mentally stable enough to work on a team who was supposed to save lives. You would think a hint of rational thinking would be a requirement. He would have to try and get that down for future use.

"No. We brought his death, Hammer got out because of us, we knew he was out but did nothing. What kind of heroes does that make us." Clint's voice was odd. Small. Resignation painted his features. It was strange to think he cared, that anyone cared, after the 'Civil War' he had figured caring for the team was one-sided on his part, but despite everything Tony felt Clint must have cared somewhere at the practically inaudible "We killed Tony."

"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing." Sam echoed. Where was Steve in all this?

"Stark deserved this." Wanda stated. Well he was not normally one to argue against all the pain and suffering he deserved but... the implication. Did she really think it was alright that these kids died, real kids who had just finished education to set off into the real world, innocent kids, not whatever she made her terrorist faction joining ass to be. That these children's deaths were okay just because he got taken out as well.

Then the witch had to go and use her voodoo, he did not know what for (it could have been to pick up her drink) nor did he care. Fuck magic and fuck mind control. He was angry. He stepped in front of the red vapour which was just so much clearer and obvious now he was dead, red tendrils just floated around her constantly even when she was not actively using her powers. To his surprise it bounced off him and ricocheted back into her crimson mass. She jolted with a gasp, her eyes turning a greenish grey and the red around her shrunk a little.

He had always assumed her eyes were brown, he guessed he used her powers nigh constantly to get that effect. Exerting herself must bring forth the unnerving red glow.

"Wanda?" Sam sounded so concerned, perhaps he was being petty but he was dead so he figured he could give himself some slack for once but he hated that never had this team, his so called 'family' used the same concerned voice for him. His real family was with Rhodey.

It was a relief to be gently pulled back to Rhodey even if seeing his best friend like he was painful; it was better him than the fugitives.

He could not quite keep track of time, but Rhodey finally lost some of his anger. Rhodey just could not hold onto it any longer and he broke, he was there when Rhodey wept and he tried to hold him. He could not. The sprinklers came on.

Tony had learnt to move items, it was hard and some days he was more solid than others. He had done so after Hammer appeared on television, the news stating that he still not having been caught. Clint Barton had been though, on some twisted mission to absolve his guilt by killing Hammer. He had acted alone.

He guessed Clint did care after all. It should have really been more comforting rather than wrenching like it was. He wondered if ghosts could vomit, he felt like it. Clint had been retired, he should have been with his wife and children as opposed to yelling as heavily armed and armoured (Stark armour he noted) service-people dragged him off. How many service people were causalities to Barton's revenge?

"Tony was my friend! Hammer needs to pay..." Tony flinched at the word friend, too many bad connotations. At least someone on that crap-bucket of a team had considered him one. He figured he had been their scapegoat or the photograph they used as a dart board rather than a friend.

Shame he only had to get himself murdered for them to think him as one. If only he known that his death was all they needed to like him. "I need to..." Clint finally seemed to stop struggling and he became subdued. Somehow this was worst than seeing him rage. Tony closed his eyes, he shouldn't care. They should have lost that right... dead people weren't supposed to hurt. They weren't supposed to be in pain anymore but here he was. "Tony was my friend. But I wasn't his."

Tony kicked a chair. And it fell down.

And his world opened up.

James 'Jim' Rhodes stared. Toilet rolls covered the floor, when he had went to sleep this floor was clear. But that was not the thing that had him staring, the rolls spelt out "Rhodey".

He had put off the small technical mishaps such as the lights and sprinklers as FRIDAY's grief, put off other items as his own. This was something else. Something which called back to his MIT days.

"FRIDAY, was there...?"

"Records indicate no-one was here."

"Call the Ghost-buster."

Rhodes could almost hear the 'Ghost-buster? You break my heart, Platypus.' but this time he did not ignore it.