Despite the number he'd attended, Tony had grown no more comfortable with funerals nor receptions. In an ordinary situation, he went home buzzed and slept it off.
Tonight, he'd arrived less than sober, and he left with enough alcohol in his system to take out an ordinary man.
But Tony wasn't ordinary.
Pepper had watched him from a distance and while she didn't approach him, he was certain she was the reason the alcohol had been moved to the back. But he was Tony Stark. He didn't need free alcohol to get wasted.
Not when he had the good stuff at home.
He couldn't remember much of his evening beyond his talk with Thor. He probably made a fool of himself and earned further disdain from his teammates. It didn't matter. Let them hate him as much as he hated himself. Let them see the monster hiding behind the cracking shell of a man.
He deserved it.
He deserved the hangover he felt in the morning, and the throbbing in his skull when a heavy knock rapped on his door. He didn't need JARVIS to tell him it was Thor.
Though less grim-faced than before, Thor had looked tired and only wore the faintest smile.
Tony knew it was because Thor must have hated him. Or he'd really screwed up last night. Probably both. It didn't matter. Thor had come to talk of Asgard. Tony was a mess and could barely focus on what he was being told so he wound up nodding absentmindedly. Thor was talking about hunting some monster, visiting some god, drinking some drink-that was the only part he could stir his brain for.
The best part of all of it was that Thor was happy talking to himself. Tony could just sit there and pretend to drink coffee and nibble on toast.
Morning turn to noon and Tony remained half-heartedly listening to Thor talk. He wasn't sure if the Asgardian had always been so chatty or if this was a special occasion but it made him wonder all the same: how much was Thor keeping to himself?
He'd lost his brother, yes-but was it really losing much? They had grown up together but from what Tony could piece together, Loki had always been the black sheep. Dabbling in magic and sorcery, nose buried in books while Thor was out adventuring with his other friends. Thor had spent time with Steve; they were the odd ones out.
They came from different worlds and perhaps had found solace together. Steve was trying to fit in and Thor barely wanted to.
Was Thor looking for another replacement, now that he'd lost Steve? And before Steve, who had there been? Probably Loki, all things considered. Thor would have been the type to put all his secrets in the hands of some untrustworthy sneak.
The bad news about sobering up was that Tony was more aware of what was going on and could be reminded of his guilt. The good news was, he could work on a plan. He'd already tried and failed a few things-a cybernetic robot to download Steve's consciousness in? It would be a synthetic personality but Tony liked to think he could do a pretty good impersonation. But it wasn't the real thing. Going back in time? Sure, how much could he screw up?
Bringing him back from the dead?
There was magic for that. Basically no catch, right? Or, at least, he was smart enough to weasel his way out of a catch. Probably.
Only, Tony knew science, not magic. In fact, the only reason he was considering magic was because his science had let him down.
Anthony Stark was a genius, but an escape from death had eluded all men. So far.
Asgard had the benefit of age; he would seek their secrets, if only to further his own agenda.
Thor was laughing about something and clapped him on his shoulder, drawing him from his thoughts once more. Tony smiled, grateful for Thor's obliviousness.
He didn't give the Asgardian enough credit, though; Thor was more aware of the emptiness in Tony's eyes than he let on. He was not here for himself, not entirely. He was here for his friend.
In their own way, the Avengers had been a family. Steve was a brother to all of them. Adopted, of course.
Naturally, Thor could sympathize.
Humans were weaker than Asgardians, and their society dictated they should grieve in ways he was not entirely accustomed to. Tony was not celebrating Steve's life, he was obsessing over his death. Thor's friends were strong and mighty, and Tony was, too.
Just not right now.
Tony was slipping into a shell of himself that was quickly growing unrecognizable. It was not the first time he'd resorted to drink as an escape, but that wasn't what worried Thor.
What worried Thor was the way he would slip into quiet contemplation, staring at some spot on the wall or something. Thor knew he wasn't listening.
Thor had known Loki long enough to know when he was being ignored. But, he let Tony pretend, because it made Tony feel better, and that was enough to make Thor feel better.
They spent the day together, ultimately doing nothing. They both appreciated the distraction. Sans the two of them, there were no visitors to the tower.
Everyone was grieving, in their own way.
Tomorrow, Tony would go to Asgard, because Thor thought he was helping his friend escape the weight of a world that was crumbling down around him.
Tony's stock had crashed-not permanently, certainly, but it was always a blow to his ego when the numbers dipped. It was likely not something that would even affect him in the long run. But he was fighting with Pepper and drinking and two steps away from slipping into more self destructive habits.
Tony was a mess, and Thor hadn't been able to save Steve.
So he would save Tony, instead.
Tony didn't know what to expect when traveling to Asgard; Thor always made it look so easy. The reality of it was that it felt like your skin was being sucked from your body; muscles and blood and bone followed, but all at different speeds. You wound up torn apart and shoved back together by the end of it.
He was glad he hadn't eaten anything before traveling; Thor had warned him it could be a bit overwhelming. Thankfully, his lack of food was soon to be remedied.
On Earth, Tony would have considered it an immense welcome home feast.
Here, it was apparently just dinner.
He was welcomed to dine in the hall with the Asgardians, so he did. His belongings-mostly journals, technology, tools and a few clothes-were stored in a room near to Thor's. He didn't have time or permission (though no one had said so) to explore on his own, so just stayed close to Thor.
It wasn't just Odin's cold stare that made him want to stay within range of his friend; many of the Asgardians watched him with as much interest as they did disdain. At least, until Thor introduced him. What Asgardians regarded him with hostility seemed at peace after Thor's introduction. Apparently, the Man of Iron was held in high esteem. Or, they liked Thor enough to overlook any hard feelings towards him.
Thor had gone out of his way to string stories of his bravery.
He left out the one about he valiantly blew his teammate to smithereens, but, hey. Maybe he was saving that one for another day.
Tony's snark had been snuffed out; he was by no means just a shell of himself, but he wasn't the man they'd heard stories about. Perhaps, some noticed. Odin might have, with his strangely piercing eye. Frigga, who sat next to him and was the exact opposite of her brutish looking husband, regarded him with a kind smile.
They did not speak beyond basic introductions; Thor all but abducted Tony and dragged him around like a toy to meet his friends. He boasted and praised and told stories while they ate and drank late into the night.
Tony drank, but not enough to make a fool of himself-for once, this month, it seemed. Asgardian alcohol felt different than even the good stuff back on Earth. It made Thor loud but it made Tony quiet.
Quiet was bad for Tony, so he drank more, thinking he must have been doing it wrong.
It was dark when the hall had emptied. Thor's friends-Sif and the Warriors Three, of whom Tony had been introduced to no less than five times this evening, despite sitting at their table all night-seemed reluctant to leave the table first. Tony suspected it was a pride thing so, naturally, he resigned not to be the first to leave, either.
Thor, with his wide grin and loud laugh, could drink his problems away. Being with friends gave him some spirit back. He had told tales of the legendary 'Captain America' tonight, regaling in his friend's great adventures.
Tony had tuned them out because there was a chance that Steven wouldn't have any more great adventures.
No. No, he told himself, because he had to.
He wasn't going to quit.
No matter what it took-he was here. If it meant breaking into Odin's vault, hell-maybe he would. He wasn't drunk enough to think that was a good idea yet.
Thor stood from the table and rested his hand on his shoulder for just long enough to heave him up as well.
They parted on good terms and said good night to the Sif and the three men. Thor was strangely quiet when they made their way back to their rooms.
Before, Tony had thought all doors looked the same. It was only when they came back that one door seemed to stick out. The wood seemed darker than the others, and the doorknob was entirely different. It seemed to have a sturdier lock on it. Unlike the others, this one was obvious even from a distance.
It wasn't interesting enough to make Tony ask about it, but he stopped to examine it silently.
Thor noticed and paused.
His brows narrowed and he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Loki was always different."
"Hm?" Tony asked, shaking his head to glance at the taller man.
Thor nodded to the door. "Loki's room. No doubt you felt the spell of his dark enchantments."
Tony raised a brow. "No, the lock was different."
"Mm. Yes, that too. He was always one of secrets. Father wanted his room cleared out, but Mother has forbidden it. I do not know why." Thor turned away. "He isn't coming back."
With this, Tony found his curiosity spiking once more. "No, he's in the dungeons, isn't he? For how long?"
"Forever, I suppose. Father may change his mind in years to come. But he is dead to this household."
There was a forced bitterness in his voice. Thor did not truly believe the words he was saying, he only wanted to. The betrayal ran deep, but he loved Loki.
Maybe there was hope for himself, if Thor could be so forgiving even now. Perhaps Thor would forgive him for his ulterior motivations. Tony inclined his head at the door once more. "What dark spell has he cast on his room? Does he really have anything so valuable in there?"
Thor shook his head. "It is unlikely. Only his books, I think. But the door is locked to all weapons and spells. Perhaps we could get in, if we wanted. But it would bring up only bad memories. He is not the same young man who once lived across the hall from me."
Tony nodded, but the plan was already in motion.
He was but one door down from Thor's room, and that meant there was a challenge resting just on his doorstep.
Picking locks was no problem; he'd been doing it since he was a child. It was the easiest sort of trouble to get into, offering Tony a locked door. Sometimes, he didn't even care what secret was hidden inside. Sometimes, he liked just proving that he could do it.
It would have been too easy to assume that Loki would have had some life restoring potion just hidden away in his room, but Tony was aiming for the bigger picture.
Thor knew little of magic, and had admitted as much on more than one occasion. He was painfully oblivious to the treasures hidden away; in the company of his friends he had not shied away from the topic, but he seemed to have little to share. Tony had poked and prodded where he could, but Thor had admitted that his studies focused on heroes of old and training. He had not said Loki's name, but Tony knew.
Loki had been the one to learn about magic, and artifacts, and all the dark secrets behind them.
Like Tony, Loki had sought knowledge.
But he drew the line at what they might have had in common there. Or, he tried to. Thor had escorted him to his room and once alone with his own thoughts, Tony wondered if Steve had felt betrayal in his last few seconds of life. If he had felt the splitting horror that Thor had felt when his own brother turned against him.
Tony did not sleep well that night.
He stared at the ceiling until his eyes burned. He saw Steve's eyes, heard his scream, felt his fingers brush against his.
And then he saw fire, and heard crunching, and smelled smoke and flames.
Another nightmare, but he deserved it.
He deserved this pain. He deserved to feel the flames licking his skin.
There was ice, though. A strange, burning ice. It didn't hurt, but it ate away at his dream. It numbed him-to everything. Everything moved in slow motion. His thoughts were too sluggish to drag him deeper into the mental hell he'd prepared for himself. The screams were muted, the pain numbed.
He dreamed of Steve's eyes, only some time in the night the eyes had turned green.
They were not Steve's eyes, but they called to him all the same.