[They don't get very far. The moment Tony can resume some semblance of motor function on his own he's shoving open the car door, tumbling out and staggering away. Not that he does much better on his own, stumbling into a trash can and knocking it over, going down with it. There's garbage all over the sidewalk now and he feels sick, so sick.

Jack just tried to kill him —it was just fate you survived that— his hand claws at his chest, tearing the expensive cotton and ripping off buttons to get at the skin beneath, nails digging into flesh. He's going to be sick. No, not going. He is. Hurls once. Twice. Nothing, but alcohol. It burns coming up.

He barely registers what Jack's been saying. Something about a him... Some other guy. He doesn't understand it right now. Maybe he won't even understand it later. All he knows is something is not right and he needs to get away from Jack. Now.

It's kind of the most pathetic attempt at a fleeing crawl, but he does manage to at least get to his hands and knees and barrel roll into an alley.]