This is @ladyaulis’s gift fic. You’ll find the prompt I tried to include at the bottom. I hope you like what I did here, even though the story sort of ran away from me! I you’re all having a great time, whether you’re celebrating Christmas today or not. Enjoy :)
Oh, warning for slight gore. Also lots of goons die.
“Alright,” Tony huffs—unable to decide whether he’s supposed to be impressed or amused. Either reaction is probably inappropriate. Luckily he isn’t talking to ordinary people. “If no one else says it, I will: HYDRA has freaking lost it.”
“Really?” Barton asks curiously, out of breath but still light-hearted. Both of them ignore the annoyed, “No chatter!” from Steve. It’s not like it ever stopped them before. “This is what made you see the light? After the real-life fire benders, the huge-as-fuck snakes and the poisonous liquorice?”
Barnes—because the man is a bastard who can’t just be unfairly good-looking, no, he has to have a sense of humour on top of that—snorts. “Personally, I thought the liquorice was a nice touch. Shows they’re branching out, y’know? Being creative, thinking out of the box. S’not all bombs and guns anymore.”
“Yes,” Tony says drolly, “nothing better than a creative terrorist organisation.”
The base, a bleak bunker who seems to be made primarily out of brick and metal, was supposed to be a routine mission. ‘The last one before the holidays,’ Hill had joked during the debrief—and fuck what his teammates say, next time Tony is dragged out of bed at ass crack in the morning, he’s going to take Hill with him. Let’s see if she still thinks it’s so funny when she’s the one covered in blood that you hope still counts as human and doesn’t mutate into a corrosive substance or something. Alright, Tony might have to cut back on the science fiction movies—they just hits too close to home far too often.
“Besides that’s not what I meant. I meant, it’s Christmas Eve!” The declaration isn’t met by shouts of outrage and despair, a disappointing but unsurprising reaction. Tony has long given up hope to convince his teammates of the joys of Christmas. After all, that would interfere with their lovely reputations as jaded adults, and they can’t have that, can they? “Seriously, guys,” Tony continues undisturbed, even as he fires and another two goons go down. “Nobody tries to take over the world on Christmas. It just isn’t done, ask anyone!”
“You realise that’s ridiculous?” Natasha comments in her patented, utterly blasé sounding voice. Like she hasn’t spent the past half an hour fighting for her life. Some days Tony swears that woman is made of steel. “Even when you discount alien attackers, not all of humanity celebrates Christmas. Today is as likely as any other day for villains to attack—maybe more so, given the symbolism behind it.”
“Nat, you’re brilliant and the scariest woman I’ve ever met, but you’re wrong,” Tony states—and despite knowing very well that Natasha isn’t even on the same floor as he is, he still takes a moment to glance over his shoulder and check. “Nobody is stupid enough to forget the true meaning of Christmas, okay?”
“Just this once, can we focus on the enemy goons trying to kill us?” Steve joins in, the comm line cracking with the force of his exasperation. Or, more likely, he’s run through another wall. The guy really needs to learn to use doors. And parachutes. And—
“Lighten up, Stevie,” Barnes murmurs. His voice is quiet, like always when he’s concentrating, but Tony can hear the smile in the higher pitch when he pronounces Steve’s childhood nickname. It makes him want to smile too, which is just plain stupid. “You’re just sore because you always root for the Grinch.”
Barnes is only teasing—probably—but the proclamation draws a scandalised gasp from Tony all the same. Unfortunately he doesn’t get the chance to scold Steve, because in that moment he rounds a corner, and the floor behind it isn’t as empty as he thought it would be.
None of the goons he’s met so far are even close to a match to Iron Man, but numbers and arms can compensate for lack of skill—especially in enclosed spaces. And twelve on one aren’t exactly odds you like to bet your life on when unknown, experimental technology is involved.
Tony is so focused on the fight, he doesn’t notice the Winter Soldier joining the mess until the head of a man he’s just aiming his repulsors at explodes before he has the chance to fire. It’s a little silly, but Tony feels a familiar wave of annoyed warmth at that. He appreciates the help in a fight, alright. And no matter what anyone says, he isn’t too proud to have someone he trusts guard his back—even though he’s still getting used to trusting people other than Pep and Rhodey.
It’s just that, well, he’s Iron Man. Tony can handle himself in a fight, damn it, and he can handle himself well. And sure, Barnes has never disputed that—the guy is too smart, probably, nobody has ever accused Tony of being even-tempered—but actions speak louder than words. Actions say quite clearly that whenever Tony finds himself in a tough spot during a battle—tough not necessarily meaning ‘life-threatening’—the Winter Soldier materialises out of thin air and turns the—
“Alright, can I say ‘Ewww’ or does that go without saying?” Tony blurts out, stunned into stillness if not silence by the sight of—He can’t even think it.
It should have been the sight of Barnes beheading one of the enemy goons—and where did he find a freaking machete anyways?—which would have been disgusting, but nothing to get distracted by. Except for how the beheaded guy isn’t lying on the ground dead. Nope. That would be too simple. Instead the skin over the stump that’s left of his neck is bulging and growing and—yep, that’s another head alright.
“That’s taking the old ‘where one head’s cut off, another grows’ mantra a bit too far, don’t you think?” Tony asks with a mixture of disgust, curiosity and disbelief he doesn’t care to identify too carefully. “Seriously, isn’t there a limit to taking one for the team?”
Barnes doesn’t answer. Just stares at the re-headed goon blankly for a moment before he pulls a handgun from who-knows-where and fires. Trice. Straight to the heart.
“Beheading doesn’t kill them,” Barnes comments calmly over the comms, like people regrow vital body parts all the time. “Aim for heart, lungs and major arteries.”
“Your chat-up lines need some serious work,” Tony shoots back because he’s Tony Stark, he has to say something. Also because if he doesn’t make a smartass comment, he might just throw up, and neither Clint nor Steve would ever let him live that down.
Barnes throws him a look, and if Tony didn’t know better, he’d have sworn it was a smolder. He distracts himself by throwing a repulsor blast at a suspiciously twitching goon. That guy might have been down for good, but you can never be too careful when dealing with what is apparently HYDRA’s version of zombies. Give him poisonous liquorice over human experiments any day.
“See?” Tony says to no one in particular as he follows Barnes into a no longer barricaded laboratory. “This is what happens when you forget about the true meaning of Christmas. You end up with a few dozen goons who can re-grow the only body part they don’t know how to use. What the hell is HYDRA thinking?”
“Iron Man, chatter,” Steve groans, but he sounds more amused than angry.
Not that Tony would have payed him any mind if he had been. “Shut up, grinch-lover.”
Tony turns to face Barnes, just to complain about the lameness of the guy’s best friend, but Barnes is a lot closer than he anticipated—and looks a lot better covered in blood and quite a few other, worrisome fluids than anyone has the right to—and the words kind of get stuck somewhere in the back of Tony’s throat.
“Merry christmas,” Barnes says and lifts his hand to reveal the undamaged hard drive of one of the researchers’ computer.
And HYDRA may have lost it, but, damn, so has Tony, because he’s so far gone over this man, it’s not even funny.
Well, there are HYDRA goons who re-grown their heads, there’s banter–though it’s more between the entire team–and there are sprinkles of WinterIron… I hope you like it @ladyaulis!!
