The Cold Death

A WinterIron Horror fic by RiotFalling

[thecolddeathfic]

The Cold Death: A WinterIron Horror retelling of Iron Man 1

By @riotfalling / @riotwritesthings

Finished

AO3 tags and warnings:

Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes, Ho Yinsen, Tiberius Stone, Obadiah Stane Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Horror, Gore, Body horror, Torture, Waterboarding, Extremely dubious consent, Sexual content, Wildly unsafe sex, Anal sex, Fisting but not like you think, Weird sex, Casual alcohol use, Implied alcohol abuse, Casual drug use, Jealousy, Unhealthy relationships, Manipulation, The lasting effects of Howard Stark's A+ parenting, Cheating but it’s Ty so is anyone surprised, Flashbacks, Dream sequences, Hallucinations, Dead dove: eat it while it's cold, Happy ending

Tony Stark is dying.

Between the shards of his own weapon working their way towards his heart and the infection setting in, he's running out of time.

It's a pretty fitting end to a life that has always revolved around death, and maybe that's why an old obsession is coming back to haunt him. Or maybe he's just losing his mind, seeing shadows and hearing a voice calling his name.

But if he isn't imagining things- He'll have to face a ghost he's done his best to forget. While he still has time.

shadow of nobody there

watch for his breath on the air

he stirs with the cold winter night

gone at the first touch of light

no prey ever spared

his frozen fangs bared

the Cold Death wakes to fight

[riotwritesthings]

the good news: im writing another little bit from the universe of The Cold Death

the bad news: idk if ANYONE is going to end up wanting this lol

[saphizzle]

@riotwritesthings wrote a fic about winteriron basically being vengeful spirits and I realized 1: I could read a thousand chapters of just that and 2: their description of them slapped and my brain couldn’t let it go

[thecolddeathfic]

Part 7

WinterIron, E, 5k - Horror, Body Horror, Gore, Happy ending

see blog's pinned post for a list of tags and warnings for the full fic

Tony is- He thinks-

 

He must be dreaming. But-

 

Dead people don’t dream, right?

And he is dead, he has to be-

 

He watches calmly as the Soldier’s hand slides free of his chest, out of the massive, gaping hole that’s been torn in him-

The Soldier’s hand is empty. Stray shards of ice cling to his fingers, to his palm- What looks like part a ventricle clinging to the side of his thumb-

Tony’s heart is gone, so-

 

So he must be dead-

 

But he’s still standing- Sort of- Slumped back against the heavy metal door of his cell-

He’s waiting to fall- To hit the ground-

But he’s still standing.

The Soldier has stepped back to leave some space between them- no longer holding Tony up-

Just watching him.

 

Waiting.

 

“Am-” Tony starts to ask and then pauses, caught off guard by the sand of his own voice.

Strong, like he can breathe again- Echoing off the stone walls like the cell is suddenly much bigger-

"Am I dead?" He finishes, even though he must be-

 

Nothing hurts-

Tony’s lungs actually fill when he inhales, and there’s no sharp stab of pain every time his heart beats-

Like it isn’t beating-

 

“Yes,” the Soldier says, apologetic- maybe regretful. His tone doesn’t change as he adds, “And no.”

Tony doesn’t bother asking for clarification.

“What- What happens now?” He asks instead.

He’s dimly aware that frost is slowly covering the cave- Thin layers of ice creeping over the tables and the rusted cot, soft snowfall slowly burying the broken respirator on the ground-

But he can’t tear his gaze away from the Soldier for long, doesn’t want to- The man’s blue eyes that suddenly seen so much brighter, the way he tips his head just slightly to the side and-

Tony gets the feeling that he’s smiling, behind the mask-

 

“What do you want?” The Soldier asks, reminding him-

He wants-

 

“Yinsen-” Tony says, pushing away from the door and spinning-

His head stays clear- he feels good-

The dark metal of the door is a pale blue now, almost silver-

Tony can barely make out his own refection- Blood completely soaking the front of his shirt, still dripping sluggishly down his chin-

He doesn’t think.

 

He presses his palm to the center of the door, to the reflection of the void in his chest, and it cracks- shatters-

Chunks of ice clatter loudly to the ground as his hand pushes through the frozen door- Then his arm-

He steps through the jagged remains of the door into a snowy stone corridor, ice thick on the ground and white flakes falling from the ceiling- just like the frozen apartment-

“Go,” the Soldier says softly, right behind him-

Tony is probably dreaming-

But he might as well enjoy it.

 

His feet don’t slip on the ice as he moves down the corridor- his footing sure-

He can feel the Soldier, always one step behind him.

Strange, distorted figures start to approach and one by one slowly freeze in place- Guns still raised- Mouths still open in shouts that he never heard-

All Tony can hear is the crunch of snow and ice under his feet- The calm rhythm of his own breath and the echo of the Soldier’s breathing behind him-

And somewhere in the distance, ringing down the corridor- Shouting-

 

Yinsen-

 

Tony pays no mind to the still shapes of the Ten Rings guards as he passes them- made completely of ice now, flickering in and out like bad TV reception, as if they’re not really there-

Like they’re not a part of this dream-

 

He keeps going.

From behind him, Tony hears a thunderous crash followed by the clattering rain of ice on the frozen ground-

And then again-

And again-

The sounds continue as Tony makes his way through the tunnel-

As the Winter Soldier apparently smashes the form of every guard they pass-

Aggressively- Vengefully-

 

Tony doesn’t look back, but his smile pulls at the tacky blood drying on his lips.

The corridor almost seems to move around him, flying by faster than Tony’s steps should take him- All the stone walls blur in shades of white and pale blue-

When the path branches out in multiple directions he pauses for only a second - the frost and snow have already spread down one of the paths, directing him-

He’s getting closer. The stone walls aren’t flying by as quickly, despite Tony’s pace not changing, and he gets glimpses into the doorways scattered all along the tunnel-

There are bunk rooms and storerooms- A large cave of communications equipment- But Tony also catches flashes of his old office, still covered in papers- the bedroom he moved back into in the fifth avenue mansion and his workshop in Malibu-

 

He walks past all of it.

Following the distant sound of an angry voice- getting closer-

Gunfire-

 

Tony runs- the Soldier still right behind him-

He’s too late, he knows it before he turns the last corner-

When he hears the final gunshot- and Yinsen’s pained shout-

 

He’s too fucking late-

 

Yinsen is slumped against the roughy carved wall, still slowly sliding down it with his hands clutched over his chest- over the spreading red stain-

An agonized shout tears its way out of Tony’s throat, alarm and useless denial- More of his own blood escapes past Tony’s lips with the sound, but-

 

But Yinsen is bleeding-

Tony is too-

 

The leader is yelling in panic and confusion as the frost overtakes him, too- dropping his gun-

The gun he used to shoot-

Tony doesn’t care about him-

 

He drops to his knees in front of Yinsen and starts to reach out- ready to catch him-

But Tony’s hands are coated in blood, filthy with it- his own, or maybe he’s just imagining it-

Dreaming it- All the blood on his hands- the most famous mass murderer in the history of America-

He doesn’t dare actually touch the other man-

 

“Yinsen,” he says quickly, his voice shaking and his hands hovering uselessly, “Y-Yinsen, come on, we gotta go-”

Yinsen’s half-lidded eyes open the rest of the way, slowly focus on Tony-

“Stark,” Yinsen says, blood on his lips- spreading all across the front of his shirt-

His expression is sorrowful as his gaze shifts from Tony to the Soldier still standing just behind him- like he understands-

“You have taken Death’s hand,” Yinsen says says and Tony winces, but-

But there’s no judgement in the words, none of the disappointment that Tony is expecting- Just acceptance.

Tony’s breath catches painfully in his throat and he blinks rapidly, trying to keep tears from freezing in his eyelashes- Snow crunches beneath the Soldier’s boots as he shifts, and then his right hand comes to rest on Tony’s shoulder- carefully, almost hesitantly-

 

“I made my choice,” Tony agrees with a weak smile, and Yinsen’s answering smile is equally weak. “Now come on,” he says unsteadily, “w-we gotta go. We’re gonna get you up a-and-”

“Stark-” Yinsen says softly, his voice thick and wet-

“Come on,” Tony says again, louder- still can’t bring himself to actually touch Yinsen-

The pool of blood beneath them is spreading and Tony can’t tell who it belongs to- both of them- there’s so much-

“We’re gonna get you out of here,” Tony says desperately, his voice cracking, and this can’t- He-

  He wanted to do one thing-

 

"We’ll get you help and you- You’re gonna see your family. So get up-"

“My family’s dead,” Yinsen says, cutting him off- the smile smile on his face peaceful-

“Oh,” Tony says stupidly. He finally drops his bloody hands to his already stained thighs.

 

“I’m going to see them now, Stark. It’s okay,” Yinsen says, his voice fading. His eyes are unfocused as they move from Tony to the Soldier, and it’s barely audible when he repeats, “It’s okay. I want this.”

The empty pit in Tony’s chest aches like its being hollowed out all over again, and he swallows thickly as he forces himself to reach out with one shaking hand-

Both of Yinsen’s hands are still resting on his chest- fingers gone slack so Tony can see the multiple bullet wounds-

Tony carefully rests his palm over Yinsen’s- as gentle as he possibly can be-

 

Yinsen’s eyelids flutter open again, and he’s clearly trying to focus as Tony drags in a steadying breath- If nothing else, at least he can-

“Thank you for trying to save me,” Tony says hoarsely, and it’s not nearly enough-

But Yinsen smiles- no traces of pain on his face now-

"And thank you," he says breathlessly, “for trying to save me.”

Tony tries to laugh- but it comes out more of a sob-

“I- I won’t waste this,” Tony promises, struggling to breathe again- Too many emotions clogging his throat- "What- Whatever time I have left like this, I-I’ll do something good-"

Yinsen’s smile pulls a little wider-

Then his eyes fall closed.

His chest goes still under Tony’s hand, and-

 

And Tony failed.

Guilt continues to build in his gut, thick and hot and choking- It burns it’s way up his throat and Tony has to gasp around it-

 

He failed. He couldn’t do one fucking thing-

There must be something-

 

He pushes himself to his feet-

     

-turning to face the Soldier-

 

The frost is gone from the cave.

The stone walls are just stone, roughly carved and shades of brown- The floors are dry, covered in sand, no snow or blood-

 

Just Yinsen’s-

 

The leader of the Ten Rings hasn’t been reduced to loose pieces of ice, what’s left of the frozen statue after the Soldier smashed it-

The man is simply a body crumpled to the ground- Bloody and broken, flesh and bone-

Probably all of the guards are-

 

There is no ice. No cold-

 

Just the fog of the Soldier’s chilled breath as he stands- Waching Tony.

Waiting-

 

The dream is over.

Tony is awake now, he knows it-

As awake as the living dead can be, and he knows what he wants-

 

But he doesn’t know what happens next.

 

The hole in his chest is still empty- Hollow-

Guilt and regret still trickling out as sluggish drops of blood-

And the Soldier is still watching him, his gleaming left hand clenching and unclenching by his side.

 

“Am I out of time?” Tony asks, his voice still thick with emotion.

The Soldier is silent for a moment, his blue eyes flicking to Yinsen and then back.

Somewhere in the distance Tony can hear shouting- more guards approaching-

“Do you want to be?” The Soldier asks, and he sounds-

There’s something in his voice- His eyes searching Tony’s face-

But Tony shakes his head quickly- He wants-

“You- You could have peace, too,” the Soldier says- glancing at Yinsen again for just a second- and for the first time he sounds unsure- hesitant-

And Tony understands what he’s offering.

 

Death.

For good.

It-

 

It’s more tempting than Tony wants to admit- even in his own head. The idea of peace-

After the blurred, endless days of torture and illness- After realizing the truth of his life’s work, the legacy he’s been carrying-

Peace would be-

And death is natural, right? An ending is natural, its what’s supposed to follow death-

 

No.

 

Tony shakes his head- Clearing his mind and answering the Soldier in one-

He doesn’t want to follow the expected path anymore- He doesn’t want to run away-

He won’t.

 

“I want-” Tony says haltingly, a new feeling starting to overtake the guilt lodged in his throat-

Hot- Burning-

A ball of pure rage growing in his chest- Taking up all of the hollow spaces-

“I am going to figure out how they got their hands on my weapons,” Tony says, spitting the words harshly- they scorch his throat on the way out-

The sounds of footsteps are getting louder, closer- The raised, angry voices fuel the fire in Tony’s chest and-

And there’s a strange light building in the cave, filling the tunnel without a source-

“And then I-” Tony continues, the sound a furious hiss, “I am going to fix this. All of this.”

 

The light is getting brighter, a warm gold-

Footsteps get closer- nearly right around the corner and Tony starts to turn- ready-

 

Then he stops.

The shouting is getting closer, but Tony’s attention snaps over to the Soldier.

The man is still standing, unmoving- His face blank-

Tony doesn’t think-

 

His hand snaps out to grab the Soldier’s wrist, his fingers smearing blood across the man’s ice-silver skin- Not quite as cold as he remembers-

And for the first time Tony realizes that the light is coming from him-

From the skin of his hand glowing warmly beneath the thick layers of blood- From the hole in his chest, getting steadily brighter like a rising sun-

The pounding footsteps have nearly reached them-

 

“Thank you,” Tony says softly, even though speaking still burns, because he has to-

He’s still not sure why the Soldier did this- gave him this chance-

The man doesn’t reply, but his eyes crease at the corners as he tips his head to the side- Like he’s hiding a sharp, toothy smile behind the mask.

Tony smiles back, burning brighter as a comfortable warmth joins the fire of rage inside him-

 

The guards round the corner, guns raised-

And the light glowing in his chest explodes-

Light- Fury-

 

Fire-

 

~

 

The overhead lights are off in Obi’s office.

Instead the large, ornate room is lit by the warm recessed lighting lining the decorative bookcases and the antique-style lamp on the desk.

And of course, the light of the large computer monitor, currently displaying a news article about a massive explosion in the mountains of Afghanistan.

Obi frowns as he skims over the details- The suspected weapon malfunction that destroyed the base of a terrorist group, nearly bringing the entire mountain down into the network of tunnels and caves below- The investigation that is still ongoing, but doesn’t expect to find any survivors-

The chair squeaks beneath him as Obi leans back with a heavy sigh.

 

He doesn’t notice the layer of frost slowly spreading over the massive picture window behind him, or the shadow moving on the wall-

And he doesn’t notice the frost creeping up the side of his glass, even when he lifts it to take a long swig of the dark liquor.

 

As he lowers the glass again, Obi’s frown slowly shifts into a smile.

“Tony, Tony, Tony,” He sighs again, shaking his head- disappointment and sarcasm dripping from his voice- “You never could do anything without making a complete mess of it, could you?”

“Well, you know me,” Tony says, his voice echoing from the shadowy corner where he stands and bouncing around the large room.

He takes great pleasure in the way Obi jumps, lurching heavily out of his chair-

Obi’s eyes go wide when they land on Tony, his mouth falling open, and Tony can see him trying to figure out what to say- trying to spin another lie-

 

“T-Tony,” Obi says, a slight tremble in his voice- his grip white-knuckled on the edge of his desk- “I’m- I’m so happy to see you. How-”

“How did I get here?” Tony interrupts, his words echoing over Obi’s, “that’s a good question. Especially when I’m supposed to be dead, right?”

A tiny strangled noise escapes Obi’s throat as he obviously struggles to process what he’s seeing- His gaze moving over Tony’s rumpled, blood-splattered suit- The old, dark blood still slowly dripping from Tony’s lower lip-

Making everything taste like bitter iron-

 

“Tony,” Obi says again, visibly pulling his usual layer of bullshit back around himself- Tony can see it now-

“You should be thanking me,” Tony says before Obi has a chance to continue, his tone calm despite the way the words burn his throat on the way out, “there’s nothing left of the Ten Rings base. Now no one will be able to connect them to all the Stark weapons they had stockpiled.”

Obi’s face is a little paler than usual, but his expression is perfectly calm- perfectly innocent- as he asks, “Ten Rings? I don’t-”

“No one but me will be able to connect them, anyways,” Tony says with a toothy smile that pulls at the smears of blood half-dried to his lips.

“I think you should sit down-” Obi says and takes a half-step towards him before stopping, hesitating-

“You think so? You think sitting down will help me?” Tony demands, his smile sharpening and his hands shaking by his sides. “Will sitting down stop my weapons- my name- from being sold to anyone who pays? Stop them from being used to murder innocent people?”

“Tony,” Obi says gently- the same fucking tone he used at Tony’s parents’ funeral- “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lies so smoothly, “but we can figure it out together, okay? If someone is selling our weapons secondhand-”

"My weapons," Tony spits, the words hissing through the air.

Obi swallows thickly, and without taking his eyes off Tony he pulls the heavy desk chair out a little more and positions it between them.

“Tony please, have a seat,” Obi tries again, “you’ve clearly been through a lot-”

“A lot,” Tony repeats with a bark of laughter that bounces off the walls, growing louder- His voice haunting- “You have no idea- They killed me, Obi.”

He watches as Obi’s face twists in confusion, obviously not believing the statement- But Tony can also see that part of the man’s brain is trying to insist that it’s true- Alarm bells going off-

 

“Wh- What?” Obi asks, his eyes wide-

“I don’t know why you’re surprised,” Tony says as he takes a single step forward, further into the light- The thick, expensive rug squishes beneath his foot, completely soaked through with blood- “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Obi shakes his head, his mouth working soundlessly for a second before he gets out, “I-I- Of course not-”

“I saw the video,” Tony says flatly, cutting him off again, “you know, the one the Ten Rings made after capturing me? The one that was sent to you, it turns out? I had to have a friend translate it, of course, but I know everything, Obi.”

Any remaining color drains from Obi’s face. The way he stumbles back, his hip bouncing off his desk, is incredibly gratifying.

The tall, broad-shouldered shadow on the wall shifts, draws closer to the shadow of Obi cast by the desk lamp-

“Tony- Y-You misunderstand,” Obi says-

“Really?” Tony demands with a harsh laugh and takes another step forward, the familiar fury burning in his chest again- "So you didn’t try to cheap out on my execution?"

Obi stumbles back, one shaking hand outstretched as Tony continues slowly advancing-

“And you haven’t been selling my weapons under the table?” Tony snaps- the fire in his chest starting to shine through his shirt- “You haven’t been pushing me for years to make everything more deadly just so you could-”

His voice cuts off with a rough sound- unable to speak past the rancid taste of betrayal building thick on his tongue-

No sound escapes as Obi’s mouth opens and closes, his wild eyes taking in the blood that soaks through the plush carpet beneath Tony’s every step, the subtle glow of Tony’s clenched fists-

One of Obi’s hands fumbles towards his pocket, but Tony isn’t concerned.

“Look, Obadiah,” Tony says firmly as he lifts a hand to pull open half of his unbuttoned dress shirt, “look what they did.”

The ringing echo of his voice shakes the books on their shelves, and it nearly drowns out the sound of Obi gasping- gagging-

And Tony knows what he sees.

 

The curled, burnt skin around the empty socket- The dark mess of meat and bone visible through the hole in his chest, deep shades of red writhing and shifting impossibly inside him-

The sickly streams of blood pouring endlessly from the open wound and the light that’s starting to shine out from between the twisting chunks of gore and meat-

The growing light that makes every shadow stand out all the sharper-

 

Tony smiles.

“This is what you wanted,” he reminds Obi, the words scorching their way up his throat and the fire in his chest burning brighter- "this is what you underpaid for, so look at it. "

Obi stumbles back another step, his eyes darting around the room- returning to the glowing, gory mess of Tony’s chest- He pulls some small device out of his pocket with a shaking hand-

The Soldier materializes behind Obi and catches his wrist, sending whatever device clattering to the ground as the Solder twists his arm up behind his back.

With a shout of alarm Obi tries to turn, but the Soldier grabs the man’s shoulder with his freezing left hand and keeps Obi pinned where he is- Facing Tony-

Facing what he did- Squinting against the brightening light-

“I think you were selling Howard’s weapons behind his back, too,” Tony says over Obi’s stuttered attempts at questions, easily drowning the bastard out, “and I-”

Tony’s gaze flicks over Obi’s shoulder, meeting the Soldier’s eyes instead-

"And I think that was always the legacy you wanted me to ‘live up to,’" Tony says to Obi, but he’s still looking at the Soldier-

“Tony- P-Please let me explain-” Obi says, his voice shaking- his entire body shaking as frost starts to spread from the Soldier’s hand on his shoulder, down his arm and up the side of his throat-

"No," Tony snaps, shaking his head and fixing his attention on Obi again, “no more bullshit.”

His slow steps finally bring him to a stop in front of Obi, the light in his chest illuminating both of their faces-

Shinning in the Soldier’s blue eyes-

“Beautiful, right?” Tony asks with a sharp grin as Obi’s attention keeps dropping to the hole in his chest- now completely taken up by the warm, burning glow- “The best weapon I’ve ever made. I cleaned out the cave tunnels without an issue, and then brought the entire thing down on itself. But I think for you-”

Tony reaches out slowly with a hand that glows a fiery gold- smiling wider when Obi tries and fails to flinch away-

 

His fingertips leave bloody smears on the front of Obi’s pristine white shirt-

Then the fabric starts to char- burn-

Smoke curls in the air as the starched fabric blackens-

Tony’s fingers reach skin and the smoke turns rancid as flesh burns away-

Obi sucks in a sharp breath that seems to get stuck in his chest, eyes wide-

“I’m going to fix every fucking mess with my name on it, everything I didn’t know I had a hand in doing,” Tony promises, pressing harder as his fingertips reach bone- "I am going to actually do something good."

He can feel Obi’s sternum giving way beneath his touch, crumbling like ash-

The smell of burning meat fills the office as Tony’s hand sinks into the depths of Obi’s chest- Scorching away everything he touches and still pressing deeper, searching-

A weak sound wheezes out of Obi’s chest when Tony’s fingers sink into the sides of his heart, burning- burning-

"I’m going to make my own legacy, now," Tony says flatly, and pulls-

Obi’s heart comes free with a wet ripping sound-

Fresh blood spraying across Tony’s stained suit-

Flames licking at the edges of the hole Tony ripped in his chest and the jagged shreds of muscle clenched in Tony’s fist-

Tony smile again as Obi’s eyes slowly start to dim, clenching his fingers until the last of Obi’s heart burns away in his grip.

When the Soldier lets go, Obi collapses to the ground with a heavy thud.

 

“That was so satisfying,” Tony says with a happy sigh and absently shakes his hand, more blood splattering everywhere.

He steps away from Obi’s body without a second look, instead dropping into the abandoned chair and facing the computer. The burning light has faded from his chest and hands, but he still pokes hesitantly at the keyboard-

And is once again pleasantly surprised when, just like the computers in the Ten Rings base, it actually works. He has a feeling he could drive himself crazy trying to figure out all the rules of this strange semi-death state, so he just focuses on digging up all of Obi’s hidden files.

 

The Soldier moves to stand just over his shoulder, watching silently.

“Did you know?” Tony has to ask, not looking away from the screen as he digs up more and more and more black market weapons sales. “What Obi was doing, I mean, when- Before I took over the company, did you know that- That he was going to twist everything I made?”

The Soldier doesn’t answer, but when Tony glances up at him he nods, sorrow in his eyes and twisting his expression beneath the mask.

“And the only way you could think of to warn me was- was haunting and offering to kill me?” Tony asks dryly, one eyebrow raised.

What can only be described as a wince crosses the Soldier’s face, and his jaw works beneath his mask before he slowly says, “I- have limits. When interacting with the living.”

Tony nods back, thoughtful, and then firmly decides, “You have a good heart, too.”

He grins at the way the Soldier’s eyes go wide, clearly caught off guard, and when he starts to shake his head in denial Tony twists a little in the chair so he can grab the man’s hand.

“Don’t argue with me, I can burn you up now,” Tony says, even though he has no idea how true that is. He taps his finger against the back of the Soldier’s frozen hand as he adds, “And I mean beneath all the haunting and brutal murder, obviously.”

The Soldier huffs out a breath that hangs in the air between them, clearly skeptical, but doesn’t pull away from Tony’s grip.

“I was also thinking,” Tony says as he pushes himself to his feet again, facing the man, “there’s probably a lot of overlap between your evil spy scientists and my evil arms dealers-”

When he trails off the Soldier quirks an eyebrow at him, a smile in his eyes as he steps closer- Carelessly kicking Obi’s limp arm out of the way as he cages Tony in against the desk-

“Maybe we should continue sticking together,” Tony finishes, leaving trails of tacky red blood as he runs his hands up the man’s arms-

 

The Soldier laughs.

The sound is deep and rich, echoing inside his mask, and something warm blooms in Tony’s chest even as he pouts. He still leans into it when the Solder’s hand comes up to cup his cheek.

“Anthony,” the man says and there’s so much in his voice- Fond and just a little condescending- “You are mine.”

Tony’s breath catches in his hollow chest

“You opened the door, you took Death by the hand and let him rip out your heart,” the Soldier reminds him, and Tony can only nod in agreement-

He did-

“We’re connected,” the Soldier continues, pressing closer until the front of his mask barely bumps against Tony’s lips, and there’s a warmth that shouldn’t be possible in the words when he says, “I am never letting you go.”

The relief that rushes over Tony has him letting out a hard breath, slumping back against the desk, and it’s- He knows that it’s twisted-

But what isn’t, now?

He opened the door, and he walked through it-

 

This is real. And he’ll never be alone.

 

Tony buries his stained fingers in the Soldier’s hair, holding him in place so Tony can press a desperate kiss to the front of his mask-

Light is flaring to life in Tony’s chest again, the warmth of it competing with the thin frost that spreads from the Soldier’s touch- Something deep where his heart used to be trying to make itself known-

Like he’s always known it-

 

“James,” he gasps and the name burns its way pleasantly up his throat, like a secret that he can finally speak-

“Anthony,” the man sighs in reply and wraps cold arms around him- Leaning into Tony’s lips against him-

Sharing the same cold, blood-soaked air-

 

It tastes like snow and iron when James promises- “Mine.”

 

~

   

"- seriously, you can track ALL of it to under the table weapens, MOSTLY stark industries-"

   

" - what seems to be an old secret lab of some kind, exposed by yet another unexplained explosion-"

   

"- how do you explain the frost damage at so many of the scenes, IDIOT?!?"

 

"- after another supposed sighting of Tony Stark, still missing and presumed dead-"

     

"- no ur right its CLEARLY one guy with a flame thrower and a freeze ray-"

    "-mysterious hypothermia still unexplained, but political assassination is suspected-"

   

- "why would something called the merchant of death need a soldier around? Like for an attack dog?" - "idk have you ever heard of LOVE?!?!"

the shadows will move to distract the flames always dance to attract see the bloodstains on ice don't dare to look twice vengeance is always precise when the Winter Soldier draws breath and walks with the Merchant of Death

[thecolddeathfic]

Part 6

WinterIron, E, 4k - Horror, Body Horror, Gore, Weird sex

see blog's pinned post for a list of tags and warnings for the full fic

Happy birthday to me, I'm finally happy with the end of this fic. Only one more chapter after this!

Wake up, Anthony.

 

The voice is familiar-

But it’s so far away-

 

Come back-

 

If he focuses-

 

"Anthony."

Tony’s eyes snap open.

The cave- The soldier still standing inches from him-

One cold hand cupping Tony’s jaw and the other resting on Tony’s stomach, still so close to the open hole in his chest-

He still can’t breathe-

The Soldier’s eyes are a bright, cold blue, but there’s also-

There’s also something warm about them.

Or maybe Tony is just losing his mind- Imaging things as he slowly bleeds out-

 

Bleeds in, he’s pretty sure he can feel it running down the sides of his lungs, pooling among his organs-

Blood is still trailing sluggishly down his stomach, almost cool compared to his flushed skin- running over the Soldier’s fingers-

Slipping out from between his own fingers as they sink deeper into the raw meat of his chest-

 

“Anthony,” The Soldier says again, softer, and he almost sounds concerned.

Tony is definitely losing his mind.

"Wh-what?" Tony tries to snap, but the word is more choked out than anything as his lungs refuse to fill.

”You’re almost out of time,” the Soldier says again, and Tony makes another annoyed noise.

“I- know-“ Tony grits out, even though the words tear at his throat-

It feels wet when he wheezes for air, but Tony can’t taste blood anymore and he’s-

 

He’s too exhausted to be scared anymore.

 

He’s-

He’s dying, right here, right now, one way or another. There’s no reason to be afraid, this probably isn’t even real-

The Soldier is still watching him, close enough that they’re sharing freezing cold air.

“What do you want?” The Soldier asks him this time, head tipping slightly to the side and he looks like-

Like it matters.

Tony would laugh if he could, but he’s pretty sure the effort would have his rib cage collapsing in on itself and impaling what’s left of his lungs- shards of bone joining the shrapnel in his heart-

 

What he wants is to not fucking die here-

He wants- He wanted to get Yinsen out of here, to make up for his mistakes to at least one fucking person-

 

He wants a lot more, wants to fix all of his many, many mistakes- wants to finally do something good, fix the legacy that he’s been painstakingly maintaining all of his life and make it something he could really be proud of-

 

But he would have settled for saving Yinsen.

 

Tony doesn’t have the air to say any of that, though. He’s not sure he’d be able to put the words in the right order if he did-

Even thinking is- It’s so much effort-

His brain is on fire-

 

Every inch of him is burning with infection, blood scorching its way through his veins-

He can’t even feel the chill of the Soldier’s hand against his jaw anymore- He can’t feel anything but the heat and the pain-

The shards of metal in his chest make him agonizingly aware of his own pulse, every beat more painful than the last-

 

And the beats are getting slower.

 

It- It’s a relief.

Tony just wants it to stop- The burning pain and the guilt and-

He wants the dark back-

The cold-

He-

 

He wants to do one single fucking good thing before he-

Tony forces his eyes open.

The Soldier is still watching him.

Waiting.

“I-” Tony struggles to say-

Choking on the thick foam filling his throat-

His eyes won’t focus-

 

He wavers on his feet, legs threatening to buckle- The Soldier holds him upright- pinned firm against the door-

"I w-want," Tony gurgles out and that’s it- that’s all he can manage-

The Soldier’s grip on his chin is the only thing holding him upright-

“Then open the door,” the Soldier says, and Tony wants to sob.

 

He can’t- The door is locked-

He’s dying, he doesn’t have time-

He just wants to-

 

“Come back to me, Anthony,” the Soldier says and his voice echoes more than ever, almost hard to understand.

It feels like Tony is falling and he can’t be sure- he can’t feel anything around him-

Can’t see-

 

“Let me in.”

 

~

 

The apartment is completely frozen over.

 

It looks smaller with a fine layer of frost over everything, icicles hanging from the open doorways and snow piling gently in the corners. There’s even fat flakes of it falling from the ceiling, drifting lazily in the still air.

Even with the way he’s burning, Tony can feel the cold sinking through the layers of course fabric they gave him in the cave, making him shiver.

The door at the end of the hall is still closed, a chair still braced beneath the doorknob. The light still shines from beneath it, reflecting off the frost so even the air seems to glow, and broken in two places by someone standing on the other side of the door.

Waiting.

 

Tony is at other end of the hall, and its not that far but-

He can’t.

 

His brain is still on fire with the fever and he’s been holding his breath, knowing that when he tries to inhale it’ll- It’ll feel like being torn apart- his ribs will burst open and everything inside him will come spilling out-

But-

His vision is starting to go dark around the edges and he- He can feel the reflex building-

Tony reluctantly gasps in the tiniest breath he can and-

 

And it actually works.

His lungs actually fill- It’s agonizing, the cold air like knives against his throat, against his insides as it slips between his fingers still clutched over his chest-

But he manages a tiny inhale, and his vision clears, and he propels himself down the hall.

Tony’s footsteps are disjointed, more stumbling than walking, but he’s moving-

He’s getting closer to the office door.

The photo of him and Ty is still laying on the ground, the glass within the frame cracked right up the middle. Tony steps on it as he passes and the crunch of glass and ice is even more satisfying than he expected.

 

“Anthony-”

That haunting voice sends a fresh wave of shivers through Tony, and he stumbles again.

His heart pounds harder in his chest and he swears his can feel the swiss-cheese surface of it against his palm with every beat.

There are deep grooves in the tile floor from where the chair legs are braced against it, like someone has been pounding on the door from the other side hard enough to make the chair drag in place-

 

“Open the door.”

 

The chair is wedged so tightly against the door that it’s a struggle to get it free- Leaves Tony panting for tiny, careful lungfuls of air-

Sweat freezes in his eyebrow, on the curve of his nose-

He always hated this fucking chair-

 

The heavy chair finally comes free, and Tony lets it fall to the ground with a muffled crash. His quick breaths hang in the air, making it hard to see, but Tony keeps moving.

The doorknob is ice cold beneath his fingers, clinging to his skin-

All he has to do is turn it- Pull the door open-

Ice cracks as he starts to turn the knob, falling away from the metal-

He’s so close now-

But Tony’s strength is failing- Cold air is pouring into Tony’s chest without his hand over the rotting hole, freezing him from the inside-

Moving is so difficult-

 

And there’s ice layered around the door, creaking in protest as Tony tries to yank it open.

He throws his weight into it, feet slipping against the frost-covered tile-

The door begins to crack, cold blue light spilling through-

 

Tony stumbles when the door finally opens, off balance and after the dark of the apartment the light is so bright-

 

His office looks exactly the way it used to, right before he threw out all of his research- Untouched by the frost covering the rest of the apartment, lit by the warm lamp on his desk and absolutely covered in papers- He can’t believe that he forgot about this-

That he managed to make himself forget-

The Soldier is standing beside Tony’s desk, amid all the papers about his own legend, and the sight is-

It’s so familiar-

 

The memories are rushing back to him faster than he can process, the late nights pouring through archives and the endless printing, the dreams-

How many times in the final weeks did Tony see the man standing right there in the dark, or catch a glimpse of the Soldier’s distinct shadow, and just tell himself that he hadn’t? That he must have been imagining things?

Tony isn’t completely convinced that he’s not still imagining this- Clinging to anything as he dies alone-

 

“Hello, Anthony,” The Soldier says in greeting, and his voice is-

It sounds normal. Still low and rough, like the man doesn’t speak often, but it also sounds real in a way it never has before. Like for the first time, Tony isn’t hearing it from the other end of an impossibly long tunnel.

He can’t seem to think of a damn thing to say in return. He’s still struggling just to breathe, his lungs feel wrung out, pressed flat- His heart is weak, stuck through with metal-

Fading-

The Soldier slowly lifts one hand, holding it out to him- the flesh hand-

“You have to come in,” the Soldier says and there’s emotion in his voice now-

But Tony can’t sort it out- His mind is burning-

“You’re so close now, Anthony.”

He wants- He has to move-

 

Tony stumbles forward, grabbing the doorframe to keep himself upright as his legs try to crumble. His muscles are freezing, locking up- His every limb so heavy-

As he passes over the threshold into the office it gets noticeably warmer and Tony can breathe a little deeper, the air doesn’t rip at his lungs quite as sharply-

But it also makes him all the more aware of the fever still raging its way through his veins, trying to burn him alive.

His vision swims and when he stumbles again, tipping forward, it feels like everything inside him is going to come spilling out of his chest -

But Tony doesn’t think to cover the hole in his sternum. Instead he reaches out with both hands, towards the Soldier-

He finds the cold, outstretched fingers and clings, trying to catch himself-

 

The room spins.

 

The edge of his old desk presses into the small of Tony’s back as the Soldier braces him against it, then presses himself against Tony to pin him there- Firm and broad and every inch of the man so cold-

It’s a harsh contrast against Tony’s flushed skin, a relief from the oppressive heat even as it makes Tony whine in discomfort, squirming.

The Soldier’s hand cups his jaw, tipping his head back to meet the man’s eyes, and Tony lets out a breathless sound. The chilling touch is clearing the fevered haze from his mind, enough that he can wonder for the first time if this was a bad fucking idea-

“I’ve been waiting for you,” the Soldier says softly, almost mournfully-

His cold breath washes over Tony’s face, momentarily obscuring Tony’s view of his face-

There are millions of questions running through Tony’s restarting brain, but he doesn’t need to sort through them.

 

“Why?” Tony asks in a rush, his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest, still shredding- shredding-

“You were looking for me,” the Soldier says simply, “looking at me.”

His thumb strokes along Tony’s cheek and then over his parted lips, lingering when Tony’s already unsteady breath hitches. His skin tingles in the wake of the Soldier’s touch, electric and almost painful.

“So I looked back, and I saw you,” The Soldier continues, his voice dropping lower as his thumb dips into Tony’s mouth, "touched by death and so alone, so beautiful. "

Tony’s breath is coming too fast now, speeding up as the Soldier gently tugs his mouth open further. Now that he’s adjusted to the chill of the man pressed against him Tony just wants more- more of that relief from the heat-

His hands find their way to the man’s hips to pull him impossibly closer, their thighs slotting together-

 

"But you ran away," the Soldier says, his voice hardening and his grip tightening on Tony’s jaw.

Tony sucks in a sharp, frigid breath- His heart stuttering in his chest-

“I th’ght-” Tony tries to defend, the words garbled until the Soldier’s thumb slips out of his mouth to rest, wet and cold, against his chin. "I thought I was losing my mind- "

 

But what had really terrified him was what it would mean if he wasn’t-

If he isn’t now-

 

“You- You can’t be real,” Tony says weakly. His hands flex against the Soldier’s waist, unsure if he should let go or not- if he wants to.

The Soldier responds with a laugh, low and rumbling and deadly. He tips Tony’s head further back and leans in until his mask brushes against Tony’s cheek, his breath sending shivers down Tony’s spine.

“I am real,” the Soldier says slowly, like a promise.

It should be a threat, it should be terrifying-

But Tony lets out a sigh of relief. If- At least he isn’t imagining this-

At least he isn’t alone.

 

Tony finds himself relaxing, despite everything, and when he shifts their hips fit together-

“Oh,” Tony gasps-

The Soldier is hard against him, the thick line of his cock obvious even through both of their pants, and Tony’s head spins as a heat floods through him that has nothing to do with the fever.

“Anthony,” the Soldier sighs and his hand leaves Tony’s chin to grab for his thigh instead, hitching it up a little-

And when the Soldier rocks against him the sudden wave of pleasure that rushes through Tony is overpowering, it overrides everything- The heat and the cold and the pain- Even the minor discomfort of the desk jammed into the small of his back is gone-

All he can feel is sharp sparks dancing along his every nerve, overwhelming- Heated arousal pooling in his core and his cock filling so quickly that everything spins-

His head falls forward against the Soldier’s firm, holster-covered shoulder as he pants for air, his hips bucking to meet the steady roll- His hands slide around the man’s waist, up his wide back, mind reeling even though-

 

Tony remembers this-

The feeling of the Soldier’s cold fingers on him- That freezing breath against his skin, making him shiver- oversensitive-

 

“Let me in,” the Soldier whispers, his mask the only thing keeping the words from being spoken directly into Tony’s ear-

Tony groans, shaking harder as his cock throbs- his fingers scrabbling at strong shoulder blades-

His hips continue to buck and he wraps his leg a little higher around the man’s waist-

With all the logic of a dream, Tony finds himself abruptly naked as the Soldier pushes him down flat against the desk, and it is a relief to be out of that uncomfortable fabric, but-

 

But if he’s dreaming- If this isn’t real-

Panic spikes through him, bringing with it the pain-

The papers littering the desk cling to the fever sweat still coating Tony’s skin as he squirms- If this isn’t real-

 

“Are you going to run away again?” the Soldier asks lowly, looming over him as his hands find the insides of Tony’s thighs- pushing them apart-

The touch of those frozen metal fingers makes Tony gasps- his hips jerking again-

His cock bobbing obviously against his stomach-

“Will you leave me alone, again?” The Soldier demands and presses his way between Tony’s spread thighs, shoving them wider-

Tony whines breathlessly, arousal overwhelming him again as the Soldier’s cock slides against his own- still separated by the man’s thick pants-

Dream or not-

 

He wants this to be real.

 

“I won’t,” Tony promises, shaking his head weakly- Grabbing for the Soldier’s hips and pulling him in closer so Tony can grind against him. “I won’t r-run-” he gasps, "I o-opened the door- oh! "

“You did,” The Soldier agrees, the sound practically a purr, his mask rumbling against Tony’s jaw. “Now let me in.”

Tony groans as the man thrusts against him, hands sliding cold and electric up Tony’s sides-

Without thought Tony’s own hands find their way to the man’s belt, undoing it with trembling fingers- Something clatters loudly to the ground as the buckle comes free, but Tony doesn’t care.

He wants-

He shoves the Soldier’s pants down enough that he can free the man’s cock and wrap his hand around it- thick and hard and throbbing in his grip- Slick with precum and still so cold-

The Soldier’s freezing breath is unsteady against his throat and it- it feels real-

Strong hands cup Tony’s jaw, tipping his head up, and the Soldier’s mask brushes his lips as the men shifts-

Tony’s head spins as he hitches his legs higher around the man’s waist and helps to line up his thick cock- Arousal burning through him so hot that he can’t think-

He can’t catch his breath-

 

“Let me in,” the Soldier growls and pushes his hips forward-

Pushes into Tony-

It should hurt. Tony knows it should hurt, but all he feels is-

 

Pressure and pleasure and a deep chill that spreads quickly- deeper-

Soothing the feverish heat that’s been burning Tony alive- somehow without touching the flame of arousal-

“Ohh,” Tony moans as the Soldier’s cock presses deeper, splitting him open and its- its so- “Oh- f-fuck-”

His fingers find the Soldier’s wild hair, holding the man in place as Tony gasps for breath against the mask, lips moving thoughtlessly over the hard material-

The Soldier growls again and starts thrusting into him-

 

Starts fucking him-

 

Pressing deeper with every roll of his hips and making Tony writhe with the contrast of heated pleasure and cold skin- Impossibly good-

"Yes, yes," Tony hisses as everything else is wiped from his mind in the face of the overwhelming sensations- He forgets guilt and fear and pain-

Any stupid worries about reality-

All he knows is the sharp pleasure of the Soldier’s cock moving inside him, hyper aware of every chilled inch as it withdraws and then shoves back into him- rocking Tony against the desk and sending papers fluttering to the ground.

Tony groans and arches, his cock bouncing and leaking against his stomach-

He drags his tongue up the front of the Soldiers mask and then kisses it messily, chasing the taste of the men’s cold breath past the metal polycarb-

The Soldier snarls, the sound echoing, and presses into the contact of Tony’s lips- fucks into him harder as his frozen hand slides from Tony’s jaw down to his chest and Tony-

He wants-

 

“More,” Tony gasps brokenly, clinging to the man as his cock throbs, his gut clenching, “more-”

Ice-cold fingers slide down Tony’s chest- then press into his chest-The touch freezing his lungs-

Tony jerks his chin down as his breath catches, eyes going wide and he-

He actually forgot for a moment-

 

The hole in his chest looks bigger than ever and Tony’s stomach churns-

The edges of it are nearly black, rotting with infection and swollen-

And he’s- he’s so dark inside- dark and red with glimpses of white bone- A pit of raw meat that rises up to meet the Soldier’s fingers- wrapping around them-

The Soldier presses his fingers deeper, thrusting his cock back into Tony at the same time, and Tony half-gags out a moan- Conflicted-

 

Horrified-

 

But the Soldier is still fucking him, deep and perfect and- And pleasure is still rocketing along his nerves-

"Nn- mmm- Ah!" Tony gasps, nearly a sob- his thighs clenching around the man’s waist and despite everything he-

He can’t look away-

There’s a fine layer of frost spreading across his skin from where the Soldier’s fingers sink inside him, wrapping around the blistered edges and spreading deeper- He can feel it against his lungs and deeper- washing away the uncomfortable heat of the internal bleeding and infection-

The shredded edges of his organs-

 

When the Soldier starts pull his fingers free Tony finds himself whining in complaint, shoulders pulling tight to arch his chest up-

Fresh blood slips from empty cavity as he moves and freezes to his skin halfway down his side- Tony hadn’t realized he was so cold-

"Good," the Soldier purrs and rolls his hips forward to shove his cock hard into Tony again- shoves his hand into Tony’s chest up to the knuckles-

Tony cries out raggedly, jerking- his head thrown back-

He remembers-

 

It feels-

 

The Soldier’s hand moves with the same rhythm as his hips, fingers moving deeper with every press- Until Tony can feel them stroking along his heart- That thick cock still spreading him wide and it’s-

So fucking good-

It shouldn’t- The wet sound of fingers moving inside his chest should be revolting- But tension is still building in Tony’s core, he cock swelling and his balls pulling tight- He’s-

“I knew I had to wait for you,” the Soldier says, his voice unearthly again and Tony shakes-

He looks down at the man, struggling to follow the words as the Soldier continues climbing inside him- His blue eyes so dark-

"I felt this," he says and works his hand deeper, cupping Tony’s heart in his icy palm- His cold breath on Tony’s face again-

“Guh-” Tony gasps-

"So broken and brave, so good," the Soldier continues, his voice interspaced with groans and his thrusts disjointed. "I had to have you."

Tony kisses him again, lips moving over the mask- All the times he thought he was alone, that he always would be- That he would die that way-

 

The Soldier was waiting-

 

“I let you in,” Tony sighs and it comes out like a promise- Arching and moaning again as his gut winds tighter- Still sloppily dragging his lips and tongue over the Soldier’s mask-

He’s so-

"Mine," the Solder snarls and squeezes Tony’s heart before releasing it-

He starts working his fingers in Tony’s chest again- Fucking him quicker- Touching him everywhere-

“Fu-uck,” Tony groans as his balls clench, his head falling back again-

He’s so close-

“Anthony,” The Soldier growls, his voice vibrating through the air- through Tony-

"Oh- Ahh-" Tony cries out as he finally tumbles over the edge, clenching around the Soldier’s cock and yanking at his hair-

Writhing-

Twitching-

His heart pounding in the man’s palm and he’s falling-

He’s-

 

~

 

-falling-

 

The back of Tony’s head hits the metal door with a thud that rings in his ears-

He barely registers the rough stone ceiling above him- Or the fact that he’s dressed again-

The Soldier is still pressed against him, hand still buried in Tony’s chest up to the wrist- Cold fingers still curled around Tony’s heart so gently-

 

When his heart beats- so slowly now- Tony can feel it pressing against the man’s palm, filling it- All the bloody edges where the shrapnel pierced it freezing closed.

“Wha-” Tony gasps and jerks in reflex, his feet slipping in the blood pooling beneath him-

His fingers scramble at the smooth metal door behind him and then jump up to the Soldier’s wrist, but-

He’s not sure if he’s trying to pull the man away or just holding on-

 

His heart beats-

 

The Soldier’s other hand slides from Tony’s jaw to the back of his head, cradling and protecting it from the solid door-

Then he tightens his grip on Tony’s heart.

Tony jerks again, crying out ragged and breathless, but his head doesn’t smash against the door.

“Last chance to run,” the Soldier says, low and rumbling and undeniably a threat, but-

But there are so many other emotions in the words, too- Longing and fear and loneliness-

 

His grip is still tightening.

Tony doesn’t need the warning. He knows-

 

His heart beats, weakly-

 

He’s out of time. But he still has things to do-

 

Death has finally found him.

And he’s already opened the door-

 

“Will you let me in?” The Soldier asks for the final time, his voice barely a haunting breath of air.

 

His heart-

 

Tony can’t make a sound to reply, so he nods haltingly- Uses his grip on the Soldier’s wrist to pull the man’s hand a little deeper into into his chest-

Tips his head up to press his lips to the front of the Soldier’s mask-

 

And the cold fingers wrapped around his heart sink in- Easily breaking through the frozen walls of muscle like thin sheets of ice- chambers collapsing into shards until-

 

His heart is-

 

Gone-

[thecolddeathfic]

Part 5

WinterIron, E, 5k - Horror, Body Horror, Gore Dubious consent

see blog's pinned post for a list of tags and warnings for the full fic

Tony wakes up when he hits the ground.

 

For a moment he doesn’t know where he is- What’s happening-

Raised voices pound through his head, angry- demanding-

 

Yinsen’s voice, tinged with panic, getting more distant-

 

Tony blinks the darkness out of his vision just in time to see the solid metal door of the cell slam shut.

His brain- his entire body is on fire and he-

 

He can’t think.

The rough stone ground is so cold beneath him. It hurts, he-

He has to get up, has to-

With a groan Tony braces his palms against the ground and starts to push himself up.

He must have fallen asleep at the worktable at some point-

The guards probably shoved him over when they found him resting again- And then took Yinsen-

 

As he makes it to his hands and knees he feels the magnet shift in his chest, resting heavily against the stained bandages like it’s come loose entirely. It doesn’t hurt, really, but he can feel the-

 

The empty hole in his chest. Deep. Rotting-

 

Every shallow breath he takes reeks of infection. It’s soaked into the bandages. It’s coming up the back of his throat and-

 

Tony gags- His empty stomach heaves and it’s agonizing.

He nearly collapses again but manages to keep himself upright.

He has to-

 

There’s a sharp pain in his chest, slicing, moving deeper-

 

He has to move.

His hand finds the edge of the worktable.

Tony hauls himself to his feet with a silent scream, doesn’t have enough air to make a sound. His legs wobble beneath him.

But he has to get to Yinsen. Has to- has to tell these bastards that he’ll do whatever they went if they just let the man go-

 

Despite the voice screaming in his head that he doesn’t have much time, it takes forever for Tony to convince his feet to move. To actually start shuffling toward the door.

Every halting step sends a jolt through his entire body. He swears his ribs are grinding together. The liquid in his lungs sloshes, drowning him.

He keeps moving. He has to.

His foot nudges against what’s left of the respirator, smashed on the ground. Obviously beyond saving.

He shouldn’t have fallen asleep.

If he’d been awake, they might have finished the gas canister in time. Yinsen might’ve had a chance to escape-

 

Tony coughs and stumbles- Crashing into another table and collapsing across it for a moment.

He can’t fucking breathe. He should have insisted that he didn’t need his own damn respirator, what would it even accomplish-

The filthy bandages wound around his chest get caught on something as Tony pushes himself upright again, ripping- The rush of stale air against his skin burns-

 

Tony’s hands try to snap up but all of his motions are sluggish-

He’s too slow-

 

The magnetic disk clatters loudly against the store floor- Rolls unevenly across the ground until the wires of the car battery pull it to a stop.

Cold-

Tony gasps raggedly at the feeling of cold air rushing into his chest-

Over raw skin- His lungs, his heart- he can feel it-

He’s open-

 

His hand- far too slow- slaps against his chest in an attempt to keep the magnet in place and instead-

His fingers sink into meat-

 

Raw and too-hot, crusted with old blood, open and bleeding fresh against his palm-

Something bursts against one of his fingertips, and the stink of infection gets worse.

Tony gags but doesn’t dare pull his hand away.

Who knows what will come spilling out if he does.

 

He has to-

 

Hand still clutched over his chest, Tony continues stumbling towards the door.

He swears he can feel the weak swell of his lungs against his palm. He can feel the shrapnel moving deeper, quicker now with nothing to stop it.

Darkness starts to grow at the edges of his vision and Tony blinks rapidly.

But the darkness is still there and when Tony turns his head-

He can easily see his own shadow, cast distinct and larger than life against the wall by a lamp that’s been knocked over. And right behind him-

 

Another shadow, tall and broad, with shoulder length hair and an odd, mask-like shape to the face, looming over him-

Right behind him.

 

He already knows what he’ll find, but Tony spins quickly on his heel-

There’s no one there, no one to cast the shadow-

He turned too fast, he’s losing his balance-

 

Tony stumbles backwards, his free arm swinging in an attempt to catch himself and the fingers of his other hand accidentally sinking deeper into his own rotting flesh-

His gaze moving between the empty air and the shadow on the wall, still following him-

 

His back collides with the hard metal door.

It knocks the air out of Tony, leaves him wheezing for breath as he watches the shadow get closer, closer-

 

Between one blink and the next the soldier is there.

Right where he should be, perfectly in place to cast the shadow. Like he’s always been there.

Right in front of Tony, close enough that Tony can feel the cold cloud of his breath.

This can’t be real-

 

But it keeps happening.

 

The soldier starts to reach for him with pale fingers- They look real-

He looks real-

Tony is frozen and he doesn’t know if it’s shock or the impossible chill rolling off of the man in front of him.

Then the soldier’s fingers make contact with his skin, pressed gently against the edge of his jaw-

Deathly cold.

 

A hard shiver runs down Tony’s spine and he flinches away, the back of his head slamming against the metal door.

He pants raggedly as his vision swims.

His palm presses harder into the mess of his sternum, like he can hold his frantically racing heart in place- But the loose, blood-slick flesh squishes up between his spread fingers, like ground beef-

Bile rises in Tony’s throat and he swallows thickly, tries to ignore it, tries to ignore the blood running thick and warm down his stomach.

The soldier’s hand is still hovering between them, but he doesn’t reach out again. Beneath the messy fall of his hair and above the dark mask that covers most of his face-

 

The soldier’s eyes are so blue.

None of the stories ever mentioned that.

This can’t be-

 

What if it is real?

 

“W-What do you wa-want?” Tony tries to demand. But his voice wavers and the words are barely audible.

”You,” The Winter Soldier replies without a second’s hesitation.

Tony’s hitching breath freezes in his chest.

Why does he feel like he’s heard- This can’t be-

“I’m here for you, Anthony."

 

The Soldier barely rests two of his fingertips against Tony’s jaw again, and Tony’s doesn’t pull away. He can’t, he’s already pressed completely back against the door. The clouds of their breath mix in the narrow space between them.

“I’ve been waiting for you for so long, out in the cold, alone,” the Soldier says, his voice barely a whisper and still somehow echoing around the cave. “How much longer will you make me wait?”

The air escapes from Tony’s lungs in a rush. His fingers sink a little deeper into his chest. The cold sinks a little deeper into his bones.

“I d-don’t-“ Tony tries to say, but his teeth are chattering and he - He can’t seem to inhale-

I don’t know you, he wants to say, but it feels like a lie. It is a lie, isn’t it-

 

“Don’t you?” The Soldier asks, his eyebrows furrowing as he tips his head to the side.

His thumb touches Tony’s chin, like he’s moving towards cupping Tony’s face. Tony tries to suck in a sharp breath, but his lungs won’t fill-

He can’t move-

 

The soldier leans in closer as he asks, “Have you forgotten me?”

His mask is inches from Tony’s face now, his breath washing over Tony’s cheek- Tony can almost see glimpses of pale skin beneath gaps in the dark mask.

“I-I d-don’t-“ Tony stutters weakly and he still can’t breathe-

He still can’t think-

“I d-didn’t think- y-you-"

“I’m very real,” the Soldier says, his frozen fingertips pressing a little harder into Tony’s skin. Tipping Tony’s head back against the door.

Tony wheezes out a startled sound as the Soldier’s other hand presses flat against his stomach, even colder-

So cold that it sinks immediately through his thin shirt- Through his skin- All the way through to his core-

Freezing him from the inside out-

He remembers that, doesn’t he-

 

“I’ve always been real, you just stopped looking for the truth," the Soldier says and there’s an edge creeping into his low voice now, annoyance or maybe frustration. "And you were so close.”

Tony doesn’t- doesn’t quite remember-

He can’t think-

 

The soldier’s hand is moving slowly up his stomach, spreading that impossible, deep chill.

Moving towards the gaping hole in Tony’s chest-

He could so easy reach straight into Tony’s chest and still his lungs-

Ice over his heart-

Truly freeze him from the inside out.

 

After a lifetime of mistake after mistake- He’s going to die like this-

The thought has a soft, terrified and mournful noise slipping out of Tony’s throat.

The soldier’s hand pauses.

 

His icy fingertips are inches from Tony’s hand- From the open, bleeding wound of his heart-

Blue eyes flick between Tony’s chest and his face.

“You’re running out of time,” the Soldier says and it-

It sound like his voice is coming from so far away now- The lack of air is catching up with Tony and he tries to nod but he-

He can’t- The Soldier is cupping his jaw now, holding him- Thumb against the corner of his lips-

He knows that he’s running out of time-

 

“So what will you do?”

The haunting voice is so far away- He can feel the puff of it against his cheek-

“I- I can’t open t-the door,” Tony replies and he hates how weak his voice comes out-

Like a child afraid of the growing shadows-

The Soldier lets out a hard breath and leans in closer-

Tony can barely see him- Everything is- so-

 

Dark.

 

The Soldier’s mask bumps against his lips, like a mockery of a kiss-

Cold breath like the bite of snow on Tony’s tongue-

 

Cold-

“Let me in,” the Soldier breathes out-

Like he’s trying to give Tony the air-

But the shadows-

 

The dark-

 

~

 

Tony half-stirs when he feels the bed shift, the mattress dipping under someone else’s weight.

He tries to force himself back to sleep, but after what feels like ages of Ty just kneeling on the end of the bed, probably glaring at him, Tony gives up with an annoyed huff.

When he squints his eyes open the clock tells him it’s almost four in the morning, and he huffs again. He throws the blanket off and rolls over in an angry, graceless flail of links, mentally revving up to confront Ty about where the hell he’s been, and why he can’t just let Tony sleep-

 

That isn’t Ty.

 

There’s an urban legend on the foot of Tony’s bed.

The Cold Death looks exactly like Tony imagined from all the cobbled-together stories, from the unkempt hair to the form-fitting tac-gear. Even his left arm, the topic of much debate, looks like Tony thought it might, just like-

 

“Oh,” Tony sighs, his heart rate settling, “I’m dreaming again.”

It sure seems real, though. The chill rolling off of the man certainly feels real, the way his breath escapes from gaps in the mask as a thin mist and then rolls down his chest like fog looks so realistic-

When the Winter Soldier starts to move closer Tony can feel the shift of the mattress, and it is fascinating.

Tony doesn’t think he’s ever had a dream that felt this real before, this detailed, even the texture of his sheets and the beam of light through the gap in the curtains are so-

“Anthony-”

He really has been spending too much time obsessing over this legend, if he’s having increasingly realistic-

“Anthony,” The Soldier snaps in that odd, low voice that had haunted Tony after the last dream.

It pulls Tony’s attention from marveling over how perfectly his brain has recreated the bedroom, and he turns his head-

The Soldier is much closer, looming over him, and Tony’s pulse jumps again- Even though he knows this is a dream-

"Anthony," The Soldier says again, voice softer now that he has Tony’s undivided attention.

Tony can feel the chill of the man’s breath, coming off of his skin-

He looks so out of place in Tony’s apartment, kneeling in the center of Tony’s bed, if the man’s every movement didn’t promise a cold, painful death it would almost be funny-

"Holy shit-" Tony says with a weak laugh, kind of wishing he hadn’t thrown the blankets now that the cold is sinking in. Or at least it feels like it’s sinking in.

The Soldier’s hand reaches for him and somehow Tony doesn’t consider moving, even when cold, pale fingers slide up his jaw-

Tip his head back-

“You’re so close now,” Then Soldier says, which-

That doesn’t make any sense, right?

Tony knows the legend isn’t real, so why is his brain trying to tell him that he’s close to something?

The Soldier is still staring at him like- like he’s waiting for some kind of response-

But all Tony’s dream-brain can think of to say is, "Uh, I- W-What-?"

A cold thumb shifts from his jaw to his lips, tugging his lower lip down slightly, and Tony swallows hard as his breath catches cold in his lungs.

“Let me in, Anthony,” The Soldier says as he leans closer, somehow both a demand and a plea, and that-

That makes sense, at least.

“Okay,” Tony sighs as he relaxes in the Soldier’s hold, letting the man’s thumb slide into his mouth to press against his tongue.

Heat twists low in his gut as the Soldier lays him back down onto the bed, easily guiding Tony with a firm grip on his jaw, and Tony doesn’t ever consider resisting.

He’s just relieved to know what’s going on with this dream. He’s had way too many nightmares since- since the pressure of being Tony Stark started weighing heavily enough to crush him. He’ll happily take anything that isn’t that.

And Tony is no stranger to weird, ill-advised sex dreams, this probably isn’t even the weirdest. Ty has barely been home lately, it’s been forever since Tony has gotten laid, and he’s just going to enjoy this, damnit.

So he arches up eagerly as the Soldier’s amazingly solid weight settles half on top of him, curls his tongue around two of the man’s fingers when they replace his thumb. The lower temperature of the Soldier’s body makes Tony hyper aware of every point of contact, the men’s chest against his and a thick thigh pressing between his own.

Tony groans, muffled and wet, when The Soldier presses a little deeper towards the back of his throat. It feels like sucking on ice cubes, his skin tingling when the soldier momentarily catches Tony’s tongue between his fingers before releasing it again. The spit that starts to run down Tony’s chin is cold, and goosebumps are breaking out across his entire body.

It’s already the most intense wet dream Tony has ever had, and that’s before the soldier’s other hand comes to rest on his lower stomach.

It’s shockingly cold, even compared to the rest of the man’s body, and Tony gasps as his hips jerk, his cock almost fully hard in his boxers. Part of Tony is a little terrified to feel that freezing touch in such a sensitive place, but that doesn’t stop him from whining hopefully as his hips buck again.

The Soldier shoves a third finger between Tony’s lips as his other hand, the frozen metal left hand, starts to slide down towards Tony’s waistband. He presses deeper, until Tony has to fight the urge to gag around his fingertips, his other fingers moving lower-

"Ha- ahh-" Tony gasps when one impossibly cold finger drags up the length of his cock through the thin fabric of his boxers, his entire body shaking with the force of the shiver that runs through him.

It’s so-

He’s aware of every nerve in his cock, the way the chill sparks almost sharp along them and still it twitches with need.

“Mm- nng,” Tony tries to plead, garbled, wishing this dream would just hurry up already-

That strange, icy palm lays flat along the length of his cock and Tony almost chokes as he squirms, caught between arching up into the contact and trying to get away from the intense cold of it. He closes his lips around the man’s fingers and sucks desperately, one hand grabbing at the Soldier's tac-vest and the other shoving at his boxers as he tries to wiggle out of them.

When he turns his head the Soldier’s face is so close, unfairly handsome even with most of it covered, those blue eyes fixed directly on him-

Tony lets out another muffled groan, shoving ungracefully at his boxers as he arches up again, and the Soldier takes the hint. His hand pulls away from Tony’s cock to help yank his boxers down to his thighs, then his silver-blue hand wraps around Tony directly-

“Ahh!” Tony cries out, throwing his head back as he thrusts up into that freezing hold, the Soldier’s fingers slipping free of his lips with a wet sound. "O-Oh, fuck-"

The contrast of the pleasure from that tight, sure grip with the intense cold takes Tony’s breath away and it’s so-

It’s so good-

If this were real life it would probably just kill his erection, but as it is the cold is driving Tony out of his mind, pushing him towards the edge so damn quickly-

“Anthony,” the Soldier sighs, more of a vibration through the air than a sound, and Tony groans as every inch of him shakes.

There’s no reason to be afraid in a dream, so Tony doesn’t think about it for a second before he grabs for the other man, fisting his hands in that wild brown hair and pulling the Soldier in. Tony presses his lips to the front of the mask that covers most of the Soldier’s face in a parody of a kiss.

"Yes, yes-s," Tony hisses as the Soldier’s fist continues moving around his cock, tight and cold and- “Ahh!”

“Let me in,” the Soldier says again, the words filtering through the mask and the taste of fresh snow fills Tony’s mouth, crisp and clean and it’s all so real-

Tony can only groan in agreement, hitching one leg up in an eager offer and panting raggedly against the hard material of the Soldier’s mask- It tastes like some kind of polycarbonate blend when Tony flicks his tongue out, and for some reason that makes the knot in his gut twist tighter-

The Soldier’s hand leaves his cock and Tony whines in protest, arching and squirming harder, pressing sloppy kisses to the front of the mask-

But the Soldier’s hand continues moving away, sliding up his chest-

Tony drops his head back against the pillow with a frustrated sound, struggling to catch his breath as shivers wrack his entire body.

“Let me in,” the Soldier repeats, and he’s not making sense again- His hand is moving away from Tony’s hole-

Spreading cold up Tony’s chest and it’s getting a little less sexy as the chill really starts to sink into his twitching muscles-

Fuck this dream. Tony moves to wrap his hand around his own cock, pausing with a jerk when the Soldier’s fingertip brushes over his nipple and sends another tingly, sharply-cold bolt of pleasure along his spine-

It shouldn’t be possible but Tony is already so close again- If he can just get a hand on himself-

“Let me in, Anthony,” The Soldier says, leaning in closer until the nose of his mask bumps against Tony’s ear.

Tony is shivering harder than ever- He can’t quite work up the coordination to move his limbs- can’t grab his cock but he’s still-

The Soldier’s fingertip taps against his sternum in a slow pattern and every soft thump has another impossible bolt of pleasure singing along Tony’s nerves, overwhelming, and Tony’s cock throbs-

Leaking-

Even his precum feels cold- running down the length of his twitching cock and Tony can’t step shaking-

He’s so close-

Tony tips his chin down, suddenly struck with the need to see those fingers on him-

So cold-

The skin over his sternum is nearly blue, and when the Soldier’s finger taps again the color spreads, like the men is slowly freezing him-

It feels-

“Wh- Nn - Ahh!” Tony gasps out as confusion tries and fails to complete with the overwhelming pleasure of the touch-

It feels so-

The cold is sinking deeper and Tony’s skin almost looks like ice, a pale blue to match the Soldier’s mysterious arm, the thump of the Soldier’s fingertip has turned into a clink, like there’s no flesh involved in the contact anymore-

Why does it feel so fucking good?

Tony’s balls are pulled up tight and it should be because of the cold- But he’s so close to the edge now-

His gut twisting-

His cock throbbing-

He’s-

The Soldier’s fingertip comes down against his chest again and this time it makes a cracking noise- This time his finger presses in-

 

Through the thin layer of ice that used to be Tony’s skin- deeper-

 

“Ah- Wha-” Tony chokes, confusion finally winning out and he doesn’t care if this is a dream- this- it’s- “Stop-”

He still can’t find the coordination to move his arms, can’t grab for the man’s wrist to try and make him-

More of the Soldier’s fingers press into his chest easily, breaking away more of his frozen skin- through the soft snow of his sternum-

Even deeper and it still feels-

“Ohh fuck,” Tony groans, the air forced out of him by the Soldier’s hand taking up residence in his chest, halfway up to the palm now- "St- n-no-"

Fingers brush against the sides of Tony’s lungs- Freezing his them-

Tony can’t breathe-

 

He can feel his heart starting to slow-

He’s still so hard-

 

He just wants to wake up- he wants to come-

“Let me in,” The Soldier says, still pressing deeper, and Tony can’t fight it-

He’s-

 

Tony snaps awake at the loud buzz of his alarm, and for several long seconds all he can do is stare at the ceiling, panting for air.

That was-

It had felt so real. He’s still shivering, he can still feel that cold hand in his chest, just starting to wrap around his heart-

The alarm is still blaring at maximum volume, to make sure he woke up from his nap in time to leave, but Tony can barely hear it over the Soldier’s voice still echoing in his head-

Let me in-

Tony sits bolt upright, finally remembering that he can move, and his hands fly to his chest, trying to reassure himself-

 

The skin over his sternum is ice cold.

He rubs almost frantically at the spot, but the feeling doesn’t fade- Like its already sunk deep into him- through his bone and-

When Tony reluctantly pulls his hands away he expects to see the skin turning blue and cracking away-

Cracking open-

 

But his chest looks the same as it always has, tanned and just a little less broad than he’d like.

It’s just cold.

The fact that he’s covered in goosebumps can easily be explained by the creepy fucking dream, by the fact that he really did throw the blankets off at some point, but Tony can’t think of a single goddamn reason that the center of his chest would be so much colder than the rest of his skin.

 

Anthony-

 

No, no- It’s just a fucking story, there’s no way that-

It wasn’t real- None of this real-

But his skin is cold- And Tony can still feel the chilling bite of the man’s breath against his lips-

He’s never had a dream that real before, it felt more than real-

But-

 

Let me in, Anthony.

 

Tony throws himself out of bed, and he barely remembers to slap off the alarm before he starts yanking on clothes.

Fuck this. Fuck all of this.

It doesn’t matter that rationally Tony knows there’s no possible way any of this is real, that it was just a dream-

He doesn’t care.

It had felt way too fucking real, his lungs still feel cold with every breath, his chest still feels frozen- And his cock is still half-hard and complaining about being trapped inside his jeans despite Tony’s best attempts to ignore it.

Fuck this.

 

Tony slams open the door to his office and does his best not to actually look at anything as he starts yanking papers off the wall and shoving them into the trash can. When the can is full, he grabs the kitchen trash can and the entire box of bags that go with it.

He digs through drawers and knocks the lamp off his desk in his rush to make sure he grabs every scrap of information about the Cold Death legend that he collected during this stupid obsession.

He’s probably making too much noise for ten o’clock at night, but it can’t be louder than some of the arguments he and Ty have had lately.

And even if it is, he doesn’t give a damn.

It’s too bad he doesn’t have a fireplace here, or a grill, or something, but Tony settles for shoving every bag of papers down the trash chute with great aggression. He’s leaving tonight anyways, and the trash will definitely all be taken to the dump by the time he comes back.

He’s done with this.

He can’t-

He doesn’t want to have another dream like that. He doesn’t want to keep hearing that voice-

When he walks back into the apartment his empty office stands at the end of the hall, almost taunting him- Tony tears his gaze away and stomps into the bedroom, grabbing the suitcase and backpack that are sitting packed and waiting for him.

He’s getting out of here.

He’s going to take a break, clear his mind, and everything is going to go back to fucking normal-

Tony has barely stepped back into the hallway when the front door starts to open from the other side and he freezes, heart leaping up into his throat-

But it’s Ty’s voice he hears from the other side of the door, laughing a little too loud in the way he does when he’s drunk. Tony lets out a hard breath, mentally berating himself for thinking it could be anything else-

He’s now firmly in the camp that none of that was real-

The door swings open fully, and it turns out Ty isn’t alone.

There’s a vaguely familiar young man draped around Ty’s shoulders, face flushed and his smile quickly vanishing as his eyes land on Tony.

“Oh,” Ty says, not even pretending to remove his arm from around the other man’s waist as his gaze moves over Tony, “I thought you were going to New York tonight.”

“I’m running a little late,” Tony replies with a tight smile and he’s waiting for the anger to hit him, but it just-

Doesn’t.

He doesn’t care. He doesn’t give a fuck if Ty is cheating on him, if Ty has more than likely been cheating for him for awhile, Tony doesn’t care about any of that. He hasn’t cared in longer than he wants to admit, and right now all Tony wants is to leave.

“I’ll get out of your way,” Tony says pleasantly, interrupting the other young man’s stuttering attempts to speak.

Ty doesn’t even have the decency to pretend to look ashamed as Tony elbows past them and out the door. If anything he looks smug, like he’s won something, but Tony doesn’t bother sticking around to find out what.

He’s halfway to New York when he realizes that the vaguely familiar young man had been Ben, who had first told him about the Winter Soldier at that party. And who Ty had been so sure Tony was interested in. No wonder Ty had had that look on his face.

Tony has to pull the car over to the side of the freeway so he can laugh and laugh.

 

It’s nearly three in the morning by the time he makes it into the city.

His plan is to stay at the fifth avenue mansion for the first time since- since his parents died, but he heads to the SI building first.

He knows Obi will still be there, still working despite all the grief he gives Tony about his sleep schedule, and Tony needs to talk to him.

Tony needs to tell him that he’s ready to move back, ready to take over SI and move on with his life.

He’s ready to move on from the past six months as soon as possible.

Tony can’t resist rubbing a hand over his sternum as he rides the elevator up to Obi’s office, and the skin is still noticeably cold beneath his shirt.

[thecolddeathfic]

Part 4

WinterIron, E, 4k - Horror, Body Horror, Dubious consent

see blog's pinned post for a list of tags and warnings for the full fic

Hands drag slowly up Tony’s sides, so shockingly cold that it takes his breath away. He can feel the path of each icy finger as they catch against his clothes, sliding around to his chest.

Tony gasps and arches lazily as one hand spreads huge and heavy across his sternum, equal parts comfort and control. Goosebumps break out across skin, his nipples perking up from the chill, and Tony drags in another slow breath just to feel the pressure of the hand over his chest, the drag of his own worn-soft t-shirt.

When Tony leans back he finds a wide, solid chest waiting to catch him. Also so cold, like Ty just came in from outside-

But- Its almost summer-

 

And that isn’t Ty.

The chest is far too wide, more solid than Ty’s even at the height of his gym-phase-

The hand holding him in place is far too broad, suddenly feeling huge across his sternum, cold fingertips barely digging in-

When Tony jerks his gaze down the hand is pale and calloused, unfamiliar.

He gasps and tries to pull away but he can’t, the single hand easily holding him in place.

The other hand moves up to cup the side of his neck, then his jaw, tipping Tony’s head back against the stranger’s strong chest.

Tony pants for air, the sharp cold of the hands against his skin stealing his breath. His heavy limbs refuse to move and all Tony can do is blink dumbly at the cluttered wall of his office, trying to figure out how-

Who-

 

The stranger’s fingers continue sliding along his jaw, so much colder than the rest of the man, making Tony’s skin tingle like they’re made of ice-

His wide palm curls under Tony’s chin, fingers framing his jaw, and when one freezing fingertip traces the line of his lower lip Tony’s breath catches. He’s sure the stranger can feel the frantic pounding of his heart in the palm still spread over his chest-

“Anthony-”

The word rumbles along his every nerve and something about the sound of his full name, which he usually hates, in that low, haunting voice makes Tony’s gut clench. A shudder that has nothing to do with the cold runs through him, and his mouth falls open with a breathless sound.

The familiarity in the voice, the way it curls around his name- It throws Tony more off balance than anything else and suddenly he doesn’t care how the man got into his apartment, or why, just-

“Who-” he starts to ask, desperate to know, but he’s cut off by two thick, cold fingers sliding past his parted lips.

Tony isn’t sure if he’s more shocked by the abrupt motion, or by the shivering moan that bursts out of his chest.

The man’s fingers curl against his tongue, making him drool and clinging to his skin like ice but they taste like- Like metal and gunpowder, like-

“Anthony,” the man says again as his right hand starts to slowly slide down Tony’s chest. His breath is so cold as it washes over the side of Tony’s throat, and another shiver runs down Tony’s spine. "So warm, " the man says, the words barely more than a breathy sigh that makes Tony shake.

It’s no wonder he thinks Tony is warm, when the man is fucking freezing-

Tony’s tongue is going numb from the press and drag of the man’s fingers and even his spit is ice cold, freezing him from the inside out as he reflexively swallows. His hitching breaths feel cold in his lungs, but somehow none of it cancels out the confusing knot of heat in Tony’s gut.

The man’s other hand is still sliding down his stomach, fingers splayed wide, leaving trails of shivers in its wake. Tony’s muscles twitch beneath the pressure, perfectly firm, and he can’t help arching back against the stranger.

One finger slips beneath Tony’s shirt, chilling his skin, barely brushing against the hemline of his sweats-

Tony abruptly becomes aware that his cock is so fucking hard, twitching in anticipation, and when he lets out a startled moan the sound is wet and garbled around the man’s fingers.

“Let me in, Anthony,” the man says softly as his fingertips dip beneath Tony’s sweats, his fingers pressing deeper into Tony’s mouth-

Drool spills past Tony’s lower lip, running cold down his chin as he groans again and his hips jerk, fear and arousal warring inside him. There’s a ringing in his ears that gets steadily louder as he pants for air, shaking in place.

He grabs for the man’s wrists, suddenly remembering that he can move his own hands, but he can’t seem to find the strength to actually pull the stranger away-

Like part of him doesn’t want to-

But-

 

A bright light suddenly pierces Tony’s eyes, making him jump-

 

He jolts upright in his chair, half-awake and blinking in confusion as he tries to figure out what the hell is going on. He fell asleep slumped over his desk again- he was dreaming and the ringing isn’t coming from inside his head, it’s his private line-

And the bright shaft of light that woke him up is coming from the hall, through the half-open door.

Ty is backlit as he stands in the doorway, one hand still on the knob, and Tony can’t make out his expression, but he doesn’t need to. The angry set of Ty’s shoulders tells him everything he needs to know.

“Answer your damn phone,” Ty snaps and then slams the door shut, leaving Tony alone in the dark again.

Tony blinks, still trying to fully wake up, and reaches up to grab the newspaper clipping that’s stuck to his cheek.

Some of the ink is starting to smear, apparently he was drooling in his sleep, and Tony winces as he carefully smoothes it out on his desk.

His dream is coming back to him in bits and pieces, confusing and disconnected, but what he is sure of is that his cock is still fully hard in his sweats. Tony stares down at his own lap, considering, and then jumps when the phone rings again.

He scrambles to answer it before Ty can come bursting back in, and his voice is hoarse when he says, “Hello?”

“Did I wake you?” Obi asks, amused, “it’s not that late yet, are you finally taking a break from the all-nighters?”

Tony clears his throat and does his best to sound normal as he replies, “Just taking a little power nap before I stay up for the next three months straight, no big deal.”

Obi is quiet for a moment, thoughtful. Tony hurriedly uses his free hand to smooth down his wild hair, like that’ll somehow convince the man everything is just fine despite the fact that Obi can’t even see him.

He’s pretty sure Ty followed through on his threat to tell Obi if Tony doesn’t get his shit together, and Tony tries to prepare himself for the upcoming lecture-

“Have you thought about what we talked about last time I was in town?” Obi asks carefully.

Oh. It’s the other topic that Tony doesn’t want to talk about.

"I’m not- I’m not ready," he says, trying to keep all of the emotion out of his voice because he doesn’t know what will leak through if he doesn’t. Probably exhaustion and frustration and fear.

Obi pauses again before saying, “You know I don’t mind taking care of things in the meantime, Tony, but sooner rather than later Stark Industries is going to need that Stark brain.”

“You mean Howard’s brain,” Tony grits out, shoving his fingers through his hair despite the fact that he just fixed it. “But I’m- What if I’m not- If I can’t-”

“Tony,” Obi interrupts gently, “Tony my boy, I know you’ll be great.”

It’s a nice thought, just like the rest of the reassuring speel that Obi launches into, but when they hang up Tony doesn’t feel any better.

If anything he feels worse, the pressure weighing even more heavily on his shoulders. The gaps of time between Obi asking if maybe he’s ready to take over SI are getting shorter, and Tony knows that at some point he’ll have to step into that role.

But fuck, the thought of trying to fill those shoes- Of even living up to the shadow Howard has cast over him his whole life-

Tony sighs and turns on the desk lamp before leaning back in his chair, staring up at the mess of printouts and news clippings that cover the wall.

His latest distraction. His escape.

He’s a little surprised Obi hadn’t brought it up, and he can only assume Ty’s dislike of the man won out over his need to recruit help in ‘getting Tony’s head on straight.’ That or Ty just couldn’t be bothered, which is probably a bad sign for their relationship, but Tony can’t bring himself to care.

So what if he’s been spending most of his time lately lost in fantastical stories and legends? It’s way easier to deal with than his real life.

Although, as much as he hates to admit it Ty might have a point about him being too obsessed, if Tony is now having sex dreams about an urban legend.

At least talking to Obi took care of that little problem, and Tony doesn’t have to face the prospect of jerking off to an urban legend. An urban legend who is also a murderous assassin, not even something normal like BigFoot or MothMan.

Despite that, he doesn’t try to stop himself as his eyes start wandering over the most recent forum posts he’d printed out and stuck up on the wall.

He wishes there was someone he could tell about this crazy new conspiracy angle he’s been putting together. Ty definitely doesn’t want to hear about it, and if he calls Rhodey with more Cold Death talk his sourpatch is just going to start asking if he’s okay again. Or worse, bring up therapy again.

Even Ben, who’d been all-too excited to tell him the story in the first place, had given Tony an odd look and make a quick excuse to leave the last time Tony had run into him on campus and tried to bring it up. Which was weird and rude.

And it’s really too bad, because Tony would love to get someone else’s opinion on the theory that actually, if you dig into the Winter Soldier’s supposed victims after a certain point, they’re all connected to their own crimes and conspiracy theories and maybe the deadly legend is more of a deranged vigilante.

It’s a very fun theory, especially once Tony started digging and realized a lot of it is true. Not that all of these people were actually taken out by a shadowy ice man, obviously, but that most or all of them were corrupt in some way. Whoever came up with the theory obviously did a ton of research, and Tony has to admire the commitment to the bit.

The whole thing makes sense for the rest of the story, too. A tortured soldier turned brainwashed assassin who eventually broke free and became a shadow of death when his creators tried to kill him, of course he would start targeting people associated with anything shady like the super secret organization that made him.

It’s just- interesting.

Tony can admit to himself, while he’s still half-asleep and feeling introspective, that part of his fascination probably stems from jealousy. The idea of wandering the world that freely, all of his decisions wholly his own- To be that invisible, that unknown-

Hell, half the country has known Tony’s eye color and anything else they could want since the moment he was born, but a world-wide forum can’t even agree on how many arms the Winter Soldier has. People seem pretty split on whether he lost an arm during whatever failed mission ended with him captured, and then even more split on whether the scientists gave him a replacement and if so, whether it was some crazy creation of science, magic, or both.

Apparently Tony is on team ‘two arms’, because there had definitely been two hands on him in that dream-

Tony shifts in his chair as heat tries to flare back to life in his gut, his cock twitching halfheartedly is his sweets.

It had felt so real, Tony swears he can still feel the chill of the man’s breath on his neck, he still has goosebumps for fuck’s sake. And the feeling of those fingers is lingering on his tongue, the taste of steel and cold, like metal wrapped in ice-

And why not? Supposedly the scientists tried to flash-freeze their rebelling weapon when they couldn’t find any other way to stop him, and there’s usually inexplicable frost damage found near the Cold Death’s victims, if not on the bodies themselves. Ice and cold are big pasts of the legend, it’s in the name after all, so why shouldn’t the ghost have an arm made of frosted-over metal?

Tony shoves himself to his feet, finally turning his attention away from his ‘wall of crazy’, as Ty calls it.

The apartment is empty when he leaves his office, and he doesn’t bother wondering where Ty has disappeared to now. He just shoves his feet into his shoes and checks to make sure the library hasn’t quite closed yet before heading out the door.

He has to post this theory to the forum, it’s going to be such a hit.

 

~

 

Tony coughs himself awake.

 

His chest burns, aches, and with every cough it feels like something is going to break. Like his punctured sternum might just split in half. His ribs will fracture from the pressure and pierce out through his skin- Tear him apart from the inside out-

The taste of blood and worse linger in the back of his throat- Bitter and metallic.

Once the coughing fades Tony is left taking shallow, wheezing gasps that don’t accomplish much.

Shadows move across the ceiling. He doesn’t try to identify them.

The scent of rot is thick, hanging heavy in the stale air. Tony has a terrible feeling that it’s coming from him-

 

Yinsen’s fingers move over his forehead, gently brushing the sweaty hair away from his skin as the man quietly murmurs something. Tony doesn’t understand the words, but they’re warm and calming- Comforting.

Tony chokes on a sudden knot of emotion caught in his throat. For a split second he’s a child again, Jarvis sitting at his bedside as he sweats out a fever.

So few people have actually given enough of a damn to take care of him like this-

As he quickly tries to blink away the gathering tears, a glass of water appears in his line of sight. It spins slowly along with the rest of the cave, and Tony waves it away with a weak twitch of his fingers.

“Stark,” Yinsen says and then trails off. There’s an edge is his voice that’s more than concern.

Grim, resigned- Trying to hide it.

Tony knows that tone all-too well.

The shadows on the ceiling bleed together and solidify into the shape of a hand- Still reaching towards him.

He’s running out of time.

 

“He-Help,” Tony croaks out, ignoring the tearing pain all along his dry throat, “help me u-up.”

With effort he gets his swimming vision to settle on Yinsen's face, on his stricken expression. Something moves in the darkness over the man’s shoulder, but Tony ignores that too.

“Stark, you shouldn’t-” Yinsen protests, a tremble in his voice.

Tony lifts his whole hand to cut him off this time. He isn’t sure how he manages it- He can barely feel his hand.

“Up,” Tony repeats firmly. He wishes he had the air for full sentences.

When he flails his hand a little Yinsen takes it.

“Why?” Yinsen asks even as he carefully helps Tony sit up on the cot, making sure the battery wires don’t get yanked. “You should be resting, what are you-?”

Tony doesn’t try to answer while he’s moving, but he’s sure they both know that resting isn’t going to help much-

Not at this point.

As he gets fully upright the magnet set into his chest shifts with a wet, squelching noise- Like it’s trying to fall out before the strands of skin that haven’t rotted away catch it, pulling tight.

He winces at the sound, but it doesn’t hurt, really. Tony can’t feel it past the constant, burning agony that’s throbbing steadily through his entire body. His skin is coated in a cold sweat and the warmth of the fresh blood running down his stomach feels nice.

One way or another, he knows that he doesn’t have much time left.

And he can’t get much worse without hitting that time limit anyways.

 

Tony drags in the deepest breath he can stand and tries to swallow down the taste of bile.

“I-” He forces out, his voice a weak rasp, “I t-thought of- something- better t-than- makin’ weapons.”

And he can’t keep lying here, having dreams that feel all too real- He can’t keep letting the strange voice and shadow follow him into real life.

After a short pause, Yinsen says, “Well then, we had better get to work while we can."

Tony wants to tell Yinsen that he might have more time, if he has any say in it. But he doesn’t have the air to get the words out.

And he can’t actually make that promise.

 

So Tony focuses his gaze on the nearest worktable, and thankfully doesn’t have to force out any more words. Yinsen helps him shakily to his feet without further protest.

The work is slow, when Tony has to keep stopping to wait for his vision to quit spinning. Every time he has to rasp out a request for a tool or part he gets a little light headed, but he doesn’t stop.

Every now and then, Tony swears he feels ice-cold fingertips drag down the back of his neck, sending shivers along his spine-

He tells himself he’s imagining it.

Hours later, Yinsen says, “That doesn’t look like a missile.”

 

“Re-Respirator,” Tony croaks in explanation, holding up the box. Just big enough to cover a nose and mouth.

Yinsen’s eyebrows lift in understanding, then furrow in concern. When he opens his mouth Tony cuts him off- There’s no time to argue.

“Now w-we-”

“I can make a gas canister,” Yinsen interrupts with a weak attempt at a smile, “I took basic chemistry, too. You start on a second respirator.”

It’s more of an argument than Tony wanted, but he’ll take it.

As Yinsen turns his attention to another worktable, moving quickly, Tony pulls more scraps of weapons towards himself. Moving much more slowly as he dismantles his life’s work.

Everything is going dark around the edges, but the first respirator is done. If he needs to rest while Yinsen works, that’s fine.

He just needs to last a little bit longer-

Another shiver runs down his spine.

 

~

 

When Tony opens his eyes to find himself back in his old apartment again, the fear floods through him instantly.

He’s standing right in front of the closed door to his office.

His hand is on the doorknob. It’s icy to the touch, clinging to his skin when he tries to flinch away-

 

He has to rip his hand away with so much force that it sends him stumbling backwards. He clenches his fist so he won’t have to check and see if the stinging throb in his palm is from the skin actually being torn away.

The thin line of light from under the door is impossibly bright now, bathing the hallway in a strange, cold blue glow.

Tony’s quick, panicked breaths hang in the air like smoke.

Why does he keep finding himself here?

Why does he feel like he should remember-

 

“Anthony-”

The voice has him flinching back further as short flashes of memory come crashing over him.

Oh, right, fuck-

 

The Soldier-

 

Tony knows the- the thing is standing right on the other side of the door, he can see the breaks in the light.

But this can’t be real-

It never could have been real-

Tony tries to stumble further away but his movements are slow, weighted. Like he’s moving through quicksand-

Or fighting his way through a mountain of heavy, unpacked snow.

“Open the door, Anthony,” the Soldier demands and the low voice vibrates through the entire apartment.

It shakes the picture frame off the wall with a clatter of glass and makes the kitchen cabinets rattle in place.

Tony has already taken a step towards the door before he realizes what he’s doing, like the voice is physically pulling him in.

Again-

 

He can’t stop himself. Tony’s feet are still moving forward with slow, shuffling steps even as he looks around in panic.

He’s passing the open doorway to Ty’s office, and maybe-

It takes all of his effect, but Tony manages to throw himself to the side, into Ty’s office. He stumbles as the spell of that hypnotic voice abruptly breaks, momentarily thrown off balance.

Then he grabs the stupid, uncomfortable and heavy old dining chair that Ty loved.

 

When he steps back into the hallway he can feel the difference in temperature, the sharp chill hanging in the air-

And he can feel the spell starting to fall over him again as the voice says, “Come back in, Anthony.”

A shudder runs through Tony that has nothing to do with the cold.

He can’t-

 

He can’t go back in there. If he does he’ll remember- He’ll have to face-

 

“Open the door.”

He just needs a little more time.

Tony shoves the heavy chair in front of the door, wedging the feet against the floor and the intricately caved back against the doorknob.

Hopefully stopping anyone from opening it, namely him.

"Anthony-" The Soldier snarls and Tony can’t stop a terrified noise from slipping out of him as the entire world shakes.

He’s not supposed to be real-

So how does he know Tony’s name-

 

Part of Tony knows the answer, knows why he keeps having this dream- Why a ghost story knows his name-

Why he can’t go through that door again-

There’s a loud pounding in Tony’s ears as he turns to grab more chairs, the coffee table from the living room, anything-

“Come back,” the Soldier says again and he still sounds angry but- There’s an undercurrent of something else in the echoing voice now.

Tony doesn’t want to figure it out.

The pounding in Tony’s head is getting louder, until his skull throbs with it-

His next inhale is agonizing, like his lungs are shredding themselves from the inside as they expand- Like his ribs are collapsing and strangling everything inside him-

It feels like his chest is filling with water even as it splits open, water or something thicker-

 

He stumbles as he moves towards the kitchen, suddenly lightheaded.

The pounding is getting louder and it almost sounds like angry voices, like thundering footsteps-

“Anthony,” the Soldier says, still with that strange tone.

Almost like a warning-

Like concern-

 

The light from under the door is getting brighter, blinding.

Tony lifts one hand to shield his eyes, then cries out when the motion has the muscles of his chest pulling and fresh, burning pain momentarily overwhelms everything.

The voices get louder, pounding, and Tony is falling now, he must have lost his balance-

[thecolddeathfic]

Part 3

WinterIron, E, 2.8k - Horror, Body Horror, Brief torture

see blog's pinned post for a list of tags and warnings for the full fic

"What the fuck?"

“What?” Tony asks distractedly, not looking up from carefully highlighting a line in one of the many books spread across the small table.

“Tony," Ty snaps and Tony’s head jerks up, finally registering the anger in his boyfriend’s voice.

“What?” Tony asks again, shoulders hunching defensively and his free hand absently searching for his drink.

"The point of having our own offices is that you don’t spread your shit everywhere," Ty says, motioning pointedly at the books and loose graph paper all over the kitchen.

“Shit, I didn’t mean to- I’ll get it all cleaned up by tonight,” Tony promises. He finishes off his glass of whiskey and resists the urge to glance down at his textbook again, knowing that breaking eye contact will just make Ty angrier.

“Why are you not in your office?” Ty demands, continuing to stare at him, unimpressed. He’s straightening one of his big gaudy cufflinks-

“Are you going somewhere?” Tony asks, belatedly noticing that Ty is wearing an expensive suit, rather than his usual Tuesday night expensive sweats.

"We are supposed to be going to my professor’s for dinner, but I guess you’re standing me up again," Ty says flatly, and Tony winces.

“Oh, fuck, sorry,” Tony says quickly, his stomach dropping and twisting with guilt.

He looks between the clock and his own rumpled, sleep-depraved and pajama-clad form. Ty’s right, there’s no way Tony can make himself presentable before it's time to leave, plus-

“I - I’m really behind on this,” Tony says regretfully, tipping his chin down at the book on the table.

He starts to lift his glass again before remembering that it’s empty, and he starts subtly trying to look around for the bottle instead.

"Yeah, because you’ve been spending all your time obsessing over some stupid story," Ty snaps, tugging at the lapels of his jacket a little harder than necessary.

“You’re the one who told me to get a hobby that doesn’t involve robots,” Tony points out automatically, even though he knows it doesn’t do any good to snap at Ty when he’s in this kind of mood.

Sure enough, Ty turns away from checking himself out in the mirror by the front door to glare at Tony as he says, “I clearly didn’t mean getting obsessed with some stupid old urban legend about an ice army-”

“Winter Soldier-”

“Whatever,” Ty snaps with an impatient wave of his hand, keys jangling loudly in his tight grip. "I’ll go by myself, again, but I can’t help noticing that you always seem to have time for ‘Uncle Obie,’" He adds snidely, practically spitting out the name.

"That’s different," Tony snaps, shoving himself to his feet as his chest clenches painfully. He’s already so sick of this fight. "Obie is all I- He’s family," Tony grits out angrily, “not some snotty professor that you’re trying to impress.”

Ty’s expression darkens, and Tony swallows hard.

"I’m making connections," Ty argues for what must be the third time, “just because all you care about lately is getting drunk and chasing some damn ghost story-”

“That- That’s not true,” Tony interrupts, but his voice loses strength by the end because, well, it kind of is.

He has been falling behind on school assignments and missing social events lately, ever since-

And maybe he’s been drinking more lately, but Ty doesn’t have a whole lot of room to judge on that front.

It’s not like Tony doesn’t have a reason for all of it. A reason that has nothing to do with an urban legend.

Mostly nothing.

Ty shakes his head with a short, frustrated sound and says, "Just- clean this shit up before I get home. And use your fucking office."

The front door slams behind him.

Tony lets out a slow breath, left alone with the radio playing quietly in the living room.

It takes him a while to get back into the schematic he’s working on, and by the time he calls it a night he hasn’t accomplished nearly as much as he wanted to.

But he has located and finished off the bottle of whiskey.

He gathers up all of his 'shit’ that’s managed to spread itself around the kitchen and carelessly dumps it onto the already-overloaded desk in his office.

Then he pulls the office door firmly closed behind him and sprawls out on the couch to call Rhodey and pout.

"Okay, but when you say you ‘failed’ the test," Rhodey prompts once Tony has moved on from complaining about Ty to complaining about school.

"I mean I got a B," Tony groans miserably, flopping sideways on the couch.

“That’s not failing,” Rhodey protests with a huff, “in what world is that failing? The only person who would call that failing is-”

He cuts himself off with an audible click of teeth, and it’s been equal parts heartbreaking and endearing watching Rhodey try to navigate around his dislike of Howard since-

Since December.

“You’re too damn hard on yourself, is my point,” Rhodey finishes, like he hadn’t paused at all, and Tony loves him for it. "I still think you should take a break," he adds, voice softer with worry, and unfortunately Tony loves him for that, too.

“I told you platypus, I need to be doing something,” Tony reminds him, trying his best to sound okay. “Something that isn’t just sitting around that house or- or partying my way around the world.”

“I’m sure you’re still doing plenty of partying,” Rhodey teases lightly, officially letting him off the hook for now.

“Well, I am in college.”

“Yeah yeah, just tell your boyfriend to take care of you, alright?”

“I will,” Tony promises, even though he probably won’t, and then pointedly changes the topic to the latest book he’s been trying to get Rhodey to read.

After books, they talk about Rhodey’s new girlfriend, who sounds too cool for him, and then Tony spends a while poking for top-secret information just to see if he can get any.

By the time he gets off the phone, Ty still isn’t back.

Tony hesitates in the hallway for a second, then turns toward his office instead of heading into the bedroom.

~

Slowly, inch by agonizing inch, Tony drags himself upright.

The shitty cot creaks beneath him and he shivers harder as the blankets piled on him fall away. Cold air tears at his throat-

 

Everything fades in and out.

 

He doesn’t stop.

Finally, finally, he can prop himself up against the cold stone wall.

It was probably a bad idea to move. His chest feels like it’s on fire, but-

 

He couldn’t just lie there anymore.

Staring at the ceiling- struggling to breathe-

At least now he can see around his small cell.

He’s alone again, as far as he can tell. The lights are off.

He has to work up the nerve to tip his chin down.

 

It’s only the second time he’s actually looked at the thick bandages wrapped around his chest- At the bright spots of fresh crimson and dark streaks of old, dried blood.

The sight of the- the wires emerging from between the layers of fabric makes his empty stomach churn-

 

Tony tips his head back- tearing his gaze away-

His eyes burn beneath his clenched lids, but he’s pretty sure he’s out of tears.

He has to take shallow, hitching breaths until he stops tasting bile- his throat painfully dry-

 

When he finally opens his eyes again he doesn’t let himself look down- At his chest, or at the battery he’s connected to-

 

Instead he looks around at his cell. At least, what he can see of it in the dark.

He hasn’t really bothered to take inventory until now.

These are worktables scattered with tools that he can’t identify at the moment. Crates with labels that he can’t read. Lots of stone wall and a solid steel door-

Tony knows what he should be doing, what he needs to be doing.

Getting up, checking what he has access to and making a plan-

 

But he’s stuck on the ‘getting up’ part.

Even the thought makes every inch of him throb with pain. Makes his breath wheeze a little louder on the way out.

Maybe if he can just make it to the closest table-

 

Something moves in the corner of his vision.

 

Tony whips his head to the left, then grits his teeth and blinks through it while his vision swims.

All he sees is the dark of the cave. Layers of shadows on shadows without any hint of motion.

His heart beats painfully in his chest as he squints, making sure-

 

He’s still alone.

When he slowly lets out the breath he’s been holding, it hangs in the air for a moment as a thin fog.

Tony feels his eyebrows furrow. It’s not that cold in here, right? He would feel it-

Wouldn’t he?

 

Movement.

He knows he saw it that time.

He stares, ignoring the clouds of his own breath, until he sees it again.

One of the countless shadows that fill the cell is moving.

 

It’s not Tony’s.

There’s no one else here.

 

But the shadow continues to move and it’s the clearly defined shape of a person. Broad shoulders and thick arms-

 

So there must be someone-

The rational part of Tony’s mind scrambles. Watching the shadow slide over a shelf and behind a table- Trying to figure out- if there was someone to cast it-

Where-?

 

Threat, his animal brain screams at him, threat, run-

But he can’t run, he can’t move-

He can only take shallow, rasping breaths as something moves through the cell-

Getting closer.

His chest screams in agony as his breathing gets faster. The bandages feel wet against his skin.

Even with his vision starting to blur, Tony tries to keep an eye on the shadow and the nothing casting it-

 

Until suddenly it’s not nothing.

The shadow passes behind a column of stone, and a figure emerges from the other side.

Solid-

Real-

 

Tony’s heart lodges itself in his throat, limbs going numb with panic.

He blinks rapidly, sure that he’s seeing things-

The man is still there.

Thick with muscle like the shadow implied. Dressed all in black. Shoulder-length hair falling forward and obscuring his face.

Still moving closer.

 

Something about him is almost familiar-

Some old memory is trying to make itself known, but his brain has come to a screeching halt and Tony can’t even try to piece it together.

 

This man doesn’t belong here.

He’s not dressed for the desert, for the cave. Tight black clothing, almost armor, tactical-

A soldier-

Tony doesn’t know where the thought comes from. The man isn’t wearing any kind of fatigues- But-

 

He’s still moving closer with slow, even steps.

Threat-

Tony can feel the shrapnel working its way deeper in time with his frantic pulse. His panicked breaths still hang in the air.

The cot rattles beneath him with how hard he’s shaking.

 

This- It can’t be real, right?

His brain is trying to insist that this isn’t real but-

The man is still approaching. Tony can see glimpses of pale skin above the mask that covers most of his face.

Tony can almost see his eyes-

 

“Anthony,” the man says, and Tony’s heart stops.

His voice is low, slightly muffled by the mask. But even the single word echoes oddly off the stone walls. Ringing- Haunting.

This isn’t real. It’s not-

”Anthony-“ The man says again.

A cloud of cold air accompanies the word, escaping from beneath his mask and rolling down his chest- Pooling around his feet like fog.

 

Tony’s brain is screaming that this can’t be real, but he can feel the sharp chill of the fog as it rolls closer, as the man-

The soldier-

-starts to reach for him-

 

Tony chokes out a terrified noise as his vision narrows on the soldier’s hand-

A strange silver color that gleams blue even in the low light-

It stretches all the way up his arm- To his shoulder-

Tony can feel the cold coming off the outstretched fingers- Like they’re made of ice-

 

Yinsen’s voice runs through his head.

“Do not take his hand-”

 

Tony flinches back, sucking in a sharp breath-

Only to cry out in pain when pressing himself back against the uneven stone wall has his spine arching, shoulders pulling back-

He hears something in his chest tear-

 

Blinding agony rips through him, whiting out everything else.

He can’t- His lungs feel hot and wet and he-

He can’t breathe-

 

The soldier’s approaching hand is just a blur.

He can’t-

 

~

 

Tony opens his eyes to find that he’s back in his old apartment.

It’s dark and silent again.

It hurts when he breathes and Tony doesn’t remember-

 

He doesn’t know why.

 

He doesn’t know why he’s dreaming about this place.

Why he keeps dreaming about it.

He’s standing in the hallway again, staring at the door of his office.

It’s the only closed door.

He can see a dim light through the crack at the bottom of the door, like he left his desk lamp on again-

 

“Anthony-” The familiar, haunting voice drifts through the closed door. “Open the door, Anthony.”

Tony’s breath freezes in his lungs. He tries to back away, but his feet won’t move- They’re too heavy-

 

No one should be in his office. Even Ty never went in there, especially toward the end-

 

“I’m waiting, Anthony.”

 

There’s a cold terror working its way up Tony’s spine and it- It feels familiar.

Like he’s stood here before. Listening to this same, strangely hypnotic voice-

Struggling to resist it.

Tony’s breath is coming too fast and it still hurts-

He’s shaking and he doesn’t know if it’s fear or the quickly dropping temperature.

That’s not good, Ty likes it warm-

 

"Anthony," The voice repeats, breaking into his thoughts.

Tony jolts- flinching-

He still can’t move, his legs stuck in place- More than heavy, like they’re fused to the floor-

 

A shadow breaks the line of light beneath the door. And then another.

Two feet. Stepping up to the door and then stopping. Facing it.

Waiting.

“Open the door,” the voice demands again, right on the other side of the thin wood.

The impatience is obvious but there’s also a desperation in the voice that has Tony tipping forward against his will.

 

He realizes that his feet are free again only when one of them slides towards the end of the hall, towards the closed door.

Tony tries to stop himself, but he can’t-

His feet continue moving without thought- Taking him closer-

 

The hallway is still getting colder.

Tony puts his hand out and catches the doorframe of the bedroom, yanking himself to an abrupt stop.

His rapid breaths hang around him like a fog and the air tastes strange, like rust and dirt-

 

Sand-

 

His legs are shaking so hard that he’s sure they’re going to collapse at any second-

“Come back in, Anthony,” the voice says, practically pleading now and something about it tugs at the hollow pit in Tony’s chest-

 

What-

 

His hand goes limp, slides away from the doorframe and then Tony is drifting again.

Helpless against the pull of that rough, dark voice.

He’s almost close enough to reach out and touch the doorknob- His hand is starting to lift-

 

A sharp sting spreading across his scalp has him stopping short, a startled gasp burning his lungs.

The pain of it feels-

 

Real.

 

More real than the hallway- the memory-

 

The apartment is fading around him. The closed door slides away into the gray distance as Tony is pulled backwards and he-

He doesn’t want to go.

 

He reaches for the doorknob, but it’s too late.

It’s out of reach.

 

“Anthony,” the voice says and it still sounds so close-

It sounds real-

 

“How much longer will you make me wait?”

 

~

 

The water is gritty in his eyes.

In his nose, and his mouth.

In his torn, scorched lungs-

 

The fingers in his hair tighter, then roughly haul Tony upright.

He gasps when his head is pulled out of the bucket. When he coughs up water it tastes like rust and sand, makes his chest scream in pain as the metal shifts.

The water dripping down his face is cold, but there’s a warmth slowly running down from his sternum.

Tony blinks against the bright lights focused on him.

Where-

 

Right.

 

The leader of the Ten Rings steps between him and the light.

“Awake now?” The man sneers while Tony continues blinking, struggling to focus.

Tony isn’t sure that he is.

The man doesn’t wait for an answer.

“No more resting,” he says sharply, "no more wait."

The familiarity of the word makes Tony flinch, a chill running down his spine that has nothing to do with the cold water.

Tony thinks he hears Yinsen’s voice somewhere off to the side, quick and worried- But he can’t be sure-

“Again,” the leader says.

The fingers in Tony’s hair tighten, shove him down-

He thinks he sees the shadow of a hand amid the chaos, reaching out-

 

Then the water.

[geryone]

Murmur, Cameron Barnett

[thecolddeathfic]

Part 2

WinterIron, E, 1.6k - Horror, Body Horror, Injury, Breif casual drug and alcohol use

see pinned post for a list of tags and warnings for the full fic

“Bullshit,” Ty says with a snort. When he shakes his head his entire body sways slightly, giving away how drunk he is.

“Of course it’s bullshit,” Tony shoots back, leaning into Ty’s side to steal the large vodka bottle from his hand. "You don’t stay up all night reading about Mothman because you think it’s real, you do it because it’s interesting.”

“No, you do that,” Ty says, rolling his eyes.

The party is still raging around them, their apartment completely filled to the brim with people, and at Tony’s last count it’s a pretty even mix of friends and people they don’t know. Or maybe Ty does know them, it’s hard to keep track lately.

People cheer loudly in the kitchen, pulling Ty’s attention away, and his arm falls from around Tony’s shoulders as he leans halfway over the back of the couch to see the commotion. Tony’s attention stays fixed on the young man sitting on the coffee table.

Tony thinks his name is Josh, and that they have a class or two together. It would probably be easier to remember if Tony didn’t attend all of his classes drunk, but hey, he’s still passing everything with perfect scores.

And who’s going to yell at him about it, anymore?

After shaking his head to clear it, and then waiting a second for the room to stop spinning, Tony says, “Okay, go, I love an urban legend.”

“It’s more of a ghost story,” Maybe-Josh says with a wide grin, obviously thrilled to have someone willing to listen to this topic. “And it starts during World War II, with a mission behind enemy lines-”

At some point Ty gets up from the couch, leaving him with the vodka, but Tony barely notices. He’s far more interested in the admittedly grisly tale of a soldier who fell in battle only to be captured, tortured, turned into a weapon.

"His real name was lost, so he collected lots of new names over the years, but most called him The Winter Soldier," Josh says, perfectly dramatic even though his attention is split between the story and rolling a joint on top of the textbook in his lap.

"Very cool," Tony says, slurring just a little, "great name, way better than th’ Jersey Devil."

Josh nods emphatically, loose bits of weed stuck to his lower lip, and says, “Or the Dover Demon. So-“

From there the story dissolves into rumors, pieces of rumors, and borderline conspiracy theories. Tony listens to all of it avidly, even when he runs out of liquor and the party starts to empty out around them. He hasn’t seen Ty in at least on hour, but he must be around here somewhere-

As the conspiracies get more wild, Tony quickly forgets to wonder about Ty’s whereabouts.

“Ok, bullshit that he killed JFK,” Tony protests with a huff of laughter, then coughs out a cloud of smoke and hands the joint back to Maybe-Josh, now sitting beside him on the couch.

Or maybe it was Justin.

“My cousin swears it,” Maybe-Justin protests, like that means anything. “But eventually, the mad scientists or whoever started losing control of him, right?”

"Obviously they did,” Tony says gleefully, leaning forward to grab an abandoned drink from the coffee table, “did they respond by trying and failing to kill their creation, thus ironically making him more powerful than ever?”

“You have heard this one before,” Josh-Justin says with a lazy, stoned grin. "So, these days-“

By the time the party ends and Tony is pouring himself into bed, he doesn’t actually remember what the frozen, ghost-like soldier is up to now, but it was entertaining as hell, and that’s all that really matters.

"Did you have fun with Ben?" Ty asks dryly as he walks into the bedroom, his shoulder bouncing off the doorframe and really ruining the huffy attitude he’s clearly going for.

“Who?” Tony asks, squinting up at him, “Do you mean Justin-Josh?”

"His name was Ben," Ty says with a roll of his eyes. He drops onto the bed heavily, making Tony bounce in place, then props himself up on one elbow and fixes Tony with a narrow-eyed look as he adds, “I’m surprised you don’t know that. Considering the way you were hanging all over him for most of the night, after all.”

“You know me, I’m a whore for a terrible story,” Tony says easily, all too used to riding out Ty’s jealous fits, “and this one had everything. Absurd science, inexplicable murder, nazis, and most importantly, an awesome name.” He lifts his hands like he’s framing the words as he finishes, “The Cold Death."

“You and anything death lately,” Ty mutters, under his breath but still plenty loud enough for Tony to hear.

“Yeah, I wonder how that could have started,” Tony mutters back pointedly, glad that he’s too drunk to really be offended. Or hurt.

“Well, maybe your new boyfriend wants to hear all about it for the millionth time,” Ty says as he rolls over onto his back, crossing his arms over his chest.

Tony huffs and follows him, sprawling across Ty and then smiling sweetly as he asks, “My new boyfriend? Do you mean you, dearest? Because last time I checked, you’re the one I’m dating.”

After a second of trying to remain grumpy Ty leers up at him and challenges, "Prove it.”

 

~

  Tony is awake for a while before he actually realizes that he’s awake.

 

He’s floating in a haze-

 

An uncomfortable heat throbs through him.

Every breath is accompanied by painful, wracking shivers.

 

There are voices nearby- Angry. Demanding.

He can’t make out any of the words. He can’t even convince his brain to work out the language-

Probably one of the leaders of this little group wanting to know why he isn’t working-

 

He doesn’t realize his eyes have opened until they slowly focus on the cave above him.

There are more lights on now, somewhere-

The moving shadows on the ceiling are multiplied, echoing themselves in shades of gray- Unidentifiable-

Somehow, that fact is comforting.

Tony’s wheezing exhale feels hot in his throat. His lungs are burning. Even the tears building in his eyes feel like lava-

He stifles down a sob, knowing that it’ll just hurt like his chest is being torn open.

Again-

 

The voices disappear at some point while he drifts in and out-

 

The next time Tony comes close to awareness the cave is quiet around him.

Just his own weak, hitching breathing and the slow drip of water somewhere in the distance.

Tony knows he must be in bad shape if he’s being left alone.

At least, he thinks he’s alone- this might be his chance to-

 

To-

 

He doesn’t care.

 

He doesn’t want to be awake for this-

The agony of his sternum grinding against metal, splintering-

The pressure in his lungs, thick and wet- He can’t-

He can’t breathe-

 

Another hard shiver runs through him and Tony can’t bite back a pained whine-

It tears out of his dry throat, making everything worse, and molten tears start to trail down his temples as the world goes dark around the corners-

No-

 

Just the one corner-

There’s a dark shape at the left edge of his vision, moving closer.

A shadow-

Tony sucks in a sharp breath that stings his throat- his lungs-

He thought he was alone-

The shadow is still moving towards him, impossibly dark.

There are still multiple lights on, but the shadow is singular, defined as it slides over tables and other furniture that Tony can’t make out.

It’s still moving slowly closer.

With another bitten-off noise of pain as the motion pulls at his chest, Tony works up the strength to turn his head and see-

There’s nobody there.

Tony’s breath rattles wetly in his chest, too fast, the cold air of the cave painful against his burning lungs-

There’s nobody- No one to cast the shadow-

How-

What he can see of the cave is completely empty.

But when Tony whips his head forward again-

 

Too fast, agony lancing through his chest and more tears escaping-

 

The dark something is still moving closer.

Too close now-

 

Tony half-sobs out a confused sound, his lungs on fire. He’s shivering harder than ever and when he blinks his wet eyelashes cling together.

The newest tear running down his temple stops in its tracks, clinging and cold against his skin.

Nothing-

 

-It doesn’t make sense.

The shadow is closer- too close- leaning in over him-

-hair falling loose over a broad shoulder, almost familiar-

 

There’s nobody there.

 

Tony is breathing too fast- too painful-

His vision is starting to go gray around the edges-

He struggles to focus on the strange shadow on the wall- still so distinct even as everything else fades.

If there was a person attached, they would be leaning directly over Tony now. But when he squints at the spot-

Nothing.

As Tony watches, a cloud of smoke- or maybe fog- appears from nowhere-

From where a person’s face would be, if they were casting the shadow-

If any of this was real-

 

The cloud falls heavily, like cold air rolling out of a freezer, and when it hits Tony’s chest-

He can feel the cold of it, contrasting painfully against his flushed skin.

But that’s not possible- There’s nothing there.

Tony can see his own shaking breath hanging in the air. His tears cling to his eyelashes, frozen.

This can’t be real.

It must be the fever-

 

The darkness is still creeping in around the edges of everything, not quite as dark as the shadow still lingering on the wall.

Another cold cloud of breath rolls over Tony’s chest and he sobs again as a shiver works its way through him.

But that’s not possible-

 

The next time his eyes close Tony can’t seem to get them open again.

Everything is cold and hot and pain-

 

He doesn’t want to be awake for this.

[thecolddeathfic]

Part 1

WinterIron, E, 2k - Horror, Body Horror, Injury, Illness

see pinned post for a list of tags and warnings for the full fic

Shout out to all my weird sexy horror freaks. This one is for us.

Anthony.

The word drifts through Tony’s feverish mind and he struggles to blink his eyes open.

He hasn’t heard that name in years.

Why-

Where-

Everything is so dark.

There’s a burning pain in his chest every time he tries to breathe and he doesn’t remember-

Anthony.

He doesn’t recognize the voice. No one calls him Anthony anymore.

Tony keeps blinking until he can barely make out a jagged stone ceiling above him.

Where-

The cave.

He knows no one here is calling him by his full first name.

When he drags in another sharp breath he swears he can feel the shards of metal working their way deeper despite the fucking magnet shoved into his chest.

Slicing through his lungs. Making their way to his heart-

Someone has replaced the bandages that he’d ripped away, re-covered the filthy metal and the gaping hole it’s failing to plug in his sternum.

In the dark of the cave, the blood already soaking through the fabric looks black-

Anthony.

Tony’s painfully fast breath freezes in his chest.

He knows he heard it that time.

Everything aches as he slowly turns his head from side to side, squirting into the shifting shadows-

It’s so dark. It might be night, but he can’t tell for sure.

He thinks he’s alone, but he can’t be sure-

The cave is freezing, Tony can feel himself shivering, but his skin is coated in sweat.

“H-Hello?” He croaks out weakly.

The single word tears at his dry throat. Forcing out enough air to actually make a sound leaves his lungs feeling wrung out-

Dragging in his next breath sends hot agony lancing through his chest.

There’s no response.

He can taste blood in the back of his throat.

No matter how many times he blinks, he can’t get the darkness around him to stop spinning.

For a split second Tony thinks he sees someone, or maybe the movement of someone’s shadow-

But then it’s gone.

All he can hear is his own hitching, ragged breathing.

A bead of sweat runs down Tony’s cheek as he turns his head again.

The deep shadows on the wall almost resolve into the shape of a person before shifting away again.

It feels like the cave is getting colder, Tony can almost see his breath hanging in the air-

His fever must be getting worse.

Tony doesn’t fight it when his eyes start to drift closed again.

He must be hallucinating- He knows he should be more worried about it than he is.

He thinks he hears the voice again as he drifts off, but prying his eyes open again is physically impossible.

It’s probably all in his head anyway.

~

He’s dreaming.

He must be, because he’s back in his tailored suit, standing in a short, unlit hallway.

There are open doorways on both sides, and a closed door at the end.

Tony remembers this apartment.

He lived here with Ty, for a while- During grad school-

When he turns, he sees the kitchen table where he studied for his advanced engineering final. There’s the couch where sat staring at the wall for hours after his parent’s funeral.

The apartment is completely silent around him. It was never this quiet when he actually lived here, never this dark and still-

Why is he dreaming about this place now?

Tony turns back and moves slowly toward the end of the hall.

He remembers the dents in the walls and the framed photo of him and Ty hanging by the bedroom.

Ty’s office is across the hall. Even with the lights out, he can tell it’s neat and organized the way Ty always kept it.

The door at the end of the hall is Tony’s office, he remembers that now.

He remembers that he and Ty had quickly realized they needed separate offices, but he doesn’t-

It’s weird. He can’t remember what was in his office, now.

Why did he have to do all of his studying in the kitchen? Tony is sure that the room is a mess behind the closed door, but-

With what?

Most of his work was kept in the labs at SI or on campus. Why did he need an office, if he wasn’t doing his schoolwork in it?

Tony slowly moves closer, torn between curiosity and an odd sense of dread building in his gut.

He reaches for the doorknob and then pauses, fingers hovering in the air.

A cold sweat is breaking out across his skin and his stomach is in knots.

He doesn’t want to open it.

Why is this the only door that’s closed? Why is he even dreaming about this apartment after all this time, why is he remembering it dark and silent?

His hand is still hanging in the air- hesitating-

Why is his heart racing in his chest?

He doesn’t want to open the door, but-

It’s also driving him crazy that he can’t remember. He spent a ton of time in this office, maybe too much. He remembers that, so why not what he was doing?

Why-

”Anthony-“

The sudden voice makes Tony flinch, stumbling back a half-step and pulling his hand in towards his chest.

He thought he was alone, he was sure of it-

But then again, he is dreaming.

He knows he’s dreaming, so why is his blood running cold? Why is he still backing away from the door with sluggish, heavy footsteps?

”Anthony-“

The voice is low and rough, like it hasn’t been used in years. Despite the odd, echoing quality of it Tony is pretty sure it’s coming from his office-

”Open the door, Anthony," the voice says, like the speaker can hear his thoughts.

It’s not quite a demand, but there’s a distinct impatience to the words that has Tony’s breath catching painfully in his chest.

He tries to back away from the door faster, but the floor bucks and shifts beneath his heavy feet. His hand slides along the wall as he struggles to keep his balance, knocking the picture frame to the floor with a dull clatter.

”Anthony.”

His heart is racing so hard that it hurts- every frantic thud sending another sharp bolt of cold fear through his chest.

His breath wheezes out of his chest and then hangs in the air like smoke, like there’s a chill in the air that he can’t feel-

Tony doesn’t know what’s inspiring the deep terror in his gut, where the sinking feeling of cold in his chest is coming from-

Unless he does.

The fear feels as familiar as the apartment, linked to it, but he’s not-

He doesn’t remember.

He doesn’t want to remember.

Someone is still saying his name from the other side of the door.

Tony tries to back away faster, but his heel catches against the writhing ground and he falls-

~

“Stark. Stark.”

Tony snaps awake, his entire body jolting as he tries to prepare himself for impact with the hard wooden floor of his apartment.

But there’s no impact, just burning agony shooting through him as the shredded muscles in his chest try to pull tight-

As his bones shift and grind against the disk of metal set into his sternum-

There’s no apartment.

He’s lying on a rusted cot in a cave in the desert.

He’s still so cold-

“Stark.”

Tony tenses painfully again. His eyes flash around the dark cave for a second before landing on Yinsen sitting beside the cot.

“You need to drink,” the man says, his face creased with concern.

Tony blinks and there’s a chipped glass in front of his face, filled with cloudy water. Condensation runs down the side and it looks so good-

But Tony can’t work up the energy to raise his arm, or even his head.

Breathing is too much energy, too painful. Even keeping his eyelids up is-

“Stark,” Yinsen says and Tony reluctantly pries his eyes open again. “You have a bad fever,” he says, and Tony almost wants to laugh.

What had he called it, 'the walking dead? ’

Tony certainly feels more than halfway there, one way or another.

Focusing on Yinsen’s face among the swirling, dancing shadows of the cave is nearly impossible-

But Tony eventually manages it. The other man’s furrowed brow is dotted with sweat, but all Tony feels is cold.

“Sorry,” he croaks, struggling to stay focused, “you’ll prob- you’ll get in trouble if I die, huh?”

“It’s possible, but I’ll worry about that if it comes to it,” Yinsen replies dryly, a thin smile on his face.

Tony nods weakly, even though it makes his skull throb.

He slowly shifts his gaze to the glass Yinsen is still holding out to him. It almost looks like a thin layer of ice has formed on top of the water, but Tony knows the cave isn’t that cold.

He starts to lift his hand toward the glass and pain lances through him again, the jagged edges of his muscles screaming and the shards of his sternum grinding, shifting-

It hurts- The rapid beat of his heart is agony-

He can’t-

Burning pain is consuming him- But he’s still so cold-

He blinks slowly and the glass of water is gone.

Tony can’t be sure if he drank it or not.

He tries to look at Yinsen again, but he can’t manage that either.

“You must fight Stark,” Yinsen says urgently as Tony’s gaze drifts around the cave, unseeing. “Death is reaching out for you, do not take his hand.”

Tony forces himself to nod and suck in a shuddering breath- Even though it aches- Even though he can feel the pressure of the magnet pressing against his scorched lungs, the shrapnel slicing deeper-

Everything goes dark.

“I understand the urge to give in,” Yinsen says, his voice soft now, haunted. Coming from so far away.

Tony can’t turn his head, but after several long seconds he manages to to locate Yinsen’s shadow on the wall and at least that’s something.

Some kind of connection.

“But this is not your time,” Yinsen continues, “not here. Don’t give in.”

His voice is even more distant now, but his shadow is steady on the wall. Comforting-

Part of Tony wants to swear that he’ll try, but even the thought of forcing out words again makes his eyes fill with tears.

And the rest of him isn’t sure that it’ll matter if he fights.

Tony’s eyelids are heavy, breathing hurts- but he struggles to stay awake. To stay somewhat focused on Yinsen’s oddly smooth shadow cast on the rough stone wall.

Hopefully that counts for something.

He watches Yinsen’s shadow move as the man leans in over him, hair falling loose over his shoulder-

Wait-

Yinsen- He doesn’t have hair long enough to-

Who-

The shadow tips its head and more of its profile comes into view.

Tony blinks rapidly, his vision spinning as he sucks in a sharp, agonizing breath.

That’s-

That’s not Yinsen.

Everything starts to go dark again as Tony’s heart races, like it’s trying to reach out for the waiting metal shards.

He thinks Yinsen is talking again, but the words are too far away to make out.

The shadow is still moving closer.

There’s an odd shape to the face, like its wearing some kind of mask-

It’s almost familiar- Isn’t it-?

Despite his best efforts, Tony can’t keep his eyes open anymore.

He’s so cold-

[thecolddeathfic]

[riotwritesthings]

Sloppy kisses with the winter soldier mask ON have been achieved. Personal goal accomplished ☺️

[thecolddeathfic]

[thecolddeathfic]