#the true villain of ca:cw emerges | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

tonystarktogo · 8 years ago

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Can you give me a Villain! Rumlow going on dates with (kidnapping) Tony and the Team not being supportive even though he starts assisting Iron Man on the field and practically lives in the tower Maybe post CA:CW for the angst?

Brock and Tony? Why, of course, darling! I will always support this pairing!

Btw this is my 1000th Post!!! So of course I had to make it a little longer :) I even managed to add in some light bitter Sunday-ness, but I kept it very light, mostly just focused on Tony moving on. I think you should be able to enjoy this no matter how you stand on the CW fallout, but let me know if you disagree and I will tag it accordingly.

Also tagging @darkly-stark and @susieeslei because Brock and Tony.

It starts with one of Tony’s spur-of-the-moment decisions that always end up being either phenomenal or catastrophic, and never anything in between. The vote is still out on this particular one though.

Because Tony is seated in his favourite restaurant when he walks in–more like slams the doors open and pushes a startled waiter out of his way as he strides towards Tony’s nicely decorated table. And just as he’s been served his main course too.

For a long moment Tony blinks up at Brock Rumlow who is positively brimming with volatile determination, then looks back down at his plate. The food, as always, looks delicious.

“Why don’t you join me?” Tony blurts out before he can think better of it.

Rumlow stills, a flutter of what might have been confusion briefly flashing across his face.

“Please, sit down,” Tony gestures towards the unoccupied chair, having already decided to roll with this. He’s not been gutted yet, which can only be a good sign. “My treat of course.” He flashes his brightest smile and–much to his surprise, not that he’ll ever admit it–Rumlow does indeed sit down.

He looks as surprised as Tony which makes Tony feel better about this situation. Resisting the urge to gape–go with it, go with it, totally going with it–Tony turns and waves over the first waiter who crawls out from where he’s taken cover under a table.

“Could you get me another menu, please?” Tony asks with all the nonchalance his life as a public persona has trained into him. “Oh, and another whiskey.” He takes one look at Rumlow who is sort of glaring–or maybe that’s his normal expression, who knows–at the menu and adds, “Make that two.��

Rumlow spends most of the meal glaring daggers at anyone and anything unlucky enough to catch his attention. Tony spends most of the meal expecting a fight to break out any second.

The food is delicious though.

From one moment to the next the bar goes silent. It’s Tony’s first clue that something is wrong. The second is the slow, measured footsteps cutting through the silence, definitely, definitely heading in his direction. The third is the one everyone turns in their chairs to stare at him.

Tony refuses to turn around from where he’s sitting at the bar, slumped over an almost empty glass. There is probably a gun aimed at his head by now, but fuck if he cares.

It’s been a shit day long before lunch time got around. Tony is in no mood to entertain anyone, would-be killer or otherwise.

“Want a drink?” he asks, not bothering to look whom he’s offering it too.

Another moment of silence passes, before a familiar voice grumbles “You’re paying, Stark,” and well.

That’s how Tony finds himself sharing a drink with Brock Rumlow for the second time this month. It’s not as bad as it probably should be.

It wasn’t supposed to be a thing. Really. Tony doesn’t even realise it’s become a thing until the bartender at his standard I-want-to-disappear-and-not-have-anyone-talk-to-me-the-whole-time-I’m-there bar greets him with a “Your usual?” and fills two glasses.

The worst part is, when Rumlow slides into his seat next to Tony a couple of minutes later, he’s not even surprised.

It has definitely become a thing.

Tony likes to think he’s quite good at keeping his private and professional life separated–whether or not the evidence supports this statement is another matter.

In any case, despite Brock Rumlow’s unfortunate status as a villain, meeting up with the man semi-regularly for a drink and a long, surprisingly comfortable silence, has been uncomplicated. Almost suspiciously so. Tony has JARVIS on the look-out for any trap Rumlow might be trying to lay, but so far nothing has come from it.

Tony isn’t about to let his guard down, of course, but for the time being figuring out Rumlow’s hidden motives isn’t a top priority. He’s got more urgent problems. Like that giant, ball of a glibbering, highly corrosive mass currently eating away at this suit. His metal suit. At a disturbing pace.

If Tony had still been able to move, it might not have been such a big problem. He probably could’ve gotten out of this whatever-it-is before the acid reached his fleshy parts. As it is, the suit is down. So is the communication. And Tony is effectively trapped.

It’s not the kind of death he would’ve wished for himself, but genius or not, he’s rapidly running out of time and options.

There is a sudden jolt, and then Tony is flying. He hits the ground hard a moment later, accompanied by a lot of creaks and cracks, the suit far too damaged to bear the weight of the fall the way he usually would.

His suit is little more than a deadweight still, dented and torn open in several places at this point, and it takes Tony a couple of minutes to bend the emergency release lash to his will. Literally. By the time he’s managed to free himself, the battle is finally over, and the rest of his team are looking for him.

Tony brushes them off with a quick and an easy smile. Just another near-death experience, hitting it close but not too close. He’s getting used to that. It’s not a big deal.

Later that night, Tony has JARVIS pull up any and all surveillance data on the fight. Until he finds the hooded figure reaching into the corrosive goo and pulling him out. Until he identifies the gait, the self-made claw-like conceptions used to drag him free.

He deletes all the evidence moments later, a pensive frown on his face.

Two days later Tony buys Brock Rumlow another drink. Neither of them mention the last Avengers’ mission.

There’s a dirty spot on the bar, right next to a small bowl of cashews. Tony would know. He’s been staring at it for the past seventeen minutes. At least it hasn’t moved.

A drink is set down in front of him with a soft click. His usual order. Except he’s never been to this place before.

Tony turns around, only to come face to face with Brock Rumlow.

Absently, Tony notes that he’s not even surprised.

Still. He raises a questioning eyebrow.

There’s no ‘Sorry your team is broken beyond repair’ or ‘Must have sucked to get back from a Siberian bunker without a functional suit, how’d you do it?’ or even ‘Fine mess, those Accords, huh? How’re you holding up?’.

All Tony gets is a non-committed shrug, and a grumbled, “Figured it’s my turn to pay the tab.”

Somehow, it’s enough.

There’s another mutant kid running around midtown, that wants the world to pay for all the unfulfilled hopes and crushed dreams, for all the times it was scorned and abandoned and left behind.

Tony can relate. He refuses to stand by and let it happen all the same.

Vision and Spiderman are slowly finding their rhythm in a fight, but the Avengers–what’s left of them–don’t hold the same kind of power they used to anymore.

When Crossbones joins the fray, Tony finds himself hoping he won’t have to fight on two fronts. It’s the first time in a while that his hopes are met.

Officially Tony can’t turn Crossbones’ help down, whenever Rumlow feels like offering. It burns, just a bit, even now, that for all that it presents a convenient excuse, it’s also true.

Rhodey is recovering, but it’s a slow process, and three players in the field aren’t enough. Especially when you’re on the defence and have civilians to protect.

Unofficially working with Rumlow isn’t bad, not that Tony would ever admit such a thing. Maybe he’s a little too fond of violence sometimes, a little too careless when it comes to collateral damage, but he works well with the team–are they a team yet, when Tony can’t ever bring himself to refer to them as such?–and hasn’t let them down yet.

After one of their less destructive skirmishes, Tony hands Rumlow a transmitter for one of their frequencies–not the official one of course. It’s as close to an induction as they get, with the UN committee for inter- and extra-national security watching them closely.

Rumlow settles a lot of their shared tabs these days.

He pays.

Tony used to check. He hasn’t bothered in a while.

The first time Rumlow kidnaps Tony is right after a gruesome battle that almost costs Spiderman his life. He just–takes Tony.

Once Spidey is confirmed to be alive and well, Tony doesn’t even have the strength to fight him anymore.

It’s not as bad as it could have been. There are no evil lairs, to terrified minions, no threats. There’s just a beach–Tony has forgotten how much he missed it, the crashing waves, the smell of salt and water, the wind–no people as far as Tony can see, except for them. They drink iced coffee, and kick sand at each other’s feet, and Rumlow never comments on the fact that Tony doesn’t go deeper than ankle-height into the water.

The public is freaking out. General Ross is frothing at the mouth. Spidey sends a ‘Back at school now will you stop having FRIDAY set my alarm already?’ text, followed by a lot of glaring emojis.

Rumlow hands him a virgin Pina Colada.

Tony hasn’t felt this warm since Siberia.

They come back eventually. His former team mates. It was always going to happen, Tony knows. Eventually. He’s been preparing for this day from the beginning, perhaps even before they ever fought at that German airport.

Doesn’t mean Tony is ready when it finally happens.

Rumlow isn’t there when the plane touches the ground. Tony grits his teeth together and smiles for the cameras.

Working together again, the new Avengers side by side with the old ones, goes about as smoothly as you would expect. Which is to say not at all. They’re out of sync, and it becomes painfully obvious the first time they’re sent out together how much it affects them in the field.

They win. Barely.

Tony sends Spidey home before Rogers even has the chance to announce a recap. He doesn’t want the kid around when the shouting starts, and there will be shouting. All of them are too frustrated with their less than stellar performance for a calm, rational discussion.

At least, Tony assumes they are. He’s never gets the chance to find out for sure. Because that’s when Crossbones shows up.

With minions. A lot of minions.

It takes Tony approximately fifteen seconds to work out that they’re a distraction. It takes the rest of the definitely-not-a-team half a minute longer.

By that point, it’s already too late: Crossbones and Iron Man have disappeared without a trace.

“You can’t keep kidnapping me every time I’m–” Tony trails off. Can’t quite bring himself to say the unspoken ‘about to be alone with them’ out loud.

It would reveal too much. Acknowledge too much. Tony isn’t very good at acknowledging what he doesn’t want to be true. Or what he wants too much to be true, for that matter.

“I’m a villain,” Brock–he’s been Brock for a while now, and Tony still isn’t sure whether he likes that or not–snorts disdainful. “I can do whatever I want.”

There’ll be a lot of screaming later. A lot of accusations and rumours and arguments. Of that Tony has no doubt.

He leans a little closer with a teasing smile all the same. “Oh?” He hums thoughtfully. “And what is it you want right now?”

The world is a mess. The Avengers are broken beyond repair. Crossbones loves violence a little too much. Brock has a nice smile.

Tony is warm.

Tony Stark’s spur-of-the-moment decisions always end up being either phenomenal or catastrophic, and never anything in between.

Sometimes, on rare occasions, they are both.

Please let me know what you think, guys! Have you boarded this particular rare pair ship yet?

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