Chapter Text
Tony groaned as he tried to shift, metal crushing down on his whole body. The iron man suit was cutting-edge, but was also a completely dead weight when powered down.
He could feel the sharp pins-and-needles as his legs started to numb. Tony was only thankful the chestplate was a slightly lighter alloy than the rest, not that he could even think at this point.
At least the blood had stopped spurting from his face
, Tony thought. He'd had enough broken noses in his life to know what had happened, but that was the least of his worries.
His entire ribcage, already fragile at the best of times, was completely crushed. Tony still had problems from removing the arc reactor, but the heavy metal shield ramming into his chest really cemented the fact that Tony was in a word, fucked.
Alternating sharp pains and dull aching eminated from where a glow used to sit, settling deep in his lungs and gradually weakening his breaths.
Two hours he had been stuck here, left by the man he'd thought was a friend. He knew from Friday's earlier scans that the Wakandan pussycat had also been present, which Tony decided to feel more angry about when he was slightly less close to a visit from the grim reaper.
Friday was programmed to send his co-ordinates to both Rhodey and Pepper the moment she lost contact with the suit, but Tony was an
idiot
and truly made sure he came alone. No GPS. No Friday. Nothing.
He wondered how long he would be dead before anyone found him.
When the third hour approached Tony started blacking out, weaving in and out of consciousness several times before he truly felt like he was slipping away. Tony knew he was on his way out when he heard faint footsteps. He was pretty sure hallucinating was not a good sign.
The footsteps stopped but Tony did not have the energy to force open his eyelids. He heard someone close to him, hot breath fanning against his visible ear.
"It was not you who was meant to die here today Mr Stark. Rest, I will help you."
With those accented words all faded to starry black.
Helmut Zemo was far from stupid.
When Rogers gained the upperhand, Zemo was fuming but practical. He abandoned his plans of joining his family at rest, and hid before the Wakandan vigilante could capture him. Zemo had underestimated Stark's compassion. He had hoped that Stark would kill Rogers and his pet assassin, but it was clear very quickly - Iron Man was pulling his punches.
Zemo had seen first hand the damage that metal suit could do, and if Stark had wanted both Rogers and Barnes would be dead within seconds.
He was not disappointed though. No, far from it. He had still caused irreparable damage to the farce of a team known as the Avengers, and the world saw them for what they truly were.
Now, hours later, Zemo felt it safe enough to return to the bunker. He had watched the Wakandan leave with both Rogers and Barnes, and assumed Stark had left on his own terms. Zemo knew he wouldn't have long before various governments started swarming, he needed to retrieve his recordings (The most vital part of his plan!) and dispose of the Winter Soldiers.
Zemo wanted to get his revenge, driven to madness by the loss of his family, but he did not want to watch the world burn. Leaving super soldier DNA lying around was a sure fire way to ignite that spark.
He walked slowly through the bunker, gun raised and ready for any surprises. He checked each room as he went, thoroughly searching each and every one. Zemo had already taken the liberty of pilfering through any remaining files on the busted up old servers of the bunker, saving anything noteworthy for himself before deleting it all.
He systematically made his way through the bunker, finally coming to a stop at the makeshift fighting ground. Zemo was surprised to see Rogers' shining blue, red, and silver shield lying by the entrance to the area, staring at it cotemplating for a moment before a gasping noise stole his attention.
There, towards the back wall of the room, was a giant hunk of metal. It was difficult to discern in the darkening light but Zemo could guess it was from the Iron Man suit. Rogers must've done more damage than he thought.
But if Stark had left by foot, he surely would've called others to him. The place should be buzzing by now.
Zemo stowed his gun and started towards the pile of metal - Bullets would do nothing against a stray repulser blast. He leant over to get a better look and held back his surprise.
This was not how he'd expected things to play out.
Zemo looked over the bloody mess of a face, the only human feature visible in the metal. What was once a handsome face now bore a broken nose and what looked like a fractured cheekbone, crimson slick in some places and flaking dry in others. If not for the suit and his trademark facial hair, Zemo would've seriously doubted this was even Stark.
He crouched low, curving a hand around the metal neckplates to check for a pulse. Weak, but still there. Stark was a fighter.
Zemo started assessing the damage, taking in each injury with practiced detachment. His chest was completely caved in, sharp bone jutting out from the tears in the metal. Blood was slowly seeping everywhere and Zemo knew Stark would not survive much longer without medical intervention.
As he tried to decide what to do with the man, Zemo registered Stark's semi-consciousness. He leaned down carefully next to the other man's ear.
"It was not you who was meant to die here today Mr Stark. Rest, I will help you." With that promise, Zemo set to work.
He tirelessly peeled back layers of dead armour, knowing he'd be unable to lift Stark in it. When enough scraps of metal had been thrown to the side, Zemo steadily pulled Stark from the suit, reminiscent of the delicate way he'd had to handle the bombs. He pulled the man up into a bridal carry and started the walk back to his vehicle, hidden at a back entrance to the bunker.
Tony struggled to take a small breath in, deep cutting pain burning his lungs. He blearily tried to blink, trying to find the energy to wipe the dust away from his blurred eyes.
He managed to raise a hand to his face and rub at his eyes, but even Tony knew his increasingly sharp inhales were a bad sign.
He wondered how long he'd been stuck in the bunker, and if the creeping cold meant he was close to death.
Tony's vision swam, the room a blur of grey and black, the only thing partly clear being a moving dark shape to his left.
"Hggngh?" Tony wheezed at the shape.
"Mr Stark, you are very close to death right now. I would appreciate it if you could keep still while I try to save your life."
That accented voice again. Tony was sure he recognised it, but couldn't place where while his head was ringing so loudly.
He managed to lower his arm again though, and recognised the tell tale pull of an IV he hadn't noticed before.
"I've got a blood transfusion set up, and I'm seeing what I can do for your chest. I'll admit, it is a mess." The voice was clinically neutral.
"I've called somebody to bring help, a doctor. With luck, she will be able to assist you."
Tony grunted in response, pain searing.
"I'll hook you up to something for the pain shortly, I just wanted to make sure it wouldn't be a waste of good morphine first."
A throaty chuckle. Well, at least the voice found his impending loss of life amusing.
The shape moved across his vision again, carefully poking at Tony's bandaged nose and arm.
"Both your nose and left radius are broken, not much I can do about those unfortunately."
The shape continued moving, now pressing at his chest, taking note of where Tony inhaled and flinched.
"I will not be able to fix your chest, I admit I doubt even a doctor could fix it now."
The shape now started moving away, fading into the grey of the room.
"Please know I am truly sorry Stark... You tried to repent, that matters in the end I believe."
The voice faded away with the shape and Tony sighed, closing his unseeing eyes once more.
Zemo pinched the bridge of his nose, tension building closer to a headache by the second.
He had been keeping Stark alive, but it was close. Zemo knew a few more days and the billionaire superhero would be gone. The damage to his lungs was nigh irreparable, and Zemo did not have the medical training to come anywhere close to fixing it.
It was a miracle Stark had survived this long.
It had been three days since he had taken Stark from the bunker, holing up in another abandoned base. Zemo had enough medical supplies to last another day or two, and then he would have to venture into the nearest town - which was days away even by car.
He could only hope the doctor arrived soon.
Zemo had many acquaintances from his days fighting, and had called one of the few doctors he actually trusted to come to his makeshift hideout. He knew Stark wouldn't approve - the woman was less than a law abiding citizen - but she took her oaths seriously, and Zemo trusted that she would keep quiet.
Just as he was beginning to debate making the trip to the nearest town, the intercom started buzzing.
"UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS TO INNER ROOMS." A mechanical voice shouted over the suddenly blaring alarms.
Zemo ran towards the door, gun quickly loosening from it's holster and raising into the air. He headed towards the room he had left Stark in, knowing there was nothing else worth looking for in the hideout.
Zemo was in such a rush that he amateurishly ran straight past several open doorways, not seeing the man waiting in one of them. He was pulled back by the collar and felt the cold metal of a gun pressed against the back of his head before he could turn around.
"Drop the gun... Now you got 60 seconds to take me to whatever the fuck your hiding in this shithole or I'm gonna put a bullet straight through your head."
It was an American by the voice. Male. Confident.
Not much Zemo could do with that information though, and while he considered himself an honourable man, he would not put his plans on hold now someone else was now here.
"This way." Zemo said, voice even. He slowly took a step forward and when he was sure the other man was following, he continued.
He led the man to the end of one of many long corridors, a turn away from where he had been keeping Stark. At the last moment Zemo turned, intending to disarm the man.
A palm drove straight into his nose, making Zemo see stars before the butt of a gun smacked into his temple, blackening his vision. He blinked several times in quick succession, trying to see his attacker.
A tall black man towered over his falling form, eyebrow raised over an oddly-intimidating eyepatch.
Zemo staggered to the floor, struggling to get back up as dizziness overtook him. He heaved himself to his knees, lunging forward to tackle the man. He pulled at the small knife at his hip in the same motion, intending to incapacitate the man in any way he could. The man raised an eyebrow and stepped backwards. He raised his gun in warning before spotting the glint of metal in the Sokovian’s hand.
Nick Fury took a deep breath, let his jaw relax and aimed for the head.