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He’s so cold.
Of course you’re cold. He thinks. You’re in Siberia. Idiot.
God, it’s so fucking cold. Why didn’t he realize it was this cold before?
Because the suit is temperature controlled.
And the suit’s dead. The suit’s dead, and he had been a few dozen Newtons of strike force from being dead as well.
Because -
And his throat tightens up choking him as his chest is collapsing, trying to crumple inward around the point of impact and crush him like -
God.
His gauntlet had slipped on the ice - minutes ago? Half an hour? An hour? Whenever the blood he’d spat and coughed out had coated the floor around his head and started to freeze, whenever the rest of the words he’d wanted to scream at his retreating back had finally curled back up on his throat like the peeling bark of burnt wood and the cold had finally crept inside and smothered the rage back down into wet ash - then he’d landed, on his back on the floor, and the clang of his armor echoed around the missile silo and no one was there to hear.
The floor is cold.
It’s so cold and his heart is hammering against his ribs and everything hurts and the suit is so heavy dead like this a lifeless broken thing laying on his chest
It’s so cold the metal leaching heat from his skin and if he stays here the cold will finish the job that he started
And wouldn’t that be an irony? To be the frozen one. It’d certainly be one way to live up to his father’s expectations.
It’d be easy. Certainly easier than anything he’s done today.
Just lay still. What’s difficult about that? Certainly nothing that should make his chest throb like this, make his breaths come fast and hard and choking in their force, nothing that should -
Space is cold, right? Sure, on the other side, once the suit’s power systems failed he’d have stopped breathing before he froze to death, but the end result was still the same. Quicker or slower - what was the difference, anyway?
There was no falling this way. Not like -
Not like -
Oh god.
Rhodey
He’s supposed to fly him to Columbia Medical today. He promised.
God. Forget him, forget everything. If his last act on this planet is disappointing Rhodey. That’s not. That’s not worth it.
He tastes bile at the thought of it. Rhodey, who he’s disappointed over and over again, and god, he’s supposed to be better at this now but he keeps disappointing people over and over no matter how hard he tries and he did this to Rhodey, he wouldn’t have to fly him out to Columbia Medical if Tony had just - if he’d just -
Rhodey deserves better.
And that’s the thought that makes him lift his arms and claw open the front of the dead armor and twist and turn to push himself out, wincing as each motion hits his bruises and yeah, his ribs are definitely not in the best state but at least the cold will keep the swelling down, right? It has to be good for something.
And of course as soon as he gets upright he sees his shield like some sick joke and -
He almost falls back down right there, just lies down and gives up all over again, but instead he stops with his hands on his knees and laughs and laughs and feels the cold with each inhale.
And god, he almost leaves it there but whatever vestiges of good sense he has left makes him pick it up and - fuck it, maybe he’ll give it to Rhodey as a get well present, maybe he’ll melt down the vibranium for a wheelchair or prosthetics or whatever the doctors say Rhodey needs -
And he’s still laughing - Tony, holding his shield, what a great fucking Stark legacy.
He’s still laughing as he pulls away the remnants of the suit’s communication system because fuck it all, there were lights, there’s a working power system, and if there isn’t he’ll build one because he’s still Iron Man, and he built his first suit in a cave worse than this and he wasn’t there when he became Iron Man so Tony’ll be damned if he lets him stop him from being Iron Man now.
He’s done more impossible things than this to get back to Rhodey before, and he will do more impossible things to get back to him again if he has to.
(Scrounging through the remnants of an old Soviet missile silo doesn’t even crack the top ten, really.)
---
And he does.
He makes the engineering work and he calls Friday and Friday scrambles a quinjet to his location, and she hadn’t called Rhodey even though that was protocol for when his suits vitals went dead like that, because his AI had learned to love Rhodey enough to try and protect him when he needed it.
Friday’s never felt more like family, like a kindred spirit, than right then.
And he makes it just under the wire, and Vision’s made sure the appropriate preparations have been made in Tony’s absence, indirectly, he says, “I thought my presence might - distress Colonel Rhodes,” which Tony is pretty sure is android speak for ‘I’m terrified that he hates me and I think he might be right to do so’.
And, well, he can’t say he’s feeling 100% well-disposed to Vision himself right now, if he ever was, as selfish and uncharitable as that might be, but -
Vision sure feels like a kindred spirit then. Maybe even part of the Stark family.
And so he smiles and gets through it all to get to Rhodey, and he’s there before they put him on the plane, and -
“Hey,” Rhodey says. “You look like shit,” And Tony loves him so damn much that it almost doesn’t feel like his chest is being crushed.
“Yeah,” Tony says, and almost chokes out ‘you should see the other guy’ but his throat is suddenly too dry and tight so he swallows and says, “How are you doing? Any of these guys giving you trouble?”
“Nothing I can’t handle,” Rhodey says, with such suave nonchalance that Tony could almost be 15 again, when James Rhodes was the second-youngest undergrad at MIT and still managed to be the coolest person there. “Seriously, Tony, you look like you need these guys worse than I do.”
And, okay, so his mostly-upright posture is not warding off the concerned glances and the slow creep of doctors in his general direction, but god, he doesn’t need them worse than Rhodey, who they are actually here for, who -
He doesn’t finish that thought.
“Ah, you know how it goes,” He says, “Nothing good ever happens when I’m not with you,” forcing lightness into his voice to belie the truth of it that he feels down to his stomach, down to his bones. “Seriously, Rhodey, don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.”
“Really? ‘Cause it looks like the exact opposite of nothing.” Rhodey says, and irritatingly, at least one of the doctors seems to not be falling in line with the ‘fake it till you make it’ school of Stark Wellness.
“Sir, are you experiencing any chest pain?” She asks, and he’s not quite sure how to respond to that.
(He doesn’t think ‘Oh, only for the past eight years,’ will go over all that well.)
But he lets them sit him down and poke and prod at him because fine, if it’ll give Rhodey some peace of mind, it’s worth it.
And they make it to Columbia Medical. And Tony listens to the doctors with Rhodey, reads the papers and watches the scans come up on the screen and doesn’t look away, does everything he can to keep himself where it needs to be, holding on to Rhodey’s hand, reminding himself to stay here, with him, not spiralling off into his head this is all my fau -
He holds on tighter. Trying to make jokes when Rhodey needs it, squeezing his hand when he doesn’t.
And then they leave them alone in a hospital room, because Rhodey’s family doesn’t get in till the morning (not that a SI jet couldn’t have gotten them here quicker than that, but Rhodey had asked for the day, earlier, before Tony had gotten there, asked for the day before facing his family, and so Vision had scheduled the jet to pick them up in the morning.)
Rhodey breathes, in and out, in and out, and Tony listens for every hitch between the breaths.
“So,” Rhodey starts, “You finally gonna tell me what ‘nothing’ was?”
“It’s -” Tony shakes his head. “It’s not important, Rhodey. This -”
“Tony,” Rhodey says, “Please.”
And, okay, he can recognize evasion, a plea for distraction, when it’s staring him straight in the face.
(And they’re going to have to talk about this sometime. They can’t avoid it forever, but he can - he can give Rhodey some time, just - just after hearing it. Give him some space. And give himself some time to come up with a plan, a proposal, a design for the slickest wheelchair, the newest, best exoskeleton out there, nothing like the worn wheelchair sitting in the corner, casting a shroud of despair. Something to make this less like waking up with a hole in his chest. Rhodey deserves that.)
So he tells him.
“Well, okay, since you said please,” Tony says, then sighs. “I did something really stupid.”
“Okay, well, you’re going to have to be more specific.” Rhodey says, and Tony actually smiles, almost can’t believe it until the smile hits up against the bruise against his eye and then wow, he believes it.
And Tony tells him about a dead body in a Berlin hotel room, about the facial prosthesis and the bomb, about Zemo’s service in the Sokovian military.
Rhodey nods. “He was on the news. I made them turn it on when - while I was waiting. He was on the news with King T’challa. Apparently he’s going to trial in a Wakandan court. No one was willing to fight for extradition.”
And, okay, well, that’s news to him, and a very small part of him wants to start making some Calls, but Rhodey’s looking at him and not down at his legs so he keeps talking.
He tells Rhodey about the Raft.
“They had Wanda in a straightjacket, Rhodey, it was - it was like something straight out of my nightmares.”
Rhodey looks grim. “She made a choice, Tony.”
“She shouldn’t - she shouldn’t have had to make that choice. She should - she should never have been in that position.” And he doesn’t know if he means the disaster in Nigeria or the rubble of her childhood home after a Stark Industries bomb went off.
“Yeah,” Rhodey says, “Yeah, I know.”
“Wilson asked about you.” Tony says. “So that’s - that’s something, I guess.”
Rhodey looks down, and he seems very far away. “His wingman went down. Sam’s, I mean. His name was Riley. Got shot down and - there was nothing he could do. He told me once. When -” Rhodey stops, takes a moment to catch his breath. “He told me. I can’t - watching someone else fall out of the sky like that. I don’t know.”
Tony blinks. “I didn’t know.”
“Yeah, I know.” Rhodey says, gently.
“He - he was the one who told me where -” His throat is very dry. He wonders if there’s a water cooler somewhere around here. “Where they’d gone.” And he almost chokes on his own laughter when he finally puts it together, saying it. “He shouldn’t have. Would have been better if he hadn’t. If I hadn’t been able to follow them. He just.” Tony shakes his head. “He made me promise to go there as a friend, and I swear to you, Rhodey, I thought I was. I really did.”
“Tony,” Rhodey says. “What happened?” And when Tony doesn’t speak, still trying to breathe, in and out, in and out, Rhodey continues. “I swear to god, Tony, Friday wouldn’t tell me anything, she just kept saying you’d been unavoidably delayed, and now you’re here with five broken ribs and god knows what else the doctors won’t tell me -”
“She was supposed to tell you.” Tony says. “It’s the protocol. If the suit - if my vitals go - if there’s ever reason to think I’m - protocol says she’s supposed to contact you first.”
“Tony -”
“She didn’t, though. Apparently she didn’t want you doing something stupid after - well. She made a decision. Kind of a sad day when my AI is better at looking out for you than I am, huh?”
“Tony, what the hell happened? Why did - why did Friday think you were -” Rhodey doesn’t finish the thought. “What the - who was there that - that -”
“No one else was there.” And putting it into words almost makes Tony laugh, it comes out a choked, hacking snort. “No one else was there. There - there were supposed to be five - five other Winter Soldiers, but they were - they were all dead. It was just - Zemo, and he said - god,” Tony puts his head in his hands. “He said he wanted to make us tear ourselves apart. He said it, and I just -” He lets his forehead drop on the edge of the hospital bed. “That’s not how it’s supposed to go, right? You get the bad guy to monologue, reveal his evil plan, then you foil it. You don’t just - you don’t -”
“Tones -” Rhodey says, and Tony feels the weight of Rhodey’s hand on his head, resting in his hair, while he’s still facing the floor, unable to look at him. He doesn’t - he doesn’t understand the gesture, because he doesn’t deserve - he doesn’t deserve this, least of all from Rhodey, who he’s trying to - he’s trying to -
He’s trying to do better. He has to - he has to be honest. He has to keep talking.
“I should have just shot out the TV screen.” He mumbles into the bed. “Cheap TV. Probably Soviet made. One repulsor blast would have done for it. Easy. Should have just. Shot it out. Then - then I wouldn’t -”
“Tony.”
“Barnes killed my mom.” Tony says, forces it out, and his voice sounds flat and hollow even to himself. “He - he killed my parents. It was right there on the screen. It was real. It was real.” He huffs out a low, dull hah. “He knew. And I - and I -”
Even now, only a few hours distant, it feels unreal. Trying to remember what the anger felt like, now that it’s drained away, now that he’s sitting with his head on Rhodey’s hospital bed and Rhodey’s hand in his hair, it feels fake. He feels - hollow, and he wonders if this is how Bruce usually feels. After.
“Barnes did this.” Rhodey says, flatly, voice barely controlled, and he’s not talking about something that happened decades ago, he’s talking about five broken ribs, and -
Tony shakes his head.
He can feel Rhodey’s hand go stiff and still in an instant. Process of elimination, really. Three people in an ex-Soviet missile silo, and it wasn’t Barnes.
“Tony.” Rhodey says, anger and disbelief clouding his name.
And he takes Tony’s silence as confirmation, because the next thing Rhodey says is: “I’m going to kill him.”
And the cold rage in Rhodey’s voice - it’s not all for him, he knows that. Anger’s one of the five stages of grief, he’s heard - he’s lost track of how many times, and if Rhodey has to be angry at him before he’s angry at Tony, if that’s easier for Rhodey, that’s - well, it’s selfish, but he’ll take it.
“His shield’s in the Quinjet. If you want it.” And he can almost feel Rhodey staring at him. “Woulda matched better with the old Iron Patriot armor, but -”
“Tony -” He says, and his name is packed with disbelief.
“It’s my fault. No, really. It is. And even - even if - ” if it wasn’t He stutters at the thought, because that’s not true, not even a possibility worth considering. He shakes his head. “I should have known - I should have known better. It’s like I said,” And he looks up, and tries to smile. “Nothing good ever happens when I leave you,”
“Tones,”
“I left you in - in Afghanistan, and I - well we all know how that turned out. I tried to - to make you - to leave because of this,” and he gestures at the place where the arc reactor used to be, “And then - New York, and Tennessee, and - I leave this time and, well, you think I’d have learned by now. But,” He says, and this is the part he’s sure of, this is the part he knows. “That doesn’t matter. I - I know what’s important. I mean, really know. Not that I didn’t. Before, I mean. Know that you were important, but -”
“Tony, Rhodey says, and Tony’s rambling, he’s lost the thread.
He sighs, let’s his forehead rest in his hand. “I just -” he starts, “Nothing good ever happens when I leave you.”
“Hey,” Rhodey says, with a gentleness that Tony has never, ever deserved. “The offer to ride with me is still open.”
“Yeah. Yeah. I think I’ll take you up on that.” Tony lets out a deep breath, leans his head down on the hospital bed. “Maybe forever. How’s forever sound?”
Rhodey huffs. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep. Especially,” He adds, frowning down at his legs, “Not because of this.”
“I’m not -” And Tony pushes himself upright in quick scrambling motions. “I swear to god, Rhodey, I’m not. And I know that this looks like I’m just - guilty and making a gesture or - whatever’s gone wrong in my head this week but I swear to god Rhodey, I’m not. I mean it. Nothing good ever happens when I leave you. And I know that I’m a mess and I know that I keep letting you down but you’re still here. And I don’t know why ‘cause I don’t deserve you but you’re like, the only one who’s still here and you deserve better - and - I mean - you don’t deserve better just because you’re still here, that’s not what I - you deserve better because you’re you. You’re Rhodey, and you’re a genius and you’re honest and brave and hardworking and - Rhodey, you’re the best person I know, and - what I’m trying to say, very badly, is - if you need me, I’m here. I’m not - I’m not going anywhere, unless you want me to and honestly I would totally understand if you do and you shouldn’t feel like -”
“Tony,” Rhodey says, but he’s smiling a little so the world hasn’t ended, Tony hasn’t broken it, “You’re gonna scare the doctors if you go blue in the face in here.”
“Yeah.” Tony says, reminded that the rest of the hospital exists, his head darting back and forth as he looks around. “Yeah, okay, right.”
“And - “ Rhodey adds, “Yeah, I think I could stand to have your dumb ass around a little more. We can both ride in the Funvee, yeah?”
“Yeah,” He says, breathing out in a long sigh. “You know that’s what I’m naming your wheelchair now, right? It’s now the Funvee. Until we make Funvee mark 2, that is.”
“We are adding some actual hardware to the thing, right? I mean, the mark 2 needs a full overhaul in terms of firepower.”
“Mmm, I’m thinking more about the fact that I’m going to be riding in your lap.”
“Tony,” Rhodey says, but he’s still smiling and the world hasn’t ended, and if Tony has to haul himself out of a frozen former-Soviet missile silo every day for the rest of his life to see that smile it’ll be more than worth it.