#ironbones

Natasha unknowingly sets Tony up on a blind date with Brock Rumlow.

A drawing part of a delusion during a discussion ~

Well have a lame doodle…. that I added color to so itd be somewhat decipherable. LMAO

May as well allow Rumlow a little forgiveness… I mean I guess… Hes certainly not the worst villain anyhow.

Brock hadn’t always made the best life choices. He was well-aware of that. That didn’t mean he wasn’t very sure--as sure as he was about little else in the world--that he didn’t deserve this.

Not that anyone else seemed to care. 

Of course he couldn’t blame them, considering they had no idea what was going on but still. If they did, they certainly wouldn’t care any more. Except how they could use it to their advantage. And there would be advantages. Having the soulmate of a Stark to barter with made for one hell of an attractive offer.

Brock gritted his teeth as he tried to recall all the reasons why passing out in the middle of a dirty SHIELD base was a monumentally stupid idea.

Watching the results of your soulmate getting blown up on TV was bad. Knowing your soulmate survived with a ripped open chest because you could feel said ripped open chest and stubbornly refusing to die? That was worse.

Brock was drenched in cold sweat and shaking by the time he’d finally reached an empty storage room where he could safely lock himself away.

One thing was for sure, he’d pay the Ten Rings every ounce of pain he felt back. Tenfold. And once he’d gotten his fucking soulmate back, he was going to kill Stark. Slowly.

Another wave of pain hit Brock--damn, consciousness was a bitch--and he had to bite into his arm to keep from screaming out loud. No attention, he tried to remember desperately. He couldn’t afford it.

That was the problem with soulmates: you always had them, from the beginning of your creation, but you didn’t always know it. The realisation came at some point through your life, in some cases sooner, in others later. It always came though. And sometimes that meant finding yourself at twenty-five, neck-deep in a secret government organisation that desperately wanted to get its hands on your soulmate.

And you cared. You always cared. Brock hated it--but he was no exception. When all his training demanded he reveal his tie to Stark, use it to their advantage, his entire being had rebelled the mere suggestion. He hadn’t been able to get the words out, not even an implication. It was only logical--and completely unthinkable.

Another wave of pain, this one so intense that for one long, terrible moment Brock couldn’t hear, couldn’t see, couldn’t even remember how to be.

It was too much and Brock knew it. Could feel consciousness slipping from his grasp and yet. He couldn’t stop. Had to take more, more of the pain, more of the haze and fear and desperation. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t pull back, could only open himself up even more.