Here is Chapter Five! I meant to have this posted earlier today, but since we now only have one computer in the house (mine) it's hard to steal it for a few hours to crank out a chapter. Enjoy!

Title: Corpse Flower

Rating: M

Summary: My mind is a dark place, an endless abyss filled with horrors that no sane person could ever dream of. Everything I care about is gone, and I am constantly on the run as I struggle to control my demons. But my dark past is rapidly catching up with me, and my sanity continues to slip by the day. It hasn't helped that I'm now stuck with a bunch of egotistical superhumans, either. I just hope I don't end up killing them, too.

Warnings: Schizophrenia/Mental Health Issues, Cannibalism, Extreme Gore, Masochism, Sadism, Torture, Graphic Descriptions of Illness, Graphic Descriptions of Corpses, Slight Necrophilia, Hallucinations/Delusions, Unreliable Narrator

Author Notes: Heed the warnings, as always.

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He knew the reason the darkness terrified him. The shadows who would normally serve him betrayed him because they served the beast within him. Once he came to realize that—yes, realize it all you want, my dear little insect—then that time would be when they served him and him only.

He moaned and tilted his head back, running trembling hands over his pallid, sweat-slicked face. He had to focus. Focusing was the key to waking up from this nightmare.

Oh, maybe you really have grown up. You've become such a wonderful young man.

He scoffed, a shaky grin appearing on scarred, bloody lips. Grown up? Me? Killing people does change a person, you now.

It also makes you stronger. Your resolve is strengthening and so is your hunger.

The young man rocked on his feet, hatred boiling up in his throat. Hatred for the thing he was destined to become, an acidic resentment for the beast scratching at the surface from deep within him.

I am not hungry I am not hungry I am not hungry

Liar liar liar

Don't deny anything—you know you can't fight it.

The young man groaned loudly, a sound displaying deeply hidden pleasure and agonizing fury. His skin was trembling and standing on edge—writhing over his bones and screaming in fury, declaring his ecstatic pain to the world—and his deepest and darkest desires, the ones he hid in the recesses of his mind, came out to play with his already twisted reality.

Shaking his head roughly, he braced his weight against the nearest wall as his body swayed. Sweat gleamed on his skin and he gasped for breath, attempting to get his resistant body under control before deciding to go out into the wretched, broken human world.

Breathe and calm down. Just breathe and relax.

Can't hurt you, can't hurt you. They can't hurt you.

Letting out a trembling breath, he dug sharpened teeth into his hand, moaning at the explosion of corrupted iron in his mouth. It wasn't nearly enough, but the taste of blood was just enough—he was tricking himself; nothing could calm the roaring beast within him—to sate his raging appetite.

Blood on the walls, blood on my hands. Blood on my tongue.

Blood in my soul.

Tony Stark could feel the watching him out of the corner of his eyes, forcing his breathing to remain even and steady.

Daniel was becoming increasingly volatile, switching back and forth between a terrified, childlike visage to the brutal, murderous beast merely wearing his skin.

"Stop staring at me."

The scientist was torn from his thoughts as the dark, monotonous voice of the boy sounded, increasing the pure coldness of the room. There was the faint rustling of something rough and papery—deep inside, Tony had an idea of what it could be, but he chose not to dwell on that realization—as the ailing male shifted his weight into another seemingly more comfortable position.

"There's not exactly anything else to look at in here. I didn't know I was looking at you."

"Liar. You're—that's not true. You're lying to me."

Sensing the rising agitation in his opponent's voice, Stark raised his hands in surrender to show that he meant no harm. "My eyes aren't like yours. I can't see as well as you can in the dark, okay?"

The boy whimpered and let out a heavy, trembling breath. "O-Okay. I—ah, d-don't—I didn't know—I can't remember things clearly anymore."

"That's completely fine. You don't have to explain yourself to me."

"You mean right now?"

"Yes, right now."

The young man shifted again, moaning and muttering foreign words to himself. "What about later?"

Tony shook his head, rubbing the back of his hand over his eyes. "That's up to you."

"Why...why are you trying to help me?"

The scientist hesitated, his heart skipping a beat for a brief moment as the dreaded question came to light. "You're broken, and I want to fix you. It's as simple as that."

"Why?"

Tony shifted in agitation, pressing his lips together and feeling an ache rise in the back of his head. "Daniel, I—"

"Don't lie to me. We need to know why you're doing this."

Those words caused a spark of interest and something like caution to appear, and the inventor tilted his head to the side. "Why do you refer to yourself as we?"

"I—" Daniel cut off and moaned suddenly. In response, the temperature of the room decreased dramatically and the scientist's teeth began to chatter.

Stark's eyes widened and he fought the urge to bolt to his feet. "Daniel, what's wrong? What are you doing?"

"He—mmm, he doesn't like you...he d-doesn't like you..." The lights—which Tony had assumed were dead—flickered for but a brief moment, and he caught a glimpse of the pale, raven-haired boy whose capture was one of SHIELD's top priorities. He was curled up in the furthest corner of the room, his legs drawn up to his chest and his long, scarred arms wrapped around his knees. Through unkempt bangs, two burning blood-red eyes pierced the scientist's soul, causing dread to race down his spine.

He's losing control and you can't do a thing to stop him.

His hands twitched and he felt the armor become a dead, heavy weight against his body. Whatever unnatural cold that followed the demon-like child was hindering his movements, and even though he knew that Daniel had torn through the reinforced metal like scissors through paper, the armor was his best defense against the supernatural strength his opponent possessed.

Through the open window, the cold wind whistled and the molded brick walls of the motel building groaned in protest.

"Daniel, I already told you why I'm here. I want to help you."

"You can't help me. I-I'm broken. I'm damaged goods...n-nothing but t-trash—"

Fury boiling in his veins, the older man stood his ground and glared at the spot where he had last seen the boy. "No, you are not! I know about the accident, Daniel, and I know what happened in Amity Park! That was not your fault, and by God, don't you try to convince me otherwise." Gathering up his fading courage, Tony Stark stood and straightened to his full height and moved closer to his supposed enemy. "I am not leaving here until I hear your side of the story, and I am not changing my mind!"

"Liar! You don't want to know anything! You'll mock me a-and laugh at me and—?"

The room was filled with silence, and the bitter coldness of the air dissipated.

The boy took a shuddering breath and trembled in the frost-glazed metal arms embracing him. An all too familiar acid fire burned in his throat and eyes and he swayed on his feet, tears of unspoken pain trailing over his lifeless skin.

Tony grimaced and pressed the younger male close to his armored chest, the hair standing up on the back of his neck as he fought the basic instinct to either get away from or to incapacitate the vulnerable beast in front of him. Ignoring that side of his conscience, he hesitantly placed a hand on the back of the trembling child's back.

Daniel tensed at the action but did nothing to break free.

Something in Tony's heart cracked as violent, shuddering sobs echoed within the darkened silence of the room, and he tilted his head back and shut his eyes, wordlessly comforting the boy who lived through hell on earth and was trapped in eternal suffering.

There is something that you should know about me. You may or may not already know it, depending on who you are, but I am going to tell this story regardless. I will tell my story, and you have no choice but to listen.

I have done some horrific things in my lifetime. That I cannot deny. But I have justifications, and even if you don't believe them, I do—and that is what counts in this crazy, twisted world.

Understand this. I am not like an ordinary human. I am not an ordinary creature and I have never been. I have my madness, my sickness that plagues me wherever I go and spoils and rots the very earth I step on. I live in another world, another dimension, and I do not have the time for things that have no soul.

You don't know me. You don't know what I'm capable of. You don't know what I've done. My physical nature is wild and divinely obtained, and I have the blood of the victims of the eternal cosmos boiling through my veins. My world is a mess and I lost myself in the wonderland of insanity that nipped at my heels.

I am an outcast, one of the broken ones; but today I belong.

I am not one of you, nor will I ever be.

I have killed many. Oh, so many. I regret only a select few, but the others—oh, how I took a sincere, deeply felt pleasure in them. I knew I had the power to make them beg and whine like the worms they were, and I did it. I held their lives in the hands of the mighty and had reveled in their pathetic, tortured screams.

That is one the reasons they are all terrified of me. I hold the power of a magnificent empire in my hands, and they know nothing about it and cannot fight it or myself.

Oh, but you have no idea how messed up I am.

And this is only the beginning.

Clint Barton strolled down the darkened hallway. Humming a quiet tune he had learned while staying at a little pub in the backwater ends of Moscow, he moved without a sound towards the open docking bay.

He was in the mood to look at the clouds today.

Nothing too drastic or counterintuitive—he just really needed the peace and quiet.

Coulson had approached him a few days ago with a thick manila file in his hands, instructing him—though it could be seen as an order—to read over it and get back to him on it.

All in all, it had been pretty disturbing.

Despite the fact that he was a former assassin turned government agent, there were certain things in the file that sent a shudder through his bones. Things that ranged from dismemberment to exsanguination to cannibalism—all things that no human would be capable of.

The clouds strolled lazily across the expanse of the sky, wisps of white flashing across a clear blue blanket.

Freedom personified. Mocking him while he was trapped within a floating metal cage.

"Barton."

The archer pressed his lips together, arching his back and stretching in the warmth of the sun.

"Have you made your decision?"

Restraining the urge to make an irritated noise, the man turned over on his side and shut his eyes. Warmth and air and wind, all flowing over his marred skin.

"I'm trying to relax."

He was a bird—a falcon, a hawk, a bird of prey—with clipped, bloody stumps for wings. A bird denied the blissful feeling of the wind on his feathers and the freedom of soaring high above the rest of the world.

"We need an answer."

With a sigh, the archer slowly sat up and fixed his gaze on the intruder. "You're all so rude. I'm just trying to take a little nap here."

"An answer. Now."

The clouds seemed to gaze down on him, and the sun burned down on the strange world beneath it.

"Fine. I'll help you look for the kid."

Maria Hill nodded with something like a grim smirk curling back her thin lips. "Good. Then you can come with me."

"Huh? I can't finish my nap?"

"You never even started your nap." She stopped and glanced over her shoulder, and exhausted irritation clear in her dark eyes. "Now, are you coming or not? We don't have all day."

Barton shrugged and grabbed his quiver and bow, pressing his lips together in a wry smirk. "You've got a point there."

... ... ...

His skin prickled as they made their way down a cold, dimly lit hallway. Narrowing cold blue eyes, the archer took in his surroundings with the caution and alertness he was known for. "Where are we going?"

Maria glanced over her shoulder, seemingly unaffected by the cold and the darkness. "You'll have to wait and see, Barton."

"Hmm." The archer's eyes were darting around the hall, taking in as much as he could and committing what he saw to memory for future reference.

"You'll be back here soon enough. There's no need for that photographic memory of yours."

The man frowned and ran his hands over his exposed arms. "I don't have a photographic memory."

He could all but feel her smirk through the few feet of space between them. "You might as well."

The archer frowned and trailed his hand over the cool metal wall, his callused fingers dipping into the many crevices and cracks. He watched as the woman before him came to a stop near a large reinforced metal door, entering a pin number into the keypad. Barton noticed that the door had no handle, and the keypad seemed to be the only way in the room.

Now his full curiosity was peaked. What exactly was in this room? Why did they have to keep it in the darkest, coldest part of the Helicarrier?

"Have you eaten lunch already, Barton?"

The blue-eyed man's frown deepened as he tilted his head to the side. "What exactly is in there, Maria?"

At that moment, the door hissed open and a rush of icy air filled the hallway. The woman's face was bathed in cold white light as she turned to the special agent.

"Well? You'll have to come in here and see for yourself."

Casting her a dark glance, he pushed past her and stepped into the room. Almost immediately, his skin tingled and crawled over his bones, and the hair at the nape of his neck stood on end.

Spread out on the table before him was the remnants of a female human corpse. Most of the limbs were hanging on by strips of skin and bone and tendons, and the pungent aroma of decaying flesh and bodily fluids permeated the air heavily. With narrowed eyes, Barton slowly approached the body, examining every detail with a critical glance. From what he could tell, her skull had been crushed in what seemed like a fit of rage. Bits of bone and skin hung on to her severely emaciated frame and the odor that was emanating from her body was almost enough to send him reeling.

Scowling and pressing a hand over his mouth and nose, the archer turned to the woman and sent a scathing glare towards her.

Maria's expression was as grave as ever as she stared at the woman's remains on the table. "What you see here is the handiwork of the kid you were talking about earlier."

"Who is this?"

Maria sighed and moved past the disgusted man, standing at the head of the examination table. "She was a top agent in black operations. Her last mission was to watch our target's movements. He caught her and this is what he did to her while under a constricted time frame."

"He was pressed for time and managed to do this."

Shadows flickered over her pale, light-bleached face as she met his gaze. "Exactly."

Clint tilted his head and peered at the gaping, festering hole in the woman's chest. "Where is her heart?"

"It was the only thing that wasn't present at the scene."

"I'm assuming he ate it."

She let out a tense breath through her nose. "That wouldn't be far from any other things we've guessed."

Clint sniffed and grimaced at the smell as he ran a hand through his hair. "You showed me this because you want me to avenge her."

Maria's eye twitched and she stared down at her former fellow agent. "Is it working?"

Barton's frown seemed carved into his face as he shook his head once. "No. I never knew her and I don't intend to carry out your grudges. But I'll be sure to get answers out of the kid."

"He isn't a kid."

"From what the file said, he's only seventeen and that's a kid in my book," the archer muttered, turning and heading into the hall. He stopped for a brief moment, turning his head to stare at her over his shoulder. "Even though you don't believe he's human, I'm not judging anything until I get all of the facts."

With that, he turned and vanished down the hall.

He glanced down at his watch, feeling the urge to tap his foot in impatience.

"I'm not going to ask again, Jarvis."

"My sincerest apologies, sir, but I am under the strictest of orders."

The man's hands twitched, and he felt the corner of his lip curl down slightly in something like a frown. "You want to make me use my gun, don't you."

"That was not a question, Agent Coulson. Additionally, any damage done to the building will be charged directly to you."

"I'm getting impatient." He was pressed for time and had some more concerning manners at hand. But first, he had to find Tony Stark.

"I do not have the pleasure of experiencing impatience. Would you kindly care to explain?"

"You are in charge of the home Tony Stark lives in. Impatient is his second nature."

"Please vacate the premises, sir."

"Or what?"

"I have the ability to forcibly make you leave."

Coulson had to think for a minute about the fact that a computer was threatening to shoot him. "And I have the ability to electronically dismantle you, so I won't ask again."

"I am not at discretion to advise anyone where Mr. Stark is."

Resisting the urge to sigh, the government agent glanced away and then looked back at his watch. "I'm not wasting any more time here, Jarvis. Our intel says Tony left sometime around early evening on Wednesday. In case you haven't noticed, it is Thursday evening."

"I am well aware of the time, Agent Coulson."

"Did Tony find out where the subject was staying?"

There was a faint whir and Coulson could have sworn there were eyes on him. "I do not comprehend your question."

"Is Tony Stark with our current subject of interest, Daniel James Fenton?"

"Answering your question would be against my instructions, and I am advised not to tell anyone information about Mr. Stark's whereabouts."

With that, there was another whir—louder this time—and then it was silent.

Coulson stared up at the camera he had been addressing, his eye twitching slightly in his faintly unrestrained irritation.

Did a computer just hang up on me?

They didn't need to control me.

What they wanted was to unleash me.

They were all fools, the idiotic lot of them. They were attempting to harness a power they barely understood.

They had the gall to call me a traitor when they betrayed their own species. They committed the horrible taboo, experimenting on a "human child." I should have laughed in their faces and spit my blood and saliva at them. I should have crushed their bones and tore their flesh from their bodies strip after strip.

Instead, I just watched them carve open my body to see what made me tick.

The unbridled hatred in my bones continued to grow and fester, even to this day. They thought they could control me, of all things. The very monster they feared and wanted to destroy. My power continues to be a force they cannot and will not ever understand. Even if they wanted to control me again, they would have to find me first.

What I had done the last time they had captured me didn't help my situation, either.

The two agents that had been assigned to watch me during my time in that dreaded cell had finally gone too far. Over and over and over again, I had been victim to method after method of interrogation, from electrocution to bleeding to peeling off my skin strip by strip. They had pushed the beast too far, and it had ended in their destruction.

It always seemed to end with that. No matter where I went, there was always something or someone that managed to send me tumbling off of the cliff of my sound reasoning and control. In all honesty, it was rather troublesome, but once I let the beast take over, the pain in my heart slowly ebbed away.

It's still there, though. The pain, that is. My heart aches and boils and roars at me, begging for the fulfillment of its deepest and darkest desires. It could range from minimal and nagging, like the voice at the back of your mind that told you what was right and what was wrong, or it could be as gruesome and brutal as the times I tore screaming humans and victims apart limb from limb. In actuality, the monster within my soul was nothing but the embodiment of what I was underneath the protection of my frail, embittered human body.

Humans are so fragile, don't you know? It only takes the slightest push to break them, to make them crumble beneath your hands like the damp sand at the bottom of a beach's land or the oldest of papers, dried into nothing but a husk of their former selves underneath the unrelenting hand of time.

It was my job to explore just what made humans tick. I had to know. It was some strange, deeply buried desire that burned within the darkened depths of my soul as my curiosity took hold on my mind. I just had to know why they were so fragile, so tender and emotional. I couldn't seem to understand it anymore. Yes, I had been human, but that was a long, long time ago, and I can't seem to remember what it actually means to be human. I have to guess and act most of the time—the presence of those who had been my friends and family helped in the long run, too.

No. I mustn't think of them. I can't think of them.

it's all your fault, demon

monster

abomination

No. That's not what I am. I am—was—I am okay. I will—never be—okay.

Remember when I said that this was only the beginning? Well, what happens next is nothing short of amusing. At least, to me. I find it all very amusing, yet sickening. But I know you. You'll rear back in horror and disgust and wonder how something that used to be human could amount to doing such things.

I'm here to tell you that I am not the monster.

You are.

Tony watched the young man drift into a fitful, uncomfortable sleep, feeling the iciness of his body through the broken metal of the suit. Frost coated his beard and moustache, and he dimly realized that he was shivering rather violently even with his armor covering the rest of his body.

The boy moaned, trembling in his sleep as he shifted in his captor's arms. A faint breath escaped his mouth, a cloud of ice and moisture that appeared with a sort of mesmerizing and authoritative stance. Stark watched the tiny crystals rise and fade away in the air, blinking heavily as the embrace of exhaustion tried to overcome him. With a grimace, he glanced down at the boy and observed him carefully, keeping his motions to a minimum in an attempt to be as attentive and non-distracting as possible. Despite appearances, the ever-present shudders of fear and agitation still plagued his mind, digging their sharpened, venomous talons firmly on his sense of reality. He had to stay calm, regardless of the fact that a monster who had committed numerous atrocities was currently spread out asleep in his arms.

Daniel Fenton took in a shuddering breath, a frown appearing on pale, bloodless lips. Tony felt the sudden urge to touch the boy's skin, to try and gather some of that warmth that just had to be buried deep within him somewhere. Based on the SHIELD file, they were unable to determine Daniel's species—if anything, he had once been a human, but it was difficult to find out what he was exactly. An alien, maybe, but there would have been some sort of commotion that would've arose with his arrival to Earth. The only true possibilty—or the one that made the most sense—was that Daniel had gained his powers in some way, and somewhere along the path of life he had fallen into the darkest parts of his mind and had given into his desires.

"Sir."

Not now. I can't do this right now.

Seeming to pick up on his thoughts, the artificial intelligence continued on—droned, really—in a tone that was as bland as ever. "Agent Coulson came by the tower today. SHIELD has seemed to have found out the reason behind your prolonged absence."

Tony inhaled deeply and let out his breath slowly, watching the long dark hair draped over the boy's face flutter in the makeshift wind. When he spoke, it was in a whisper so quiet it was almost nonexistent. "Where are they now?"

Daniel moaned, tossing his head to the side and trembling visibly. The frozen clouds of his breath rippled and stretched out in the dark, cool air, sending another shudder down the older man's spine as he awaited the response of his computerized companion.

"Currently nowhere. I have taken the liberty of masking you and Mr. Fenton's presence, but should the boy become agitated, my technological capabilities will be dramatically lessened."

"I know. I'll keep an eye on him."

Seeming to react to the fact that he was being talked about, the young man shifted again and wrapped his arms tighter around his torso. Tony frowned as his gaze focused on the thick, dark scars riddling the pale skin, the unnatural length of his extremities and the way his skin seemed stretched tight over his bone and what remained of his muscle.

He couldn't begin to imagine what it was like to live how the boy did, looking over his shoulder every moment of the day and fearing the monsters that came from the very flesh and bone of his own mind.

With a sigh, the scientist shut his eyes and attempted to relax his body. He had to be somewhat rested for the upcoming dawn of the new day. That is, if he wanted—truly, absolutely wanted—to help the child currently asleep in his arms.

"Sir, there is someone approaching the motel. From my scans, they are carrying a rather impressive arsenal of weapons."

Crap. Stark glanced down at the raven-haired teenager, stamping down the urge to tremble in agitation. He couldn't move, not if he wanted to keep the boy asleep. While he had read about the horrific crimes Daniel had committed over the past few years, he had never seen them in action—that is, aside from the so-called cannibalism—and Tony had every intention of keeping it that way.

A knock on the door startled the scientist out of his exhaustion-riddled daydreaming. Sweat trickling down his skin, he pressed his lips together and kept his gaze locked onto the motel room door.

"Room service, please. I've come to change your towels and sheets."

Frowning deeply, Tony thought back to when he had first arrived. Yes, the secretary at the desk had practically ordered him to bring back a court-issued warrant, but the scientist had decided to come back after lights out to do a little surveillance. After a quick search through the computer databases, he had found the room Daniel had checked into and had quietly crept along the darkened, mothball-scented hallways.

He knew he had been lucky when he had found out that Daniel wasn't in his room.

But one thing Tony knew for sure—he had hung the do not disturb sign on the door handle. Usually, room service looked out for those sort of things. So why was this employee blatantly disregarding their obvious invasion of privacy?

He tensed as the sound of the doorknob rattling echoed sharply throughout the room. Daniel continued on in his agitated slumber, seemingly ignorant of what was transpiring around him.

"Room service. I've come to change your sheets and towels."

Sheets and towels?

There was a flash of heat and light, and then the door was shattered into pieces. Stark's eyes widened as he moved to shield the boy from the flying pieces of splintering wood, groaning as his earlier wounds were aggravated by the sudden harsh motion.

"Found me out, huh? Guess I'm not the agent I'm all cracked up to be."

Standing in what remained of the doorway was none other than Clint Barton, otherwise known as Hawkeye. His face was set into a dark, grim expression but the corner of his lips were turned up into a twisted smirk as he took in the scene before him.

"Tamed the little monster, did you? That's too bad; I wanted that job."

Stark frowned deeply, turning his head to glare at the black-and-red clad man. "Why are you here, Clint?"

The man laughed, tilting his head to the side. "Would you believe me if I told you?"

"Don't tell me you're a jockey-for-hire again."

Barton's smirk morphed into a deeply-carved scowl as his gloved hands tightened on the material of his bow. "I'm far from a jockey, Stark."

Tony's body tensed and his eyes narrowed as the boy trembled beneath him. "What do you want?"

"What do I want?" the archer murmured, narrowing his eyes to slits. "What I really want is a damn nap. But I'm otherwise preoccupied."

Moving almost too fast for the eye to see, Barton pulled an arrow from his quiver and aimed it at the two.

"I'm here to find out just what exactly that boy is. And once I do, I'm either gonna arrest that kid or paint the walls with his blood."

He grinned widely, an action that had the hairs on the back of Tony's neck standing on end.

"And you're in my way, Stark."

There may be a little confusion with the timeline, so I'll clear that up. Tony went to the motel (by himself, when he bribed the secretary with the hundred-dollar bill) a week before he came back and had his encounter with Danny. Following that, he was in the motel room with Danny for about an entire day before Clint caught up with him and barged into the room.

Since Clint's a spy/assassin, it'd be safe to assume that he managed to track and find Tony without him noticing. That'll be explained next.

If you see any errors, feel free to point them out. I still tend to miss a few.

Thanks to all those who support this story! I'd list all of you out, but that's kind of a lot to type.

Review, review, review!