"I'm sorry, I don't quite understand what you're saying, Stark. Bucky died seventy years ago. What do you mean when you say you killed him?"
In a certain neighborhood in Brooklyn, inside an underground gym with poor lighting and walls so old the bricks were exposed, Tony found Captain America, who was training shirtless, and confessed the truth about Bucky's death and the reason behind it.
Steve frowned deeply, thinking Stark was messing with him.
To be honest, he knew a bit about the experiences of the man before him—the son of his old superior and friend.
And he knew Tony could be flippant at times.
But he never imagined he'd joke about something like this.
"You think I'm joking?" Tony shook his head. "Well, yeah, you should think that. This does sound ridiculous. Dead and then alive, then dead again… God, it really does sound like the sickest joke… But I'm serious."
Tony paced a few steps, avoiding Steve's gaze.
"Bucky didn't die. He was frozen by HYDRA. He's been alive this whole time. You know HYDRA revived itself within the Strategic Scientific Reserve, which later became S.H.I.E.L.D."
"And Bucky… was one of them," Tony said.
"That's impossible. No matter how much Bucky was tortured, he would never join HYDRA!" Steve glared hard at Tony.
"Of course. You're right. He didn't join willingly—he was brainwashed. Look at this." Tony tossed a thumb-sized projection "phone" to Steve.
It was a small, crystal-like, square device—the latest smart gadget launched by Stark Electronics.
In Steve's hand, it projected a semi-transparent holographic screen.
One after another, documents related to the Winter Soldier and HYDRA popped up on the display.
The moment Steve glanced at them, his expression grew heavy.
He quickly scrolled through all the information.
The files detailed how Bucky was recovered by HYDRA—then healed, modified, brainwashed, and frozen.
And finally thawed whenever they needed him to carry out assassination missions.
Steve even saw Howard Stark's name on the mission list.
His rapidly swiping fingers froze midair.
His eyes landed on one particular line: "December 26, 1991—assassinate Howard Stark and his wife. Adopted son, Lyon Stark, survived."
A few seconds later, Steve took a deep breath. "This is all… real?"
"The truth doesn't lie." Tony stopped pacing.
"He killed Howard." Steve fell into silence.
"That's right."
"I'm… I'm sorry, Stark.. I'm sorry, Tony."
"No need. He already paid the price. He died… by my hand." Tony's eyes drifted toward the wall.
Steve opened his mouth, but didn't know what to say.
In truth, he didn't even know what he was feeling right now.
His mind was a mess.
Bucky hadn't died beneath that icy cliff. He was alive. But first, he was controlled by HYDRA, killed Howard… and then died at Tony's hands.
The flood of revelations came too quickly.
So quickly that Steve couldn't even process it.
He hadn't had time to be happy about Bucky surviving before learning that Bucky was already dead.
And honestly, it was hard to grieve over Bucky's death again. Because in his heart, Bucky had already been dead for a very long time.
Just a few days ago, he had even visited the places where they grew up together to mourn him.
As far as Steve was concerned, Bucky had been left behind seventy years ago beneath that frozen cliff—forever frozen in those decades of memories he could never catch up to.
So even after learning the real truth now…
But to him at this moment, this news was like a gutted fish suddenly twitching as it hit the frying pan.
Aside from that brief jolt of shock, it didn't stir anything beyond a lingering sense of regret.
After all, he hadn't even had time to feel the joy or excitement of learning that Bucky had survived—before immediately being told that Bucky was actually dead...
Steve stood silently for a long while.
At last, he let out a long sigh.
"When you killed him... was he still under control? Did he... leave any last words?" he asked in a low voice.
"At that time... he wasn't any different from the other HYDRA soldiers." Tony didn't answer him directly.
Steve lowered his gaze and nodded. "I understand... You should go, Tony. Please... let me be alone for a while."
Tony waited a few seconds, then spread his hands. "That's it? Nothing else?"
"What else do you expect?!" Steve frowned in confusion.
Honestly, his mood was terrible. He just wanted to be alone.
Anyone would feel the same—learning that their childhood best friend survived the war, only to then find out that friend killed another dear friend, and was subsequently killed in revenge by that friend's son... there was no way to feel okay about that.
In his heart, he probably did harbor some blame toward Tony.
Blame that he would kill Bucky—someone who had only been a victim, controlled by others. But this kind of thinking was merely an emotional response—not truly Steve's belief.
He wasn't actually angry with Tony.
It was more like... how could the world be this messed up?
And somehow, all this messed-up nonsense just had to fall on him.
Anyone would be in a terrible mood feeling this level of absolute misfortune.
But Tony clearly didn't pick up on that.
He had mentally prepared for the worst before coming here, expecting to be punched straight in the face, followed by a brawl.
So without realizing it, he started running his mouth.
"Sorry, I just thought... you'd be heartbroken enough to cry. I mean, you guys are both relics from that era—frozen popsicles. You must have a lot of... attachment, and then I..."
"Wait, what did you just say?" Steve frowned again, his bad mood quickly flaring.
"That word just now—popsicle?" He strode up to Tony and glared at him. "You should show a little respect for your father's friends. Especially those who are dead, Junior Stark."
Steve's intention was simply to remind Tony that he was a friend of his father's—and that he should overlook the disrespect just now.
But unfortunately, that sentence landed right on Tony's sore spot.
Tony sneered coldly and tilted his head. "Junior Stark? Are you saying that makes you... my uncle?"
His simmering resentment toward Captain America—the man his father had always idolized—was no longer hidden at all.
"How interesting. A fossil frozen for half a century can't keep up with the times but still wants to play big brother."
Tony jabbed his finger into Steve's chest. "Let's clarify something—pop quiz. Did my father even know he was your friend? A friend who slept for seventy years and never cared to ask about him even once after waking up?"
Steve glared coldly at Tony. "I looked into Howard's records when I caught up on modern history. I was under the impression he died in a car accident. If your plan is to piss me off just by flapping your mouth, congratulations—you succeeded, Stark."
"And one more thing—if you don't move that finger away from my chest, we're going to have a very different kind of conversation."
"Oh? Is that so?" Tony let out a deliberately exaggerated laugh.
"'A very different kind of conversation~'."
He mockingly mimicked Steve's tone, then opened his arms. "I knew this was coming. Well then—what are we waiting for? If you want to fight, let's start now!"
Steve grit his teeth, his lips curling. "Fine. You asked for it!"
Without warning, he swung a fist that smashed squarely into Tony's jaw, followed immediately by another punch to the gut that made Tony double over.
Looking down at him, Steve growled, "You are nothing compared to your brother. His company uses the income from my entire IP to aid war refugees. But you? You're just a weapons dealer!"
Most of what Steve knew about Tony still came from the internet and various public sources.
"America's largest arms dealer six months ago," "playboy," "turned philanthropist Iron Man."
That last title didn't weigh heavily enough to offset the bias planted in Steve's mind from Tony's history in weapons manufacturing.
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Read ahead of WN at Patreon.com/LiveLifeLove