A quiet neighborhood in Brooklyn.
In the dim, underground gym with old brick walls and the faint scent of sweat, Steve Rogers trained shirtless, the sound of his punches echoing in the space.
Tony Stark walked in, his usual swagger absent, and faced the super soldier.
"I'm sorry, I don't quite understand what you're saying, Stark. Bucky died seventy years ago. What do you mean you killed him?" Steve asked, brows furrowing deeply.
Tony didn't hesitate. "I mean exactly that."
Steve's frown deepened. He thought Stark was trying to joke with him—poorly. He knew the man well enough: son of Howard Stark, an officer in his own right, sometimes brilliant, sometimes irritatingly frivolous. But this? This felt like an insult.
"You think I'm joking?" Tony shook his head.
"Well, you probably should. It sounds absurd—dying, coming back to life, and then being killed again. God, it's the kind of thing you'd hear in a bad movie… But I'm serious."
He stepped away, avoiding Steve's piercing gaze.
"Bucky didn't die," Tony continued. "HYDRA froze him and kept him alive until modern times."
Steve's jaw tightened.
"You know HYDRA didn't vanish—they embedded themselves into S.H.I.E.L.D.," Tony said. "Bucky was one of their operatives."
"That's impossible!" Steve snapped. "Bucky would never join HYDRA, no matter what they did to him."
"You're right. He didn't join them willingly—he was brainwashed."
Tony reached into his pocket and tossed a small device toward him. "Look at this."
Steve caught it. A sleek, transparent square lit up in his palm, projecting a holographic display. On it were files detailing the Winter Soldier program.
Steve scrolled through them quickly, his expression darkening. He read about Bucky being recovered by HYDRA, subjected to enhancements, stripped of his identity, and placed in cryostasis between missions.
Then his hand froze over one mission report.
December 26, 1991 – Terminated Howard Stark and Maria Stark. Surviving family: adopted son, Malrick Stark.
Steve's breath caught. "All of this is true?"
"The truth doesn't lie," Tony said quietly.
Steve's gaze hardened. "He killed Howard…"
"That's right," Tony confirmed.
"I'm… sorry, Tony."
"No need. He's already paid the price—he died by my hand." Tony's eyes drifted toward the wall.
Steve had no immediate response. The storm of revelations was too much to process:
Bucky hadn't died in the war, but had lived on as HYDRA's weapon… and in that state, murdered Howard Stark… before finally being killed by Howard's son.
He hadn't even had a chance to feel relief that Bucky was alive before being told he was gone again. But, deep down, Bucky had been gone to him for a long time. The man he knew had died on that icy cliff.
Finally, Steve asked in a low voice, "Was he still under HYDRA's control when you… when it happened? Did he say anything?"
Tony's reply was flat. "He was no different from any other HYDRA soldier at that point."
Steve lowered his eyes and nodded. "I understand. You can go now, Tony. I need to be alone."
Tony hesitated. "Nothing else?"
"What else would you expect?" Steve's tone was sharp. The news had left him raw, though he hid it behind his soldier's composure.
But Tony, who had braced himself for a physical confrontation, started rambling instead. "Sorry, I just thought you'd be so sad you'd cry. You're both relics from the same era—figured you'd be more sentimental—"
Steve's head snapped up. "Wait. What did you just call me?" He stepped closer. "Relics? You should have some respect for your father's friends—especially the ones who've passed, Stark."
That touched a nerve. Tony's expression shifted, the sarcasm sharpening. "Little Stark, huh? Are you trying to say you're my uncle?"
He jabbed a finger into Steve's chest. "Tell me something—did my father even know you were his friend? Because from where I'm standing, you slept for seventy years and didn't bother to check on him after waking up."
"I looked into Howard's death as soon as I could," Steve shot back. "I thought he died in a car accident."
"If you're trying to provoke me, you're succeeding," Steve warned, his voice low. "And if you keep poking me, we'll have another problem."
Tony smirked. "Oh? Another problem?" He threw his arms out in mock invitation. "Then let's stop talking."
"Fine. You asked for it."
Steve's punch landed cleanly on Tony's jaw, followed by a quick strike to the gut, making Tony double over.
"You're nothing like your brother," Steve said coldly. "The company he built uses my image royalties to help war refugees. You? You're just an arms dealer playing hero."
Tony straightened, eyes flashing.
But Steve had already turned away.