Let me mention this in advance,
I personally think that Tony's rage Civil War was mainly due to his feeling of being betrayed by Captain America.
The hatred for killing one's father is secondary.
That's why this chapter exists.
If you have a different opinion, please feel free to comment.
After the agreement was signed, SSC headquarters enjoyed a rare few days of quiet.
The media frenzy continues, and the United Nations investigation team's follow-up accountability efforts are far from over.
Tony, Ivan Banner, and the other two were spending their time in the lab, and they all seemed much more relaxed than they had been a few weeks ago.
But Steve didn't. He came to headquarters every day as usual, attended meetings as usual, and greeted everyone in the hallway as usual. But Lynn noticed him several times staring blankly at the table during meetings.
Lynn roughly guessed what he was thinking.
He hadn't spent much time at headquarters these past few days. After the agreement was settled, he finally had a few days of real leisure, spending most of his time holed up in his penthouse apartment. Natasha pulled out the travel journal she'd brought back from Dali and started filling in the photos page by page while hunched over the coffee table in the living room.
Lynn leaned back on the sofa, watching Natasha carefully tuck the photos into the transparent pages of her journal. Her movements were gentle, as if she were organizing something precious.
"Let's go out for a walk after we're done with this busy period," he said.
Natasha capped her pen and tilted her head to look at him. "Where are you going?"
"Haven't decided yet. Anyway, there's a teleportation portal, so I can go wherever I want." He paused, then added, "Next time, I won't have hot pot. I'll have dessert instead."
Natasha chuckled, offering no reply. She simply closed her notebook, leaned back on the sofa armrest, and curled her legs up, placing them on his knees. The afternoon sun in New York was shining brightly outside, casting a warm golden glow on the living room floor.
The lab was a different story. Tony projected the in vitro culture precision data from the Regeneration Cradle onto the holographic screen. Ivan leaned against the lab bench and muttered in Russian, "We already ran this parameter last time." Tony, without turning around, said, "Last time we ran the cell regeneration rate, this time we're running the tissue fusion rate. Can't you even tell the difference?" Ivan slammed the wrench of the arc generator on the table and replied in English, "I can tell the difference. I was just too lazy to remind you that you ran the tissue fusion rate last time too."
Banner was flipping through the original technical documents sent by Dr. Helen Cho, trying to find the precise definition of the disputed parameter before the two started arguing. When he reached the third page, he looked up, adjusted his glasses, and said in his usual gentle tone, "You two are talking about different interpretations of the same set of data. Tony is talking about the curve of the fusion rate change, and Ivan is talking about the slope of the curve. You're both right."
Tony and Ivan were both silent for a moment, then Tony pushed the holographic screen aside, pointed at Banner, and said, "Fine, you run it then." Banner sighed, stood up, walked to the lab bench, and began recalibrating the parameters. JARVIS stood in the corner, holding a tablet, silently recording all the data. His posture was much more natural than when he first had a body; at least he wasn't standing motionless like a wax figure.
Steve arrived at the lab that afternoon. He stood at the door and, through the glass window, saw three people inside arguing about the range of values for a certain parameter around a culture chamber; the atmosphere was lively yet relaxed. He didn't push the door open and went in; he just stood in the corridor for a while before turning and leaving. At the end of the corridor was a floor-to-ceiling window, through which people came and went on the city streets, and sunlight cast dappled shadows of trees onto the walkway. He stood there for a moment, took out his phone from his pocket, found Lynn's number, and stared at it for several seconds before pressing the dial button.
Lynn was sitting on the sofa looking at the progress report on the agreement's implementation sent by JARVIS when he answered the phone. Natasha was leaning against the other end of the sofa, flipping through her travel journal. He glanced at the caller ID and pressed the answer button. "Hello."
" Lynn, is this convenient?" Steve's voice sounded deeper than usual, not in a deliberate way, but as if some weight that had been pressing down for too long was finally beginning to sink.
"It's convenient. You can speak."
I'd like to go there.
"Bring it on."
Twenty minutes later, Steve knocked on the apartment door. When Lynn went to open it, Natasha glanced up in the direction of the door, then got up, put the photos and journal on the coffee table into a drawer, said, "I'll make coffee," and turned to go into the kitchen. Lynn let Steve in and poured him a glass of water. Steve took it, drank a sip, put the glass on the coffee table, and then remained silent for a long time. Lynn leaned back on the sofa, not saying a word, just waiting quietly.
Steve finally spoke, his voice deep, as if confirming a conclusion he couldn't shake off. "The cause of Howard's death— Bucky is the killer. You told me that. But why didn't you tell Tony?"
"Right."
Lynn's tone was calm. "I told you before. Because it's not my secret, not my choice. I'm telling you because you need to know. I'm not telling Tony because that decision shouldn't be mine to make."
Steve lowered his head, his hands clasped together on his knees. His fingers were clenched tightly, his knuckles slightly white. "I've been thinking about this for the past few days, whether or not I should let Tony know about this. Bucky has been brainwashed for decades; the things he did weren't his own will."
I could use this reason to convince myself to shift all the blame to Hydra and maintain this superficial peace. But I can't. Seeing Tony reminds me of Howard; seeing Bucky reminds me of Howard too. They're both my friends, and I'm caught in the middle, unable to offer even the explanation I deserve.
Lynn waited until he finished speaking, then picked up the now-cold cup of tea beside him, took a sip, and said, "Captain, there's something you know better than I do. Bucky isn't the only one who knows the cause of Howard's death. Hydra's files have detailed records, and S.H.I.E.L.D..'s old database might also have them. Even if none of us say a word, these records will eventually be unearthed."
He paused, then put down his cup. "Instead of waiting for someone else to tell Tony about this, you should take Bucky and confess. Not to beg for forgiveness, not to atone for your sins, but to tell your friend the truth he has the right to know. Tony can be incredibly foul-mouthed, but he's not the kind of person who can't distinguish right from wrong."
Steve looked into his eyes, remained silent for several seconds, then nodded slightly. Lynn stood up and patted him on the shoulder. "Your choice. But remember one thing: what Tony can't accept isn't the truth itself, but being excluded by the person he trusts most. Don't let him feel like you've abandoned his friendship."
Steve didn't answer. He stood up, finished the rest of the water in his glass, and then left. Natasha came out of the kitchen with two cups of coffee, glanced at the closed door, and then at Lynn leaning against the sofa.
" Steve is gone?"
"Um."
"Have you been waiting long?"
"No, I just wanted to know when he would finally give in."
A few days later, Steve went to the farm. The weeds in the yard had been mostly pulled out, and a few faded T-shirts hung on the clothesline. Sam hadn't returned from buying seeds in town yet. Bucky sat alone on the porch, holding a whetstone and slowly sharpening a pair of garden shears that had been rusted for a long time. His movements were slow, and the joints of the mechanical arm made a slight hum, which was particularly clear in the afternoon sun.
Steve pushed open the gate and walked in, sitting down on the porch. He was silent for a moment, looking at the old tree in the yard that hadn't yet sprouted new leaves, before speaking. "You've noticed something's off about my expression lately. Is there something you want to tell me?"
Bucky's fingers, resting on his knees, tightened slightly. He stared at the old tree in the yard for a long time, his lips moving several times before finally uttering his first words. "I killed many people, many innocent people, including Howard Stark."
He knew his mind wasn't his own at the time, that every time he pulled the trigger, it was being remotely controlled, but that didn't change the fact that his hands were stained with blood. He remembered every face, everyone who fell before the gun. And Howard... he remembered everything.
In the time since his memory returned, every time he sees Tony, he is reminded of his father. He doesn't know how to face Tony, what kind of expression to wear when standing in front of him, or whether he is even worthy to stand before him.
Steve listened quietly as he finished speaking. Then he stood up, walked over to Bucky, and extended his hand. Bucky looked at the hand for a long time before slowly taking it.
"You've been controlled by them for over seventy years. Your will, your memories, even you yourself have been used as weapons. Your hands are stained with blood, but that blood debt shouldn't belong to you."
He paused, his grip on Bucky's shoulder tightening slightly. "You have to tell him yourself, let him decide for himself. But I trust Tony. He's a rational man, he won't do anything rash."
Bucky was silent for a while, then nodded.
The next morning, before dawn, Steve and Bucky were already standing outside the laboratory.
Ivan and Banner arrived earlier than them, and the three of them were studying optimization schemes around the completed 3D model. Tony had recently been trying to increase the accuracy by another order of magnitude. He had been running data until midnight last night and had just dozed off for a while on the folding bed next to the lab bench. When he woke up, his hair was still messy, and he was holding a half-cup of cold coffee, bending over to check the temperature curve.
Tony didn't even turn his head when Steve pushed the door open and came in. "So early? You don't seem like the type to get up early."
" Tony, can we talk in private for a moment?"
Tony straightened up from the front of the incubation chamber and glanced back at him. Steve's expression was serious. He then glanced at Bucky behind Steve; Bucky didn't look directly at him, but stood there silently.
Tony put his coffee cup on the lab table, ripped off his lab gloves, grabbed a tissue to wipe his fingers, and followed Steve out of the lab.
The three walked down the corridor and into an empty staff break room. The room was small, with a sofa, two armchairs, and a half-open box of tissues on the coffee table. Steve closed the door, looked at Tony, then at Bucky beside him, and nodded slightly to Bucky.
"You should explain it yourself."
Bucky sat on the edge of the sofa, his hands clasped together on his knees. He didn't look at Tony, but simply repeated everything he had told Steve the night before in an extremely calm tone.
Howard Stark and his wife died at his hands. He remembered which highway it was, and the weather that night. He recounted everything, leaving himself no room for ambiguity.
Tony stood between two armchairs, his hands in his coat pockets, his knuckles tightening, his face growing increasingly stiff. After Bucky finished speaking, silence filled the room for a long time.
Tony finally pulled his hand out of his pocket, his fingers clenching and unclenching repeatedly, letting out a long breath. Then he turned to Steve. "When did you find out?"
" Lynn gave me a hint about it a few days ago."
Steve answered truthfully, "He told me to verify it myself. I found a lot of evidence and originally planned to go and ask Bucky yesterday, but when I got there, he had already decided to be honest with me."
Tony's gaze lingered on Steve's face for a while before slowly shifting back to Bucky, sizing up the man he had always considered a comrade-in-arms. He smiled.
"So what do you want from me? Do you want me to be magnanimous and say it's okay? Or..." He glanced at Steve, a hint of sarcasm in his voice, "Is this Captain America's justice? Bringing the murderer here to confess, and then waiting for me to give him a reconciliation hug?"
Steve met Tony's gaze without flinching. "We consider you a friend, a comrade-in-arms. I just don't want to keep things from you. It's better for us to tell you these things than for outsiders to do so."
The air in the room seemed to have been sucked away. Tony looked at Steve, the mocking smile on his lips slowly fading, replaced by a more complex expression that even he himself couldn't quite name. After a long while, a genuine smile finally appeared on his lips, a very small smile, but far more real than the mocking laugh from before.
"Okay. I understand."
Steve and Bucky both breathed a sigh of relief.
"But..." Tony started to say, but before he could finish, he was interrupted, "I can't just let it go like this."
Tony stood up and walked to the two men, silently observing them. Then he took off his coat, folded it twice, and casually draped it over the back of the chair. The movements were unhurried.
"Let's have a fight. I've wanted to beat you up for ages. You guys have delivered this opportunity to me yourselves, so it would be a shame not to seize it."
He cracked his knuckles, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, as if some long-suppressed emotion had finally found an outlet. "You two are at a disadvantage. How about this, you're two people, and I'll call one. We'll have a proper 2v2 fight. Win or lose, the past is the past. How about it?"