A second punch, a third, a fourth...
The muffled thuds of alloy armor crushing flesh came one after another.
Bucky did not fight back at all.
His arms hung at his sides as he silently endured every blow. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, his cheekbones were red and swollen, and blood ran from a cut on his temple. He was in a miserable state.
His mind was clear now.
He remembered.
The silence that night, the gunshots, the Starks' despair and calm, his own cold, numb movements as he killed...
His crimes were unforgivable.
So he neither dodged nor blocked nor offered a defense.
He owed the Starks a life, and he acknowledged that debt.
Steve tried frantically to rush over and pull Tony away, his voice trembling with desperation. "He was a victim! Hydra was responsible for all of it! Tony, come to your senses!"
"A victim?" Tony panted, driving a fist hard into Bucky's abdomen. He watched Bucky double over and curl up in agony, his voice hoarse and breaking. "Then who gets to be the victim for my parents?! What did they do wrong?!"
His punches cut through the air, every blow striking to the bone.
Within minutes, Bucky was covered in wounds, his clothes soaked with blood. He slumped miserably against the wall, breathing faintly, grievous injuries covering his body. He looked utterly wretched.
At the height of that outpouring of hatred, emptiness struck without warning.
Tony's raised fist suddenly froze in midair.
Just then, two figures in the corner of the room tensed slightly.
It was Wanda and Pietro.
The siblings stood quietly in the shadows, watching the out-of-control beating before them. There was no fear in their eyes, only a deep, familiar numbness and sadness.
Tony happened to glance up, his