Chapter Text
It wasn’t an accident.
“ Sir.”
HYDRA killed his parents. Bucky knew. Even goddamn Steve knew.
And if Steve knew , if he’s known it for who knows how long, then someone else knew too. Someone who told Steve. Someone Tony probably knew , someone Tony joked with or gave a ride to his tower or fought alongside with.
“Deep breaths, Sir.”
Yeah, okay. He can do that. He can breathe.
His mind is reeling with names and faces, insides twisting with each image and the possibility that it could be them . SHIELD agents. Fury. His teammates. He thinks of Romanoff, the foundation of their relationship had been based on a lie; a lie that Tony had never forgiven her for but had a good mind to respect her job. He thinks of Barton, of Hill, of Coulson, of Bruce.
In. Out.
What if– What if they all knew? Tolerated Tony’s snark and sarcasm only to laugh behind his back? Laugh at the self-proclaimed genius who can’t differentiate between an accident and a murder? Laugh, because one day, they could use it as leverage, get whatever they want from Tony in exchange for a secret so closely guarded that there was not a single record of it. As if Tony doesn’t already give them enough.
In. Out.
There’s only one reason why SHIELD covered it up – SHIELD, because of course, they’re the only ones ballsy enough to cover the death of Howard and Maria Stark. Cover it up , so that Howard’s son doesn’t go looking for the murderer. Howard’s son who will stop at nothing to find out who killed his parents. Howard’s son who will eventually find out Hydra’s role in it, who will get to the root of it, only to find Hydra embedded deep inside SHIELD and unleash hell upon the goddamn organisation until SHIELD is nothing but dissipating dust.
There’s only one reason, and it was fear.
Fear that if Tony knew, he wouldn’t stop until his parents’ deaths were avenged; until every single person who ever uttered the words murder and Howard and Hydra in the same sentence lived to fear the next day. ‘Now that he knows HYDRA killed his parents, he’ll— he’s out for blood,’ Steve had said, the panic and fear painfully obvious in his voice, because Steve knew the same thing.
“It was me,” Bucky had said. “No, it wasn’t,” Steve’s response was immediate. So sure. Like he’s known about it for years.
“Sir.”
And Bucky knew – the entire goddamn time Bucky knew his parents were murdered and continued to let Tony think it was an accident. Listened to how Tony’s guilt had consumed him when he found out his parents never made it to the Pentagon, when he realized he hadn’t said goodbye, when he couldn’t say what he wanted to say. That he never could.
The same organisation that enslaved Bucky killed Tony’s parents, and the guy, in some twisted misplaced loyalty, just continued to play make-believe with Tony.
“Sir.” Jarvis says for nth time and Tony finally snaps out of it.
Tony clears his throat, blinks a few times. “Yeah, we’re fine.”
“I am happy to hear that,” Jarvis responds as Tony pulls out of the parking spot he had frantically occupied when Jarvis started replaying the conversation between Steve and Bucky. “However, Miss Romanoff has been trying to reach you for the past ten minutes.”
Time to deploy the vanguard. Tony clears his throat again. “Patch her through, J.”
“You know for a minute there, I thought you were ignoring me,” Natasha greets, ever so coyly. And because everything she does has at least five other reasons, it almost makes him wonder if she knew; if she was checking up on him. Distract him just enough so that Steve could get more time with Bucky. “Well, you’re not wrong,” Tony points out, his words a mask of nonchalance. As easy as it is for Tony to get a read on Natasha, she’s not far behind either. And he’s not about to show his cards so early in the conversation. “Any chance old man Cap’s with you?”
“No,” There’s a brief pause – so short that it was almost easy to miss – and then: “Why?”
“Never you mind,” he dismisses. Her pause had confirmed whatever suspicions Tony had about how much she knew. Needless to say, he wasn’t even surprised. “What’s the favor?”
“You think I only call you for favors?” she asks, and Tony could almost see the duplicitous smile on her face. It’s so easy to read her now; so easy to stop her from pulling at the carefully woven threads that formed the base of their– friendship? Alliance? – well, whatever relationship they had.
Once upon a time, Tony would have hesitated to stop her from pulling. Hesitated, because it would have strained their relationship even more, but as of this moment, Tony could just cut it. Sever their relationship from its roots and throw it right back at Natasha who’d spent so long weaving it to her liking.
“Did you call me to chat about the weather?” Tony asks sharply, cutting down any more of her attempts to prolong the conversation.
He hears an annoyed sigh. “SHIELD has sensitive information released into the Internet. Mission data, agent profiles, potential enhanced threats that the general population can’t know. Fury wants you to look into it.”
Right, what else was Tony here for than catering to their every whim and fancy? He huffs out a laugh.
“Party’s over and I get the invite now? Is this how you treat your former boss?”
“Tony, this is important,” Natasha reproves. “There are undercover agents whose identities are at risk. Families are at risk. It’s not the time to flex your ego.”
“Now that you mention families, what’s the current buzz on the Stark murders?” Tony asks, his words in the casual air of someone asking about the previous night’s score. He’s careful not to let the emotions leak and give Natasha a way through the cracks. The very mention – the very thought – of his parents cold-blooded murder, covered up by SHIELD, and then Steve, Bucky and Natasha, makes his blood boil way past its boiling degree. But anger never solved things for him, spite did.
After a few moments of silence, she speaks, wary. “Stark, where are you?”
“You seem to be asking a whole load of questions for someone who doesn’t give away the answers,” Tony says. His car monitor shows an incoming call from Loki as soon as the words are out of his mouth. “Oh whoops, tunnel coming up. Ciao.”
“Tony, the SHIELD files–” Jarvis promptly cuts the call before Natasha can finish her sentence, and soon enough Loki’s voice rings in his earpiece.
“Anthony, where are you?”
“Uh, driving,” Tony answers vaguely, more concerned on why Loki’s calling now, the god having promised his return from Asgard only by nightfall. “What’s up, Lokes?”
Tony’s trying to remember if there’s anything important about today’s date when Loki responds.
“And your guest?” Loki asks, concerned, of course, but also conveniently bringing up the last thing Tony wanted to even think, much less talk about.
“He’s…” Tony trails off. Gone? Steve-napped? “...out shopping. You’re back early.” Tony says. His effort to steer the conversation elsewhere goes down the drain when Loki – self-proclaimed expert on all things Tony Stark – catches on way too fast at the distraction attempt.
“What happened?”
“Uh,” Tony stalls, weighing the pros and cons of updating Loki on current events. Loki never backed down from taking matters into his own hands, never sat back and watched his loved ones be wronged, and never sat silent no matter the situation. Loki had been the pillar whenever Tony had scrambled to steady himself from the overwhelming responsibilities that came in the form of SHIELD, SI, the government, and not to mention the whole superhero business.
When Loki first came, it hadn’t even been days since Thor left from Greenwich. The god made an offhanded comment on his faked death, proceeding to threaten Tony with a real one in case Thor found out about Loki’s living status, and then proceeded to pour himself a drink. And, well, Tony was a man who was quick to adapt to the sudden change in scenery – he valued his life a little, to say the least. Which is why, without uttering a word, Tony had sat beside Loki and poured himself a drink.
That was a year ago.
And a year was long enough for Tony to theorize that he would be signing his death certificate the day he decides to keep a secret like this from Loki. Which is why he says what he says.
“The organisation that brainwashed Bucky into doing their dirty work?” Tony recalls, recalling their conversation from the time Loki had barged into the bedroom in the morning, demanding to see Tony’s wound before Tony had very cleverly steered the conversation towards Bucky. “Turns out they had a hand in my parents deaths.”
There’s a sharp intake of breath, and then softly: “Your parents were victims.”
“Yeah,” Tony answers, as much as it pains him to. “They were– SHIELD covered it up.” It’s hard enough saying it out loud, to voice out the reality of it and put it out there rather than letting it swirl within the confines of his own mind, but it’s even harder to keep his voice from shaking . He’d been stupid to trust SHIELD, to trust the organisation that had all but established a hostility with him when he was dying from palladium poisoning. And god, he’d been stupid enough to take Obie’s word for it in the first place back when it all happened, stupid enough to numbly nod at the words the lawyers had been saying. He’d been so stupid.
“Rogers knew,” Tony says. “So did Bucky. Natasha.” Each word twists his gut even more. They knew. They lied.
There’s silence from Loki’s end, his mind no doubt seething with a flurry of curses and death threats targeted at whoever was unfortunate enough. Tony’s trying to keep up his own facade, trying to contain the storm of feelings trapped behind a wall of glass ready to shatter at any moment. To his credit, Loki doesn’t go poking anywhere near Tony’s emotions.
“You said Bucky worked under them,” Loki finally says, the suspicion on the tip of his tongue, but Tony breaks in before the accusation can even take form.
“No.” Tony shakes his head. “It wasn’t him. He would have–” told me? “Steve said it wasn’t him.”
“And you believe the Captain?”
I don’t, Tony wants to say, but he can’t quite bring himself to. “He wouldn’t lie to Bucky,” is what he finally settles on.
Loki sighs softly. “Anthony, come home,” The words ooze comfort, and Tony nearly finds himself complying.
“Soon,” Tony promises. “I just– I need to make a pit stop.”
Loki, ever so insistent, says, “Tell me where you are.”
“Fifth Avenue,” Tony answers, only realizing then that he was nearing the intersection where he’d dropped Bucky off. “I’ll be home soon.” Or so he hopes.
“Okay,” Loki answers shortly – suspiciously shortly – but before Tony can even say anything more, Loki ends the call.
His eyes begin scanning the passing crowds, eyes glazing over regular-sized civilians for the two hefty supersoldiers. He spots them soon enough, sticking out like two sore thumbs in front of a men’s salon.
There’s visible tension in the space between them, Tony notes, with Bucky standing a few feet away, his posture closed and rigid, listening tight-lipped to something Steve’s saying. Tony slows down.
Bucky’s eyes flick to the car briefly before he turns to Steve, but suddenly placing the familiar car, Bucky’s gaze drags right back, head shifting ever so slightly but evident enough that Steve turns to look.
Now two supersoldiers are staring right at him, as if they could actually see through tinted glass if they tried hard enough.
Steve, clearly sensing some kind of threat, places himself between Bucky and Tony’s car. And just like that, unbeknownst to Steve, Bucky takes a step to the side. Bucky knows it’s Tony, and Steve doesn’t, but with the look on Steve’s face, he’s already classified Tony’s car as some kind of threat towards Bucky.
Tony decides in a split second that he’s not ready for this, that he can’t do this. He speeds out of the parking space, narrowly missing the car parked in front of him. He doesn’t care that Bucky realized it was him, doesn’t care that it’s only a matter of time before Steve realizes too.
Steve, who had immediately shifted to a defensive stance at whoever made Bucky tense. Steve hadn’t even hesitated.
He parks a few blocks away, eyes darting towards the rear view mirror every few seconds. He hasn’t let go of the steering wheel yet, gripping it tight enough that his fingers start paling from the constricted blood flow.
Seeing the both of them felt like a slap in the face – one a teammate, the other a friend, or so he had hoped. It was the kind of slap that pricks tears, the kind that ripples pain throughout the body in waves. With all that Steve had spoken of Howard, praising the man in a ridiculously blinding light, Tony would have expected Steve to bring down SHIELD himself. Tony’s respect for his father was a mere fraction in comparison to his love for his mother, but they had been wronged all the same. Betrayed by the very people they had given years of their time and commitment to. In some warped sense of irony, now it’s Tony the one betrayed.
He doesn’t put it beside Fury knowing either. Bastard that he is, the guy was the closest thing Tony had to a father, and Tony never had a good track record when it came to father figures. God, and Tony had been right, hadn’t he? Captain, he’s the spy; his secrets have secrets – and Steve could have just laughed in his face.
When Loki appears in the passenger seat right next to him, Tony doesn’t even notice. His forehead is pressed against the top of the wheel, eyes screwed shut and lips pursed in a futile attempt to keep his emotions inside. He hears Loki’s breathing, just soft enough to not startle Tony, but loud enough that it’s audible to Tony.
Tony sits up, allowing a shaky breath to escape his lips before he’s back to clenching his teeth. Neither of them speak a word – Loki’s eyes on Tony, and Tony’s gaze fixed straight ahead.
“Do not let the anger poison your mind,” Loki says quietly. “Rarely does it end well.”
“But it ends.”
Loki’s silent, and then: “Yes.”