Avengers Imagines

Don't Look Back (Pt. 5/6)

Bucky assumed Steve had lost his mind. It was the first thought that had come to him and he had accepted it as the truth. Steve Rogers had become insane — but for the sake of his friendship and his own damn sanity, he honored Steve's wish.

Contacting the few friends he had remaining at the NYPD, he set them on a dead lead. Just when the guilt of putting New York's finest through a futile exercise was setting in, something turned up. Followed by something else. Then another thing. And another. In addition to, of course, the cooky side of the internet.

“Where are you?” Bucky spat the words as soon as his call was answered. Steve gauged the apprehension in his friend's voice, but he was too afraid to ask. “It makes sense you ask that seeing as it's one in the afternoon on a Wednesday but I'm at home. I slept in. After the day I had yesterday, God would sleep in.”

“Anyway, if you're thinking of coming over, don't. I might go see Tony. He deserves an apology for the way I behaved with him yesterday.” No sooner than he had uttered the words, Steve could feel Bucky's vexation through the phone. Bucky was practically screaming, and rightfully so. “You are not going anywhere! Especially not to that psychopath boyfriend of yours.”

“Buck, you're scaring me.” A line formed between Steve's brows. The lethargy of sleeping in faded in a blink. Bucky's attempt to compose himself had the exact opposite effect. “As you should be! Look, you told me to run tabs on (Y/N) Stark and I don't like what I found. Now, there is no evidence but I have a pretty good idea of who killed her. Steve, I think you have managed to get involved in something very dangerous.”

There was only silence, Bucky was forced to continue. “I'm sending the files over to you. Stay put.”

-

Name: (Y/N) Stark
Gender: Female
Date of birth: [MM-DD-1982]
Date of death: December 16, 1991
Cause of death: Died in a car crash alongside parents Howard and Maria Stark

It was the first attachment Steve had clicked on in the email Becky had sent him and it did not make a lick of sense. His eyes narrowed into tiny slits — something, somewhere had fit right in. A picture was beginning to form in the back of his head. He opened the next file.

Younger Stark Nearly Drowns In Colorado

The file contains newspaper clippings, several of them.

(Y/N) Stark Brought To Death's Door By Allergic Reaction

Eight Year Old Stark Sustained Severe Injuries After Falling Off Third-Storey Balcony

Stark Household Help Convicted Of Poisoning (Y/N) Stark

It seemed as though you — or whoever it was he was looking at because you were supposed to have died twenty-one years ago — had survived against incredible odds. Additionally, most of the life-threatening events took place at home or a place where you should have been under some sort of supervision.

Steve supposed that was how the rich functioned — in their own circles that operated away from family
— and he had distinct disdain for such lifestyle. There had also been pictures, which despite all their pixelation, reminded him of a child he had seen earlier in a certain newspaper clipping.

He was so close to figuring it out — it was palpable in the heaviness in his chest, the electricity in his veins.

The last file sent to him was composed of a very redacted document that allowed him to infer nothing but the headline:

(Y/N) Stark, Dead Or Alive?
And the part her brother played in it

There it was. The universe — or more precisely, his best friend Bucky, but Steve was currently looking at the bigger picture — had given him the answer his very soul had been seeking. Every bit of evidence pointed in a particular direction, irrespective of how much he willed the opposite.

Reluctant as he was, his brain was already correlating individual incidents. Beginning with the shrouded reason as to why Tony was present at your funeral in the first place. Clear as day, Steve had felt faint remains of scratches on Tony's arm and in that moment, your nails with droplets of blood trapped underneath were flashing in front of his eyes.

Even if all that was malarkey, even if he could manage to smother what his heart was screaming at him, the single fact that you were Tony's sister who was supposed to have died twenty-one years ago at least alluded to the idea that Tony was privy to some information neither Steve nor the authorities had been granted.

Then there was everything else Bucky had shown him. It was enough to clue him in on his best friend's suspicions and in all honesty, he was beginning to develop similar ones. He had been given the how. He had sought the who. The why, or lack thereof, was clawing at his heart.

The phone rang abruptly, breaking the tension building up on his chest like cement. The caller ID showed Tony's face. Steve's hand trembled without cease. He could not face the man he had come to care so much for, not after what he had learned, after what he most definitely suspected.

He had also promised answers. He had promised you justice. The memory was transpicuous in his head wherein he pledged to bring your truth into light. Steve had to be brave — he had to be brave, not for himself but for you. He pressed the receive button.

“I know you know.” Despite no change in inflection, Tony's voice was no longer endearing or affectionate, but full of malice. “I understand the silence means I'm right, you do know. Look, Steve, I will tell you everything you want to know, answer any and all questions. See that orange car outside? That's me. Just give me a chance.”