The Magus In Marvel

Everyone watched in stunned silence as Tony unceremoniously dropped the unconscious Winter Soldier onto the floor before wordlessly heading into the still-intact section of the house.

Natasha, always pragmatic, moved without hesitation. Pulling out zip ties and reinforced rope, she muttered, "Better safe than sorry," as she bound the assassin's wrists and ankles, ensuring he wouldn't be a threat the moment he woke up.

Steve hesitated for only a fraction of a second before stepping forward, his expression unreadable. He bent down, lifted the restrained Winter Soldier with careful ease, and followed after Tony. The others exchanged uncertain glances before trailing behind him. They navigated through the wreckage of the battle, stepping over broken furniture and shattered glass, until they reached a spacious lounge area that had miraculously remained untouched. Inside, Tony had already made himself at home, lounging in a plush armchair, a glass of whiskey in hand, as if he hadn't just walked away from a brutal, emotionally charged fight.

His gaze flickered to the bound Winter Soldier, then to Natasha. "So... do you guys always carry bondage gear, or is this a special occasion?"

Natasha rolled her eyes but chose not to dignify the remark with a response. The others, however, were visibly thrown off by Tony's relaxed demeanor. Clint folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Gotta admit, I'm a little surprised you didn't kill him."

Tony took a slow sip of his drink, savoring it before responding with a shrug. "If I had, I'd be stuck in a lifelong feud with Cap. Didn't seem worth it."

The confusion in the room only deepened. Steve shifted his grip on the unconscious man, his frown intensifying. "What are you talking about?"

Tony sighed dramatically and set his glass down with a soft clink. "Alright, alright. I'll spell it out for you. Let's rewind a bit, shall we?" He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "When we got our hands on Zola's data, the very first thing I did—because obviously—was find out who killed my parents. Imagine my surprise when I learned that the hit wasn't just some random assassin-for-hire. No, my dear friends, the murderer was supposedly an urban legend in the intelligence world. The ghost story spies whisper about. The Winter Soldier."

The weight of his words settled over the group like a thick fog, suffocating and inescapable. No one spoke, but the tension in the air was nearly tangible. Tony continued, his voice even but edged with something sharp beneath the surface.

"So, I dug deeper. And guess what? Hydra wasn't just content experimenting on Steve. No, they had a little side project going. They captured soldiers, tortured them until their minds broke, and rewired them into perfect weapons. Disposable. Efficient. Kill, freeze, repeat." His voice dripped with contempt. "And now, for the grand finale. If one of you would be so kind as to remove his mask, you'll find that the infamous Winter Soldier is none other than James Buchanan Barnes—your old friend, Buck Barnes."

Silence crashed down like a hammer.

Steve's grip on the Winter Soldier tightened, his jaw clenching, but he didn't speak. His breathing was slightly unsteady, and the storm raging in his eyes was impossible to miss. He wanted to deny it, to reject the very possibility—but deep down, something in him already knew the truth.

Sam was the first to break the silence. "Steve... you okay?"

Steve didn't answer immediately. His gaze remained locked on the unconscious man in his arms, as if trying to reconcile this shattered reality with the memories of his childhood friend. Finally, in a hoarse whisper, he asked, "Are you sure?"

Tony exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Oh yeah. No doubt. But hey, if one of you would be so kind as to remove his mask, you can see for yourselves."

Natasha, expression unreadable, stepped forward. Without hesitation, she reached down and pulled off the mask.

The moment it was removed, there was no room for argument.

James Buchanan Barnes. His face, rugged and unshaven, was slack in unconsciousness, but the resemblance was undeniable. He wasn't just a ghost story. He was real. And he was right there in front of them.

Steve took an involuntary step back, his hands trembling as they clenched into fists. "No… No, that can't be…"

Clint let out a low whistle, shifting uncomfortably. "Well. Shit."

Sam glanced at Steve, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced by something far more serious. "Steve, man... you alright?"

Steve didn't answer. His jaw was tight, his expression a warzone of emotions—shock, grief, disbelief, and, simmering beneath it all, a quiet, growing fury. His hands trembled, but whether from rage or something deeper, no one could tell.

Tony watched him for a long moment, his own expression unreadable. He could push further, twist the knife, but he didn't. Instead, he simply sighed and rubbed his temple. "Look, Cap. I get it. You just had your entire worldview flipped on its head. But take it from me—it doesn't get easier the more you think about it."

Steve remained silent, knuckles turning white where they gripped his belt.

Meanwhile, Tony deliberately chose not to mention Rin's involvement in uncovering the Winter Soldier's identity. She already carried the unbearable weight of knowing what the future held—there was no need to throw her under any more scrutiny. The expectations, the suspicions, the pressure... she didn't need any of that. She was a kid, and knowing an apocalyptic future was enough of a burden without adding the paranoia of the others onto her shoulders.

Steve continued to stare at the man before him—his best friend, his ghost, his enemy, his victim. The lines blurred until they were indistinguishable. His world had shifted off its axis, and nothing would ever be the same again.