Just as the two of them were caught off guard, Bucky had already recovered. The moment of clarity was not enough for him to break free from the brainwashing controls. He decisively seized the opportunity, made a powerful sprint, and charged directly towards Steve.
The cold glint of the dagger's blade blinked, and when the violent sound of breaking the air sounded, the anticipated pain in Steve did not occur. Instead, a scream of agony sounded next to his ear: "Agh!!!"
The Spider Man's cry, like a strike of thunder, echoed in Stark and Steve's ears. The two immediately widened their eyes, staring at Peter, who had been hit by Bucky's dagger.
The huge dagger plunged directly into his left shoulder, almost severing his left arm. Red viscous liquid filled up his body, but Peter screamed like a boiled shrimp, arching his body. He held his shoulder with his right hand, veins popping out on his hand.
Steve stared blankly at Peter, who had stepped in front of him, blocking Bucky's onslaught. Stark's roar came from mid-air: "Peter!!!"
But he was suspended mid-air, far from the ground. Bucky, who had missed his target, immediately turned his attention to Peter. His bloodstained dagger was already close to Peter's neck, and Peter seemed unable to fight back due to the pain.
Just as Bucky raised his dagger high, a figure roared from the side, embracing his waist, knocked him down to the ground. The Stars and Stripes shield hit Bucky's neck with a "bang". Bucky let out a grim cry, then passed out.
Steve was panting, those messy thoughts finally cleared from his mind. He stood up wearily, walked towards Peter. Before he could get close to Peter, Stark flew in and blocked him. The pitch-black cannon barrel aimed at Steve, Stark said coldly: "Stand back, stay away from him, you ally of Hydra!"
"If it weren't for you protecting this damn Hydra assassin, how could Peter have gotten hurt? You almost got him killed!" Stark snapped furiously.
"I didn't, I didn't expect…" The strong smell of blood reached Steve's nose, he couldn't speak anymore. He slowly knelt down, knocking the shield in his hand against the rocky piles on the Rocky Beach.
He closed his eyes tightly, countless past nightmares began to turmoil in his mind again. He felt the air around him getting thinner, as if it could no longer support his lungs.
Images of fallen Peter and those deceased comrades overlapped, and the slaughterer evolved from the evil Hydra into his old friend Bucky. Reality and illusion intertwined, Steve could no longer distinguish between them.
"Always like this…" Steve's voice emerged from his throat: "Every time it's like this, I wasn't able to save them, they died in front of me... it's always like this, there's never an end..."
Stark saw Steve 's eyes turn red. He took a deep breath, finally calming down. Looking around, seeing the barren beach that had been bombarded by him. He manipulated the Mecha to land slowly, watching Steve from a distance. His voice was like the constant wind on the barren beach.
"...Captain America, do you know what's most ridiculous? Those generals who only want to profit from war told you, you could save the world, you could save anyone…"
"They don't even believe themselves, but you did."
Looking at the strong man kneeling in front of him, the shield in his hand still brightly colored and shiny, like it had never been forgotten in these 70 years.
But this man, who had been sleeping for 70 years, seemed forever trapped in the era of that war, forever shackled by the greatest, yet ridiculous lie woven for him by a group of self-seekers.
What Stark found unbelievable was that at this moment, he felt a trace of empathy and pity, because he too had been kidnapped by those who shouted slogans of justice, but the only difference between him and Captain America was that he had the room to resist; he had Pepper, he had Obadiah, but Steve had nothing.
All he had was fervor, plunging headfirst into the dark whirlpool that he had never seen the true face of, becoming the residual ashes at the edge of the tracks after the wheel of history rolled forward. Like a madman who refuses to leave the stage, he practiced that set of righteousness that was no longer acknowledged by people.
At that moment, Stark suddenly understood why Steve cared so much about his last comrade. Perhaps, he always had to find something to prove that what he pursued was not in vain. He always hoped that there would be another witness to the sacrifice he and his generation made, rather than a fantasy he constructed in his mind.
He wanted someone else to tell him that they had been successful once. Even if the beginning of this story was only an empty lie, countless people had given their lives for it and should not be forgotten or swept into the dustpile of history.
Stark flew to Peter's side to treat his wounds. When Peter's breathing stabilized, Stark didn't fly again, instead, he walked to the seaside, stepping on the rocks of the barren beach.
The noon had passed, and the intense light began to weaken. The distant lighthouse emitted a heavy low-pitched sound.
Stark thought, people who had come from that era all had the same characteristic. They never grew tired of repeating their stories and legends thousands of times. Howard was like this too.
Perhaps, they just didn't want the people and events in the stories to be forgotten, just as they didn't want to be forgotten themselves.
A rumbling noise came from behind, Stark turned around, he saw Steve, stumbling to his feet, constantly shaking his head, as if he was still struggling to break free from the illusions. With vague eyes, he looked at Stark's brightly colored Mecha, his expression still a bit dazed.
"I'm sorry…" Steve shook his head again, opened his eyes, and said.
"You should tell him that." Stark turned his head and looked at Peter. Peter was lying on the ground with his back to him, his Battlesuit soaked in blood.
"I'm also saying it to you." Steve lowered his head and said: "As a team leader, I made a wrong tactical judgment. I didn't neutralize him at the first moment. Otherwise, all this would not have happened…"
"That's good that you know." Stark turned his head back around and looked at his glove. The cannon barrel on it was slightly blackened from overheating.
He slowly folded his fingers and clenched his fist, and said to himself in his heart: "It's pitiful enough for those who culpabilize weapons. Those who defend weapons are even more pitiful."