Based on the song above, The Night The Lights Went Out In Georgia by Reba McEntire

I picture Rebecca as Lyndsy Fonseca.

This AU! takes place in the 1940s. The Avengers aren't the Avengers and everything is realistic. The MCU doesn't exist, just the characters.

April 11th1985, Rebecca Barnes' home

Two loud knocks rang at the front door. The 57 year old woman stood from her velvet and cotton blend sofa, straightening her suit. She fiddled with her necklace as nerves crept in. But she stood tall at 5'9, as well as her four inch stilettos, which clacked on the hardwood as she walked to the door.

The door was opened to a 25 year old man, who was dressed as hipster as they come and held a notepad and pencil in one hand. "Hello Ma'am, you called and said you could possibly shed some light on some things involving the Roger's case?"

She nodded, her dark brown hair staying where she had put it in a bun earlier that day. The rain poured outside as she welcomed the young detective into her home. "Yes sir, have a seat young man," she said, nodding to her expensive couch.

"Can I offer you a drink? Coffee?" she asks, her southern hospitality shining through right next to her accent.

"A coffee woud be great right now, thank you," he said as he sat, crossing his legs as he opened his notepad and readied his pencil. She nodded and made two cups of hot coffee, grabbing the sugar and the cream, as well as on old photo album before returning to the parlor.

She sat, handing the men his coffee. He added some sugar as she sat her cup of black coffee aside, openeing the photo album. She pointed at some pictures of herself and her brother, James, when they were much younger. A sad smile on her face all the while.

"He was your brother?" the detective asks. She nods, tucking a small hair that had managed to escape her bun back behind her ear.

A woman and a man in another picture within the book caught the man's eye. The two stood next to the brother and sibling.

"Who's that?" He asked, pointing to her. Her lip curled as she stared at the face of the woman, disgusted.

"A wretched woman," she answered with a quiet snarl of her lips. "And that man, next to you? Isn't that Rogers?" The man asked

"You'd be correct... he was my fiancé," she answered, looking up to meet the man's eyes with a cold stare.

"Let me tell you the whole story of what really happened that night," she spoke, turning to completely face the detective.

June 16th 1947, Brooklyn, New York

A man with chocolate brown hair entered a bar by the name of Webb's, hoping to have a quick drink before heading home to his wife. He sat at the bar, ordering a beer. A man with blond hair walked over to greet his friend who had been gone for two weeks, with a solemn expression coating his features.

"Steve, hey, what's new?" he asked his friend. His friend looked down, before meeting the blue irises of James' once more.

"I've got some bad news, and it's gonna hurt," the blond warned the man. His expression changed from that of excitement to that of worry.

"Now I'm your best friend, and you know that, but your wife ain't home tonight, since you been gone she's been seeing that Wilson boy, Sam," Steve explained, sadness in his eyes.

The brunet clenched his fist in anger, the thought of the woman he loved with another man being not only painful but enraging. He blinked, and when he opened his eyes, they swirled with fury.

"Now, don't blow your top, to be honest I've been with her myself," Steve confessed looking down.

James looked up to the man he once considered his friend, a warning in his eyes. The blond stood from the barstool and exited, terrified of what he saw in James' eyes.

Steve walked home, having not lived far away. See, he didn't have but a few friends and he just lost one of the most important he had.

James left, a fire in his soul. He saw his wife wasn't home as he had said, and went to his safe. He saw the one thing his daddy had left him before he died, a revolver.

His eyes seemed to come alight as an idea struck him. Sickening as it was, he couldn't stop himself. He left his home, traipsing through the backwoods and the brush of the outskirts of Brooklyn. Finally he came upon Steve's house. He looked down at the ground to make sure he didn't make a noise, seeing tracks. Too human for an animal, too small for Steve.

He looked up, seeing through the back door, which was a screen door. There lay Steve in a puddle of his own blood. A shiver ran down his spine as he stared at the dead body of who was once his friend.

His eyes went wide as he saw a figure moving inside. He approached an entered the home, seeing... his little sister. She was mopping a spot clean. "Rebecca, what the hell are you doing here?!"

She looked up, a fire in her eyes. The same fire that had been in his own earlier that night.

As she was about to answer, they heard the police on patrol out in the woods. He turned back to her. "GO!'

The 19 year old didn't move. "GO!"

That time she turned and ran. Into the woods and out back home.

He fired the revolver in his hand into the ceiling, catching the attention of the officers. Within minutes, a sherriff was in the house pointing his gun at James.

Within hours, James was in a cell, and scheduled for a trial.

April 11th 1985, Rebecca Barnes' home

"So let me get this straight, he killed the both of them out of jealousy?" The man asked, looking to her.

She looked up from where she'd been staring, the picture book. "That's what they all wanted you to believe."

"So what did happen?" He asked, confused.

"Judge Wilson said guilty on a make-believe trial, and when my brother went with it, he never once contested, that is given his involvement with my brother's wife, they had it wrapped up in a neat little bow," she said with a sigh.

"So what really happened?" The man asked, placing his hand sin his lap, exasperated.

"They hung my brother before I could say that the tracks that were found in the mud to Steve's house and back were mine," she said, meeting the detectives eyes, a small fire behind them.

The man gaped at her, his mouth hanging low as he stared at Rebecca . "Close your mouth, son, you'll catch flies," she said with a small smirk.

"So wait, James plead guilty... to protect you?" The man asked, staring at the woman in disbelief.

"Yes sir," she nodded with a sigh.

"So why did you never say anything before now?" The man asked, standing off the couch.

"Who's gonna believe the grieving sister? She's saying she murdered them, no one is going to listen to that and make sense of it," she said with a small smile. A sick, sick smile.

"Well, ma'am, as I'm sure you're aware, I'm gonna have to bring you in, murder has no statute of limitations, so you'll have to be brought in, and questioned, likely put on trial, and put into custody," he said, reaching for his handcuffs. He may be a detective but he was still distributed basic supplies.

Rebecca stood, taking her heels off, as well as her tights, and she let her hair down. She didn't utter a word as she turned, placing her hands behind her back for the man to cuff her hands together.

She stood as the man cuffed her and brought her to his car, thinking about the Russian girl she had left in the river beside her other lover. It's where Steve would've gone if her brother hadn't caught her. And at the thought she quietly chuckled as she felt the metal shift on her wrists.