Ghosts of the Past

by Nimbus Llewelyn

Sequel to Child of the Storm. Harry's life has changed a lot over the past year, what with the return of his father, Thor, murder attempts by everything from HYDRA assassins to Elder Gods keeping him on his toes and making a few new friends. But while Chthon and HYDRA are gone, all sorts of dark things have been stirred up, things thought long gone. And guess who they're after...

11. Chapter 11: Forever Red - Part V

Well, welcome back, ladies and gents. First thing's first: If you're confused by this being chapter 11, that is because chapter 10 was posted during this site's periodic issues with alerts, and the update alert wasn't sent out. In that case, go back and read chapter 10 immediately.

Now, I'm all done with my exams, and but for admin stuff of moving out of my rented house, receiving my results and graduating, my undergraduate career is over. I will officially be a graduate. Holy crap, I am so not ready for this.

However, it means I have a bit more time for fic writing – not as much as you all might prefer, since I'll be getting a Summer job if I can, but hey.

Anyway, that brings us to this latest chapter. I won't lie, it's pretty dark. Not all dark, mind you, but there are lots of feels, lots of tears, a fair bit of ominous stuff and horror overt and implied going on, but there are bits of light and humour in the dark too, and a bit of character exploration. It's also largely a fall-out chapter, since everyone's reeling from the battle in the last chapter and Harry's latest piece of stupid nobility.

Whatsmyaccount: My pleasure. How did I do it? Lots of procrastination, for the most part. And thank you. How do I write so many different characters without mixing in my own biases? Good question. Excellent question. To be honest, I'm not sure if I do, and even if I do manage to avoid mixing in my own biases, I'm not sure how. I suppose it's about getting into the right mental space, thinking yourself into the character. As for the distracted nature, I used to be/am still like that. Now, I mostly just get distracted within this vast universe. Do I plan 100k in advance? Well, usually, I plan a lot further, but yes, though almost everything beyond the basic framework is up for change. And again, thank you.

Guest: I do reply to anonymous reviews, but I much prefer PMing replies. It's quicker, much more extensive (a discussion can begin, for one thing), and frankly, much easier. Getting an account is very easy – all you need is an email address and five minutes. As for the Necro Sword and King Thor, no, we won't see those for a good long while yet.

Guest: Most of the Avengers are quite pragmatic. Harry has the capacity to be extremely pragmatic… just not when someone needs saving.

The mood back at Avengers Mansion was grim, to say the least. While it had seemed as if they had been about to pull off a clean-sweep, rescuing Harry and Carol and half a dozen other prisoners, as well as Natasha's mole, Harry had demonstrated his customary talent for throwing a spanner in the works by chasing after Jean's doppelganger.

Speaking of said doppelganger, there was a good deal of confusion surrounding her, with Carol, Jean, the Red Room prisoners and Gambit all (entirely logically) believing that she was a clone – or at least, in the latter case, assuming that after they saw Jean. However, the truth was far worse.

Madelyn 'Maddie' Pryor had, in fact, been born Rachel Grey. She was Jean's twin sister, and had been stolen the night she was born, replaced with a dead infant by the creature known variously as Essex, Milbury, and Sinister, before a life of brainwashing had transformed her into Sinister's ultimate weapon, his hunting hound and dog-of-war. Jean had narrowly escaped the same fate thanks only to the intervention of Doctor Strange, who had nevertheless failed to save Rachel and prevent her becoming Maddie.

Jean had already been reeling from Harry's first capture, the psychic backlash of Harry and her twin's duel, meeting said twin, then Harry's second capture, diving right back into the Red Room's custody. The failure of her immediate attempts to follow him as she had before had dealt another blow. Now, she was in numb shock, tears streaming down her face as she stared into the middle distance, not responding to any attempt to comfort her.

Carol had come to relatively quickly, and on being informed of what had happened, immediately demanded that they go back and find Harry. When she was told that they were effectively back to square one thanks to the Red Room's escape, she had descended into furious, frustrated tears, loudly castigating Harry's stupidity. The fact that her much loved uncle was still unconscious and critically injured, broken bones having been the least of his problems following his not quite being fast enough to dodge a swipe from the Beast, had not helped. She was also being comforted by her grandmother, who was treating the situation with a kind of grim familiarity.

Gambit was being watched carefully by Clint and Natasha, though he didn't seem to have any thoughts of escape. Indeed, as soon as he had awoken from sedative aided unconsciousness, his first response – after immediate fear that he might be back in the Red Room's hands and foul swearing in response to his rather nasty injury – was to inquire of Maddie's whereabouts. When he'd been told she hadn't come through, he'd slumped in a kind of despair.

The ex-Red Room prisoners didn't much of a stake in what happened to Harry or Maddie – one they hardly knew, and while they were deeply grateful for his part in their escape, and concerned about what had happened to him, he was not exactly their top priority. The other, no matter how tragic her circumstances had been, had aligned herself with the bad guys. She was even suspected to have played a part in bringing them in.

As a result, they were mostly relieved on their own behalf, semi-delirious and disbelieving of the fact that they were free, as well as worried about their own: Noriko and Lorna were barely conscious and somewhat scorched, Nezhno was nursing a nasty eye injury and some considerable damage to his torso from the Beast's fists, while Jono, spine and neck snapped by the same, his internal fires extinguished, quickly put on life-support, seemed to be in a liminal state where it was unclear whether he was alive or dead. Kurt was the only one who'd emerged relatively unscathed, meaning that he was the only one really in a state to worry about others, which he did. For the most part, they wanted to contact their families, and with JARVIS' aid, did so, as well as being offered accommodation at Avengers Mansion or the Xavier Institute for the time being.

The Avengers and Wanda, meanwhile, were in a state of stunned disbelief. They'd had Harry literally in their grasp, and then, in the blink of an eye, he'd gone. Logically, it wasn't exactly surprising that he'd chosen to go after Maddie, since logic rarely featured in Harry's thought process when he made such decisions.

Slowly, though, they started to piece together why, and came to two conclusions. First, Harry honestly believed that he could turn Maddie, and was gambling everything on that. Second, he also believed that she was part of the second prophecy, with her most likely being the hound in chains, something the Avengers had previously theorised themselves.

And while Loki and Wanda had, as soon as they got back, set up a tracking spell based on Mjolnir's connection to Thor, and started calling in favours owed all across the Spirit World, they didn't anticipate much immediate success. The Nevernever was in uproar: while the transformative effects of Harry and Maddie's battle had been confined to the local area, a contested portion of Wyldfae territory not strictly under the suzerainty of either Summer or Winter, it had sent disruptive shockwaves throughout the nearer regions of the Nevernenever, which had been on edge to begin with, following the events of the Battle of London and 'Red Sky Day'. And as the Courts were wont to do, they were inclined to blame each other.

Furthermore, any spell tracing the thaumaturgic connection between Thor and Mjolnir, while it successfully circumvented whatever measures Sinister had in place to deflect magical tracking, had to contend with the fact that, by all early indications, the Red Room base had been warped into the deeper reaches of the Nevernever, beyond the borders of Faerie, into the sort of realms where up was down, time condensed into crystals, and the formless took form.

While it was generally suspected that the Red Room – or at least, Sinister – wouldn't pick somewhere too tenuous, it was also suspected that the instability of the realms surrounding it meant that the spells would have to be tweaked time and time again. And that wasn't even getting into the temporal distortions. Furthermore, that same instability meant that even if some knowledge could be gleaned from the remaining chunk of the Red Room base (which, as it happened, mostly consisted of rubble or strangely transmogrified molecules, having borne the brunt of the side-effects of Harry and Maddie's battle), perhaps a list of locations of other bases within the Nevernever, if indeed they existed.

Nevertheless, they persisted. Thor returned to Asgard to speak with Heimdall and his parents. Loki went to pump some of his contacts, both mystical and mundane, for information on the Red Room, while Natasha cross-examined Ivan and her own contacts on the same, and Coulson prepared to speak to Gambit. Wanda went to do the same on the mystical side of things, after retrieving her apprentice, even mentioning turning to John Constantine for help. Clint kept an eye on Bucky at the latter's request while he centred himself again, emerging from the Soldier persona, which he'd dived into twice in less than twelve hours. Tony set his robots to repairing the Mansion and with JARVIS, frantically combed the internet for traces of the Red Room and whatever they might be up to, or wherever they might be. Bruce, devastated though he was, applied himself to medical care of the injured.

And Steve, who saw this as a personal failure on his part, made preparations to demand answers from the Russian President. Up close and personal.

Jean, meanwhile, roused herself to call Professor Xavier, who had managed to insulate himself from the worst of the backlash, having prepared defences against that sort of thing after being caught off-guard by Gravemoss' dark magic the previous year. Within minutes, he had started up Cerebro, and was sweeping the world for any information that could help.

In other words, the mood was, among those not lost in despair, determined. But it was most certainly not optimistic.

OoOoO

Elsewhere, the mood was more… confused.

Maddie, meanwhile, had watched Harry lapse into unconsciousness, confused beyond words. Why had he followed her? Why had he rendered himself vulnerable to people he knew meant him harm? Did he think she would protect him? But why would he need protection in the first place? He'd been free of the Red Room, away from Doctor Essex, both of whom were fleeing, and under the protection of people even more powerful than she was, from whom the Red Room and Doctor Essex were fleeing in the first place. No, protection wasn't his driving motivation.

She thought back to what he'd said and frowned, trying to piece it together. As she did, she vaguely registered a lot of excited voices speaking in Russian, and half a dozen armoured Red Room Agents closed in on Harry with ill-intent. Before Maddie knew what she was doing, she'd struck out, sending all six of them flying, four into crumbling buildings, and at least two into the strange seas of the island around them, with waters flaring like rainbow opals. The chatter got more excited as she stood up and placed herself so that she was standing over him. "You will leave him," she said in Russian. "He will be assessed by Doctor Essex."

Some of them looked dubious, but a mixture of Doctor Essex's name and her expression made them think twice. In due course, Doctor Essex emerged, with the commander of the Red Room, General Lukin. Both of them stared in some surprise at the unconscious Harry, a noteworthy event – General Lukin was generally adept at hiding his feelings and Doctor Essex rarely showed any sign of surprise, or any emotion at all.

Then, Lukin chuckled. "I commend your programming, Doctor Essex," he said. "As you said, your hound returned, and she has brought the greatest of prizes with her."

Doctor Essex dropped down onto his haunches to inspect Harry, Maddie obediently moving out of the way to allow him to do so. "Yes," he said eventually. "She has." He didn't look away, but a couple of Red Room Agents snapped to and vanished into one of the less decrepit buildings, returning with a stretcher.

"I will do it," Maddie said, as they went to load Harry onto it. When Doctor Essex turned to her, eyebrow raised, she was momentarily lost for words. After a moment, however, she came up with a reason. "The superstructure of this base is damaged and rubble strewn throughout," she said. "Creatures stirred up may still infest it. Additionally, he is exhausted and recently injured. A simple shock to his body or a sharp impact could lead to further, perhaps severe, injury. My telekinesis would ensure physical stability, as well as a defence against any surprise attack. Furthermore, I now have a detailed understanding of his psychic defences. I can ensure that he remains unconscious in transit."

Doctor Essex regarded her for a long moment, then nodded. "A logical decision," he conceded. "Proceed."

Maddie nodded, carefully telekinetically lifting Harry onto the now hovering stretcher, being sure to support every part of him. And as she did, she wondered why she had spoken out. Normally, her duties would have run their course by this point, and she would either have been ordered to rest, to be physically assessed, or to take on some other task for Doctor Essex. What happened to a captive was not her concern. Yet this time, she had made it her concern. In this case, she did not want the Red Room laying their hands on him. And she didn't know why.

The trip with Doctor Essex and General Lukin to the special infirmary, one of Doctor Essex's labs, was relatively swift. Once they were there, Maddie placed Harry one of the examining tables, while Doctor Essex activated it and, on being satisfied that it was working, scanned Harry.

"Is he functional?" Lukin asked.

"There is no sign of brain damage," Doctor Essex said. "The physical damage is reasonably extensive, with broken bones being reset by telekinetic means, and the subject's inherent regenerative abilities mean that healing has already begun. No correction seems to be required. Exhaustion is also present, but that is a problem that will fade with time. Sufficiently hydrated and supplied with nutrients, he will heal on his own."

"Excellent," Lukin said.

"What do you plan for him?" Maddie asked suddenly.

Both men stared at her, Lukin startled, Essex considering.

"Nothing that need concern you," Lukin said curtly, after a long moment. "Your master is aware. You do not need to be."

Inwardly, a large part of Maddie conceded the truth of this. Her function was to act on Doctor Essex's commands. This was going beyond her remit, far beyond. However, a small but increasingly large and loud part of her was full of questions. It took her a moment to find a suitable reason for them, but it came quickly enough. "He is a psychic, and a superhuman in general, more powerful than any at your disposal save for myself. He is also a magical practitioner of considerable power and enough skill to be a threat. Additionally, he has sufficient hand to hand combat skill to defeat multiple highly trained opponents and tactical ingenuity to first manufacture an escape from the Beast's arena, before creating cover under which he successfully discerned the location of the other superhuman subjects and free them, before engaging me in psychic combat and despite his clearly deficient training in telepathic combat, draw out the fight for some time. Just now, he claimed that the entire purpose of the fight was to create sufficient psychic turbulence to allow the Avengers and their allies to discover this base's previous location, a claim supported by the fact that he very rarely directly attacked me, and only ever did so in the form of testing strikes, brief counter-attacks, and distractions. Given even the slightest chance, he can and will escape again. I am your only chance of preventing him from doing so. Logically speaking, it would be wise to inform me of your intentions regarding him."

Lukin's expression now warred between outrage, surprise, and grudging consideration of her fabricated but logically sound reasoning. Doctor Essex, meanwhile, was studying her carefully.

"He will be brought into the Red Room's service," Lukin said eventually.

"By what means?" Maddie asked, mind afire with questions. "Given my insight into his motives, and his demonstrated character, I doubt that he would serve willingly." Then it hit her. "You intend to break his will."

She didn't know why, but that seemed obscurely offensive to her. This was odd, even – especially – to her. After all, she had had no problem dominating the wills of others when required to. But that was only a temporary state of affairs, and only done for pragmatic reasons. Even so, once, it would not have bothered her. Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that it would not have occurred to her to be bothered by it. But now… her exposure to Remy, and this mysterious boy, who had echoed Remy's words on freedom, who had been so earnest in trying to convince her that something about her situation was wrong, that her purpose was not all there was in her life, meant that she was bothered.

He was misguided, of course (of course?), but even so: he had said that she was 'one of us', referring to himself and someone else who he regarded as important to him, a girl who looked just like her, had extended an offer of kinship and friendship based on hardly any acquaintance at all, and… he had been kind to her. It was not something she was used to, certainly not so randomly – even Remy had taken some time to get to know her before offering such open kindness. She wasn't entirely familiar with concepts of morality, of good and bad – they were not things that Doctor Essex dwelt on, as he considered them unnecessary to her purpose, and unnecessary in general – but as far as she could tell, Harry was a good person. His mind was also unique, one she felt was worth preserving.

"Surely there are other methods," she began.

"Enough."

It wasn't said in a particularly loud voice, but a lifetime of habitual obedience caused Maddie's mouth to snap shut at Doctor Essex's command.

"This is not your purpose," Doctor Essex said. "This is not what you were made for. You will cease."

That, however, only fired off more questions. For instance, who was that other girl who looked so like her, who had power just like hers, who Harry had originally thought that she was a clone of? With their appearances and powers, it was a reasonable conclusion, if an incorrect one. However, their similarities suggested that they shared genetic material, and further, that she shared genetic material with Harry, who had eyes of an identical shade to hers and the others, Jean's. If this was not part of her purpose, if this was not part of what she was made for, why was she capable of it in the first place? And why wasn't it part of her purpose? Why was she not allowed to think?

"Essex," Lukin said slowly, doubtless reading her body language, which Maddie had to admit was likely defensive.

Doctor Essex merely raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you really think that I would allow so powerful a subordinate to roam free?" he asked. His tone was calm, mild and seemed to be one of genuine inquiry. It was also unclear as to whether his words were directed at Maddie, Lukin, or both. Then, he ended doubt by focusing on Maddie. "You are my Hound and you will come to heel. Cease this line of thought."

Maddie frowned.

Doctor Essex sighed, impatient. "I see that work will have to be done," he said, then cleared his throat and began to recite. "'Between the idea and the reality, between the motion and the act… falls the Shadow.'"

With the last word, Maddie stiffened, then relaxed. Her eyes were now glazed and empty.

"She can hear you," Essex said clinically, responding to a question from the now relaxing Lukin, in words that Maddie was only distantly aware of. "And respond on reflex to stimuli such as her name. But she cannot act. She is on my leash once more." He cleared his throat. "Sleep."

And Maddie knew nothing more.

OoOoO

Carol, meanwhile, had not grown any less frustrated and angry, though her tears had mostly dried up, with even the arrival of her mother, who gathered her into a desperately tight hug, only eliciting a few more sobs. Mother and daughter stayed that way for a long time turned out to be rather more on the ball than Carol had previously given her credit for.

Specifically, when Carol was about to broach the subject of why she'd been kidnapped, her response was, "I know."

"You know?" Carol asked, startled.

"About why you were taken. About your powers."

"What powers?" Carol asked, on reflex.

"The ones that crushed a door knob, broke your chair and split your school bag," her mother said dryly. "I wasn't expecting you to start glowing green and fly, but I figure that when you're raising a super soldier, puberty's going to throw a curveball or two."

"Oh," Carol said, and coughed. "Those powers. Look, mom -"

"I know where they come from, too," Mrs Danvers said. "Except for the green ones."

"Those were me using the Green Lantern Ring. It's like Thor's hammer but, you know, a ring. It was a temporary deal. And how did you figure that was me?" Carol asked. "Since when did you know about the super soldier thing?"

"You're my daughter," Mrs Danvers said simply. "I'd know you anywhere." As Carol stared at her, stunned, she continued. "As for the super soldier powers, I've known for a long time. Mom liked to tell stories to me and Jack when we were growing up, same way she did to you, and I could read between the lines. Even if I couldn't have done, I once saw her change our car's tyre without a jack. After that, it wasn't too hard to figure out. The fact she doesn't age just confirmed it."

"You knew?" Carol demanded. "And you never said?"

"What good would it have done?" Mrs Danvers replied. "The serum gave mom powers, but it didn't do much in me and Jack. We were faster, stronger and tougher than most, but that was about it. I thought that the serum degraded by generation and that it wouldn't do much, if anything, to you." She sighed. "Then Captain America, my long lost grandfather, reappeared after seven decades frozen in an iceberg and whatever happened to you last Easter in the Rockies proved me wrong. But even then… I hoped I could keep you away from it all, hide you in plain sight. Now, I see that I never had a chance."

"Why?" Carol asked, frowning.

"Mom told us stories about what she did, about her battles with the Red Room – and yes, I know who they are. Mom was never exactly explicit, but I could read between the lines. And Jack and I, we saw them differently," her mother explained. "Jack saw a whole new world of adventure and excitement, the chance to be a hero. It was like a real life Narnia to him. Me, though, I looked past the monster slaying to what they actually did to deserve slaying in the first place. And like Jack, I saw a whole different world. But the one I saw was one of pain, misery and powers so far above humanity that we might as well be ants, that would crush you if you crossed them, or organisations like HYDRA and the Red Room, machines of pure evil that were never truly defeated and ground up everything in their path. After all, hadn't my grandparents, Captain America and Peggy Carter, been killed in the line of duty? Cap was at that point presumed dead, as was Peggy Carter, even though no one ever found out what happened to her. Mom knows, I'm sure of that much, but she always refused to talk about it. Not only that, but I saw how often mom came home limping or carrying an injury. Jack didn't always, or if he did, he didn't think about it for long but I did. And dad…"

She closed her eyes. "He was a decent, kind and very normal man, who I'm not even sure knew exactly what mom did for a living when they got married. He did later on – I walked in on him patching her up when I was eight. He apparently died of a very normal disease when I was sixteen, cancer. But to this day, I'm not entirely convinced that the cancer was natural. I have no proof, other than how fast it took hold, how it resisted all attempts at treatment, how it wasted him away into nothing in the blink of an eye… and I wonder."

Carol silently supplied a box of tissues, which her mother took with a nod, wiping at her damp cheeks.

"Anyway, I saw the supernatural world and wanted no part of it. I knew about SHIELD back when almost no one did, and I knew that I wanted nothing to do with it, even the missions not involving the supernatural." She sighed. "Mom, of course, always assumed that Jack and I would follow in her footsteps, in Peggy Carter's, and become an Agent of SHIELD. For a long time, it was just taken for granted that I would join SHIELD, which let women see combat, especially if their surname or mother's maiden name was Carter, and Jack would either join SHIELD or the military. Medicine wasn't really discussed, but it was one of the few acceptable alternatives. When it came out that I wasn't even going to do that, the rows were awful. Mom was always driven – once she set out on something, she wouldn't stop until the end of the world. She once quoted something her mother had told her: Compromise where you can. Where you can't, don't. Even if everyone is telling you that something wrong is something right. Even if the whole world is telling you to move, it is your duty to plant yourself like a tree, look them in the eye, and say, 'No, you move'. She lived by that philosophy. Dad had used to be a tempering influence on her, but he was gone. And worse, this was something she'd never compromise over. You see…"

She trailed off, obviously looking for the words. "Mom always felt that we had a Duty, a duty to stand up and protect those who couldn't protect themselves, to fight evil wherever it could be found, to be the wall that protected ordinary people from the monsters in the darkness. It probably comes of being raised the way she was, growing up on stories of her father, and feeling that she had to live up to her mother's legend after she vanished. That would be fine if it wasn't for the fact that she practically insisted that it had to be through SHIELD or the military. Medicine was fighting to protect people through defeating disease, so that was okay, but it had to be fighting something. But fighting simply wasn't what I wanted to do. I didn't want to fight evil, I wanted to make good. I couldn't see what mom found wrong with that and after what happened to Jack during Desert Storm, I felt I was right. Not only that, but I felt that mom had lied to him about the world, had led him like a lamb to slaughter. That wasn't entirely fair on her or Jack, who was never stupid, even though he was even more hot-headed and stubborn back then than he is now, if you can believe it. But that's the way I felt."

She shook her head. "I was always a disappointment to her, though she never said it and never would." Her mouth twisted. "Though she's never made any secret of the fact that she hates your father. She tolerates him for my sake, and for the sake of you and your brothers, but nothing more. As for Jack, well, he'd probably have shot your father long ago if he thought he could make it look like an accident." She waved this away. "Mom loves me, I know, loves me to pieces. But she doesn't understand me and never has. She expected me to carry on the Carter legacy, the Rogers legacy, and use my gifts like she and her parents had, and to be an example to women everywhere. In other words, to do my duty and be a symbol. But I didn't want to be a symbol, or even an adventurer. As boring, selfish and cowardly as it might sound, I just wanted a life of my own. I just wanted to be an ordinary person. And she couldn't understand that, not deep down. She'd been raised by a living legend in the very midst of the super spy world with her parentage an impossibly important secret, raised from the start to be a hero, to be an Agent of SHIELD. She never knew anything else. Then, you came along."

She smiled sadly at Carol, reaching over to brush her hair out of her eyes. "Oh Carol," she said. "You were the daughter that mom always wanted. Right from the start, you were always the leader, always ready to fight anyone and stand up for what you thought was right. My scrappy little warrior maiden; you were everything that my mother had hoped I would be."

"So you resented me," Carol said bitterly. "Yeah, I can see that."

"No."

Carol had run across a great many things in her young life and had faced them down without blinking, but the vehemence of that one word nearly knocked her out of her chair.

"No," her mother repeatedly, voice soft but fierce. "I have never resented you. I have loved you from the moment you were born, so much that I thought my heart would burst. You were, are and have always been my brave, beautiful and brilliant little girl and I will always love you. I would tear the world apart for you." She shook her head. "I didn't resent you, Carol. I was afraid for you. I was afraid that you would be drawn into SHIELD's, mom's world, a world of monsters and death, the way you have been. You idolised mom, and your cousin Sharon, herself a top notch SHIELD Agent, and why wouldn't you? They were brave, adventurous and inspirational women, and mom of course had all sorts of amazing stories to tell. They were everything you wanted to be. You and your father found that you had a similar mutual lack of understanding that mom and I do, so you decided that you hated him and latched onto Jack as a father figure instead."

She gave Carol a wry smile. "It probably didn't hurt that he let you do just about anything your father said you couldn't out of spite. I love my brother, but he can be very childish sometimes. And he had stories too, half of which I am convinced he made up." The smile faded. "I was afraid that you would be drawn into that world, so I tried to limit contact with mom and Jack – which wasn't entirely difficult, since mom was still working at SHIELD, mentoring a young up and comer called Nick Fury, when you were little and Jack was travelling all over with the Air Force – and sometimes I didn't step in when I should have done, when your father tried to make you into the proper young lady he wanted his daughter to be. I half hoped that he would succeed or, at least, that you would choose to follow my path, or any path but the one that's brought our family so much pain. I'm sorry about that, for all the good that does, I really and truly am. All I can say is that I was afraid, afraid of what you might walk into."

"'You were afraid of what I might walk into', but you're sorry?" Carol said. "You think that that makes it all better?"

"Probably not," her mother said bluntly. "But I'd have locked you away in a nunnery if I thought it would protect you." When Carol opened her mouth, her mother raised a hand. "Did Jack ever tell you what happened to him in Iraq, during Desert Storm?"

Carol closed her mouth, frowned, then shook her head. "He never really wanted to talk about it," she said.

Her mother sighed. "I can't blame him," she said. "He was on a mission behind enemy lines. What he was doing I don't know, but like you were, he was captured. He was one of the few of his team to survive. After that, he was tortured, for weeks. Mom led the rescue op, her last in the field, and got him out… but it left a mark on him. Physically, he healed up fine, though it took months, years. But mentally, he was never quite the same."

Carol, through her horror, noticed that her mother was crying and half thrust out the box of tissues before, on an impulse, hugging her.

"I saw what mom went through, after she got Jack out of there, the look on her face… it was like part of her had died," her mother said eventually. "I can well believe it. And once you were showing signs of turning out like your cousin and uncle, like mom, I started having nightmares about you being the one in that hospital bed, all blood and bandages and… and broken. I'd rather anything than that. I did everything I could to discourage you - everything I could stomach, anyway. It didn't work of course. That much was obvious, even before you met your friend, Harry." She shook her head ruefully. "I closed off every route I could to SHIELD's world, mom's world, and then a whole new way into it waltzed into your life: a brave, handsome and dashing young man who was right in the heart of that world, loved and respected you for all of who and what you were."

"Loved?" Carol asked, startled.

Her mother chuckled sadly. "Honey, he's devoted to you," she said. " And not like those other boys who've chased you in the past, either. I've seen how he looks at you, and how you look at him."

"I'm not in love with him," Carol snapped.

"I never said you were," her mother said calmly, and at her daughter's puzzled expression, elaborated. "I said you loved him. Not that you were in love with him. There are many kinds of love, after all. You love him, very much I think." She smiled sadly and, pulling out a tissue, gently wiped away some of her daughter's dried tears. "You'd hardly be getting so worked up over him if you didn't." Carol wrinkled her nose, but didn't say anything. "As a friend, maybe," her mother added. "But it's still love, even if you don't want to take him to bed."

Carol went scarlet, letting out a non-verbal squawk.

"Or maybe you do," her mother said, with a cheerful wickedness that made it very clear that she was the older sister of Jack O'Neill. "His father is quite a looker, after all, and he does seem to be growing into a rather handsome young man."

"Mom!" Carol squeaked, then glowered as her mother chuckled.

"I have to get my amusements somehow," Mrs Danvers said. "And your face…" She trailed off, and smiled.

Slowly, reluctantly, Carol's glower dissolve into a tentative smile, which faded. "How can I smile right now?" she asked. "Harry's still with those Red Room psychos."

"If there's one thing I've learned, it's that smiles matter more when things are bad than when things are good," her mother said. "As for him, from what I've been told, he went with them willingly this time. Which suggests to me that he has a plan – that boy does not strike me as a fool. A bit reckless, maybe, but not a fool. From what I hear, he's a born survivor. And you'd know better than I how powerful he is."

"If you'd ever heard one of his plans, you'd know how totally not reassuring that is," Carol grumbled.

"Maybe," Mrs Danvers said. "But I do know that the Avengers and just about every other mover and shaker in this world and several others are looking for him, and one of them is famously known as the Star-Spangled Man With A Plan. Considering how quickly they found the lot of you earlier, I think that they'll find your young man sooner rather than later."

"Yeah," Carol mumbled. "But what'll happen to him before they do?" She looked up at her mother. "I mean, what happened to uncle Jack –"

"Will almost certainly not happen to him," Mrs Danvers said firmly. "And I should not have told you that story. Regardless, they went to a great deal of trouble to get hold of him, and you. He's valuable to them, so they won't damage him any more than they have to."

"Yeah," Carol said. "But mom, they've got a psychic even stronger than he is, and the big bad can screw with his mind anyway. What if what they do to him instead will be worse?"

Her mother, who'd been trying to steer her away from this line of thought, took her by the shoulders. "Carol," she said. "Look at me." Reluctantly, her daughter did so. "Don't think like that. Trust me, it will destroy you, and it won't do him the slightest bit of good."

Carol bit her lip. "Then what do you suggest I do?" she asked. "I mean, you've been in this situation before."

"Find some way to distract yourself," her mother said. "Don't forget about the person who's missing, but don't let your fears and pain eat you up, because they will if you give them the chance. And be ready to support them when they come out the other side."

Carol nodded. "And what about after?" she asked eventually. "You going to tell me to stay away from Harry?"

"That would be cruel to both of you. And even if I did, would you listen?" her mother replied bluntly. "No, of course you wouldn't. The two of you are like peas in a pod. And even if I did manage to separate the two of you, I've come to a realisation, one that I'd hoped to avoid. Adventure, finding bad guys to fight, people to help and, frankly, trouble in general, is in your blood. Even if you don't go looking for trouble, it finds you, and it was always going to. You're a hero, Carol. It's who you are. All trying to stop you, to make you be something else, would do is make you hate me. And I couldn't stand that." She smiled sadly, and pulled Carol into a hug. "Besides. I have raised a brave and righteous young woman, whose first concern after going through hell and getting struck by lightning is for others. The least I can do is be proud of her."

Carol sniffed, tears returned. "Y'know," she said. "Technically that wasn't a lightning bolt."

"Well, I, for one, am inclined to overlook the minor details," her mother said. "And for now, I'm just glad that you're safe here with me."

And a large part of Carol had to admit that she felt much the same way.

OoOoO

Carol, however, was left with the feeling that she should have done something. However, before she went to speak to anyone about that, something else struck her. Specifically, about Lorna. Whose powers were very similar to those of Magneto a.k.a. Wanda's Incredibly Scary Yet Polite Dad. And if there was one thing she'd picked up over the last year of her exposure to Harry, was that coincidence was kind of non-existent when superpowers were involved.

So, when Wanda was on a break from her tweaking her tracking spell, something on which she was consulting with Loki and her boyfriend/apprentice, Harry Dresden, who apparently happened to be something of an expert on the matter – according to her grandma, SHIELD rated him as one of the top magical trackers on the planet – she went to have a chat.

"Hey," she said, not entirely sure how one should address one's best friend's godmother/stand-in mother who'd just had to deal with said best friend/godson being kidnapped, then, when they'd got them back, literally slipping through their fingers. It didn't help that she didn't exactly know Wanda all that well. Their prior contacts boiled down to one time over Easter when they were agreeing that Clint's arms were indeed amazing, a brief meeting during the Battle of London, and a whole bunch of times when Harry, post his latest traumatic experience or just because he felt like it, was cuddled up to her. "Uh…"

Wanda looked up and gave her a weary, slightly strained smile. "Hi, Carol," she said. "How are you holding up?" When Carol hesitated, her smile turned wry. "Sorry. That was a little too on the nose. I think I inherited my dad's sense of tact."

Carol thought back to her previous interaction with Magneto, which had mostly consisted of him remarking that she seemed a worthy heir to the previous Green Lantern, and that he knew how the ring worked because he'd come across it a lot, while fighting the previous Green Lantern. Since Carol had what she felt was a fairly good grasp on just how powerful the ring was, and thanks to her chat with/tutorial from Alan Scott's ghost, a good idea of just how good he'd been with it, this little remark – with the implication that he'd gone multiple rounds with Alan Scott several times before and come out honours even – to be even more spectacularly scary than his turning HYDRA's super helicarrier into indestructible tinfoil. "I can see that," she said, drawing a chuckle from Wanda.

"Quite," the older woman said dryly, though there was a shadow in her expression. Carol supposed that having one's beloved godchild kidnapped by the Red Room, then diving back in out of crazy-ass chivalry, would have that effect. "I suppose I got my parenting skills from him too. I mean, I ran from him, and now my godson seems to prefer to dive back into the Red Room to stay with me…"

"Whoa, hey, Harry thinks the world of you," Carol said, startled and indignant.

Wanda sighed. "I know," she said. "And I know why he dived back into the Red Room." She shook her head. "Don't mind me, I'm just a little, a lot, frustrated. Tired too, in truth. Trying to get that spell to track Harry to keep tracking him is like… oh, I don't know, some ludicrously complex and frustrating thing that keeps changing. And…" She closed her eyes and trailed off.

"Yeah," Carol said quietly. "I've been thinking about that too. Mom suggested that I try and think of something else. And I did. Um."

Wanda cracked open an eye and raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Well… you know the other kids who were in with me? The other prisoners?"

"Yes," Wanda said, in a leading tone that wondered where this was going.

"You remember the one with green hair? Lorna?"

Wanda frowned. "Very vaguely," she said.

"Well, she's got powers. Magnetic powers," Carol said awkwardly. "Kind of like your dad's, actually. And your dad, is, well, I'm guessing he's older than he looks, and he's kind of handsome in an older guy sort of way, and I think, just think, that maybe I can see a little bit of him in her. So to speak." She coughed. "So, um, do you think your dad was in Australia about sixteen years ago?"

Wanda's other eye opened wide and she stared at the ceiling. "No," she said flatly. "No, this cannot be happening. This cannot be happening again."

"Uh… so it's possible?"

"Since I have a half brother who's about sixteen now, I'd say yes," Wanda said, voice muffled as she put her head in her hands. "Clearly father spent quite some time celebrating his newly regained youth."

"Regained youth? Also, ew."

Wanda sighed. "There was an incident, most of twenty years ago, where my father and some of his old frenemies, Professor Xavier among them, wound up being rejuvenated," she said. "A living island was involved. Don't ask." She sighed again and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Another half-sibling young enough to be my kid. By the hoary hosts of fucking hoggoth, I do not need this right now."

"Well, it's not guaranteed…" Carol said. "I mean, I'm just guessing. Same powers doesn't mean that they're related… does it?"

"Not necessarily," Wanda sighed, standing up. "My half-brother, Pietro, who I sincerely hope you never meet because he is a complete brat, has super speed."

"Like Jean-Paul?"

Wanda snorted. "He wishes. He's not half as fast," she said. "I'd be surprised if he could break the sound barrier yet." She grimaced. "That said, specific mutations do tend to run in families. Look at Harry – he's got psychic abilities, and so do at least three of his cousins."

Carol frowned. "Three? I mean, there's Jean, her possibly evil twin, and…"

"Tyler," Wanda said. "Another foul little brat, from what I hear. Not one of Jean's siblings, as far as I can gather, but a relative." She waved a hand. "He was a fellow student at the Xavier Institute, then either dropped out or was kicked out. Since Charles doesn't give up on people lightly, I'd guess the former." She shrugged at Carol's expression. "I hear things. Apparently he was a psychic too."

"What about that other cousin of Harry's?" Carol asked.

"Which one?"

"The fat one."

Wanda blinked. "Dudley? Dudley Dursley? I wasn't aware that he had any powers. What does he have to do with anything?"

"Well, he does," Carol said. "And he was huge, mean, and working as muscle for the Red Room and/or that Sinister creep."

Wanda stared at her, then threw back her head and actually cackled. It went on for some time. "Sorry," she said, at Carol's affronted and disturbed expression. "It's just that his parents, Lily's sister and her brother-in-law, were always so adamant about how they were completely and utterly normal. The irony is delicious." Her expression changed. "Except that it resulted in a monster, of course. You had a run in with him?"

"You could say that," Carol said. "He was the one who…" She trailed off.

"Carol?" Wanda asked, tone suddenly gentle and concerned as she looked over the younger girl with a worried and worryingly practised eye. "Did he do something to you?"

"What? No, unless you count trying to kill me," Carol said, then remembered his expression and shuddered. "Though I don't think he'd have objected to the idea."

Wanda laid a hand on her shoulder. "Well, he can't do anything to you now," she said gently. "He was the one who attacked your group, then?"

Carol nodded. "I zapped him with some lightning Noriko and Lorna channelled into my shield," she said, then, at an arched eyebrow, added, "I figured that since it's made of the same stuff as Mjolnir, it might do some of the same things." She shrugged. "It probably didn't do much."

Wanda smiled a crooked smile. "Miss Danvers, I like your style," she said. "And according to James, it stunned your attacker – he didn't exactly say who it was. After that, the boy made the mistake of challenging him, and found himself buried halfway into the mountain in short order."

"James? Oh, Harry's dad's old name," Carol said.

Wanda nodded. "I still sometimes refer to him as James," she said. "Old habits." She shook her head. "In any case, we have digressed. Where was I? Oh yes. The strength could simply be a product of Sinister's experiments, or some exotic application of telekinesis. Magic can be used to enhance strength, though it's a risky endeavour at the best of times. Of course, we don't know for sure, while we can find out very quickly if this poor girl is, in fact, my newest half-sibling. Which she probably is, since coincidence is not something that exists in my life."

"I think I'm beginning to understand that feeling," Carol remarked, then yelped as Wanda took her firmly by the hand, stepped forward, and then the very next moment, they were in the lobby of the Xavier Institute. "You can teleport?" she managed, in a strangled voice.

"Of course," Wanda said. "Every wanded wizard can – it's like getting a driving license for non-magical people."

"But you're wandless," Carol pointed out.

"There's a certain crossover," Wanda said. "In theory, just about anyone can learn to use both, though putting that into practise…" She smiled wryly. "Let's just say that I'm the best in my generation, I was trained by the Sorcerer Supreme, and it took me years to get the hang of it. And practically speaking, only a few people are inclined towards even some aspect of the wandless art, if they're wanded, or wanded art if they're wandless. You need to know how to teach it, and you need to know how to learn it."

"That sounds… ludicrously complicated," Carol said.

"Really? That was the simplified version," Wanda said. "The full explanation involves Quantum Physics, high end theoretical psychology, complex magical theory, debates over nature versus nurture, and possibly a little bit of genetics. That last part is still up for debate."

"… Good to know," Carol said.

Wanda smiled faintly. "There are ways of simplifying it," she said. "A couple of my friends actually managed to figure out to train yourself to be magically ambidextrous, for want of a better description. The best of both worlds, though they did end up splitting the difference on some of the downsides."

"Cool," Carol said, blinking. "Are they teaching, or something?"

Wanda's mouth tightened. "They were killed," she said curtly. "Fighting Voldemort."

"Oh. Oh, god, I'm sorry," Carol said.

Wanda gave her a brief smile. "It's okay," she said. "You weren't to know, and it was many years ago. Their daughter has apparently mastered the art, at a remarkably young age too. Apparently young Zatanna's quite the prodigy."

Carol eyed her. "Don't take this the wrong way, but are you trying to distract yourself?" she asked.

Wanda grimaced. "Busted," she said. "Yes, yes I am." She sighed. "For me, family is complicated. I spent my early childhood with my mother's family in Romania, which was nice, though mostly meant I was surrounded by lots of distant cousins. Then my powers came in when I was 12, and I ran away, afraid I'd hurt someone." Her expression shadowed. "And I did. My father found me then. It was as if he'd been ready, he'd been forewarned. Either way, he beat everyone to me and…" She snorted. "He was like a guardian angel. An avenging angel. And he was my father. Half the supernatural world was after me and he took them all on. I loved him then. In between being terrified at my powers and being driven half-way insane by them as they twisted reality and my perception of reality like playdough, of the bad guys coming to get me, of the good guys wanting to execute me because I was a danger to the world, of course."

"Of course," Carol said.

Wanda smiled wryly. "Yeah," she said. "I've had a weird life. Anyway, Strange took me, helped me get control of my powers and told the Council that if they wanted me, they'd have to fight him for it. They didn't take up the offer. And I didn't see my father again for many years. When I did, he was a cold, calculating, murderous terrorist, halfway mad at the best of times. The only reason he wasn't far worse, a global terror, was because he didn't want to expose mutantkind before he was ready. And because a lot of power groups in the supernatural world didn't want to have modern day witch-hunts starting up, as they inevitably would if the would was was confronted with someone like my father on the rampage..."

"It was covered up."

"More or less. It helped that his worst days were pre-internet, and his powers tend to have a certain effect on electronic equipment if it's not specifically hardened," Wanda said. "Ah, Henry."

"Hello, Wanda," Hank said, stopping. "I would say that it is nice to see you, and it is, but given the circumstances…"

Wanda grimaced. "Yes," she said. "Henry, have you checked Lorna Dane out yet?"

"Beyond a basic physical to ensure that she is in good health, no," Hank said. "While someone who's had a severe electric shock would normally be top of my priorities list, Thor and Loki between them managed to do a rather good job with her and Miss Ashida and I am afraid that Mister Abidemi, Mister LeBeau, Mister Starsmore, and General O'Neill have been occupying my time." He turned to Carol. "Ah, Miss Danvers. A pleasure. Tell me, do you think that Ali, Alison rather, would consent to an attempt to activate the dormant super soldier serum within your uncle?"

"Wait, what? He's going to be okay, right?" Carol asked eyes wide with panic.

"He will be fine, under any circumstance," Hank said. "With magical assistance, I foresee no long term brain damage. His bones have been set, and the internal bleeding has been stopped. Nerve damage, however…" He sighed. "I hesitate to make an immediate prognosis, but the reason I ask because it could be the difference between his making a full recovery and severe permanent damage to his mobility, and possibly his independence."

Carol's eyes widened even further, and she simply stared at Hank.

"Honestly, Henry," Wanda said, folding her arms and frowning. "Did you really have to dump that on her? She's got more than enough to worry about at the moment."

Hank looked embarrassed. "Sorry," he said.

"I don't know," Carol said suddenly, a little distant. "She might. You'd have to ask her." She paused. "Also, Ali? She barely lets anyone call her that."

"I am one of the lucky few," Hank said. "Being that I have known your grandmother since she was hardly more than your age."

"Huh," Carol said, blinking. "Wow. She never said."

"If there is one thing I have learned about your grandmother over the many years of our acquaintance, Miss Danvers," Hank said. "It is that she has secrets to spare. Now, what brings you two here, and what does it have to do with Miss Dane?"

"Have you asked her about her powers yet?" Wanda asked.

"No, I haven't had the time. Why?"

"She's got my father's powers. Carol thinks that she might be my half-sister," Wanda said flatly.

"I'm not certain, but I think it's a pretty good bet," Carol put in.

"Oh my stars and garters," Hank said faintly.

"Quite," Wanda said.

"Well, she's upstairs," Hank said. "And Wanda?"

"Yes?"

"I know that you have many issues with your father," Hank said. "For which I cannot blame you. I've known Erik for many years, and I know how he can be, something which is bad enough when you're just his friend. I would also imagine that, not for the first time, finding out that you have a half sibling young enough to be your own child is not a pleasant surprise."

"What are you saying, Henry?" Wanda asked.

"Just… please be gentle with her," Hank said. "Her parentage, if it is what you suspect, isn't her fault, and as you well know, she has been through hell."

Wanda's expression softened. "Of course I will," she said. "Of course it isn't. And of course I know."

"That is all I can ask," Hank said. "She's upstairs, in the third room on the right."

Carol had been silent throughout this, and was silent as she followed Wanda upstairs. "So… you and your dad have issues," she said.

Wanda snorted. "You could say that," she said.

"I get that," Carol said. "I mean, my dad's not, you know…"

"A superpowered former terrorist with a possibly not so former messiah complex who was and could yet again be a threat to all life on Earth?" Wanda said.

"Right," Carol said. "But him and me, we don't get on either. We see the world in totally different ways, and want totally different things. He wants me to be something I'm not. I'm guessing that your dad did too."

"He did," Wanda sighed. "Though he came around eventually. Regaining his sanity helped in that regard."

"Yeah," Carol said. "Unfortunately, my dad's not crazy. Just, you know, a gigantic asshole."

Wanda laid a hand on the younger girl's shoulder in sympathy. "Family can be hard," she said. "Very hard. Because unfortunately, for the most part, you have no choice in who they are. And no matter how hard you try, you can't shake them off completely."

"Yeah," Carol said quietly.

"But," Wanda said. "That doesn't mean you have to let them define you. Your life is your own. Remember that."

"I will," Carol said.

"Good," Wanda said, then took a deep breath. "Right. Once more unto the breach." Then, she knocked on the door.

"Come in," a melodious female voice said.

Wanda opened the door, letting out the sound of sobbing and revealing two women. One Carol recognised as Lorna, the bright green hair unmistakeable. Her face was buried in the shoulder of the other, a tall, dark and elegant woman with white hair, was one she vaguely recognised as one of the Institute's senior faculty.

"Wanda," the woman – Ororo Munroe, that was her name, Carol remembered, though a lot of the students either called her Ms Monroe or by her codename, Storm. She sounded a little surprised. "And Miss Danvers."

"Ororo," Wanda said. "I wanted to speak to Miss Dane. But if this is a bad time…"

Ororo glanced down at Lorna. "Lorna tried to get into contact with her mother," she said. "As the others with her did with their parents. None of them claimed to remember them, or to know that they even had children. Lorna's mother even accused her of playing some sick joke. None of the local authorities, teachers, or friends that Lorna tried remembered her either."

"That telepath," Carol said, in dawning horror. "He fucked with their memories so no one would go looking, same way he fucked with Jean's mind, her mom and dad's too, to make them forget about Harry."

Ororo nodded, giving Carol's language a pass under the circumstances. "The Professor believes so," she said.

"Well, I don't think he'll be doing it again," Wanda said.

"Oh yeah?" Carol asked. "You know that how?"

Wanda gave her a look that, suddenly, made her look disturbingly like her father. Carol shivered.

"Okay, never mind."

Wanda's expression softened again. "Lorna," she said. "It is Lorna, isn't it?"

Lorna's sobbing, now diminishing into damp sniffles, looked up. Wanda gave her a kind smile. "Yeah," Lorna said, a little suspiciously, darting glances at Carol and Ororo. "Who're you?"

"My name is Wanda," Wanda said gently. "I know you've been through something horrible. In fact, I've actually got a pretty good idea of what you've gone through – I went through something very similar when I was a little younger than you are now, when my powers came through. My godson, Harry – you've met? Good. He's still with them and we're trying to find him again. So I know it's very hard, but I've got a couple of questions I'd like you to answer. Do you feel up to that?"

Lorna stared at her for a long moment, lime green eyes swimming with tears, but eventually she nodded.

Wanda smiled. "Great," she said. "I know that your mum can't remember you at the moment, and I swear, I will do everything I can to fix that, to make sure that everyone remembers you. But did she ever say anything about your father?"

Lorna frowned, then shook her head. "He," she began, then gulped. "She just said he was some bloke she knew ages ago. He wasn't an Aussie and he didn't stick around. He didn't even know that she was going to have me."

Ororo's gaze darted between Wanda and Carol, before her eyes widened.

"Okay," Wanda said, voice wobbling only slightly. "I know this might seem a little strange, but do you mind if I take a couple of your hairs?"

"Why?" Lorna asked, instantly suspicious.

Wanda hesitated, then closed her eyes. "I'm a mutant, like you," she said. "But I have other powers too. Magic. I think I have an idea about who your father might be. I could be completely wrong, but I can check."

"With a coupla hairs?" Lorna asked sceptically.

Wanda smiled. "Magic can do some pretty amazing stuff," she said, plucking a hair or two from her head. "May I?"

Lorna hesitated, then at Ororo and Carol's encouraging nods, let Wanda take a couple of hairs, which separated easily.

At Lorna's expression of surprise, Wanda smiled again. "I thought using a little magic would be less painful and more polite than yanking," she said dryly, drawing a damp chuckle from the younger woman. "Now, this will only take a few moments," she said, laying the hairs alongside one another, and murmuring something in a soft, liquid language. Almost instantly, the hairs glowed a pale blue, then brown and green hairs leapt over to each other, intertwining.

"Does that mean what I think it means?" Carol asked, after a moment, as Wanda stared, stunned at the hairs. "Wanda?"

The older woman didn't respond.

"Wanda," Ororo said.

Wanda shook her head, snapping out of it. "I…" she began, then took a deep, shuddering breath. "My guess was correct. I know who your father is, Lorna."

"What? How?" Lorna asked, confused.

"I suspected because you have his powers," Wanda said, voice carefully measured. "Now that I know to look, there's some resemblance in the face, too. I know because the way the spell responded. Your father, Lorna, is a man called Erik Lensherr. And he's my father too."

Lorna's eyes widened like saucers. "You're my sister?" she whispered, incredulous.

"Half-sister," Wanda corrected, then softened it with a wobbly smile and damp eyes. "Yes. Yes, Lorna, I am your sister."

Lorna stared at her for a long moment, then began crying in earnest, emotionally overwhelmed. Wanda, with the instincts of a mother, sat down beside her and pulled her into a hug, rocking her gently back and forth, murmuring comforting nonsense in her little sister's ear.

Family can be hard. But that doesn't mean they aren't worth it.

OoOoO

Carol, meanwhile, secure in the knowledge that she had done a Good Deed, something which marginally alleviated her monumentally fucking awful last day or two. Unfortunately, it didn't alleviate the crushing sense of failure and self-loathing she felt at not being able to save Harry, instead merely pushing it to one side. Now, distraction completed, it was back in full force.

Intellectually, she knew perfectly well that she had had no way in hell of stopping Harry from doing what he'd done; he'd been in Wanda's fucking arms, and Wanda was the next best thing to Thor or Loki power wise, if not on par with them. Considering how powerful Harry was, there wasn't any realistic way for most anyone short of Thor, much less her, to physically stop him from doing something he really wanted to do. Of course, she was aware that… well. He didn't exactly do what she said, but he did listen to her, more than he did to almost anyone else. Maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have gone after Not Quite Evil Jean – real name Rachel, given name Maddie, apparently – if she'd asked him not to, if she'd begged, which was something she never did. But she would have done, she'd have done it a dozen times over to stop him from throwing himself back into the Red Room's clutches again, to be subjected to who knew what tortures.

She was acutely aware of how lucky she'd been to escape almost entirely unscathed from the Red Room, and even more aware that she'd only done so thanks to Harry's insane but effective plan to get the Avengers' attention. After all: look what they, or their very creepy (and apparently very dead, courtesy of Wanda) ally, had done to Maddie. Remembering the almost blank expression on her face, the way she'd been so cold, so calculating, not cruel, as such, just robotic and remorselessly logical, in contrast to Jean, who was all life and warmth and kindness, who'd immediately swept Harry under her big sisterly wing while her doppelganger, her twin sister, had done her level best to smoosh him into the dirt… it made her skin crawl. Just what the hell had they done to her? And what the hell would they do to Harry?

All of this brought her back to the nagging sense that it was her fault, that she could and should have stopped him.

Of course, others disagreed.

"Don't be stupid, darling," her grandmother said briskly. "You couldn't have stopped him, and even if you did manage to, he wouldn't have thanked you for it."

"What, so you think he wanted to be captured and tortured again?" Carol demanded.

"No," Alison said calmly. "What I think is that he considered it an acceptable price to pay to try and save his long lost cousin."

"That's… totally like something Harry would think," Carol said, deflating. "But…"

"You still think you should have saved him," a tired, raspy voice said from the bed next to them. They were in the Xavier Institute's worryingly extensive infirmary. Like everything else in the mansion, one even larger than Avengers' Mansion, it was clear that Professor Xavier had spared no expense. In the bed that Carol and Alison were standing next to was the badly injured, but stable, Jack O'Neill, who had taken about as well to enforced bed rest as crocodiles do to salsa. "Yeah, we've all been there, kid. Fact is, though, you can't save everyone. Not if they don't want to be saved."

"He –"

"The way you tell it, he dived back into the Red Room, knowing that they were about to vanish, to try and save someone else," O'Neill said. "He didn't want to be stopped. Or saved."

"But… you don't leave people behind," Carol said. "I shouldn't have left him behind."

"You were unconscious, darling, it wasn't like you had much of a say in it," Alison said gently.

Carol folded her arms, pretended her eyes weren't watering, and glared at nothing in particular.

"Not that it makes you feel any better," O'Neill remarked. "It's an absolute bastard to deal with, kid."

"Especially when the person you feel that you failed is someone you love," Alison said.

"I'm not," Carol instinctively began to snap, then stopped. Then, after a long moment, she said, in a small voice, "So what if I do love him, as a friend? Is that why it sucks so much?"

"Oh darling," Alison said, voice soft, compassionate and understanding. "Come here."

Carol reluctantly shuffled over and was promptly wrapped in a grandmotherly hug. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, there was a sniff, followed by a shake of the shoulders, then a strangled sob.

"Let it out, darling," Alison said. "Just let it out."

And Carol did. It was not elegant, graceful, or dignified. Pain rarely is. Instead, it was raw, messy, and prolonged, enough that the right shoulder of Alison's shirt was a damp mess and the seemingly inexhaustible supply of tissues that all mothers and grandmothers seem to have hidden on their person, possibly in a portal to subspace, was exhausted.

"I don't understand," Carol eventually said thickly.

"Why he did what he did?" Alison asked.

Carol rolled her eyes. "No," she said. "He's a fucking idiot who just has to save people. That's why he did it." She shook her head. "I don't understand why I keep crying, though."

"You spent most of a day in the hell otherwise known as the Red Room and your boyfriend's there right now," O'Neill said. "I'd say that's pretty good reason to cry."

"He's not my boyfriend," Carol said, glowering at her uncle.

"Tactless though he may be, your uncle Jack does have a point," Alison said gently. "You have every reason to cry. And contrary to what you may have come to believe, tears are not in any way, shape or form a sign of weakness. The only thing that they're a sign of is pain. And there's no shame in that." She smiled. "Besides. A good cry can be quite cathartic."

Carol wrinkled her nose, but didn't disagree.

"Oh yeah, especially with ice cream and a romantic comedy," O'Neill put in. "I just can't get enough of that."

Alison eyed him. "Hank is giving you far too much morphine," she said. "Or perhaps not enough, if you're capable of being that sarcastic." She smirked. "Besides, I remember a certain someone post-break up being utterly absorbed by the Princess Bride."

"I was watching it for the fight scenes and the jokes," O'Neill said mulishly.

His mother fondly patted his arm. "Of course you were, darling," she said, as Carol giggled.

As a wise man once said, happiness can be found in the darkest of times, so long as one remembers to turn on the light.

OoOoO

Not all, however, were so capable of finding the metaphorical light switch.

Thor felt helpless. For someone of his power, a greater god with the strength to wrestle the Hulk, the power to bathe entire worlds in lightning, and a peerless weapon that could comfortably shatter such worlds, it was not a feeling he was accustomed to, and not a welcome one either. And yet, this last year or so, it was a feeling that he found himself facing more and more. It was, he found, one of the unforeseen downsides of fatherhood, one often caused, in his case, by his offspring's bravery, nobility of spirit, and complete lack of common sense.

Jane sat with him, mostly in silence, knowing very well that platitudes would be of no help and having already contributed as best she could by discussing with Loki how to tweak her New Bifrost technology for use in finding and rescuing Harry, her de facto stepson, of whom she was very fond. She had then had to leave it to him, because actually doing so required in-depth knowledge of the Nevernever, intimate familiarity with the enchantments on Mjolnir, and high end thaumaturgical skill, none of which she possessed. Since she found this frustrating to put it mildly, she understood Thor's standpoint very well. Both of them had done all that they could, and for now, they were relegated to the sidelines.

What made it harder for Thor, however, was the certain knowledge that, in Harry's place, he would have done the exact same thing. In fact, he had done the exact same thing, trying repeatedly to reach out to Loki when his brother was in the depths of his madness. The situations were not so different, though in the case of Rachel Grey – or as those who knew her called her, Madelyn 'Maddie' Pryor – she was not so much mad as completely and utterly brainwashed from infancy, to the point where even Thor's optimism on the subject of redemption was challenged. After all, unlike Loki, this was not simply returning to sanity, for want of a better way of putting it, retreading a road long taken, but finding a road never previously taken, with only an earnest but uncertain guide leading the way. But such obstacles were not likely to overly faze Harry, who tended to take any obstruction as a personal challenge. Moreover, Thor had to admit that his son was not merely persuasive, if in a more off-the-cuff fashion than Loki's famous silver tongue, but positively magnetic, and tended to be an excellent judge of people. If he thought that there was something there worth saving, then there most likely was. The testimony of the young man known as Gambit only supported that.

Speaking of whom, he was being interrogated by Agent Coulson as part of efforts to discern where the Red Room would surface next, and what they had planned. Thor himself had nothing he could do. Nothing, that was, but sit and brood and what horrors the Red Room had planned for Harry. For unlike Carol, he knew exactly what horrors those were.

OoOoO

"I owed the man," Gambit said eventually. "If y' can call 'im a man. My powers were actin' up. Hell, they damn near killed me. Essex, 'e saved my life. In exchange, I worked for him."

"Doing what?" Coulson asked.

Gambit shrugged. "I'm a t'ief," he said. "I stole t'ings for 'im, scouted out locations, spied on people for 'im…" His expression grew haunted. "An' sometimes, I found people for 'im."

"Recruits?" Coulson asked. "Or test subjects?"

Gambit smiled bitterly. "A little bit o' both," he said. "I tried t' let a few slip, t' turn a blind eye… but 'e was a telepath, y' know? 'e picked up on it."

"And he punished you," Coulson said.

Gambit nodded tightly. "After dat, ah did as ah was tole," he said, accent thickening. "Den, a few months ago, 'e made me guide a bunch o' his big boys, Sabretooth an' th' like, to a group of mutants who were called de Morlocks."

"Someone's read their Wells," Coulson remarked mildly. "What happened?"

"De useful ones, dey were captured," Gambit said. "De ones dat weren't useful…" He trailed off.

Coulson nodded, not pressing the young man. It didn't take a great deal of imagination to work out what kind of orders someone like Essex would give to someone like Sabretooth in that scenario.

"Ah managed t' slip a few out o' there in de chaos," Gambit continued. "Collapsed th' tunnel after dem, t' let dem get away. But…" He trailed off again, expression haunted.

"You don't think it was enough," Coulson said. "You wonder if you could have saved more if you'd acted earlier. And you don't need to go to sleep to have nightmares any more."

Gambit smiled a crooked, mirthless smile. "Y' sure y' ain't a telepath, Agent Coulson?" he asked.

"No," Coulson said. "I've just been in a similar sort of place." He paused for a moment. "I take it that was what made you plan to help Maddie, later Carol, Harry and the other prisoners brought in with them, escape."

Gambit nodded. "Ah couldn' take it no more," he said. "Though ah'll admit dat when ah first got close t' Maddie, it weren't t' help her, but t' get information on Essex, t' get away, or once I found Agent Romanova, t' bring him down. It weren't too hard. 'e didn' care much about what we got up to off-duty, y' know?"

"You were going to play the honeytrap on a girl at least two, if not three, years younger than you, with next to no life experience and absolutely no conception of the sort of game you were playing," Coulson said, tone entirely neutral.

Gambit sighed. "Yeah. Ah was gonna use her, and ah ain't proud o' dat. But at firs', ah t'ought she was just one o' his attack dogs, like Sabretooth. Hell, 'e called her 'is Hound. Den, once ah got t' know her…" He shook his head. "She was no differen' t' me. She was a victim, even more so dan me. She'd never had a life o' her own. She'd never been free." He looked Coulson in the eye. "And if dere is one t'ing in th' whole damn world dat ah believe, Agent Coulson, it's dat people should be free."

"So instead you did what?" Coulson asked.

"Gave her a taste of freedom," Gambit said. "Worked on her. Used every trick an' bit o' charm an' persuasion that I had t' show her that dere was another way, another choice, another life, one where she didn' jus' 'ave t' be Sinister's slave, t' convince her that no matter if 'e made her or not, she was a person and she had de right t' be free." He grimaced. "O' course, this was before ah knew that she 'ad been stolen as a baby, that she weren't some experiment o' Sinister's." He shook his head. "Ah mean, I knew that de man was vile, but t' steal a baby girl from 'er family, then t' tell her all her life dat she ain't nothin' but an experiment, made t' do his bidding, dat she weren't even human, t' make her accept it…"

"Dehumanisation," Coulson said quietly. "It's an effective technique for controlling someone."

A smile flickered across Gambit's face. "But it weren't perfect," he said. "Maddie, she 'ad a mind of her own. She always did. It was jus' a matter of encouragin' her to use it. T' make her own choices." The smile faded. "But I didn' have long enough to convince her all the way. Ah was getting' close, I know that much, but… it weren't enough." He looked up at Coulson. "Tell me plain, Agent Coulson. Y' think that th' kid's got a chance of gettin' through to her?"

Coulson regarded him for a long moment. "I can't claim to know Harry Thorson very well at all," he said. "However, everything I've heard, everything I've read, suggests that he has a gift for getting under people's skin. Going by the accounts given of Miss Pryor's choice and Harry chasing after her, she was clearly conflicted about doing so. I would have to say that on short notice, without time to really work on her, and considering the ground work you've put in place, I think he's got as good a chance as anyone."

Gambit nodded, then his strange eyes narrowed. "An' tell me this, Agent Coulson. If 'e don' manage t' get through t' her, or if y' superiors just ain't sure, what happens then?"

"I don't know," Coulson said eventually.

Gambit grunted. "Honest answer, ah suppose," he said, sitting up and grimacing at his shoulder injury. "But remember this, Agent Coulson – dere's a good girl in Maddie. She jus' needs t' be given a chance t' make de right choice. An' I figure that any organisation that employs a man who once tried to take over de world should understand de virtue of giving out second chances, especially to people who ain't never got a first one to begin with."

"I'll bear that in mind, Mister LeBeau."

OoOoO

Shortly afterwards, with the various methods of tracking still in progress, the Avengers were briefed on what they might face when they encountered the Red Room again.

"The Red Room was born out of a realisation," Ivan said. "A realisation that while the West had super soldiers, while the Nazis, while HYDRA, had unbelievable technology, all Russia had was its winter. While that stopped the likes of Napoleon and Hitler, at some point, perhaps very soon, even the great General Winter would no longer be enough to stop foreign invasions."

"General Winter?" O'Neill asked, in a wheelchair and currently undecided on whether he was going to have his super soldier genes activated.

"The Russian winter," Loki said.

"Ah."

Petrovitch nodded and steepled his fingers. "So Russia turned to the sciences, to create better defences, better weapons. And thus the Red Room was born. Its job; to create operatives suitable for the changing nature of warfare, to protect the Motherland and her interests by any means necessary."

"Any?" Steve asked tensely.

Ivan gave him a long look, and all of a sudden, you could see that for all he was outwardly no older than his late thirties, he was far older than that. "Any, Captain," he said. "Any you can imagine and many I truly hope that you can not." He turned away from Steve. "I will keep this concise. Using biological treatments and conditioning based on the work of Doctor Pavlov, work that Doctor Pchelintsov and Professor Rodchenko took further after superhumans began to appear, superhumans beyond the usual lot of magical practitioners, vampires, demons and half-human progeny of both. First it was the Red Skull, then it was Captain America, Blade, Namor and Jacqueline Falsworth, the second Spitfire. The magical side of things came to unusual prominence, too – the Dark Lord Grindelwald rose to power with the aid of demons, brought the Dark Lord Kemmler into his service and created a vast dark empire across Europe, North Africa and Western Asia, while Dumbledore and Strange respectively emerged and re-emerged to challenge him. And in the years after the war, more came forth: Xavier. Mar-Vell." He nodded at Alison. "Alison Carter. And a young man of immense power by the name of Jor-El."

"Jor-El?" Thor asked sharply. "Did he look like this?" He shifted to his James Potter form.

Ivan studied his face carefully, then nodded. "Very much like," he said. "I suspect that there is a story behind that, but it can wait. My point, however, is that more and more superhumans were piling up in the West, as was more and more unusual technology, usually emerging from the laboratories of Howard Stark. Anton Vanko had access to some of that technology when he defected, but he was unable to replicate much of it when he returned to the Motherland. HYDRA remained, a lurking threat – weakened, but still a threat. This made affairs more urgent, forced the Red Room to adapt faster. The programming alone went from merely programming in commands and responses to implanting memories."

Bruce's eyebrows shot up and he opened his mouth to ask a question, before frowning and restraining himself. Tony, however, wasn't quite so restrained.

"How?" he asked bluntly. "How the hell is that possible?" He waved his hands. "I mean, memories are basically information, and brains are basically biological computers, so theoretically, yes, it could be done. But how was it possible to actually do it in Soviet freaking Russia in the…"

"The implantation aspect of the program began in the 1970's," Ivan said. "And I do not know. I have my suspicions – not all the technology the Red Room possessed was terrestrial, and such things are capable with magic, if not necessarily replicable. What matters, though, is that it can be done. More so, the Red Room have mastered the art."

"You think that they might apply it to my son?" Thor asked, seething rage in every syllable. Lightning cracked and thunder rolled outside.

"Considering that he is a very powerful telepath in his own right and could possibly unravel, if not simply obliterate, any telepathic binding placed on him, I think that they might well judge it to be the easiest method of controlling him," Ivan said bluntly. "Though I don't think they will try it yet. The Red Room goes through bodies like water, yes, but only with ordinary humans, of which there is no shortage. Your son is unique, and his brain is likely to be as well. I doubt that they will try rewriting it by force while other options remain. However…"

"However?" Thor asked dangerously.

"The man in charge of the Red Room at the moment is General Aleksandr Lukin," Natasha said. "Originally a successful enough infantry commander in the army before being transferred to the Red Room in the early 80s, he was an up-and-comer during the fall of the Soviet Union; old enough to have had real authority and to remember 'the glory days'." These last words had sarcasm venomous enough to melt steel dripping off them. "He's clever enough, but also ambitious, enough to take steps a more sensible man wouldn't. He kidnapped Harry, after all, despite HYDRA's collapse this summer showing exactly what happens to groups who take our people, and despite knowing that the Red Room as it is at the moment doesn't have the technology or raw power that HYDRA did. What it does have, however, is more manpower, more funding, bolt-holes all over this world and apparently the Nevernever, and the support of at least one national government. However, I'm pretty sure that that support will evaporate the moment that Volodya finds out what Lukin's done. He's not a fool, and while he's no friend to SHIELD or the Avengers, he doesn't want to be our enemy, etiher. Not openly, he knows he can't afford it."

"Hasn't Lukin made the same calculation?" Clint asked.

"He's gambling that he can get Harry under his control, turn him into the Red Son, before anyone has the chance to stop him," Natasha said. "He's also gambling that a converted Harry will be unstoppable – or at least, powerful enough to overpower or kill anyone willing to go all out against him, and with sufficient emotional ties to those who could overpower him in turn that they won't go all out against him."

The Avengers considered the list of people that they knew for certain were more powerful than Harry – or rather, powerful enough that they could feasibly overpower a Harry devoid of all conscience and likely out to kill in a set-piece battle without killing him – and that they trusted. It wasn't very long.

"There is a wild card in play," Loki remarked. "Harry's Phoenix fragment. I severely doubt that this General Lukin knows about it."

"He won't," Natasha said. "Though we don't know whether it'll do anything. It only activates when Harry's in mortal danger or when he consciously taps into it, something he's only done once."

"It isn't something we can rely on," Steve said. "We have to accept the possibility, the probability, that the Red Room will manage to force Harry to obey them." He turned to Ivan. "Who or what else will they be able to call on?"

Ivan shrugged. "Enhancements like those given to Natasha, cybernetics, sorcery, the implantation program, all have been used to create more efficient and deadly spies and assassins. Even genetic manipulation was added to the list, though it was in a relatively primitive state when the Soviet Union was dissolved and the Red Room with it. Now, however, the Red Room renewed will have all the advantages of the leaps in technology since then, as well as scraps scrounged from the Chitauri invasion and HYDRA's fall at the Battle of London, and whatever the creature known as Sinister gave them before his apparent demise," he said. "I suspect a few artificially enhanced mutants, perhaps some super soldier attempts, more advanced versions of their powered armour suits."

Steve nodded. "Can you get a more precise idea?" he asked.

"I will look into it," Ivan said.

Steve nodded again. "Thanks," he said.

"So, now what?" Thor asked bitterly, as the meeting broke up. "We simply sit and wait?"

"No," Steve said. "You think you can keep your temper?"

Thor gave him a dangerous look. Steve met it without blinking. Thor eventually nodded curtly.

"Good," Steve said. "Because we're paying a visit to the Kremlin."

OoOoO

Elsewhere, the Red Room were unaware and likely uncaring of the preparations made to a) retrieve their new prize, b) wind up to literally and figuratively smite them into the Earth's core.

Indeed, the view of the Red Room at large was fairly buoyant. They had done the impossible and escaped right from under the noses of the Mighty Avengers, something even HYDRA under the ever-slippery Lucius Malfoy had not been able to manage (though Malfoy himself had evaded all pursuers). True, they had lost several prisoners for whom they'd had high hopes, and the Avengers had mowed through their personnel like a scythe through dry grass, while the various monsters had also taken their toll. They had also lost a very large chunk of their base, and one of their senior operatives was missing a thumb, a lot of blood, and a good chunk of her remaining sanity.

However, they had retained the bulk of their important research, their key staff had survived (if, in the case of Doctor Essex, to whom the word 'staff' did not really apply, in somewhat puzzling circumstances), the Beast had been found alive and mostly intact, if severely injured after picking a fight with Thor, and Doctor Essex's greatest weapon's programming had triumphed over the attempts of the Avengers and others to influence her.

True, there were whispers among those on the base that it had glitched, but as the weeks went by – and most of a fortnight had already passed in this new location for their base, while less than a day had passed in the real world, it being far deeper in the Nevernever than the original had been – those whispers faded. After all, after that glitch had been repaired, she had apparently proved very useful, not just to her master, but to the Red Room.

Not only that, but Thor had hurled his hammer, Mjolnir, into the base in an apparently misguided attempt to destroy it or Essex's weapon, meaning that they could now study one of the greatest weapons in known history, while bringing in experts and equipment from other Red Room bases and departments, repairing the base and adding other assets to its arsenal. But the best part was that their prize prisoner had been delivered back into their hands by providence and his own misguided nobility.

And now, what with the difference in the rates of the passage of time, they had the time to regroup at leisure.

"Astonishing," Lukin murmured, as he watched the footage of Harry's fights, first with the Beast, then with the Red Room personnel, again. "Look at how he fights: his speed, his grace, his strength... even without enhancement, he has them in abundance and he uses them well. And when they are insufficient, he uses his powers with intelligence and skill." He snorted. "Of course, he has been well trained. By our wayward son, no less."

"Not just him," Belova said coldly. Her hand had been more professionally bound up and, though she was still pale as milk thanks to blood loss and chronic pain – enhanced by her refusal of painkillers – she stood up straight, eyes sharp. "He moves like a Widow." The milk promptly curdled. "Like the traitor."

"Yes," Lukin said. "He bears the mark of another of our wayward children, and a number of others besides. There." He pointed at one particular move, a variation on an Aikido technique. "The Banshee's influence. And then there is an certain ingenuity all of his own… useful as it could be, it is also indicative of a dangerous independence. That will have to be watched for, in case it recurs."

"You think that a mind that powerful will not throw off alterations?" Belova asked.

"Doctor Essex had over ten years to get his hooks into the boy and until now, he has proved capable of controlling the girl. Strong as the boy is, she is by far the stronger of the two, and she was most helpful when the time came," Lukin said. "I believe that they will hold."

"You think that Essex will remain biddable, simply doing as we ask him?" Karpov asked, breaking in. "Because I do not. If he can alter the boy's mind to make him compliant, he can make him compliant to his wishes. With those two at his command, never mind his other freaks, he could do anything. If there are problems, Rodchenko will suffice."

"We cannot make him," Lukin conceded. "But we will need him to. Rodchenko is brilliant, but he does not know the boy's unique physiology as Essex does, as was demonstrated. In any case, Essex is a scientist. He is not interested in power, not beyond what he requires to acquire subjects for experimentation. He wants to study the boy, and now he has the chance."

He turned to live feeds of the other, completed super soldiers: a man with the build of a super soldier throwing a shield down an ever changing target range, a pale and cadaverous looking man with pale, metallic tentacles lashing around him like a cat's tail, a woman wielding energy so dark it seemed to absorb light around it, another woman whose arms morphed into weapons as she took down targets with robotic efficiency, and a man in a laboratory, customising a bulky, powerful looking suit of armour.

"The Winter Guard. Russia's shield against the West, the Chinese, HYDRA, Magneto, SHIELD and the Avengers. Shostakov, Rossovich, Petrovna, Shapandar, Bukharin. The Guardian, the Demon, the Shadow, the Sentinel, the Dynamo." His gaze turned to Belova. "And Belova, the Widow, their leader. For the time being." Belova bristled, but said nothing, as his gaze shifted one more time, to a live feed of Harry, who was sparring with Red Room instructors.

To a passing observer, it would seem little different to the sparring sessions he'd had in Avengers Mansion. But on closer study, differences revealed themselves.

This was not a lighthearted bout between friends, a way of working up a sweat and staying sharp, but an intensive test of skills, each blow snapping out with bone breaking force, with sharp commands being barked from the side lines. Both sides were attacking with intent to disable and incapacitate, with little care for the welfare of their opponent. And Harry, normally a fighter with a preference for ingenuity and doing the unexpected, mixing in multiple styles in his hand to hand combat, was moving through forms with clockwork precision and metronomic regularity.

And finally, the most important difference of all was in Harry's face and eyes. Both were remarkably expressive, usually alight with some emotion or another, or if they were closed off, at least visibly so. Here and now, however, they were completely and utterly empty, blank like a slate wiped clean of all the flotsam and jetsam, the details, quirks, and intricacies that made Harry who he was.

This was not Harry any more.

"Soon to be joined by their final, greatest member… the true Krasnyy Syn; the ever loyal Red Son."

Yeah. The Krasnyy Syn, the Red Room project that makes Ivan go pale and Pierce all but soil himself? It's Harry. I've been hinting at it ever since this arc got started, but it's quite a shock to have it confirmed, isn't it?

But his repogramming, you ask. What about that? Surely he wouldn't have been so easily rewritten and enslaved by the Red Room? Surely it would be worth some attention? And what happened to Maddie? What role did she play in it? Well, it will be elaborated upon, in a flashback in the next chapter. Why there? Because it fits there, and because the exact details of what happens are going to be Very Important to that chapter, which will wrap up this arc.