Come Together Chapter 12 - Wounds

AN:

Oni: Hullo all! Wow! Only a month and a new chapter!

Tom: A miracle, then. Let's see how long you can keep this up.

Oni: Hey, hey, spring break was a thing so I found some time to write! I do hope you enjoy this chapter.

Bucky: Oni does not own the MCU or the Harry Potter franchise.

Oni: Aaaand ONWARDS!

Atop a snow covered ledge, blue eyes scanned the train tracks in mountainside below. A deep plunge awaited anyone who lost their footing, but for Tom, that fear was slightly alleviated by the fact that he had his Moontrimmer in his hand. Other than the sound of the rushing wind was the faint chatter of German, coming from the large radio that Gabe Jones and Jim Morita were listening in on. It was down to waiting again, something that Tom had gotten used to.

Through some intercepted radio chatter a week before, the Commandos had found out that one of Schmidt's top scientists, Arnim Zola, was needed at the last HYDRA facility - the headquarters. Since they had no idea where the headquarters were, all they had to go on was the fact that he would be arriving by train. For a few days they had worked to try to pinpoint the exact railway Zola would be using, as the HYDRA scientist, according to Steve, was not the type to ride public transport.

Their efforts were doubled after the Leaky Pot was bombed.

Fortunately, Nobby Leach had not been killed in the blast, though he had sustained heavy injuries. Due to the muggle nature of the attack, it could be deduced that it was HYDRA, not Grindelwald, who had orchestrated it. The members of the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley were still afraid to break the Statute of Secrecy, and so many of the patrons that had gone there were left to die. This had incensed Tom, who had rushed to the scene as fast as he could. With the help of Monty and Feemie he managed to heal those who would have otherwise died, but had been too late to save others. Tom was thankful for the Potioneer and Mediwitch's help, their expertise had been what saved Nobby's life, but his anger was now directed towards those too cowardly to help even their neighbors from harm simply because they didn't have magic.

With rage simmering below the surface, he had calmly marched into the Auror Department and asked why they had done nothing in the face of the London bombings. He had received (from a rather bored-looking deskwitch) that the Aurors were far too busy taking care of the Wizarding World's problems to worry about a few muggles. Tom had (gritting his teeth to prevent him from raising his voice) explained that a few muggleborn had been caught in the blast, and the woman had simply scoffed at him, commenting (more to herself) that it was their fault for being around muggles during the attack.

"The last time I checked." he had then ground out, "Grindelwald's forces haven't been active since the fall of Nurmengard, only light skirmishes. What then have your Auror's been doing other than sitting on their arses and twiddling their thumbs?"

The deskwitch's expression had grown indignant, but her outburst was cut off by another voice.

"Absolutely nothing, unfortunately."

Tom had turned around to see a young man around his own age, dressed in the Auror Trainee uniform, blond hair curling in tufts. Not at all bad looking, though there was a scar across his left cheek. The man behind Lord Voldemort searched his memories for the man's identity, as his face looked rather familiar. It was from Nobby's class photo album, and Tom himself remembered him as the Head of the Dueling Club.

"Alastor Moody." Tom greeted, "What a surprise to see you."

The Auror in training had snorted at the wizard's formal tone, but didn't comment on it. Instead, he had pressed forward with his own question.

"I hear Nobby's been injured in the blast?"

He sensed some genuine worry from the young Auror Trainee. Ah yes, Tom thought, those two would have been dormmates back at Hogwarts.

"Yes." Tom replied, "No thanks to you."

Instead of being affronted, Moody had taken Tom into another room. There the Auror Trainee had explained to him that Auror's weren't notified of the blast until after the bodies had been moved. They had not wanted the earnest fighters to have gotten involved in the war. Moody was very close to graduating Auror Training, and would soon be able to go out on his own missions, but until then, he was stuck to listening for scraps of information and unable to do anything with it.

"But you would be able to get that information, wouldn't you Riddle?" Moody had grunted, "Being Lord Voldemort and all. And don't be so surprised, you have very specific mannerisms that anyone who actually paid attention to you would notice. So why don't we make a deal. You give me the information on attacks in the muggle world, and I help you keep tabs on that pesky Dark Lord."

The fact that the Auror Trainee had known Tom's masked identity had caught Tom off guard, but Moody (being as close to a Slytherin as a Ravenclaw could get) had always been the perceptive one. He was paranoid, and saw most anyone as an enemy (including especially the Heir of Slytherin). It did him well, it seemed. Tom had left the Auror Department with a new ally and a renewed determination to change the Wizarding World from the backwards, blind way it was now.

Two days later, and Tom was getting missives on the movements of Grindelwald, courtesy of his new Auror friend. It was this information that allowed them to find the train line hidden within the Alps. If HYDRA was going to use a train line, it would be this one. And if Grindelwald's forces were still working with Schmidt, then capturing Zola and any followers were their top priority.

So now here they were, in the frozen heights of the Alps, waiting for the train to arrive.

To pass the time Tom began to sketch an image (as Steve had been recently gotten him back into drawing with his present) of the comrades in front of him in his diary (which still held his horcrux), making sure the cigarette end didn't accidentally drop embers on his work. Bucky, the unknowing subject, was standing near the edge of the ledge, hand casually clasped around the zip line that spanned the distance between the peak they were on and the next, going right over the tracks. He, like everyone else, was bundled up for the mountain cold.

Well, everyone except Tom, who had been rather immune to the cold as of late. The biting frost seemed to have no effect on the young wizard, much to the confusion of his friends. Howard had theorized that whatever it was, this new cold tolerance was connected to his ever-growing height. Tom had now surpassed Steve (who towered over everyone as it was) by nearly half a head, and the growth hadn't stopped as of yet.

Granted, he wasn't as bulky as his Captain, looking more like a beanstalk as opposed to Steve's 'beefcake' (as Howard had put it, which had required a rather embarrassing explanation on the scientist's part after Tom failed to understand the comparison). Thankfully all the physical exertion from being in the Howling Commandos had put his muscle tone on par with Bucky, which meant that while he still appeared to be a black clad beanstalk, it was a beanstalk that could slam a man's body straight through a brick wall (or at least, that's what Gabe had told him).

Steve had joined Bucky at the ledge, looking off at the end of the zip line. He had taken the physical changes rather well. In fact, if anything, it was almost as if he were relieved that he wasn't the only one to go through a 'serum-type' growth. Now that Tom himself gone through (though his was more gradual than Steve's sudden transformation) something similar, the Captain had begun to share some experiences he had post-transformation as if to warn Tom of impending social changes.

"Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?" the brunet asked, almost wryly, looking out onto the tracks below.

Finishing his brief sketch, Tom returned the diary back to his mokeskin pouch, content to watch the interaction of his friends. While he may be close to Steve and Bucky, the two of them shared a much deeper history than he could ever have with either of them. Even so, they never excluded Tom from such conversations, often explaining to the young wizard the various places and experiences from their very own Brooklyn, New York.

"Yeah," Steve replied, not turning to see his oldest friend, simply gazing in the same direction, "and I threw up?"

He had learned about theme parks and hot dog stands and baseball games. But Tom wasn't an idealist. Places are simply areas of generally neutral emotion, as it is the experiences forged there that give one a more positive or negative outlook on it. Perhaps New York would only be wonderful if Bucky and Steve were there to show him.

"This isn't payback, is it?" continued Bucky, his voice wry.

They had promised, of course, to take him there once the war was over to show him what he was missing out on living in England. Well, more like insisted, though Tom had easily caved once the two soldiers had gave him a look akin to puppy dog eyes. The young wizard watched as Steve turned to Bucky with a cheeky smile upon his face.

"Now why would I do that?" was his answer, his tone betraying that this might, in fact, be payback.

Even with such things to look forward to, Tom was worried. Grindelwald had almost disappeared sine the fall of Nurmengard, but he doubted the Dark Lord was being idle. This was the same man who killed and masqueraded as the Director of Magical Security in the 1920s. No, he was most likely hiding his time somewhere, planning something large behind the scenes to make up for the destruction of his fortress.

"We were right." suddenly came the voice of Gabe, who took off the earphones from around his neck, "Dr. Zola's on the train. HYDRA dispatcher gave him permission to open up the throttle. Wherever he's going, they must need him bad."

The question now was, where was he? At any point, an unaccounted for Dark Lord was highly dangerous, especially since his movements can only be tracked through his followers and not to the man himself. At least with Johann Schmidt, it was known he was hiding in his own fortress, even if the fortress hasn't been found yet. But Grindelwald's true location was a mystery, allowing the Dark Lord to get closer to his goal the longer he stayed underground.

And if he was on the train with Zola...

"Let's get going, because they're moving like the devil." quipped Falsworth, peering through his binoculars into the distance before going to prepare with the others.

Indeed, the train was chugging along faster than any rail locomotive he's ever seen (but then again, he was used to the steam train of the Hogwarts Express). It twisted and turned along the mountain like a black snake, which did little to put him at ease. This was, after all, not a snake he could control.

"We only got about a 10-second window." Steve said in his leader voice, "You miss that window, we're bugs on a windshield."

Staring at the fast moving train and doing the mental math himself, Tom could see that his Captain was right. Not that he needed to worry about it. He would be flying there, though he too needed to time it precisely to avoid missing the train. His broom had nothing on this speeding bullet of a train.

"Mind the gap." Falsworth snarked out, making most of them smile briefly.

Hopefully with the capture of Zola, they would be able to track down Schmidt. Hopefully with Tom there, Grindelwald will fall. Tom chanted this in his head as they all prepared to descend onto the oncoming locomotive.

"Better get moving, bugs!" came the booming voice of Dum Dum, a wide smile on his face.

Tom placed his mask over his face, turning it on with a twist of the right canister. Immediately blobs of blue began to appear on his vision, detecting magical-type energy signatures. While most of the train was transporting rather concentrated amounts what he would assume were boxes (judging by the organized and muted manner of which they glowed), on either side of the train were anomalies.

"There are two main sources of magic." Tom explained as he began to mount his broom, "If my readings are correct, there should be wizard's holed up in the back. However there is also a large concentration of energy in the front, so be careful."

He was rewarded with a slap on the back from Bucky, who grinned and attached himself to the zip line. The brunet's eyes almost glittered with energy, revved up on a high and ready for action.

"Then go beat up some wizards, Tom!" he said above the roar of the train, "We'll take care of the punks in the cockpit and go out for drinks after!"

With a salute and a nod, Tom mounted his broom and kicked off. The wind rushed all around him as he bolted towards the speeding train, his ears barely able to pick up Dernier's shout of "Maintenant!" before Steve, Bucky, and Gabe slid down the zip line. All four soldiers landed on the train at the same time, though Tom timed his landing so that he ended up near the caboose. Just as Tom made his way into the final car in the line, a wave of unease passed through Tom, who shivered despite feeling no cold.

He didn't have to dwell on the feeling, however, as his mask picked up high levels of magical energy on the other side of the door. Now that he was closer, he could tell that yes, there were indeed wizards inside the cart, but none of them had the last Hallow on their person, which meant that Grindelwald was not among them.

Even so, Tom activated the Shield of Loki and hid under the Cloak of Ignotus, making his way inside the train car. The wizards congregated there seemed to be on high alert, their eyes shifting everywhere, wands in hand. They were waiting for something, or someone. The young wizard decided to do something he had seen Dum Dum do quite a bit - he let out a short high pitched whistle to get their attention before knocking out the closest follower with his shield and letting loose a barrage of spellfire.

Tom dove into the fray with gusto, his shield acting as an offense as well as a defense as he dueled the score of wizards inside the rather empty car. Spells and curses of all kinds bounced off the walls, most of them aimed towards him initially. Such a thing did not deter the Howling Commando known as Lord Voldemort, whose wand and shield downed the wizards with his rapid fire casting.

"Expelliarmus!" One of Grindelwald's followers shouted, and the spell flew true, knocking Tom's yew wand out of his hand, and catching it in his own.

For a brief moment, Tom saw the relief on the wizards' faces. He was disarmed, and could no longer cast spells. The wizard who had his wand began to taunt him as the followers began to cast with more gusto, confident that they were now winning against the infamous Lord Voldemort. Using his shield, Tom was able to avoid most of the curses, crouching down in the corner for more protection. His posture depicted that of someone who was tiring, and the jeering from the wizards became more pronounced.

The fools, he thought with a hidden grin.

From his boot Tom drew a silver barreled revolver, the one Peggy had given him. Aiming for the one who seemed to have become the leader (and incidentally, the same wizard who had taken his wand), he allowed himself a crooked smile, confusing his enemies with his actions.

"Avada Kedavra." Lord Voldemort whispered to himself, pulling the trigger.

The first wizard went down, taking a bullet right to the forehead. This elicited shock and horror as the wizards realized this was a non-magical variant of the weapons HYDRA carried, and immediately began to attack in a frenzy, fear returning to them as gunshots rang out in the carriage that was slowly filling with the bodies of their fallen comrades. He managed to reach the body of the wizard who had stolen his wand without alerting the other wizards of his intentions. Once the other five bullets were spent, Tom barrel rolled over the body, swiftly retrieving his wand. Snapping the revolver back in its holster (and putting down a note in his mind to thank Peggy for it later), Sergeant Riddle began to cast once more.

Once more he was on the advantage, curses flying from his wand at a rapid pace (he had mastered silent casting under Monty's tutelage, and was getting better at the wandless variety), hitting their targets most of the time. By the time he exhausted himself and hid behind his shield again, only four wizards remained alive from the original twenty. However, these four had survived not by luck, but by skill. With desperation burning in their eyes they became more wild with their casting, curses ricocheting off the walls of the train, one powerful Bombarda causing part of the wall to give way, and the wind began to howl in their ears.

Using this to his advantage Tom managed to herd two of the wizards near the hole the blasting curse had created, banishing them into the mountain's side, carried by the wind. Narrowly he managed to shield himself from the curse aiming for him, rolling to the other side of the car to make sure he didn't befall the same fate. The duel continued, the remaining two wizards giving it everything they had, shouting obscenities at him as they fought.

"To think that a wizard would go so low as to work with muggles." one sneered, "Do you have any pride?"

Tom blocked the oncoming blood boiling curse with his shield, and narrowly dodged the bone breaker with a barrel roll. A wry smile bloomed on his face. Ah, such irony.

"If that is so, why are you working with HYDRA?" Lord Voldemort taunted back, "Is your hypocrisy only allowed when it's to further your means?"

This seemed to incense the wizards further, and if anything, their curses become more dangerous. Soon Unforgivables (why had it taken them so long to use those? Or was Tom simply more immoral for using them off the bat?) were being flung at him, and the youngest Commando thanked whatever deity was watching over him that the shield was upgraded to block them. Sergeant Riddle pushed forward, his shield taking the brunt of the spells.

The fact that his shield could block Unforgivables made the wizards pause and gape briefly, which was the opening Tom needed to fire back. His yew wand spat out green light, killing curses aiming towards the last wizards standing. With two solemn thuds, Lord Voldemort became the victor of the skirmish.

Sighing heavily, Tom retracted the Shield Of Loki, looking around at the carnage he had wrought. Why would wizards get on a muggle locomotive if they could ride brooms? The only reason would have been to act as a security detail to Grindelwald, but the Dark Lord was nowhere to be seen, or even detected. Tom's mask picked up no signature that could match the Wand of Antioch, and he highly doubted Grindelwald would part with such an artifact.

So then, why were the other wizards here? Surely the Dark Lord would have accompanied Zola, who would in turn take him to Schmidt? His fortress had already been destroyed, where else was he to go? Unless, of course, Grindelwald was already at HYDRA headquarters. But then if that was the case, why did his followers not simply Apparate to the last HYDRA base? Why have the, stationed here on the train, waiting for Tom's arrival?

Unless...

Tom's breathe hitched as his mind whirred and finally came up with the disturbing conclusion.

This was a trap.

"Crucio!" came a voice from behind, and Tom's world exploded in pain.

Dropping to the ground, his arms and legs refusing to work, Tom noticed one of the downed wizards pointing his wand at him. He must have been knocked out during the fight, and had just regained consciousness. Through the searing pain that now coursed his body, Tom realized that he recognized this man.

"And so falls the great Lord Voldemort." came the drawling voice that Tom remembered from his Hogwarts days.

Straining to move from the pain, Sergeant Riddle rolled to his side as he regarded the man with surprise, not that anyone could see under the dark mask. He watched as the wizard moved closer, his wand still training on his writhing body, making sure the spell continued.

"Not so mighty now, are you, Riddle?" Mulciber sneered out, kicking off Tom's helmet and revealing a face twisted in pain.

Of bloody course. He had graduated a year earlier, much like Lestrange and Dolohov, so he would know all about Tom's past. Even through the curse leveled on him, Tom managed to shoot a scathing glare at the sneering wizard. Mulciber paid him no heed, toeing the helmet off the moving train, where it disappeared into the rushing wind. A boot was soon on Sergeant Riddle's chest as the Slytherin graduate kept his wand pointed at him, keeping him from moving.

"You could have been great. You know that, Lord Voldemort?" The name was spat out with such hatred, and Tom could hear the betrayal lacing his voice, "You could have been stronger, more powerful than even Lord Grindelwald! But no, for some insane, Merlin forsaken reason, you turned your back on wizardkind and chose them!"

Rage. Hurt. The voice of a man who had lost someone he thought was a friend. The voice of a man who trusted in a false doctrine of prejudice and hate. What is it that made brother turn on brother? A sense of righteousness, of justice. With warring sides, it was difficult to see which one was right, or if there was a right. Pain continued to course through him as Tom felt the rage from the wizard on top of him pour into his body. He knew it could only have been a minute, and that the armor he currently had on him was absorbing the majority of the curse, but it was still becoming increasingly unbearable. A scream ripped from his throat unbidden.

"You turned you back on you own kind!" Mulciber wailed (for that's what it was, a cry of anguish) above Tom's own screams, "You, who understood the purity of blood, have become the very beast you promised to slay!"

To Mulciber, Tom had turned evil, had turned into a monster. But such a notion was laughable. For Tom Riddle was born a monster and raised a monster (and is still a monster, hiding behind a mask and shield, behind reasons like sentiment and freedom).

"Any last words, blood traitor?" shouted Mulciber, almost manically.

Tom Riddle, or any moniker he chose to go under, will always be a monster, no matter what side he was on. Perhaps it was in his nature to be evil. Beneath the anguish of the Cruciatus Curse, Tom felt his mind starting to slip away. Monster, it cried, pain upon you, who caused unimaginable suffering. You deserve this. You deserve to die in agony, unloved and unloving.

And yet, if that was true...

I don't like bullies, no matter where they come from.

Why did a Sergeant wrap his arms around his shoulders? Why did a Captain draw him smiling? Why did soldiers toast with him? Why did an inventor throw him a party? Why did a Potter give him an artifact meant for his heir? Why did they love him? How could they love a monster like him?

"Go to Hell!" Tom managed to force out through clenched teeth, blue eyes flashing defiantly as something stirred within them.

Because that was what Love was. Love was accepting the flaws of one's character while promoting the growth of one's strengths. It was seeing the light that still shined in a soul hurling towards darkness. It was opening your heart to a wounded soul and trusting in it not to let you down, and forgiving them when they do. Love was patience and sentiment and the certainty that no matter what, they always had your back.

From deep within his magical core he called upon a power he didn't know was there, something that been awakening slowly since the creation of the Shield of Loki. Mulciber's eyes widened as changes began to ripple through Tom, unbeknownst to the soldier himself. Blue eyes turned into crimson red, glowing eerily with barely suppressed magic. Pale porcelain skin began to turn an unnatural shade of blue.

This sudden change broke the wizard's concentration on the torturing curse, and allowed Tom's mind to snap back after the painful assault. From within the wells of this untapped energy, Tom willed for it to strike. An ice spike spot from the ground, impaling Mulciber's wand arm. The howl that ripped from the man was cut short by the sound of a flying shield crashing into his head. The strange power that thrummed within him retracted, their purpose complete as Tom regarded the flying red, white, and blue shield with confusion and relief.

The steady thumping of boots to metal, however, made Tom squint as his mind (slightly foggy from the curse) tried to figure out what was wrong with the picture. A haggard looking Captain America ran into the room, passing his shield that laid innocently next to the wizard that it had knocked out, and kneeling in front of Tom's lying form.

"Just in time, Captain." Sergeant Riddle groaned out, "Wasn't sure if I could hold out for much longer."

Steve looked incredibly relieved to see Tom, weak as he was, and gave an almost broken laugh as he helped the young wizard sit up. There was something wrong, but the fog in Tom's mind wouldn't lift, even as it registered the fact that Steve was practically cradling him. Awkwardly he patted the man's face, his blue eyes having trouble focusing in any one place for too long. What was wrong with this picture? What was wrong with him?

"I'm sorry Tom..." the wizard heard the Captain whisper from above him, feeling Steve's hold tighten, "We're gonna get you outta here."

What a ridiculous thing, apologizing to him when he had done nothing wrong. Silly Steve. Perhaps he should talk to Bucky about fixing that habit of his. A shift in weight, and he felt his head resting on the shoulder of his Captain, and the lack of support in certain areas told him that he was being carried by the American Supersoldier. Sure, he was lighter than the others, but being carried bridal style was embarrassing.

"I'm fine, Steve." Tom murmured in an attempt to placate the man, "A good night's sleep and I'm sure I'll be as good as new. If anything, I should be sorry, I didn't realize it was a trap..."

He was rambling, did he usually ramble? Tom attempted to move, but realized that the curse had made him rather weak. A haze was growing in his mind. Drops of wetness fell on his pale face, something that Tom had no difficulty in pinpointing where they were coming from.

"Steve?" the young wizard managed out before the mist began to cloud his consciousness, "Steve, you're crying. Why... are you crying?"

His head drooped, resting itself on his Captain's shoulder as his eyes fluttered closed, the lids too tired to stay open. He was becoming delirious, and he was too exhausted to stop it. Voices. Shouting. Movement. The steady chugging of the train slowing, stopping. The exchange of hands. The whir of a motorcycle. The hum of the plane. Muttering. A broken sob.

Darkness.

Blue eyes opened to a white ceiling, the sound of people and technology filling his senses. Flexing his hands, Tom realized he had regained some strength in his limbs, and used them to sit himself up on the cot he was placed in. Looking around, he noticed that he was in the SSR Med Bay, a common sight to him for the past year. Sitting in a chair next to him was Steve, who had nodded off at some point while keeping him company. The man looked exhausted, and Tom noted the presence of tear tracks on his face. The shifting of Tom's body seemed to wake him, however, and soon Steve was looking at him with visible relief.

"Glad to see you're awake." his Captain said, his voice slightly hoarse, "For a while there Monty and Fee thought you weren't going to make it."

A groan escaped Tom's throat. The Potters were incredibly skilled in the art of Healing. If they thought that he was on the brink of death, then they were probably right. However, nobody knew about the soul shard imbedded in his diary should he perish, about the anchor to the mortal plane that he had created in a fit of madness and fear.

"I suppose I may have... been a little careless, yes." Tom replied slowly, a sigh releasing with his words, "But I'm sure that with rest I will be able to return to my duties. I'm feeling stronger already."

To prove his point, Tom shifted so that his legs hung over the side of the bed. With a grunt, he tried to stand up, only to find that his legs were still weak, and fell back on the cot with a thud.

"Alright," Tom grumbled out, "Not as strong as I had hoped, but most definitely strong enough for the drinks that Bucky promised we'd get now that the bloody mission's over with."

A weak chuckle escaped from Steve, but it was lined with a heavy amount of grief. The American stared at Tom with despair in his eyes, and the Sergeant felt as if a stone had lodged itself in his stomach. That look was similar to the ones Myrtle's parents wore when...

"Tom... there's something that you...should..." Steve tried to say, before a broken, choking sound came from his throat, "Buck... Buck didn't make it."

Silence. And yet Tom felt like there was a pressure there. A kind of noise within the awful quiet, like silent screaming.

"How?" Tom asked blandly, his mind trying to catch up with words that made no sense.

"There was a HYDRA soldier waiting for us." Steve began in a similarly empty voice, as if he himself couldn't believe it, "Zola must've enhanced the suit he wore and... he blew a hole in the train car. Buck... Buck was blown out... I tried to grab his hand but..." the soldier could say no more, overwhelmed by his own grief.

The stone in his stomach grew in weight until it became nigh unbearable, the truth of Steve's words (for he could never lie, especially about something like this) ringing hollowly in his head. Unbeknownst to Tom, everything in the Med Bay began to shudder as the pressure he felt continued to grow. Breaths became short and panicked, whispering a single word over and over again.

No...no...no...no...no...

The shuddering of the objects in the Med Bay were now shaking violently under the onslaught of energy pouring from Tom's being. Lights were blinking on and off with the vigor of a poltergeist. Faces flashed before his eyes, faces of a man who couldn't be dead, no, he couldn't be dead!

A scream of rage. Of hurt. Of sorrow.

Curtains bent out of shape, vases shattered, and beds that had been levitating crashed back down on the floor. Steve was in too much shock to even notice, or, most likely, he had expected this reaction. It took a good few minutes for Tom's wild emotions to lesson into a simmering rage, hot tears distorting his sight.

He should have known the train was a trap. Zola was not going to be handed to them on a silver platter. If only he had questioned the placements of the wizards at the back, perhaps he would have been able to use his broom and...

Tom didn't know who initiated it, but before he was fully aware of what was happening, both men were clutching each other like a lifeline. Broken sobs came from both men, uncaring if such a thing was unsightly or awkward or strange. It should have been me, one could almost hear them say. For what felt like hours they stayed like this, pouring out their grief of a man they considered family. It was how Euphemia Potter found them, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. The Mediwitch waited until the two soldiers (more alike now than ever) untangled themselves from the other, and began her diagnosis. It seemed almost irrelevant in the face of such news.

"You've sustained severe magical exhaustion." Lady Potter murmured, "But it seems to be replenishing itself. You should be well in a day or so."

There was something in her voice that told Tom she wasn't telling him everything, but right now he didn't give a damn. He nodded in affirmation to the woman that had become his mother figure, unable to say anything without sounding insulting or venomous. The witch, giving them an empathetic look, distributed another dose of healing potions before leaving Tom and Steve alone in the Med Bay once more.

Two hours later found the two in what was left of the Leaky Pot, each nursing a tankard of the strongest drink they could find (though neither of them seemed to be able to become inebriated). It had taken a while to get there due to Tom's use of crutches in order to support himself, but they managed to reach the desolate building in silence. Some rummaging and a Accio or five had led them to their places now, sitting in silence as each of them brooded upon their friend's death, blaming themselves. A radio played from the barely intact bar, broadcasting the news of a blackout in the area.

Tom was debriefed by his Captain on the other side of the mission. Zola had been captured, though not without putting up a fight. Mulciber was alive and in custody, currently bellowing in fear and rage from the inside of a close-room cell, a Wizard Trap placed on the door. Apparently he was horrified by the fact that they had found a way to deprive him of magic. Tom felt a brief flare of vindictive glee at that, and for the fact that a man he called his family hadn't died in vain. Hopefully they would get some answers on the whereabouts of Schmidt and Grindelwald, but for now all they could do was sit tight and wait for the news. In the meantime, they sat in relative silence, wallowing in themselves.

Which was how Peggy found them, following the sound of the reporter's voice. It was evident she was feeling the weight of the loss as well, but like she always seemed to do, she pulled herself together rather quickly. Perhaps it had something to do with how her brother died. Steve poured Tom and himself another drink, the wizard nodding mutely in greeting and thanks.

"Dr. Erskine said that..." Steve began, looking into his drink, "the serum wouldn't just effect my muscles, it would effect my cells. Create a protective system of regeneration and healing. Which means um... I can't get drunk. Did you know that?"

Tom did, only because he was experiencing the same symptoms, but the youngest Sergeant knew that the question wasn't for him. It was for the woman that Steve had developed a bond with, the woman that he loved (not like he loved Tom or Bucky, but the kind Tom knew he could never experience).

"Your metabolism burns four times faster than the average person." was her answer, "He thought it could be one of the side effects."

How painful it was to know that Steve had lost a father figure in the German Scientist. Was there a reason that so many that the man cared about perished? Or were they all simply casualties of war?

"It wasn't your fault." said Peggy, voice soft yet firm, seemingly to the both of them.

But Tom kept running scenarios through his head, trying to save Bucky, at least in his mind. Perhaps had he been with them on the train and ignored the score of wizards in the back (but how was he to know it was a trap?), or if he had caught Mulciber trying to Crucio him and made it in time (but he wasn't invincible, despite his abilities).

"Did you read the reports?" came Steve's dry voice.

Tom stared into space, unblinking, as he attempted to find a way to prove that yes, it was possible that Bucky could have walked out of this alive. His mind was no longer whirring. It was chugging like a steam train, clunky, slow.

"Yes." was Peggy's short answer.

It must be because he was in mourning, Tom mildly thought once he took notice of his distant gazing. And yet, did he space out so much when Nagini was killed? He didn't remember it as such, only rage and a desperate need for revenge.

"Then you know that's not true." Steve replied with self loathing evident in his voice.

That anger and vengeful feeling resurfaced, snapping him out of the fog that he was in. It wasn't Steve's fault, it could never be Steve's fault. Steve, who always tried to do what was right. Steve, who knew Bucky longer, cared for him as deeply (and deeper still) as Tom did.

"You did everything you could." Peggy told him, "Did you believe in your friend? Did you respect him?"

Both men turned to her, silently conveying how much that was true.

"Then stop blaming yourself." she continued, "Allow Barnes the dignity of his choice. He damn well must have thought you were worth it."

And there it was. The fire in Steve's eyes ignited as a new kind of resolution formed itself. As if to say that the time for wallowing in misery was over, both men stood up from their seats, their drinks forgotten.

"I'm goin' after Schmidt." Captain America proclaimed in a voice that allowed no argument, "I'm not gonna stop till all of Hydra is dead or captured."

Tom placed a hand on his Captain's shoulder, squeezing it, a silent pledge to follow him to the end of the line.

"You won't be alone." intoned Peggy, her words their own pledge.

Steve turned to them and gave each a nod of approval, knowing full well that both were willing to follow him into the jaws of hell for him, for Bucky, for the world. The fire burning within them would drive them to victory, of this Tom was sure. He would make sure that Bucky's sacrifice was not in vain. He would send the message that no one could harm his friends and get away with it.

It was Lord Voldemort that marched beside Captain America and Agent Carter, ready to rain hell upon those who have wronged him.

AN:

Bucky: Why?!

Oni: Because I already planned out most of this story (which some of you have already guessed at), and it requires you to fall of the train. Oh, and also because it's around the time for you guys to suffer a little.

Tom: I really do hope it's because you love us.

Oni: Oh it is, don't worry.

Steve: Don't forget to Follow, Favorite, and Review and I cant believe you just did that.

Oni: Oh pooh, everyone's a critic... I'll see you next time, My Pretties!