WOW! JUST. WOW. I am so fucking flattered and amazed this story has gotten so many hits already and has readers from all over the world. Thank you all! EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY FUCKING AMAZING HUMANS!

So...who's ready to fuck some canon shit up?! Me!

Alright, this chapter might be confusing, but I am always open to talk and explain anything unless it directly involves spoilers.

Sorry for the wait, guys! I'm going to try and make it so each chapter alternates POVs between Severus and Darcy and it was Severus' turn and I just didn't have a whole lot of inspo since I had way too many ideas coming from Darcy.

LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! PLEASE!

"Little one, get up," his mother's voice pushed through the hazy muck of his mind. Instantly, he's on high alert. He blinked the sleep from the from his eyes and found his mother leaning over him, fully dressed in her combat gear.

"Mom-Natalia?" He was only allowed to call her "Momma" when they were certain they're alone, and they both knew that not even his room was safe enough to consider bug free.

"Hush, Little Wolf, we need to be very quiet now. You will need to carry light, but you may grab one toy. Now, go quickly while I grab other things," she told him before quickly going to his little box of clothing. He hurriedly got up and crawled his way over to the corner of his mattress where his few toys were hidden under the mattress. Technically, he shouldn't even have any toys to begin with, but his parents had managed to sneak a handful of small toys into the facility that they'd gotten for him while on missions.

He carefully lifted the corner of his mattress to reveal his cherished hoard. A stuffed gray wolf no bigger than the palm of his papa's hand. A miniature car model. A worn, stuffed bear that had silver tape wrapping around its left arm courtesy of his momma to make it look like Papa's arm. A pocket-sized coloring book with an accompanying set of crayons. After a moment of deliberation, he easily chose his gray wolf, his Sasha. He grabbed Sasha and held her close to his chest.

His momma came up behind him. "You are sure, yes?" she asked.

"Yes," he said quietly with a nod.

She slung a backpack off her should and held it out to him. "Put her in here. It'll keep her safe. Then take off your pj's and put them in here too. I put out an outfit for you next to your pillow. Hurry, my wolf, we do not have time." He obeyed as fast as his little limbs would allow. Then he was slipping on the backpack, which was his size, onto his small frame without a word. "Come," was all she said before they were leaving his little shoebox of a room, most likely for the last time, he thought.

He followed her to the room where the Handlers kept the facility's weapons. Papa was already there, laden with weapons of various sort and a pack of his own slung over his back. Papa stood guard while Little Wolf and Momma hurried into the room and swiftly loaded up on as many weapons as they could possibly carry. Once they both were as fully armed as they could be, they went back over to Papa. Together the trio made their way down the halls to the exit, silently taking out anyone they found as they went.

He may have only been around six years old, but he had also been trained to kill since before he could walk and was well on his way to becoming just as deadly as his parents.

By the time they had reached the main gate, the last barrier between them and the outside world, the rest of the facility was awake as well. Now, the three of them were running at a dead sprint full on, no longer needing to sneak around with silent steps. Papa had even pulled him into his metal arm so that he wouldn't fall behind. They burst past the doors into the courtyard, the only thing left between them and the rest of the world was the gate and the sea of guards that had poured into the yard.

"Widow, Soldier, take the boy and go back to your rooms now," a Handler in front of them instructed in a crisp, clear voice.

Little Wolf watched as Papa reached behind his back to pull out a large gun, cock it, and then shoot the Handlers right in the space between his eyes, all the while carefully setting him down and all within the time it takes to blink. From that first bullet, the three of them began to push their way through the throng of Guards to one of the trucks they'd spotted. Momma ran and took down a plethora of Guards using a combination of hand-to-hand combat and shooting with ease as she made her way to the vehicle. Papa, ever the sniper and gunman, picked off lines and layers of the sea of them with his guns, and when some unlucky Guard actually made it close enough, he easily snapped their neck with his bare hands. As for Little Wolf himself, he used a combination of physical technique and weaponry to take down anyone who came at him.

Despite all the bodies of now dead Guards now littering the ground of the courtyard, more and more seems to take their place. When he reached the truck, Momma was already in the driver's seat, revving up the engines, and Papa was mere feet from the vehicle, facing the mass of Guards coming towards them and unleashing wave after wave of bullets into the mass. Seeing this, he climbed into the vehicle next to Momma.

Then a voice rang out above the gunshots on the overhead speakers, strong and firm.

"Longing. Rusted. Seventeen."

At the sound of the words, Papa falters, shooting bullets at a slower pace. Little Wolf could even hear his papa grunting as he tried to stay focused, but he wasn't sure why he was having such a hard time. They were just words, right?

"Daybreak. Furnace. Nine."

After these words, Papa was now hissing and loudly grunting and had dropped his gun, not out of fear but in an attempt to cover his ears, blocking out the words flooding the air.

"Natalia, go! Now! Get him out of here!" Papa shouted. Momma nodded stoically.

"Little Wolf, sit down," she told him as she revved the engines again.

"Wolf, my little wolf, listen to her and be a good boy for your momma. Okay? Now go, both of you! Hurry!" his papa shouted before he collapsed to his knees, panting heavily but again trying to fire as many bullets as he could at the Guards surrounding them. Even as he was fighting a losing battle with the words, he was trying to clear them a path out of there.

Momma stomped on the gas, and then they were tearing out the courtyard and away from the compound at high speeds. The Handler's voice evanescing with each passing second until it no longer reached Little Wolf's ears at even the quietest of decibels.

Moments later, the last thing he knew was that they were driving as far as they could from the facility as fast as they could before the world went black.

When the world came back to him, he found that they were still in the stolen truck, dashing across the earth, still putting as much distance between them and the compound as they could before they ran out of fuel. He glimpsed out the window and found the world outside whizzing past at a dizzying pace. Then he dared to glance at Momma and found her silently allowing a minuscule trail of tears to flow down her cheeks. At first, he was confused as to why she was sad. They had left that place just like they wanted! That was supposed to be good, right? Yes, Papa wasn't with them right now, but surely he'd find them…then it hit him. No. Papa wasn't coming back. The Handlers will put Papa in the Chair and make him forget them again. And this time, they wouldn't leave any memories of them behind.

Finally, after this revelation, he cried. Not loud screaming, but pathetic little sniffles and little rolling rivers of liquid. Not taking her eyes off the road, she took one hand off the wheel and gently pulled him to her side, all the while maintaining the breakneck speed. He simply curled up against her and let out even more whimpering sobs. Together, they shed tears in resignation and sadness, saying goodbye to his papa and her Yasha for what Little Wolf knew would be the last time in a very long time, if ever again.

When they stopped for a rest, the fuel gauge was showing just barely above empty. It was honestly unsurprising to see such a low amount since they're been tearing across the earth for miles upon miles. However, they both knew that they still weren't anywhere near safe yet. Perhaps if they made it out of Russia, they could at least breathe a tiny bit easier, but, even at his young age, Little Wolf knew that they'd always have to look over their shoulder until every last stone of the Red Room had been destroyed.

"Severus," a voice calls out to him. "Sev, wake up. Please wake up."

He claws his way to consciousness and opens his eyes to see Darcy leaning over him, a deeply distressed expression practically burned onto her face. He looks down to find he's in a bed, their bed, sweat barely forming in droplets on his bare chest. They're both breathing hard enough that they're near panting. Her hair is loose and falling in a curtain around her face, framing it. Worry has been etched into her face like a personality into marble and she's searching his face for some kind of explanation. A soft, very visibly relieved smile tugs gently at her lips when their eyes meet.

"Hey, handsome," she breathes out in a whisper.

"Hello, my dear," he answers at the same volume.

"Are you alright?" she asks as she wipes away an errant hair that had been clinging to his face.

"Of course. What has led you to believe otherwise?"

"You know, it's just me, just us. You don't have to use that fancy speak with me." She sits back, a worried eyebrow raised. "Anyways, well, for one, you were talking in your sleep. You don't do that unless something less than happy has happened in your dream. Secondly, you're crying, and you were in your sleep," she tells him in a soft, concerned tone.

He blinks and reaches up to find wetness under his eyes. It's not a flowing river or even a creek, just a few tears. Still, he wonders how he didn't notice the wetness of his salty tears when he first woke. Surely, he'd have noticed water clogging up his vision? Perhaps he'd simply passed it off as perspiration? Or sleepiness? Either way, they certainly are tears and not beads of sweat on the top of his cheeks. As he'd been fixated on the tears leaking from his eyes, Darcy had taken the time to lay back down next to him, leaning her head on his shoulders and wrapping an arm around his naked torso.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" she asks as he lays his arms on her shoulder.

"It was a memory from long ago."

She hums. "You've been having more of those pop up lately."

"It was the last time I saw my father, Yasha, and he knew exactly who I am, the night before my mother and I managed to escape the Red Room."

A minute of silence passes between them as they process what he's just admitted. "Do you think seeing him in New York could possibly have caused you to be having more memories of him all those years ago suddenly resurface?"

"It is a thought I have been thinking often lately, love."

"Steve's been looking for him ever since he got released from the hospital, the idiot. Do you wish you were with him? Looking for your father?"

"Some part of me does wish that I must admit." When she starts to ask why he's not doing just that, he has to think a moment before answering. "If my father, the man I know, is still in there behind all the reconditioning I'm sure they've inflicted upon him since I last saw him and all the memories I'm sure are confusing him, then I don't need to look for him. If the part I knew is still in there, then I believe he'll come to me when he's ready to. Right now, though? I highly doubt he's ready to see me, see us, again. Searching for him, trying to force him to come back, would be futile and a waste of resources and time. In addition, I don't think I'm ready to see him myself."

"Then why let Steve drag Sam along with him on this manhunt if you're so sure it's not worth it?" It's less an accusing inquiry and more an innocent curiosity in her tone.

"I have tried. Even mum has tried, but Steve is also as bullheaded as you and didn't want to listen to me. I just hope that Sam isn't run ragged trying to keep up."

"Then that is his problem. Although, I do agree. Sam shouldn't have to pay for Steve's stubborn ignorance of the truth, the truth that maybe Yasha, or Bucky as he knows him, just isn't ready to see him yet." A handful of minutes passes before she speaks again. "You're sure that you're okay, though? I know I just started here, like literally only a couple days ago, but if you think we need to leave, then we will. I already have emergency packs and duffels all packed and ready." A habit he's noticed that she's picked up from him since knowing him, knowing that they could only have mere seconds to grabs things before they have to leave should the situation turn bad.

"As much as that sounds appealing, no. We can't leave. We're needed here more than we're needed anywhere else. Ever since last year, my mark has gotten slowly but steadily increasingly darker. Things are going to happen here, and I fear I'll be needed soon. Regardless, I promised I'd watch over Draco while he attends school."

"Okay, we'll stay. Besides, it has been a while since I last got to see you scare baby agents and the students here are totally afraid of you, so like kinda samesies. Plus, I get to see Drake more."

"Must you continue calling the poor boy that?"

"Yep. He hasn't told me to stop, so I can totally keep doing it."

"That boy adores you, Darcy." She shrugs.

"Who wouldn't? I'm an awesome godmother, and don't think I'm letting you off the hook with that whole 'things are going to happen here.' You know more than you're letting on, and I want to know."

He chuckles. "I believe we have a few more hours until we must be awake. I for one would like to be asleep during those hours if you don't mind. I will tell you what you want to know in the morning."

"Okay."

And only a few minutes later Darcy has been lost to the world in sleep, but no matter how Severus tries, he can't seem to fall back into the land of Morpheus. Instead, he can't stop thinking about his dream and how vivid it had been. Yes, it had been a memory, but he had also been only around six at the time. However, the more he thinks about his memory, the more he can recall that day with a startling clarity.

The next day as they used up every last drop of fuel in the tank, neither of them cried as each second that passed by took them farther and farther from the missing member of their little family. Silence engulfed them like a heavy, dense fog, infused with a concoction of confusion, sadness, anxiety, and even the tiniest fleck of excitement at the daunting future they're careening towards.

Then Momma broke it into a thousand pieces with her hushed, gentle voice. "Little Wolf, do you remember how I told you that you are special because you had another family, another momma, long ago? Before you came to me?"

"Yes, momma," he said easily. "She was killed and then I came to you and Papa."

"Yes, little one," she said. "Good boy. She gave you a name. Severus. You are Severus Tobias Snape to the world."

The air between them returned to silence as she let her words sink in, let him digest this new information and decide what it meant to him.

"But I will always be Little Wolf, yes?"

A ghost of a smile flickered across her lips as he watched her for an answer hesitantly.

"Yes, you will always be my Little Frost Wolf. That will never change."

"Okay, momma."

And that had been the end of it.

From then on, to all the world but his Mum and Papa, he became known as Severus Tobias Snape. To his parents, though, he remained and always would be (much to his distaste at times) their Little Wolf.

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