Chapter 18: Confronting the Past- Part 1

AN: this is going to be hell to write. These themes are dark as heck and they're the reason for the very high age limit in this fic. A lot of this is Steven's backstory delving into his very dark past. Think of this as my attempt at a spy thriller from the 90's: it's very dark and not holding its punches; 007'ish maybe. I also was watching a lot of Criminal Minds when I came up with this chapter outline. So there might be some of that in there. IDK I was just pulling on the darkest themes of TWS when I did this, so please don't kill me!

Warning: Torture and death ahead! Read at your own risk! M Rated Chapter!

Welp now that that's over

On to the fic

edit note: its my birthday so you get this. sorry

Kat returns home to a dark and silent house. She scowled in frustration and confusion. Her sons had said they would meet her at home, but the house is dark and their cars are parked in the drive.

'Idiotic men,' she grumbled in Russian as she opened the car door and climbed out. Her laptop case swung heavily by her side as she pulled the strap over her shoulder and next to her purse, as she closed the car door and marched over to the front door. The house was as silent as a tomb when she opened the front door. The clatter of her keys and the creak of the door closing behind her were loud in the dark space. Her coat was slung upon the coat pegs by the door, and her shoes quickly joined them, as she walked into the front room.

"Sasha," she called into the darkened room, "Vanya," she turned towards the wall to flip on the light when a voice called out from the darkness and chilled her soul to the bone.

"Hello, Ekaterina," the voice said, the words dripping with loathing and malice. Kat froze, eyes seeking the source of the voice that haunted her darkest nightmares. "Or should I call you 'Catherine'? That is what you go by now, isn't it?"

"Who are you," she ordered, denying the truth for a little longer, "How did you get in here?"

"Oh, Kat," the voice chuckled, the sound dripping with loathing, "you already know that. Have a seat," it ordered, its tone cold and calm like barely restrained wrath, and suddenly Kat found herself forced into a chair, and restrained by an unseen force. Kat trembled a little but carefully steeled her nerves and glared into the night.

"What do you want," she asked her head held high and proud. The voice chuckled again, sounding both genuinely amused and angry at once. Kat gulped down her fear as she suddenly felt hot breath by her ear.

"You know what I want," he said and demanded with a growling hiss into her ear, "where is he?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Kat answered. Suddenly she felt a hand grip her shoulder with inhuman strength and press down on the socket with its thumb digging into flesh and pressing so hard she would swear that she could feel the bone creak.

"That was a lie, Kat," the voice growled in her ear. The pressure released and the hand went with it, but the pain throbbed down her arm and shoulder with sharp pulses in tune with her racing heart. "Lie to me again and I will do much worse than give you a few bruises."

"What do you want," Kat asked, this time much more cowed as she swallowed around her rising fear. The voice chuckled from behind her and she turned her head to try to spot him.

"It's simple really," he said and Kat could finally see his outline in the pale waning moonlight. He turned to face her and she felt her blood turn to ice. The Knight hadn't changed at all since she had last seen him. His sapphire blue eyes shown like two cold stars in the darkness around his face, his black mask absorbing all light around it. "You tell me what I want to know and I might just let you live." His face was cold and impassive as he threatened her, just as she remembered. "Now," he said stepping further into the light, his tall dark form seeming to absorb all light like a black hole. "Where is he," he asked his voice cold and tight, but there was a hint of fire beneath as if that burning bright righteous fury was only just held in check.

Kat clamped down on the urge to shudder in terror, as the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She knew was he was capable of, had seen the bodies left over from his interrogations; broken and bleeding from the nose and ears, drooling all over themselves, their minds just as broken as their bodies, and she had no desire to become that in any way. She swallowed around the sudden dryness in her throat and tried to meet his eyes, but after a second she had to look away. It was like looking into the depths of some fathomless deep lake, those pools of his eyes, lit with a strange and equally terrifying light that made his eyes flash and glow as if they were made from two burning fires. Kat had never liked looking into his eyes, before when he was cowed and submissive; they had looked dull and dead then. Now those pools had regained some strange fire and they burned in his sockets like twin blue stars, the image made even more terrifying with that impossibly black mask. It made it look like looking at the night sky on his face. It made her feel small and insignificant compared to him and this strange power that welled up from within him made manifest in his eyes. They looked impossibly ancient and powerful, shining there on his face, even then, and now she felt as if she were sitting in a room with a barely contained weapon; something so old and powerful, she felt like she was a child at play in comparison.

"If I tell you will you let me go," Kat asked, and the Knight gave her a slow catlike blink of his eyes, not moving an inch. The only sign of his power was the tightening of the invisible bonds that held her fast to the chair. A warning, she knew seeing his eyes narrow, he could kill her at any time. "The Asset was brought into the city a few weeks ago." she swallowed down her instinctive fear, HYDRA might hate her for talking, but she'd rather be alive with their hate, than be dead by the Knight's wrath. "I don't know where, I haven't been called in to take samples. They bring them to me at a warehouse, downtown, I never see him." There is a deep rumbling growl from his chest before she can feel a burning cold presence in her mind, pressing, pulling, and invading her thoughts. Her instinct is to resist, but she knows if she does he'll shatter her mental defenses and her mind like glass. After a moment the sensation of shifting fingers in her head dissipates, and the Knight pulled back with a smirk on his face.

"I'm surprised," he said, "they trusted your sons more than you, but then again it wasn't much more." Kat felt her body still and all the blood rush out of her face. A shiver of fear ran down her spine as if the warm was stolen right out of her blood. The Knight smiled a sickly sweet smile, and Kat could see the flash of teeth in the pale light catch on the slightly longer than normal canines; the look shifting his smile from kind to predatory.

"What are you taking about," she asked her voice barely kept from shaking by pure will. The Knight let out a snort of amusement as he stepped around her behind the chair she was being restrained to. Kat tried to turn and look at him, keep him in her sightlines but that same force holding her to the chair tightened and she was pulled back flat against the chair.

"HYDRA didn't trust you very much, 'Kat'. But that doesn't surprise me," he said instead of answering her, "after all why would they trust a woman with an active kill order on her head; let alone one of her sons." Kat felt her heart rate kick up and her palms sweat, as the words sank in. the Knight wasn't here for some personal vendetta he was on a job, and that meant she was as good as dead. She was so caught up in her thoughts and realization that she jumped when his voice came right by her ear, deceptively soft and calm, hiding the iron core within. "They didn't even take you to him. Even your sons were afforded more Intel than that." Suddenly the room erupted in light, and Kat flinched closing her eyes against the sudden onslaught. "Unfortunately for them," he said as she blinked away the blurriness of her vision, "their extracurricular activities meant that I couldn't let them live."

Kat opened her eyes to find the corpses of her two sons bound in chairs of their own, side by side, blood dripping and staining their shirts and pants, a little round hole in each of their shirts right over their hearts. Kat drew in a breath to scream and suddenly found her voice stolen unable to voice her horror, as she looked into the lifeless eyes of her two sons.

"You and HYDRA stole something precious from me," the Knight said as he stepped into her line of vision for the first time. "It's time I returned the favor. 'An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth'," he said, and Kat looked up to see him point a pistol at her a silencer on the barrel. "A life for a life," he said his eyes burning with cold hatred, and a grim sense of justice. He leveled the gun at her and fired in quick succession in pairs; first the knees, then putting a shot in each hip socket, elbows and shoulders, before putting a bullet in each lung. Kat couldn't even find the breath to scream, as her lungs filled with blood, the last thing she saw was him leveling the gun in the center of her chest and putting a bullet in her heart.

Steven breathed out a shuddering sigh, swallowing past bile and the lump in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut to block out the sight of Ekaterina's lifeless body, allowing two solitary tears to slip out of his eyes and down his face. Steven quickly wiped them away; blinking rapidly to stave off more tears and drawing in a deep breath through his nose before letting it go in a long exhale.

Steven turned toward the house phone and carefully picked up the receiver before he pressed the speaker button and dialed the police. Steven's eyes were dull and full of sorrow and a slight bit of regret, before he hardened his resolve. Ekaterina was a monster, and she used her degree as a doctor to further her sick research into genetics and cloning. Steven had found one of her abandoned project labs once during his crusade and it was one of the few times in his life he was so horrified and disgusted by what he saw that he threw up. Ekaterina's goal of creating the perfect being with no faults and no imperfections had once come from a place of good intentions, but once she joined HYDRA and they began to fund her research in genetics, she began a long slippery slide down a path of no redemption. Whatever her original goals were, her intentions, they were no longer good or natural. Though, Steven thought with a wry twist to his mouth, one truly good thing did come out of her genetic experimentations and engineering: Yasha. His brother was probably the only good thing she had even created or done in his eyes. The rest, was just more blood on her hands and darkness on her soul.

The call connected and Steven pushed those thoughts out of his mind.

"911, what is your emergency," the operator asked. Steven lifted his voice and pitched it much higher than his normal register, mimicking himself when he was younger before years of screaming himself hoarse from torture and other abuses had made him deepen it to protect his vocal cords.

"Yeah, I think I heard a noise over at Mrs. Pottman's place," he said startling even himself at how young he sounded. Steven routed the phone through one of his burner cells to keep the trace off him.

"Can you describe it," she asked, and Steven could sense that she was already tracing the call to triangulate it to a location.

"It sounded like a muffled popping sound, with a buzz to it," Steven carefully described allowing her to trace the location to just across the street. "Then there was a sound kind of like breaking things, a glass, maybe a plate, and some furniture. Then it got really quiet for a while. The lights were still off, and Mrs. Pottman and her sons' cars are in the drive. I think there's someone in their house."

"Was Mrs. Pottman home when his happened," the operator asked. Steven stifled a smirk.

"No, she came home after," Steven pushed a little bit of teary fear into his voice as he looked over at Ekaterina. "I heard raised voices for a few minutes then the lights turned on. I can see a shadow of someone standing in the living room through the curtains and there is someone in a chair."

"Alright I have your location, I'm sending a unit over to check it out right now," she said, calm and soothing. "Can I have your name for the record?"

"My Name," Steven asked deliberately pitching his voice to be young and scared. "Jon Doe." With a flick of his powers he cut the call.

Steven carefully placed an old cellphone on Ekaterina's armrest, the phone wiped of all but a single message; a poem that the Red Room used to say about him.

The Summer Soldier and the Summer Knight

Both Sunshine patriots,

They fight in light

They fight in warmth

For they are Summer Warriors

But Summer must Fall,

Sunshine Patriots leave

For the Cold must come

And Old Warriors fall way.

For Summer ends,

And Winter must come,

With it comes a new Soldier

A new Knight

Born of cold and Winter frost

So the Summer Soldier and the Summer Knight

Must fall away

For new Patriots have come

In the depth of cold

The Soldier comes

In the depth of Winter

The Knight is come

Beware,

For Winter is Come

Steven only wrote the last stanza minus a few lines and an addition of his own: In the depth of Winter/ the Knight is come/ Beware, / For Winter is Come. Winter is here, Judgment is come.

Steven wants HYDRA to know his is here and alive and is coming for them again.

Steven turns away from the mess and walked out the front door. The lock disengaged with a flick of his wrist and the door opened without a single touch. The door equally closed behind him and locked, and Steven smirked. He cocked his head and glanced back at the door, his lips quirked into a small smirk as he heard the deadbolt click shut behind him. The smirk quickly fell as he walked down the street and around the blocks in a zigzag pattern before finding his bike. He started the old motorcycle and drove down the block spotting a black and white as it headed towards Ekaterina's house.

Steven turned and went in the opposite direction. After all he has another visit to make and it was already going to be a long cold night.

It was nearing dusk, when Pierce received the call. The phone rang and he picked it up.

"Pierce," he said. On the other end was the voice of one of his STRIKE team agents.

"Sir, there's been an incident," he said.

"Report," Pierce ordered, as he switched on his deck light.

"Dr. Potemkin and her sons are dead," the agent reported and for a long second Pierce felt his blood run cold.

"Continue," he ordered.

"GSW's to the torso and limbs," the agent reported, "COD appears to be a Gun Shot wound to the heart, but it looks as if they were tortured first. There's very little forensics, and the crime scene looks as if it's been scrubbed." Pierce took a moment to puzzle this through before he asked for more.

"Suspects," he asked.

"None so far, sir," the agent replied, "we did find an old cellphone at the scene. It doesn't belong to any of the victims, and the sim card's been wiped; though there was a message on the screen before it went blank. I didn't catch the whole thing but I caught the last sentence."

"What is it," Pierce asked.

"The knight is come, beware, for winter is come. Winter is here, Judgment is come," the agent replied. Pierce suddenly felt as if he had been dunked in a vat of ice water. Every HYDRA operative from the old guard knew that phrase, and dreaded hearing it or even seeing it anywhere near them. It was not only a warning to the Soviets and possible Red Room defectors but one for HYDRA agents as well. Before the Knight went rogue it was used as a warning, usually with a body attached, to any possible defectors of the futility of escape. After, it was a sign that he had found you and you were as good as dead. But the Knight had been dead for almost twenty years; self-destructed in an attempt to take down the last of the Red Room while taking out Lukin. Then Pierce remembered the small tidbit of a rumor than came down from the Battle of New York; about a so-called former soviet agent working with the Agency that was called the Knight, and suddenly Pierce wasn't so sure about that so-called death anymore.

"Sir, what do you want us to do," the agent asked.

"Take over the crime scene and case," Pierce ordered, "take custody of any forensics and evidence, and then bury it."

"Sir?"

"This never happened and you didn't see that message." Pierce ordered, "Am I clear?"

"Yes sir," the agent parroted before Pierce hung up.

Quiet Rest Hospice was the last place Steven would have ever expected a man like Zhukov to hide yet hide he had, and quite well for the past ten years. He had been so close all this time; it was enough to make him grind his teeth. Not only that, he had a sneaking suspicion that he was the reason for Peggy's sudden and rapid decline in health when she moved in to the facility.

It was almost dusk and nearing the end of visiting hours. Steven knew that the best disguise he had for this place was none at all. So Steven simply walked right in the front door as Captain Buchannan for a late night visit to an old friend and colleague.

The nurse on desk is one of the good ones and for once, Steve regrets the lie that is about to come out of his mouth when she looked up and saw him.

"Captain Buchannan," she said with a bright smile, "what a pleasant surprise. Here to see director Carter I take it?" Steven smiled back and laid on the charm.

"I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by," he said. "I haven't seen her in a while and I needed a friend tonight. Is she doing well, it's a good day?" the nurse smiled and nodded.

"it's one of her better days," she said as she led him down to Peggy's room, "I know you won't stay long, but visiting hours end in less than an hour, so try not to get her too chatty tonight." Steven chuckled a bit and nodded.

"Don't worry," he said with a smile, "I won't be too long." Steven's smile lasted only until she turned around and headed back towards her desk. Then minute she turned the corner, Steven closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath. He slowly and methodically built up the shields in his mind doming them over with layers of mirrors and traps. If he is going to face this monster, he needs to make extra sure that his mind is an impervious fortress, his inner mind a keep with winding halls and traps in every corridor. Zhukov is too good for him to not shore up his defenses beforehand.

Steven let out a steady breath; his nerves steeled behind the metal walls of his mind, and turned to the door just down the hall from Peggy's room. It made a sick twisted sort of sense that he would have himself so close to her, a way to twist her mind into submission just as he had with so many others. He turned to the door and pulled the shadows around himself while shedding his persona of the good captain, perhaps for the last time. With one last deep breath to harden his will, Steven opened the door on silent hinges and stepped into the lion's den.

It's amazing how terrifying Zhukov was in Steven's memories. He was this massless presence that always dwelled in the back of his mind. Steven had always associated him with the cold and darkness, and a feeling of helpless dread, but now as he stands in the shadows of the door, carefully constructing walls of elvish silver steel within his mind, and traps in case some of those failed, all he feels is cold apathy or baseless pity.

Zhukov noticed him and was awake the moment Steven shut the door. He took the moment to turn away from him and lock it, a clear sign to the dying man in the bed that he was no longer afraid of him. Steven knew the image he projected to the old man was one to provoke terror; this shadowy form cloaked in black and hints of dark blood red. It was an image he had used many times when he was still under the man's influence, and surprisingly it works on the old villain. Steven felt a sudden spike of terror from the Soviet agent before he also felt demanding probes and grasping fingers seeking to enter the cracks in his mind; seeking old triggers to regain control of the man as he once had so many years ago.

Steven couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his chest at the boldness and arrogance of the old man.

"That won't work this time, Kolya," Steven said as he turned around, a deathly calm smile on his face; though his eyes burned like twin stars, rage boiling under the surface. "Did you think that I would just walk in here without being prepared?" Steven slowly and methodically walked into the dim light of the dusk hours, the moon the only thing seeming to illuminate his form. "I've had training by those far more powerful than you. I've strengthened my mental shields, old man, so that not even you could break them!" Steven's voice was soft and cold, a pleasant drawl that was made chilling by the iciness of his tone. For the first time terror leached onto Zhukov's face as he scrambled his hand across the bed before he grabbed the call button, then hardness returned as he pressed the little red trigger with his thumb. For a moment he seemed to almost crow in silent victory before confusion entered his expression, the panic as he began to repeatedly press the button. A vicious and gleeful grin slowly pulled across Steven's face, and victory was all but sealed in his mind; even as a little part of him began to weep that he had to resort to this again. That small helpless child that Steven hadn't been in so long just wept at the unfairness of it all, screaming that he didn't want to do this, before Steven gently but ruthlessly locked that little voice away behind his deepest shields to deal with later.

"What did you do?" the old man croaked; the once deep dulcet tones of his caramel voice reduced to gravel and a breathless wheeze. Too much vodka and fine Cuban cigars had destroyed the voice that had once brought Steven cowering in terror, and Steven smirked to himself as his shoulders relaxed and his nerves vanished.

"You really didn't think that I wouldn't ensure that we would not be disturbed," Steven asked with a chiding grin, made chilling and vicious by being more a baring of teeth than any smile. "Did you, Kolya," Steven stepped away from the door passively waving his hand to seal up all the cracks. "No one can hear you, this time, Zhukov," Steven said with a bland and almost professional smile. "Not now, and not ever again," Steven's smile vanished and in its place was cold distain, "it's just you and me, just like old times. This time, I am in control… and you…. will tell me exactly what I want to know, are we clear?" Steven asked. Zhukov swallowed hard around the dryness of his mouth, and Steven grinned. "Good!" his smile cheerful and sickly sweet.

Steven moved to stand at the foot of the old man's bed and placed his hands firmly on the footboard tightly grasping the plastic and gripping it hard enough it groaned under the pressure. It was a show of strength and a blatant one at that, but Steven needed every advantage he had to get the old man on his back foot, so to speak, and to keep himself grounded enough that he won't lash out and kill him too quickly; he needs him to talk after all.

"This is how it's going to go, old friend," Steven said with a savage grin, "I'm going to ask questions, and for each lie…" Steven chuckled and let his smile turn placid and chiding, "I think I'll keep that a surprise." Steven raised his brows in just the way he was taught to look, calm and questioning like a teacher, while asking in a sickly sweet tone, "Do we have an accord?" Zhukov swallowed down the sudden and complete terror that had run down his spine like a chill, and silently nodded. Steven grinned, his smile please and sharp; full of teeth. "Good!"

Zhukov's lies were almost as prevalent has his truths, and he had quickly discovered that Steven's powers had far surpassed anything the Red Room had ever dreamed they would be. His precision with his Electrokinesis was almost as strong as his Telekinesis and as such he could apply shocks at low and non-lethal voltages while still being painful, or suddenly restricting his throat and airways with no more than an irritated twitch to his eyes. But soon enough Zhukov could no longer keep lying, for while he could no longer enter Steven's mind, Steven could and did enter his. It took only a few moments of distraction through pain and the sudden panic at not being able to breathe, for Steven to subvert every mental shield the old man had and enter his mind. Zhukov was beaten and he knew it. Steven had a chokehold on his mind and could, and would, force him to tell the truth, or just rip the knowledge out of his mind, leaving him in a vegetative state. Finally it seemed Steven was done toying with him and his face turned to stone.

"You know what I really want, Zhukov," Steven said, "if you just give it to me, all this will end." Zhukov gathered his strength and glared at the man, panting and wheezing in his bed.

"Hail HYDRA," he hissed. Steven's face suddenly and quickly became arctic cold and his eyes almost seemed to glow as the flashed with his restrained rage.

"Where is the Winter Soldier, Zhukov," Steven asked his voice stony and cold, "where are they keeping him?" Zhukov remained silent, clenching his teeth tight and refusing the pressuring whispers in his head telling him to answer. He squeezed his eyes shut as if to keep Steven out, but alas, Steven had not lied when he said he was far more powerful than he, and slipped into Zhukov's mind.

Steven sees nothing for a few moments, but then he hears the dull clomp of heavy boots and the crisp claps of leather soled shoes on stone floors. His mindscape clears and then he can see the faint outline of a hall, an old iron barred door. Another sound springs up and he can hear the clang of metal and the low hum of computers. The waft of a non-existent scent came to his nose next, the smell of an old room, damp and slightly dusty, a familiar smell, and very unwelcome, the smell of metal and old paper, maybe.

Steven opened his eyes, unaware he had even closed them, and smiled. Somewhere old, underground possibly, with nice stone floors; a government building perhaps, or a print shop; somewhere with lots of paper if Zhukov can remember that scent. He took his hands off the foot of the bed, unaware that there were now cracks in the plastic where he had gripped it so tight it warped under his strength, and slowly pulled the gun out of the holster at his side.

Zhukov's eyes widen into saucers as Steven slowly screws a silencer onto the barrel, all with a bland smile; his eyes still full of hate. Steven turned to the man with a calmness that belied everything inside him.

"Thank you, for your cooperation, my former comrade," Steven said, leveling the gun at Zhukov's knees, and starts firing. Zhukov's scream of pain is swallowed by a chest rattling cough. Once he regained his breath, he leveled a glare at Steven before a victorious grin pulled at his lips.

"You won't find him, Styopushka," Zhukov said and Steven almost saw red, his rage incandescent. "They keep him locked up tighter than they used to." Zhukov's laughter is watery and breaks with phlegmy coughs. "Your beloved Papochka is gone. There is only the perfection of the Winter Soldier, now; our glorious Asset." Steven's rage, nearly over takes his sense, as his eyes blaze with hate, before he quickly leveled the gun to shoot out the croaking man's lungs. A smile pulled at Steven's lips as a spike of vicious victory pulled in his heart.

"As long as Michael is within him, my Ada will exist," Steven said, and his smile turned into a shark-like grin, "Besides," he informed, "something tells me that The Archangel doesn't appreciate being locked inside his own Vessel." Zhukov's laughter ceased, as a doomed sort of horror dawned on his face, and Steven took full advantage. "Do you know what they call The Archangels, Kolya; in heaven? Heaven's most powerful Weapons: they are wrath and fire and pure holy light; they are righteous fury and judgment and love personified." Steven's smile turned bemused, as he added, "this is a mercy, compared to what he would do to you. Enjoy Hell, svoloch!"

Before the old man could open his mouth again Steven fired in quick succession three shots, one to each lung and one in Zhukov's blackened heart. The heart monitor will start working again once he leaves but for now it is silent, as Steven turns on his heel and opened the door. He slipped out of the room and closed it behind him, slipping on a persona as he hears a nurse come around the corner.

"Visiting hours is ending," she said, and Steven plastered on a chided smile.

"Sorry, my old uncle was chatty tonight," Steven said as he laid on the thick Siberian Russian accent. "It was all I could do to leave. I think he wore himself out though. Best not to disturb him, no, he is dead tired." The nurse plastered on a friendly smile and let him go. Steven dropped the persona and slipped into Peggy's room. She's so much frailer than the last time he saw her, and Steven's shoulders droop as he looks into her mind. Resignation and sorrow chase him though, as he sees Zhukov's handy work all over it. He was the cause of the rapid degradation, just as he thought. With time she will recover, but that was time she would never get back. She had so little left, and Steven hopes to help her heal even further once this is over.

With a heavy sigh and weary heart, Steven turned and left. He walked past the desk, making sure his double, slipped out silently before him. The nurse smiled and waved him goodnight, and Steven returned the gesture as if nothing were wrong. It's not until he's half way down to the third corner before he released his hold on the call button. There is always a sigh of relief when he lets go of his powers and relaxes. But in this case it's because his personal torturer is finally dead. The man who twisted his mind until it was not his own is gone and will never again haunt his nightmares. But even so there's still a touch of regret, all the same.

Steven opened the door to his apartment to find Jonathan and Arion waiting there on his sofa. There was only a slight pause once he saw them before he closed the door and dropped the keys to his bike in to bowl by the door. A small smirk pulled at his lips, while he tried to push down his fear.

"Dad, Jonny," Steven said with a smile, "what a surprise. What are you doing here?" he asked knowing full well why, but trying to stall. Jonathan cocked a brow and pursed his lips.

"You're not exactly subtle, Brother," Jonathan said. Steven chuckled, and suddenly he was laughing long and hard, but soon enough they dissolve into loud sobs as he wrapped his arms around his middle and slowly slid down the wall he was leaning against to sit curled up on the floor. Soon enough Arion is on the floor beside him pulling him into his arms.

"They wanted the monster for this," Steven said as the hysterical giggles bubbled up again, and looked up at his father with pleading eyes. "But they didn't… they never asked why I hated them so much." Steven looked down at his shaking hands, and tried not to see the imagined blood dripping from them. "they didn't care," he chuckled as more tears escaped, "as long as I got the job done and HYDRA once again trembled in fear at the mention of the Winter Knight," a weak deranged giggle escaped his lips, a grin on his face to match, "shaking in their boots and soiling themselves in fear, because their nightmare has become reality, and was gunning for each and every one of them." Laughter broke down into sobs as Arion never said a word, just pulled Steven into his arms, and allowed him to shake and whimper and cry into his father's chest as he buried his face there trying to hide from his fear and pain.

Parent and sibling looked over Steven's head and shared a look. Both knew this would break Steven if it went on any longer, and they both feared that all of Steven's hard work to recover would become undone over the next few days.

It was a long while before Steven was composed enough to speak again. (In reality he was just too tired to cry anymore.)

"I'm going after Misha, and his son," Steven said blankly his voice devoid of all emotion. "I swore it would. I swore I'd make them all pay." Steven never told his father of that vow he made in that little cell in Siberia. He swore he would destroy the ones that had forced him to kill; wiping them and their bloodlines from the face of the earth. Once it was the only thing driving him to live; now it was only a dark and heavy chain around his neck. Now his driving force was seeing to it that his Ada was returned to them all safely. "Nicholas has family," he said and missed the sudden alarmed look his brother and father sent each other over his head, too tired to care. "His son's a Mutant. He doesn't deserve him. I'm gonna fake their deaths, send them to Xavier for protection. His wife probably doesn't even know. They don't deserve to die, but he does."

"Steven," Arion sighed, "it'll be alright. They are evil; you're doing the right thing. If you can prevent more pain and suffering they've caused to others, then it is just." Steven smiled bleakly and leaned into the light of his father's presence. Arion tried, when he gave counsel like this, but there were just some things that Steven had buried so deeply within himself, it had taken him years to find, and those secrets brought him nothing but pain; pain that he didn't want to share with his father at all if he could help it.

He was probably going to be due a long session with Xavier and his own group of counselors. He had enough baggage to write a book. He needed therapy, preferably before he had a psychotic break.

TBC…

End Notes: I am so sorry this took so long. I had the worst kind of writers block. I just didn't want to write this. I knew it would hurt, and it sort of did. I don't like it but I'm not rewriting it.

Buckle up Guys and Gals the next three chapters are gonna be a doozy.

Next up: part 2