Archive of Our Own

Harry was swiftly filled in on the main events he'd missed, by Carol. Namely, that Dracula had been chased off – or rather, had seen the odds turn very dramatically against him, let out a frustrated howl, and vanished into the Nevernever. Thor had been all for following him and turning him into Wallachian Jam, but Loki had advised against it – apparently vampires turned at bay like cornered rats. And if nothing else, they had had other matters to attend to.

"Us," Harry said.

Carol nodded. "I was pretty out of it, to be honest, but…" She smiled slightly. "I was still around to be out of it, if you know what I mean."

Harry nodded.

"I was awake pretty shortly afterwards," Carol continued. "They took me to the hospital, topped off my tank, and aside from a headache, I felt pretty okay shortly afterwards – thank the whoever for super soldier healing."

"I could have done with some of that," Harry murmured.

Carol's expression turned dry. "You did," she said. "You got some blood too. And considering the fact that you got skewered, electrocuted, and beaten to a pulp, according to Bruce, it's a miracle that you woke up this week, let alone being up and about. I, by contrast, mostly just got my blood drained." She examined her arm thoughtfully, turning it back and forth. "Which, by the way, means that about half of my blood is technically yours. Apparently, it'll be replaced in a few weeks, but right now…" She trailed off.

"Glad to help," Harry said feebly, uncertain of what else to say. Then, a thought struck him. "You haven't been feeling any… different , have you?"

"Like superpower different?" Carol asked, then shook her head. "That's the first thing everyone wanted to know as soon as I came to, especially after Loki got a good look at that chair thing of Dracula's." She shivered slightly, and on instinct, Harry reached down and took her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze. For a moment, both froze, and shared a hesitant look out of the corner of each's eye, before Carol essayed a small, grateful smile and squeezed back. "Him, Bruce, and a few of the others put me through my paces a couple of times yesterday, but so far? Nothing."

Harry nodded, relieved. "And how are the others?" he asked. "You said they were fine, and Uhtred's mostly complaining, but I distinctly remember him losing an eye."

"It wasn't completely destroyed, and it's growing back, apparently," Carol said, and shrugged at Harry's stunned expression. "Score one for Asgardian healing factors. And another for magical medicine, I guess." She waved a hand. "But yeah, it's taking a while to heal, and he's got an eyepatch right now. Jean-Paul thinks it's sexy, and I can see his point. Diana agreed with me." She shot Harry a sudden, sharp look. "She also said a couple of things about the vampire who attacked Uhtred. About what he was doing. Who he was."

Harry was silent for a long moment. He remembered Dudley's death – or rather, the death of the vampire that had once been Dudley – with crystal clarity. He wished that he didn't. Not because of any particular guilt, as such, more because… it was something he wanted behind him. It was a chapter of his life he'd closed. Cut off, even.

"He was my cousin," he said eventually. "The main word, though… 'was'." He looked up at Carol. "There was nothing to save, even if I'd wanted to." He shook his head. "Honestly, he was a monster even before he turned into a vampire."

Carol grimaced. "Believe me, I know," she said.

Harry nodded. "He was a monster," he repeated. "He didn't want to be anything different, he loved it. In the end… all becoming a vampire did was change his diet." He sighed. "That's what I told Captain Stacy."

"That cop you talked to while you were recovering after your round one with Dracula?" Carol asked.

"Yeah," Harry said. "That's what I told him. I meant it. I still mean it – he was a monster, and the best I can say is that I made it quick and I didn't do it for fun. But…" He was silent for another long moment. Carol, recognising the signs of him gathering his thoughts, stayed patiently silent. "I wish he hadn't fallen into Essex's hands," he said eventually. "If he hadn't, then…"

"He'd have turned out a decent person?" Carol suggested quietly.

"Maybe," Harry said, then shrugged. "Or just stayed the fairly harmless, thuggish prick he was anyway. Either way, though, I don't think he'd have turned into a monster."

"Maybe," Carol said, a little sceptically, and at Harry's raised eyebrow, she sighed. "Harry, he wasn't the only one who that Essex creep got hold of. He had Maddie from birth, and he had Gambit for god knows how long. He programmed Maddie right down to the bone, and who knows what he did to Gambit."

"But they still chose to be better," Harry said quietly. "Despite being in his hands for far longer than Dudley ever was."

Carol nodded. "I don't know what went on with him and Essex," she said. "Hell, I hardly knew him at all. But it seems to me that there was a bit of monster, a lot of monster, in him to begin with. And somewhere along the line, he chose to embrace it. He might have been encouraged and manipulated and whatever, but he still chose it."

"And you think he might have chosen it, no matter what," Harry said.

"Maybe," Carol said, shrugging. "I don't know. He might just as easily have taken a good long look at himself, decided to stop being an asshole, and turned out to be a genuinely decent guy." She met Harry's gaze. "But it's also possible that short of screwing with his head, there's nothing you could have done to stop him going bad."

"Maybe," Harry sighed. "Anything else I missed?"

"Your godmom, Wanda, has been in a couple of times," Carol said. "Actually, more or less everyone is in." She paused. "Except…"

"Except who?" Harry asked.

Carol took a deep breath. "Except Doctor Strange," she said. "No one's seen him. Not since Halloween, when he was last spotted fighting vampires – different vampires – and lots of those Outsider demon things. And Wanda's got that amulet and cloak thing of his."

"You mean…"

"I mean that he's probably dead, Harry," Carol said, squeezing his hand. "I'm sorry."

Harry gave this due consideration, then shrugged and said, "Meh. I'll believe it when I see the body. And maybe not even then."

Carol raised an eyebrow at this but didn't look entirely surprised. "Your dad said something like that," she remarked. "Though with more swearing."

"That doesn't surprise me," Harry said.

"So… you really believe that he's still alive?" Carol asked. "Because Wanda mentioned something about him going on this last year or so about how he was going to die soon, and your dad agreed with her, your uncle too."

"I think that there's a big difference between dying and staying dead," Harry said. "If I can come back by accident, I'm pretty sure he can do it on purpose."

"I'll give you that," Carol admitted. "Though you had help from your mom there."

"True," Harry allowed. "But I'd imagine that Strange has got a favour or, oh, about a million, locked away somewhere. If he needed one."

Carol half nodded, half shrugged, the said, "Anyhow, most people have been checking in on you, to see if you were awake. Just now was my turn." She eyed him. "Also, speaking of which, are you sure you're fine walking about? Because I was a little wobbly on my feet at first…"

"I'm fine," Harry said, and when Carol glanced pointedly at his shoulder, added, "More or less. Besides." He gave Carol a soulful, innocent look that was entirely ruined by his lips twitching. "Won't you catch me if I fall?"

Carol rolled her eyes. "You wish," she said. "Oh, and one thing I forgot to mention – Parker, Peter Parker."

"He who is no longer a vampire, no longer needs glasses, and keeps expecting not to show up in mirrors?"

"Good memory, and yeah, him. His aunt and uncle swung by while you were out of it, to pick him up and get the skinny on what happened," Carol said. "They had a bit of trouble coming around to the whole idea of vampires, but once they did, they mostly wanted to thank you. And grandma. And Gambit. And Logan. And Bucky. But mostly you, what with it being your blood that cured him, and you being all noble and dramatically bed-ridden. How does that work by the way?"

"Well, if you go toe to toe with an angry vampire king and get stabbed with your own sword and electrocuted, then give most of your blood…" Harry said, and grinned at Carol's exasperated expression. "I'm not really sure," he said honestly. "I just figured that it killed vampires, and that it might purge the vampire stuff from Peter before he fully turned."

"So… it was a guess," Carol said.

"An educated guess."

"But still basically a guess."

"… More or less," Harry conceded. "And Doctor Doom?"

"Not mentioned. It was thought best to skip the bits with the superpowered Eastern European dictator," Carol said. "Did he really threaten to murder Peter if he didn't drink up?"

"Yes," Harry said.

"Would he…"

"Without blinking twice."

"Jesus," Carol muttered. "I suppose you don't get your own country by being nice. Uh. No offence."

Harry shrugged. "None taken," he said. "It's not exactly a secret that Grandad's got a ruthless streak." He shot Carol a wry smile. "Besides, don't worry – he likes you."

"Which I had sort of guessed," Carol said. "You know, what with the magic shield. He still intimidates the hell out of me, though."

"From what I hear, he does that to most people," Harry said.

Carol caught the inflection and arched an eyebrow. "Not you?"

"Not as much he probably should," Harry said wryly, then shrugged. "After you've had dark wizards, demons, demon-gods, vampires, and whatever else trying to kill you, and you've actually been killed… not much actually intimidates you anymore." As Carol's second eyebrow joined the first, he sighed. "I'm not being arrogant," he said. "I know perfectly well I'm not invincible – I've only just got out of bed after being beaten to a pulp, zapped, and stabbed with my own sword by someone who barely even broke a sweat doing it. If it came to a fight, grandad would squish me in half a second with his little finger, probably a great deal less. And I respect him, a lot, I really do. It's just…"

"You get jaded," Carol said. "You're not intimidated. Hell, when a crisis comes up, you're thinking not 'oh god, someone's trying to kill me', but 'oh god, here we go again'."

Harry nodded. "Exactly," he said, then snorted. "Well, that conversation was cheerful."

"Well, who doesn't like to talk about a bit of death, intimidation, and being utterly unfazed by more or less everything in the morning?" Carol said. "Though, by the way, just a warning: Jean and Wanda are downstairs, which means that you will be mothered into oblivion and Jean will probably either make you eat the world's biggest belated breakfast, or psychically stuff you back into bed, and since she's way stronger than you are, there's diddly you can do about it."

"I think I can live with that."

Carol's prediction did indeed come to pass, as first Wanda, then Jean, then Thor, Sirius, Jane, Pepper, Darcy, Diana, and Jean-Paul all wrapped Harry in hugs of varying length, while others ruffled his hair or clapped him on the shoulder. All treated him like he was made of glass. And then, as Carol had also predicted, a troika of Wanda, Pepper, and Jean firmly sat Harry down and, blithely ignoring the fact that it was well into the afternoon, fed him a Continental Breakfast. It was very appropriately named, in Harry's opinion. It was not only from 'the Continent', i.e. Europe, but also approximately the same size as the landmass in question.

Harry found that he didn't mind either too much; the affection was very welcome, and the appearance of food reminded him that he hadn't technically eaten anything for several days. So as a result, this led to the interesting situation of the very spacious Avengers Mansion kitchen being mostly filled by people who were hovering around him, and to a lesser extent, around Carol. Carol expressed some relief at this, as now she could split the worried hovering between the two of them. Some of it would have been aimed at Stevie, but he was currently ensconced in the care of his mother and grandmother, and likely to stay that way for the foreseeable future.

Harry, for his part, didn't mind so much, especially since his telepathy meant that he could both eat and answer questions without performing a Ron impersonation and spraying half the kitchen with masticated food. Another advantage of his powers was that via a combination of magic and telekinesis, he only needed to use one hand to eat, despite Wanda and Pepper's mild sighs of despair at the somewhat lax table manners. The other hand remained in Carol's grasp, and while more or less everyone noticed it, no one commented on it – something ensured by the way in which, without looking, Jane and Remus simultaneously reached out and covered Darcy and Sirius' respective mouths.

It was also at this point that he noticed that Maddie wasn't present. Nor, in fact, was Gambit. The latter wasn't especially surprising, but the former kind of was, especially since Harry couldn't sense her presence anywhere in the Mansion.

There were a lot of awkward exchanged looks.

"As soon as he knew that you two," Steve said, nodding at Harry and Carol. "Were fine, he vanished. I just thought that he felt his work was done. But…"

"There's more to it than that," Bucky said quietly.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "This is about Essex," he said quietly. "Isn't it?"

There was another round of shared looks, then nods.

"Wait, are we talking deeply buried psychic programming or something?" Carol asked, eyes widening.

"No," Bucky said. "Gambit was rigorously checked, by both Maddie and Professor Xavier, with his consent, both before and after this revelation. In some ways, it was actually worse." He glanced at the remains of Harry's breakfast. "You might want to finish that before we explain it."

"Funnily enough, I think I've lost my appetite," Harry said flatly. "What happened?"

Bucky glanced at Bruce, Loki, and Tony, the latter of whom was holding his daughter in a fashion that suggested that they might have to be surgically detached from one another.

"Doctor McCoy, Hank McCoy, up at the Xavier Institute studied the blood and DNA of all the former Red Room prisoners after their escape," Bruce said. "To make sure that there weren't any genetic time-bombs of some kind in there, or any damage done by experimentation. By and large, there wasn't any. But with Gambit, he found something unexpected. Something that he double and triple-checked with us, Professor Xavier, and Doctor Moira MacTaggert."

"A geneticist and a particular expert on the X-Gene," Loki supplied quietly. "Formerly of the CIA and –"

"Part of the First Class of X-Men," Harry said. "I know. Professor Cassidy mentioned her a couple of times."

"Dad always talked her up like she was the next Charlotte Auerbach," Tony remarked. Though his words were of a causal anecdote, the casualness was forced, the words tight, and his grip on Ada tightened briefly, until the baby let out a noise of protest. It didn't take a telepath, an empath, or even an expert in body language, to read his mood.

"What did you find?" Carol asked, patience clearly fraying.

"Gambit's DNA had been manipulated," Bruce said bluntly.

"More than that," Tony said. "It was designed, he was designed, to be a living weapon."

"What are you saying?" Carol asked.

"We're saying that Gambit is a clone," Loki said. "He was created in a lab. Based on his earliest memory, at the approximate age of seven, in New Orleans, I managed to find the location of the lab in question. It is long gone, of course, but enough remains that with close study of the memory and some inquiries of local residents, I think I understand what happened. A little under fifteen years ago, there was some kind of malfunction at the lab in question. The containment tube, a sort of artificial womb in which Gambit was being grown, and which allowed Essex to artificially accelerate the ageing process, monitor his development, and…" His expression tightened. " Manipulate his creation… it opened, releasing Gambit. In a blind panic, he fled, and took up a life on the streets. According to Essex, he found Gambit in short order, but decided to leave him be for the time being, and instead observe how he developed 'in the wild'. The rest of his story, he, and we, already know – though given the circumstances of his escape, and Essex's repair of them may have something to do with the fact that he was… incomplete."

Carol swore horribly, ignoring Steve's disapproving look. "That's sick!" she said.

Harry, meanwhile, didn't look especially surprised. "It makes sense though," he said. "Horrible sense, but still sense. You know, considering who we're dealing with." He paused for a moment. "Essex cloned a lot of people. Including me. An army of Red Sons." His lips twisted into a wry smile. "A 'Red Army'."

"I remember reading notes about that project, the next step in the Red Room's consolidation of power," Steve said, and eyed Loki, Clint, and Natasha. "And I never got a very clear answer about what happened to it."

"I did."

Everyone's gaze turned back to Harry, whose own eyes were fixed firmly on his hands.

"I happened to it," he said. "When I went after the Red Room. They had a whole bunch of clones. Dozens. Hundreds." His gaze flicked up and swept the room, focusing on the Avengers. "Some of you. But mostly of Maddie. And of me." His gaze dropped again. "Lukin used them to try and stop me." His lips twitched in a mirthless smile. "As you might guess, that didn't work." He was silent for a moment, then shrugged. "They weren't really alive. No minds. They could respond to commands, but that was more or less it. Lukin was a control freak." He looked up. "Gambit's gone, then."

"And Maddie went after him," Carol predicted.

"More or less," Natasha said. "She's probably the best choice: expert tracker, powerful enough to look after herself, close to him, and well placed to understand shocking revelations about heritage."

"Do we know who he was cloned from?" Carol asked suddenly. "Because, I'm thinking that it's someone we know." She waved a hand. "I mean, leaving aside the fact that that's apparently the way our lives seem to work now, there's something weirdly familiar about Gambit. It's been bugging me ever since I first ran into him. Not like 'you look like someone I know really well' familiar, but… acquaintance familiar."

"Gambit's DNA, his X-Gene in particular, has been greatly altered, both in his creation, and in Essex's later repairs," Bruce said.

Two eyebrows, one black, one gold, rose in sceptical unison.

"Translation," Clint interjected helpfully. "You're right, we pretty much know who it is, we just think that the guy in question should know first."

Jean had been practically glued to Harry's side since he'd arrived downstairs, assuming the roles of doting big sister and of maternal-figure-who-was-going-to-make-sure-he-ate- all -his-breakfast-yes- all -of-it, the latter of which Wanda had ceded to her with a wryly amused expression. She and Harry had shared a few comments, some of which had nearly caused Harry to choke on his latest mouthful, but for the most part, she'd preferred to just be present. And once the conversation had turned to Essex and Gambit, she had fallen silent, letting Harry and Carol speak.

Now, though, she looked up and spoke in a low, steady voice.

"And what if I think I already know?" she said.

Twenty minutes later…

"Okay," Harry said, in the calm, methodical tones of someone working something through. "I understand why Gambit ran off, why he's on a train – this train – and why Maddie followed him. I also understand why Jean reckons she knows who Gambit was cloned from, by Essex, and why the others think she's probably right. And I even understand why, on balance, it was thought that a small group would be a good idea, because Gambit's probably even jumpier than usual."

He eyed his companions.

"What I don't understand is how this group fits any definition of 'small'."

Thor and Steve shifted awkwardly in their seats as the Crescent train rolled on through the Virginia countryside.

"Everything's relative, darling," Wanda said calmly, reading a paperback she'd produced from a pocket that should by all rights have been far too small to hold it.

"Yeah, like a relative lack of elbow room, which, funnily enough, is caused by relatives," Carol grumbled, wriggling to try and find said elbow room. She was seated by the window, next to Steve. Since they were in a coach car, what might elsewhere be known as Economy, Standard Class, or Hell-In-A-Handbasket, and both of them were tall and well-built, this meant that she was jammed quite firmly against the window.

Steve, for his part, sighed, a sigh that transformed into a pained, teakettle-like hissing wheeze as Carol unwittingly drove an elbow right where it shouldn't be driven.

"… Oops."

Thor and Harry both winced in instinctive masculine sympathy. Jean winced in more general sympathy. Carol just winced.

"Children," Wanda said, not even looking up from her book. "Play nicely."

"You seem to be a lot more comfortable with this than the rest of us," Harry said.

"I've spent a lot of time on trains, darling," Wanda explained, lowering her book. "Planes are expensive and with my two power-sets, disasters waiting to happen if I make even one slip. Cars would be a decent option if I worked in one country or on one continent."

"What about Apparating?" Harry asked.

"It took me quite a lot of time to master Apparation over significant distances," Wanda replied. "And as Remus could tell you, more than one dark creature has mastered some very nasty counter-wards to prevent entry via such means."

"What about the Ways, through the Nevernever?" Thor asked. "I know that Strange taught you roads that even my brother does not know, and while they can be dangerous, their dangers are more than manageable with your powers."

Wanda's expression saddened. "He did," she said. "And if I need to cross oceans, or get places very quickly, they are my preferred option. But there are two main problems with them. First, the Nevernever is mutable, especially by the kinds of monsters I face. The worst of them can change it to their will, and even the least of them tend to know it and its Ways as well as I, if not a great deal better. Second, when you travel the Ways, you are observed. Everyone and everything has spies that watch those paths." She gestured at the carriage around them. "Most of those who post spies on the Nevernever, however, can't or don't bother to post them on muggle transport. And those who do? I can circumvent them. I can fade into the crowd."

"Which is what Gambit is doing," Steve said, voice still somewhat tight. "Or trying to do."

Wanda nodded.

"Which is why we're sitting here, while Gambit is several carriages away," Harry said, a touch sourly. "As is Maddie."

"This Gambit, he is running," Thor said quietly. "Running from Essex, from secrets he can never escape, to the one place he has ever felt safe and at home. I recognise the drive behind his actions, Harry – if we get too close, too quickly, he will flee."

"I know," Harry sighed. "I know that Jean's talking to Maddie, who's talking to Gambit to try and calm him down. I'm just…"

"Bored?" Wanda supplied dryly.

Harry opened his mouth to protest, then sighed at his godmother's amused grass green gaze. "… maybe?" he said eventually. "I know we can't push, I know we need to wait, and…" He scowled briefly, as he caught a dry stray thought from his godmother. "And I know I should have brought a book, or something, like Carol."

Carol was indeed occupied with her phone, listening to music and staring out the window, having found a comfortable position at long last. Unfortunately, this position, unbeknownst to her, involved her elbow being firmly wedged in Steve's kidney. Steve, taking a penitential attitude to such things, seemed set on suffering in silence, while remaining aware of his surroundings.

Harry scowled again, knowing that it was true.

"It will be over soon, I think," Thor said bracingly. "Jean and Maddie are most persuasive young women."

"And I might not well him as some, but Gambit's a very stubborn bloke," Harry said. "Very independent. Prefers to wander off on his own."

Carol, though she could not possibly have heard him, gave him a pointed look, one echoed by Wanda and Thor. Steve did not, as he was taking the opportunity to shift Carol's elbow somewhere less painful.

"And yes, it takes one to know one, I know," Harry added, rolling his eyes. "Point being, we could be here for a while." He shook his head and sighed. "Never mind," he said, glancing up and down the carriage, then discreetly summoning a newspaper. "Maybe this can pass the time."

And it did, for about half an hour, as Harry flicked through the paper with varying degrees of interest. The New York blackout, he noticed, was being attributed to a lightning strike setting off a series of faults in the system, rather than its true cause of a plot by Dracula and a mixture of technology and magic. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same, he thought.

As he turned past an advert for a new theatrical run of Wicked , Wanda smiled faintly. Catching her expression, Harry raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"It's nothing," she said. "I've just had a fondness for musicals, ever since my teens."

"Especially ones where witches are portrayed sympathetically?" Harry asked perceptively, guessing from the poster.

"There is that," Wanda admitted. "Though it's a more general thing. I got into them when Stephen was teaching me about music and magic, in a similar, but rather more in-depth way to the way he is teaching your classmates now. They helped refine my command of English - which, contrary to the assumptions of most, is not my native language."

Harry blinked. It was an assumption he had made himself. If nothing else, Wanda's English was impeccable, most resembling Doctor Strange's usual RP accent – which, Harry supposed, made sense, since he'd probably been her teacher.

Wanda, reading his expression, smiled again, this time wryly. "I know, a surprise, isn't it?" she said. "Though most people might be similarly surprised by your Russian. It's more or less flawless. Though..."

"That might have something to do with how I learned it," Harry said. "Yeah." He looked up. "So, what musicals did you like?"

"All sorts," Wanda said. "I was really into 'Westside Story' for a while when I was 14. I couldn't see a live production, of course, because my powers were still hard to control... but I watched the film countless times." She smiled. "And then for a treat, Stephen arranged a live performance. Not with human performers, mind you: he called in a few favours with some of the Sidhe, blackmailed a few demons, and as for the backing dancers, the extras..." She chuckled. "Well. Let's just say that you haven't lived until you've seen several dozen Mindless Ones pull off a flawless street dance routine."

Harry, who was familiar with the Mindless Ones in the abstract sense (from textbooks, and from Wanda's filmed exploits in Chicago early in the year) as rocklike magical construct creatures the size of the Hulk, each with one eye like Scott's visor, was momentarily stumped by this mental image. Considering all the other things he'd taken without blinking, this was saying something.

By this point, Thor and Steve were also staring, while Carol had taken a headphone out and replaced it with an expression of disbelief. Even Jean blinked back to the present, startled.

"Of course," Wanda added cheerfully. "The street took a bit of fixing, afterwards. But it was worth it."

Harry and Thor shared a look for a moment, then said, in perfect unison, "... I'll take your word for it."

"Seconded," Carol said.

"I think we'll all take your word for it," Steve added.

Jean just nodded slowly.

Wanda, for her part, simply chuckled.

Time passed. Then, eventually, Jean looked up. "He's ready to talk," she said.

Clark Kent was a young man in deep thought. Not about anything in particular, it had to be said – just mulling over life, the universe, and everything, particularly as it pertained to him. And, as ever, it rolled back to the matter of identity. Specifically, his, and with a greater urgency, what with his newly discovered 'x-ray vision', which he wasn't looking forward mentioning to Jean-Paul, because it was embarrassing enough as it was, and he just knew that the other boy would spend a considerable amount of time laughing. And as it did, three questions played themselves over and over in his head: Who was he? What was he? And where did he come from?

He'd thought that he might be a 'mutant', whether natural born or one of those altered by the meteor rocks, or maybe even an Asgardian, or something similar, but Jean-Paul had firmly nixed those – and the small ship his parents had found near where they'd found him (or to be more accurate, where he'd found them) suggested that he was right. But there was an Asgardian connection there, that much Jean-Paul and his parents had agreed – or at least, Jean-Paul had suggested, and his parents suspected. Truth be told, there were far more questions than answers.

Some of those questions, however, were about to be answered, as he opened the door. "Hey mom, hey dad," he began, then stopped, faltering. "Oh. Uh. Hi. I, um, sorry, I didn't know we were having a guest 'round."

The guest that he was referring to was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking tea. He was middle aged, white, with receding dark hair, and was wearing both a good suit and a pleasant expression. He looked to be of about average height and wasn't particularly distinguished in any way. At first glance, Clark would have taken him maybe for a teacher, or an accountant, or some other kind of business man, and he'd probably have taken him as such at second glance, third, fourth, fifth, and many more… except for the eyes.

When he'd visited, Jean-Paul had generally preferred to listen to Clark talk, to keep his end of things vague, keeping Clark at arm's length and away from danger. But there was one thing that Clark had picked up from him, two pieces of advice:

First, always look at the eyes. Don't stare, don't look too long, but always look. Because it's always the eyes that give it away. And on some level, Clark recognised that these eyes were not the eyes of a simple passer-by, or an old friend of his parents. They'd seen too much to be anything so mundane as that.

Second, if you can't look at the eyes, or you're not sure what you're seeing, look at the people around them, how they're reacting. That was an easier read, Clark had to admit. After all, he knew his parents, he knew their body language, and right now, it was on edge. Even more so than when Jean-Paul had decided to reveal himself.

"Hello Clark," the man said, standing up. He was shorter than Clark by a couple of inches, but carried himself like it didn't matter, and when Clark shook his hand, he noticed that it was strong – at least, for an ordinary human hand. "I'm Phil, Phil Coulson. We've met, but it's been a while."

Clark blinked twice. "We've met?" he echoed, surprised. "I'm sorry, sir, I –"

"The last time we met, you weren't even up to my waist," the man said wryly. "Like I said, it's been a while. I'd hardly expect you to remember me."

Clark shot a puzzled look at his parents, who shared a tight look, before his father cleared his throat and said, "Clark… he's with SHIELD. He knows."

Clark started, mouth going dry, body ready to run in an instant. "He…"

"After your parents, I think I'm the first human you encountered," Coulson said calmly. "It's all right, Clark. I'm a friend. I'm the one who arranged the adoption records for your parents. And your birth certificate, as it happens."

"Uh… thanks?" Clark hazarded, as his eyes darted around the room, figuring out the quickest way out, with his parents, as a million horrific scenarios played across his mind – the general theme was SHIELD returning to claim their… investment.

"We asked him here, Clark," his mother said. "To talk about, well. Those dangers Jean-Paul discussed. How to deal with them, and how SHIELD might be able to help."

"But Agent Coulson wanted to stay and speak to you," his father added, the tension in the room ratcheting up. "Though he wasn't very clear on why."

"What do you want to talk about?" Clark asked, before, at his parents' expressions, hastily adding, "Sir."

"Your birth family," Coulson said.

Clark blinked. "You knew them?"

"No," Coulson said, shaking his head. "However, from what I've been told, your birth parents, particularly your father, visited Earth several times. The later visits, I am told, were to scout out the places they might send you. Eventually, they settled on Smallville." His gaze shifted to Clark's parents. "Specifically, on your parents."

"You knew my birth parents?" Clark asked, startled and somewhat betrayed as he turned on his parents.

"No," Coulson said. "They didn't. From the account I received, your birth father did most of the scouting, and preferred to observe from a distance, not to interfere. He also, apparently, had all the abilities that you do, to a rather greater extent because he was rather older."

"And he picked mom and dad to be my parents," Clark said slowly, absorbing this, memorising every word to help fill in the picture of his birth father – which, up until now, had been a blank slate.

"What I'd like to know," Mr Kent said pointedly. "Is where you're getting all of this from? Who's been telling you all this, Agent Coulson?"

Clark, curious himself, turned to Coulson, who simply sipped at his tea. "Someone who knew Clark's birth father, Mr Kent," he said calmly. "He'd visited Earth several times before, and he was neither alone, nor the first."

"Wait, aliens have come to Earth?" Clark asked, incredulous, before pausing. "Um. You know. Apart from me. And my birth father."

Coulson seemed to hide a smile. "Yes, Clark, they have," he said. "Earth has had a number of visitors from space, not counting Asgardians, and SHIELD is in regular contact with at least one. Until relatively recently, they were usually just individuals, or small groups. But…" He shook his head. "Your birth father made a few contacts on one of his earlier visits, some of whom have gone on to become powerful individuals in their own right. He went to one of them for help, just in case things went wrong. She assented, and through various means, she's been protecting you ever since." He met Clark's gaze. "I suppose you could call her your godmother."

"You never mentioned this woman before, Agent Coulson," Mrs Kent said, every bit as pointedly as her husband.

"I hadn't," Coulson said. "Because until very recently, I didn't know that she was involved. There have been rumours throughout the military and intelligence communities ever since Clark's arrival, stories of the so-called 'Lost Omega' –"

"Me," Clark interrupted, in a horrified voice. "It's me."

"Actually, it isn't," Coulson said calmly. "Not completely. The 'Lost Omega' isn't an individual. It's an amalgamation of rumours that someone or something came down in the Smallville Meteor Shower, and of stories of another young powered individual, a little older than you, whose powers manifested shortly after the Meteor Shower. The manifestation was in the mainland United States, it was extremely violent and stressful, and that led to more than a few assumptions being made."

"That they were Omega Class?"

"That the two of you were one and the same," Coulson said. "In terms of actual concrete knowledge of your existence and presence on the Kent Farm, until recently, I thought that it was restricted to four people: me, Director Fury, and two other men - Charles Xavier and Stephen Strange."

"Why would they know?" Mr Kent asked sharply.

"Doctor Strange is an extremely powerful seer," Coulson said. "And a time traveller. While he does not know everything, he comes very close, and we have no way of stopping him from knowing. As for Charles Xavier, there are several reasons, Mr Kent. For one thing, he's another contact of Clark's birth father. For another, he runs –"

"A school," Clark said suddenly, perking up. "A school for mutants, human kids with powers. People who're like me." His sudden bright mood faded a little. "Sort of." At his parents' expressions, he looked sheepish. "Sorry. Jean-Paul told me about it."

Coulson nodded. "He was right," he said. "Professor Xavier was informed in case the demands of raising a superpowered child, an exceptionally powerful superpowered child, should prove too daunting." He raised a hand to forestall Mr Kent's indignant expression. "Which they clearly have not. However, it was a valid concern. He also has resources to protect Clark that you do not."

"Like what?" Mr Kent asked, still clearly a little annoyed at the implicit insult to his and his wife's parenting abilities, valid concern or no valid concern.

"Like the fact that until last summer, Charles Xavier was the most powerful telepath in recorded human history," Coulson said flatly. "And in my own private opinion, he could still take any of the three who're nominally more powerful than him to the cleaners. He also has the school's faculty, and a significant number of powerful, exceptionally well-trained, and experienced former students to call upon should he need to. He's also familiar with the kind of threat that Clark would have faced, and may still face – like Clark, his students are potentially a goldmine for any nation or group interested in pre-made super soldiers."

Clark shivered.

"Who else knows?" Mrs Kent asked quietly.

"To my knowledge, Mrs Kent, only one other person," Coulson said. "Deputy Director Alison Carter of SHIELD. She put me and the then Agent Fury on a path that would bring us into contact with Clark's ship and, if all went to plan, the two of you as well. For a number of reasons, she apparently felt that we would be the most likely Agents to take the humane approach to your and Clark's situation."

"And you didn't know?" Clark asked, startled.

Coulson shook his head. "Neither Fury nor I knew," he said. "Not until recently."

"And she knew… my birth father," Clark said.

"She did," Coulson said. "And she would be here in person. However, the movements of a Deputy Director of SHIELD are carefully monitored even at normal times. Combine that with the fact that you've been drawing attention to yourself recently…"

Clark went pink at Coulson's pointed, if somewhat amused, look. "I kept out of sight," he mumbled. "Mostly."

"Aside from those you've fought and Lex Luthor, as far as I know, your secret remains exactly that," Coulson agreed.

"As far as you know?" Mr Kent asked sharply.

"SHIELD employs psychics, Mr Kent, but I'm not one of them," Coulson said bluntly. "As it is, aside from the so-called 'meteor mutants', we've seen none of the usual responses to an 084, such as posting on the more unusual forums, approaches being made to the papers, or activity from certain interested parties, so I would assume not."

"084?" Clark asked, puzzled.

"An object, or increasingly, a superpowered person, of unknown origin," Coulson clarified. "One of the more recent examples was Mjolnir, when it was in a crater in New Mexico. Another," he added. "Was your ship. Or it would have been, if it had ever been recorded."

"And another was me," Clark said quietly, and was strangely glad when Coulson nodded, doing him the courtesy of not trying to deny it. He looked up. "So, this Deputy Director can't come see me because otherwise people would notice."

"Allies and enemies alike, yes."

"And I'm guessing it would be the same for Director Fury," Clark continued.

"He's also quite busy at the moment," Coulson said. "But yes. It would."

"But not you?"

"I'm not as senior, and I'm good at not being noticed," Coulson said, and as he said it, Clark could see what he meant: the average height, average dark hair, average dark eyes, good but non-descript suit… he'd blend in, in all sorts of places, and including somewhere like Smallville. He might stand out briefly, Clark thought, but it would be more the suit that stuck in people's minds, and an experienced spy, he thought, would be more than capable of finding a change of clothes should he need one.

"Additionally," Coulson added. "I have an official reason for being in Smallville: I'm SHIELD's new regional commander for the Midwestern United States, and what with the meteor shower and recent development of a superpowered population, and your status as a witness to more than a few of the less law-abiding superhumans..."

"You've got a reason for being here," Mr Kent finished.

Coulson nodded. "Officially, I'm getting the lie of the land in one of the main superpowered hotspots in my command area," he said. "The other being Chicago." He met Clark's gaze. "More generally, part of my job in relation to Smallville is to assess the impact of the unexpected number of mutations, their nature, and their cause, which looks more and more like it's radiation from those fragments of meteor rock that we missed last time." He shot Clark a disconcertingly knowing look. "Radiation that seems to be having effects we never imagined."

"What about those who have powers?" Clark asked carefully.

"They'll be treated like anyone else," Coulson said. "Those who consciously use their powers to hurt others will be arrested and, hopefully, rehabilitated. Those who can't control their powers will be assisted in managing them and returning to normal life." He met Clark's gaze without blinking. "And those who can control their powers, who use them responsibly, will have every bit of help and assistance that they might need, should they want it. Above all, though, they will be treated fairly, and protected from those who would try and exploit them."

Clark slowly let out the breath he'd been holding in. He couldn't say he was totally relaxed – a lifetime of what could only be called preparatory paranoia, inculcated by his parents and reinforced by Jean-Paul, prevented that. But he was a bit relieved. "Okay," he said. "Good to know."

Mr Kent wasn't quite so convinced. "What about HYDRA, Agent Coulson?" he asked. "It's not exactly a secret that HYDRA nearly brought down SHIELD from the inside as well as the outside."

"Jonathan," Mrs Kent scolded, frowning.

"What, Martha?" Mr Kent asked, folding his arms. "It's a legitimate concern. And that's not even beginning to talk about those parts of SHIELD that might not take such a 'humane' approach to Clark if they knew about him."

Oddly, though, Coulson actually smiled. It was a sad, wry smile, but a smile nonetheless. "You're not the first to ask me a question like that in recent weeks, Mr Kent," he said. "Almost word for word – though in the other case, the question was asked by a young lady, who pointed out that even if HYDRA was entirely purged from SHIELD, they'd managed to hide in SHIELD's ranks for over half a century and blend in just fine. Unsurprisingly, that left her with a few misgivings about SHIELD, misgivings much like yours Mr Kent. Unlike yours, however, her misgivings came attached with a threat that she would bring SHIELD down around my ears if we even breathed the wrong way towards the relatives she was protecting." The smile faded. "It's a valid question. So, I gave her the same answer as I'll give you: I believe in SHIELD, as a defence for the defenceless, rather than a hammer beating them down like HYDRA. I've spent my life fighting against the latter, and come very close to giving my life to fight against it, and if SHIELD became like that… then I'd act accordingly."

There was a long moment of silence.

"I understand your misgivings," Coulson continued. "Not being sure who to trust. Until recently, I ran a SHIELD team that dealt with some of the most unusual things and people that SHIELD encounters. I trusted all of its members with my life. One of them, Agent Ward, was a Special Agent, one of SHIELD's best non-enhanced field agents. He turned out to be a deep-cover HYDRA Agent. He betrayed my team, nearly killed all of us, and in the process, left one of my younger team members with severe brain damage. After Ward was finally subdued, he escaped, killing half a dozen experienced SHIELD Agents in the process."

"I'm sorry, Agent Coulson," Mr Kent said, after another long moment. "I didn't know."

"No, we didn't," Mrs Kent said. "Agent Coulson, your team member, the one who was brain damaged…"

"He's functional, and steadily improving," Coulson said, after a moment. "But I don't think he'll ever fully recover."

"I'm sorry."

Coulson nodded. "I'm more than familiar with the possibility of betrayal," he said. "As a result, no one will be informed about Clark who does not already know, not without your permission. You'll be left means of making contact with me discreetly, and vice versa."

"And if you're unavailable?" Mrs Kent asked. "What then?"

"That is where the other part of my reason for visiting comes in," Coulson said, turning to Clark. "I'm here to offer an invitation, from Mrs Carter to you, Clark. She feels that it's time for you to learn about where you come from, and why you were sent here. She also thinks that it's time for you to have a few things."

"What things?" Clark asked numbly, reeling at the prospect of finally finding out the truth about where he came from.

"She didn't say what they were," Coulson said. "Just that your birth father gave them to her to look after, until the time was right. And in her words, 'now is as good a time as any'."

Clark, for his part, could only sit and stare.

Over a thousand miles to the east, more than a few others were sitting and staring, mainly out of windows or into the middle distance, this being accepted behaviour on long distance train journeys.

Others, however, were making their way down the train, through Economy class. In the case of Thor and Steve, they were doing so with a good deal of discomfort. The coaches were Economy sized, but Thor and Steve very much weren't. The shorter and slimmer members of the party found it rather easier, until they reached Gambit and Maddie's carriage, and Harry stopped abruptly. The reason for this wasn't immediately apparent, since aside from being a little quieter and grubbier than most of the other carriages, neither it nor any of its inhabitants really stuck out.

Harry's gaze swept the carriage, then he let out an exasperated sigh and his eyes flared gold. Instantly, the rest of the people in the carriage started ambling out, at a selection of speeds, talking to one another, in a movement that seeming to be entirely natural in every way except for the undeniable fact that it wasn't.

"Harry," Jean said, in tones that were half question, half firm disapproval.

"You know, I thought that the whole point was that we were trying to be discreet," Carol said. "And not doing weird super-things that, might, say, scare everyone's favourite fashion challenged Cajun." She spoke in an offhand tone, one belied by the careful way she was watching Harry. "Also, 'scuse me if I'm wrong, but isn't mind-control, you know, wrong?"

Harry, though, was not focusing on either Gambit or Maddie, the latter of whom looked rather puzzled, having come to understand that mind-control was wrong. Instead, his gaze was fixed firmly on the one person other than Gambit or Maddie who remained in the carriage: a man probably in his early thirties, with olive skin that would be at home anywhere around the Mediterranean, dark, curly hair, and durable workman's clothing. His eyes had, until this point, been shut and he'd appeared to be asleep. Now, though, he seemed to have gone straight from asleep to entirely awake, and those dark eyes were twinkling, and accompanied by a faint smile.

"It's not mind-control," Harry said. "I just suggested they find somewhere else to be. If they're hungry, they've gone to get something to eat. Thirsty, something to drink. If they need the toilet… well." He shrugged. "There'll probably be a queue."

"Story of my life," Carol muttered, relaxing slightly.

"It still walks a line," Wanda said quietly. "Which suggests to me that you had a very good reason for doing it."

Harry, without looking away from the man and registering the gentle but pointed question in his godmother's tone, said, "I did. It seems one of my cousins has decided to pay a visit."

"And you wanted to clear all civilians out of the potential line of fire," the man said. "A noble move, though…" He glanced around the train carriage. "Considering that this carriage is still connected to the others, probably still futile if I had hostile intentions."

"That can be changed," Harry said flatly. "And you don't, that's not your style."

Gambit, by this point, had stood up, cards dropping into his hands and a wary expression onto his face.

"All right," he said. "Ah said ah was willin' t' talk t' a few people. But ah don' like havin' surprise visitors sprung on me. Who de hell is this?"

"He once introduced himself to me as Joshua," Harry said flatly. "You'd probably know him better as…"

"Jesus," Wanda and an arriving Thor said in unison.

"Long time, no see, cousin," Thor added, relaxing a little.

Carol burst out laughing, laughter that echoed into the silence, before fading away as she saw the collected expressions. "Oh my god, you're not kidding," she said, before pausing. "My god… I just said my god, in front of someone who is, technically, sort of… my god."

Jean sighed. "Believe me, Carol, I'm right there with you."

Maddie's eyes had widened like saucers, while Gambit gaped in disbelief. Steve, meanwhile, was staring in a mixture of shock and awe.

"You get used to it," Harry said matter-of-factly.

"Really?" Carol mumbled.

"Yep. My reaction first time round was, well…"

"To yell 'Jesus fucking Christ', if I remember correctly," Jesus said dryly.

Harry nodded. "And yet, now…" He trailed off and gestured, as if to indicate his relatively relaxed reaction.

"Good to know," Carol managed.

Harry nodded, and folded his arms. "Not to be too blunt, but why are you here, Joshua?" he asked. "I know my illusion of the Dark Phoenix was good enough to fool Dracula, but going by the fact that I'm still here, I'm pretty sure it didn't fool those upstairs."

"Just to talk," Jesus said calmly, before shooting a meaningful look at Gambit, who started. "To both of you." He smiled kindly at the rest, Maddie, Carol, and Steve in particular. "Though should any of you want a word, then I would be happy to have a chat."

"I will join you," Thor said, stepping forward and placing a hand on his son's shoulder. It was not a question, and neither Jesus nor Harry objected. Harry's attention, though, was mostly elsewhere, as he and Carol exchanged a series of speaking looks, one that culminated in a long, lingering mutual hand-squeeze. Gambit cocked an interested and amused eyebrow at this, but wisely chose to keep his mouth shut.

"And in the meantime, we'll speak to Mr LeBeau," Steve said, having regained some of his composure. "If he doesn't mind."

Gambit grimaced, but sighed and nodded, while still keeping a wary eye on Jesus, as if not sure what to make of him. "Ah suppose dat this was gonna come sometime," he said. "Fine."

Jesus nodded, and took Harry's other shoulder, the wounded one, taking great care in doing so. As he did, however, Wanda broke in.

"Before you go," she said. "I'd like you to pass on a message, Yeshua of Nazareth, to the various Skyfathers and Earthmothers who have an interest in my godson."

"Gladly," Jesus said politely.

"Thank you," Wanda said. "The message is as follows: I am the Sorceress Supreme. Harry is my godson. And if any god, or goddess, or other entity of that ilk, even breathes the wrong way towards him, then I swear by my power and my name that I will make them wish that they were dealing with my predecessor."

"I would add a similar message," Thor said. "Though I think Wanda has covered most of the essentials."

"The same," Jean said evenly.

"With knobs on," Maddie added firmly, then at her sister's surprised look, shrugged. "London slang. Jono taught me. It means the same thing, taken to an extreme." She turned to Jesus. "Which is exactly what I meant."

"And I'll… hit them in the face with my shield?" Carol ventured. "Do they even have faces?" She paused as her great-grandfather's hand rested on her shoulder, and his unwavering gaze met that of the demigod in whose faith he'd been raised.

"Avengers stick together," Steve said. "No matter what."

There was a moment of solemn silence.

Then Jesus inclined his head. "I shall pass on the messages," he said. "Though I warn you, many of my relatives will not be pleased to receive such an ultimatum from mortals." He glanced at Thor. "Or at all. And I cannot promise they will listen."

Wanda shrugged. "I know," she said calmly. "I just want it made clear exactly where I stand, so that if it comes to it, none of them can claim ignorance."

Thor simply grunted.

"Well, isn't this cheerful," Harry said into the faintly ominous quiet. "It's nice to know that if anyone comes after me, I won't have to worry about back-up, though. Clearly there will be a line."

"You just have to ruin every moment, don't you?" Carol said.

"Excuse me, who was it who said 'oh my god, you total fucking drama queen'?" Harry asked.

"That's not the same at all," Carol said firmly. "You were being ridiculous and melodramatic, and ruining that moment was a public service."

"So was ruining this one," Harry said.

"What part of 'not the same at all' didn't you get?"

Harry opened his mouth to retort, when Jesus interjected. "Entertaining as this display of flirting is," he began.

" We're not flirting!"

The reply was indignant, and in unison.

"I've lost count of the number of times I've said that," Harry grumbled.

"No one ever listens," Carol agreed.

"Well, we listen," Steve said. "But…"

"But what, gramps?" Carol demanded, hands on hips, lethal elbows narrowly avoiding concussing Gambit.

"But we don't believe you," Thor said, and received an Evil Glare of Death for his trouble. As the brother of Loki and the father of a teenager, he was well used to such things, and let it roll straight off him.

Harry, for his part, loftily ignored this. "Anyway, we'll be back shortly, from..." He paused. "Where is it we're going?"

Jesus just smiled. And with that, the three of them vanished.

Gambit, meanwhile, stared at the spot where they'd been. "So," he said eventually. "Dat was Jesus. De original Jesus, not some mutant with teleporting powers who happens to be called Jesus, or someone else pretendin' t' be Jesus."

"Yeah," Carol said, sympathetically, in between shooting dirty looks at Steve and Thor. "You're not the only one weirded out by this, believe me."

" Nom de dieu ," Gambit muttered, before chuckling sourly at the irony. "Maybe not, cherie , but ah am de only one with certain other things t' deal with." He looked around and smiled mirthlessly. "Let's get dis out of de way, eh? For those who don' know, ah ain't y' average mutant. F' years, I thought ah was, but now? It turns out dat ah'm a clone, created an' artificially aged by de demon doctor that some know as Essex, or Sinister, an' I got away durin' a power-cut when I was a kid." He looked up at Jean. "An' I'm guessin' that y' want to persuade me t' come back t' that mutant school o' yours, not just because I'm a mutant, but because y' know. "

"I figured it out," Jean said quietly. "You're as different as night and day in the way you act, and the way you speak. But you can change those, easily. I'll admit the eyes threw me off, but once I looked past those, it was easier. It's in the way you look, even the way you move, even the way your hair grows. Those are harder to change. In the bone." She shared a look with Maddie. "And while Maddie knows you, I know…" She trailed off. "Well. It was obvious, once you know there's something to look for."

Gambit smiled slightly, this one sad, but genuine. "Beautiful, an' brilliant," he said. "Jus' like Maddie. Between th' two of y', mah secret never stood a chance." He settled back in the seat, tone now bitter and self-mocking. "Care t' share with de class, Miss Grey? Who am I cloned from? Who's mah 'brother'?"

Jean took a deep breath.

"Your brother," she said. "Is Scott Summers."