Ichor And Steel

Chapter Twenty-Nine; A little of Ethan Winters

He woke, eyes tearing open and awful aches panging up and along his spine. Nerves dithered in his feet and blood gushed through his veins to bring him an eventual breath of air. Karl Heisenberg rose like a dead man, defying gravity as he stumbled from the bed and clutched at a dresser.

"Ethan," he groggily yelled, sounding too much like his fish-faced moron of a brother. "Ethan—please! Come back!"

Clasped in the hot, clammy hands of fever and horrific dizziness, the floor reached for his face but he quickly pulled back. As much as he refuted, he had to shut his eyes and keep out all the alluring hallucinations.

You're in your bedroom, not space—stop floating! Ground yourself! Ground your-fucking-self or your little blondie is going to get hurt!

He groaned, slurring the sound but the eventual return of non-double vision simmered his worries and his feet fell flat into the carpet. "Fuck, Ethan. What did you do to me?" He lolled his head around until it cracked and did the same with the muscle of his shoulders. With his body set back in place, he was aware enough to hear the skittered clatter faintly come through his closed door.

Shit—the kid. It couldn't be though, right?

He stalked, rubbing his scratchy beard unconsciously, and mulled lowly over what he was to do. Was he—was he allowed to hit a child? Like, what if she attacked, he meant? Holy shit, I don't know how to handle children! We're not allowed to drop-kick babies but what if they bite me? Can I at least push a teenager?—breathe, Heisenberg, breathe.

He poked open his door. The single peep of squeaking hinges inspired a thunderous crash and it propelled him out and yelling for peace, hands raised. The couch was bare, Rose seemingly vanished from the sheets and cushions; gone and no longer looking horribly pale. That meant she was somewhere, still here, looking pink and alive, weary and afraid...dangerous. Heisenberg stood slowly, palms visible to display he was unarmed, and he circled, eyes tracing the room until laying upon where his bedroom door—which swung outwards—had struck the wall; it wasn't touching anything. It took only Heisenberg one small step before the door flicked back, Rose poised wide with a silver pistol raised and a bloody nose.

Heisenberg smiled although, instantly, he felt like the monster that had just crawled from beneath her bed. "Good morning Rose—"

BANG!

"Ah!" She cried, trembling fingers attempting to retain a grip on the hot gun.

"You shoot like your father!" Heisenberg laughed, having caught the bullet inches from his ear. He deflected it into the bit of wall behind her, splintering the plaster. "Anyway, I don't think he'd like you having that gun."

"Stay back!" She hissed, flicking hair from her face to remain tough. God, it was such an Ethan thing to do! How cute. "Are you the fish one? Or the tall one?"

"The what one?" He frowned, hand still outstretched for the weapon. He reconsidered. "I hope I'm the tall one—"

"Shutup!" She warned, watching how heavy of offence he took. "No—sorry, don't but I need to think."

Heisenberg folded his arms, speaking whilst his eyes searched for a sign of metal on her, "no, no, it's fine. You're father stutters too—take your time, sweetheart."

Rose's guard wavered, shoulders ceased their shaking and big wide, young eyes crinkled. "My father?"

"Yeah, blondie," he said, raising his chin. Found it, upper left ear was something silver and shiny, curled around the top to the lobe. It would hurt but he was taking anything to get her off her feet.