Ichor And Steel

Chapter Forty-Three; Aftermath

Highs ridden to exhaustion, the veil of pleasure lifted and exposed the aches and restless slumber of pillow talk; these feelings were an Ethan Winters exclusive. He lay in a shallow sleep, snoozing to the distant humming of the slowing factory, blind and deaf to the chaos roiling on the surface of the snowy land. Behind closed eyes, in the blackness, he did not hear his daughter's cries.

The approach had gone South, quickly. Found huddled around a fire were the scrawny remains of the Hound Wolf Squad, clutching to life stolen by Lycan grabs and the gripe of another force. Chris wandered right into a snare, the malevolent mutation haunting over them before crushing down. They all collapsed to the ground.

And Ethan would remain oblivious until the very near, encroaching future, running clumsily at a desperate pace, spearing for the factory. It would be then, struck with the face of his bloody daughter, the epiphany would dawn on Ethan that love makes him stupid. But for now, he worried about the weighted warmth lifting from his chest and shuffling from the living-quarters. Weathered hands smoothed the slippery sheets over their love after ensuring he hadn't completed ruined the blond, yet his leave was halted by the desperate squeeze of a hand.

"Mhm?" Heisenberg lowly asked, the sound hanging in the back of his throat. The groggy blond weakly bought their faces close, breathing hot air down their shirts.

"Where are you going?" Ethan murmured; eyes barely squinted. Heisenberg only kissed him softly, brushing his forehead, and told him to rest; he can handle everything.

The metal man took to the front workshop they'd nearly ruined in a careful lumber, upper legs straining. He cleared away any tinkerings he—they—broke and pressed fingers against the workbench, helplessly smiling and a warm joy spurred in his heart. Those moments were one to confine himself in, the ravaging and letting loose what he had so unwillingly contained but it was in those times of after-care did he eventually indulge in. At the mere memory, Heisenberg caressed a small bite on his neck, the indent of teeth marks freshly pressed and the skin yet to reinflate—

CRASH! THUNK!

Thundery and other rackets chorused from outside, making even the big silver man leap; the copper scraps he'd recently cleaned up flew through the cupboard's glass faces and whirled around the workshop. Never, at least for a while, had he been so startled. Verging on insomnia may be contributed to such a thing. Perked with high eyebrows, Heisenberg armed his hammer and teetered to the raised door just west of the narrow corridor. Shoulder-to-shoulder, wriggling down the walls at a reasonable pace, he was yet again not prepared for the blur of hysterics tumbling and trembling, headbutting him to the ground.

"Dad! Dad! Ethan!" Rose shrieked, right temple profusely leaking blood. "Holy shit, dad! Where is my dad?"

"Rose?" Heisenberg started, picking her crumpled body from the ground with a tight hold on her shoulders. He led her into the workroom but decided otherwise, reeling her further down the hall to the caved valley, where steam and robotics lay paralyzed in silence. They crouched together, Rose's head leaning against his shoulder, shuddering with weeps.

"What the fuck is going on?" Ethan exclaimed, gawkily sprinting down the numerous flights of stairs. At the sight of his little girl in violent distress, he vaulted the railing, landing heavily, and barreled the final few paces, skidding along his knees; thank God he wore jeans. "Rose? Rosemary, what's happened?"

He licked his slightly swollen lips, boggling eyes and majorly dishevelled, roughish expression, imploring Heisenberg for information. The metal man shook his head to convey he was equally in the dark until Rose ceased her sobbing, biting into her palm gently.