” goodbye, father. “
the phrase would repeat in his mind, a plaguing nightmare of a memory that shook the man to his very core, awakening him in the bleakest hours of nightfall. night terrors were no stranger to him, but they had shown their ruthlessness in the many months since miranda’s death and the destruction of that damned village. ethan, rosemary, and chris. they were all free ; he was free … and for what ? glistening promises of freedom and resolution meant nothing without nikolai. an assistant — no, far more than that ; one of his own, a piece of himself, a part of his very soul. a son. ( miranda may be gone but she smiles upon you now, for you honor her in your suffering. you failed to protect him ; now weep. )
how many times would he be tormented until the pain and fear gave way ; sympathetic enough to finally kill his old heart ? such existence was bitter and cruel, but all the same, rewarding in ways that were beyond his comprehension: despite everything, heisenberg tried to live for nikolai. ethan, strangely, became a close friend, and chris an ally. karl even grew to care for the little rosemary — there was so much to appreciate now, so much to be proud of, but everything stung with the reminder that one was always missing.
heisenberg’s new home was a fairly modest cottage ; one intentionally isolated, falling quiet each evening as the man would settle in with the creaking wood and dated furniture. his features drooped with exhausted drear, alone in his thoughts, and it was the raps at the front door that caused him to perk up in his seat.
when the door opened, it revealed an older man: one who once properly resembled the might and power of the legendary ‘ iron lord. ‘ it was the same face, but in observation, much had changed. grey waves of hair tussled gently about the lengths of his shoulders, far longer than before — his beard fuller, face softer, eyes gentler. he bore no hat or shades ; there was nothing to hide him now, nothing at all to cover the gut-wrenching expression that changed his features. lips parted as the man let out a sharp gasp — the air seemed to be unfairly ripped from his lungs and he quickly clamped a scarred hand over his now gaping mouth.
“ … oh — oh my god. “
as nikolai steps backwards, heisenberg steps forward. hands extend, hesitantly so, as if they are scared to test his doubts and challenge if the other is really there. sure enough, they clasp down on the boy’s shoulders, and karl takes a few seconds to blink ; his eyes beginning to well up with a wetness that was not there just moments ago.
“ n — nikolai. nikolai. it’s really you, nikolai. “
and karl does not hesitate, not for a moment. he pulls the boy into his grasp, the familiar strength of bulky arms wrapping around nikolai’s frame and clasping to his back. a real hug — had they ever shared one like this before ?
“ thank god, m — my boy … i thought i had lost you for — for good. how did you … ?! “
the end of the question is broken to pieces by a single sob ; a noise erupting from deep within him. heisenberg stifles it the best he can, pressing his own face against the crook of nikolai’s shoulder and taking a slow breath. there would be time for answers later, but none of that mattered. ( not right now, with his boy. karl held him in his own arms, and that was all he answer he ever needed. )
How long had it been, truly? Nikolai almost didn’t recognize the iron lord right in front of him, the longer hair, the softer and gentler expressions nearly made Nikolai say that no, this wasn’t Karl Heisenberg. Yet it was the look of disbelief, the reaction like he was punched in the chest, that made the younger assistant know what it was the man he called his father seconds, not even seconds, before his supposed death.
Karl’s health seemed to be stark contrast to Nikolai’s. He seemed more gaunt, his cheek bones a little more prominent and darker circles under his eyes. Yet there seemed to be more, instead of the neutral look that was always there, one that seemed to be icy and cold, it was... anxious. Like a lost child trying to find his way home. His form looked wearier and even the slightest bit skinnier, his body wearing down from its past death, waking up, and barely getting through on the journey.
Was he really alive, though?
“Yeah... I-I think it’s me...”
He took a shaky breath in, nearly flinching at the touch to his shoulders. Yet the tenseness immediately relaxed. There wasn’t any current flowing right now, he didn’t need it to, otherwise Karl would have felt the sharp spark flow into his fingers like touching a doorknob and getting static shock.
Yet his body tensed again at the hug, eyes wide and hands hovering, unsure. He was never hugged like this in his life. Markus hugged him with laughter and smiles. Holly held him and uttered his name once. Now Karl held him with tears and so tight to make sure Nikolai didn’t leave in a blink of an eye like he did before. Yet the realization of it all being real, of finally being back in a father’s arms, that he was truly free from his past pain and suffering...
Nikolai clung to Karl like his life depended on it, grabbing fistfulls of the back of the elder’s shirt as tears spring and fall down his exhausted face. When has he cried last? Decades ago? When life wanted to be ugly and took everything, so a little boy didn’t know what to do but cry.
“I don’t— I don’t know... I-I just woke up, I didn’t know what happened besides the— the detonator-!” His voice broke and quivered, much less put together. He was so strong when he uttered his supposedly last goodbye, dying with a smile on his face. Now that he was alive and free, the weight that lifted off his shoulders made his resolve crumble.
“This— This is real? We’re fine? We... we’re free, right? And alive?” He couldn’t help but ask through his own sobs, needing the confirmation before he felt like he could finally rest, safe in his father’s arms.
