Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

She doesn’t know anger yet. After all, she is six months old.

But she doesn’t want to be held by the not-mom, and the latter starts wailing. About losing her power. About something that goes wrong. Black blood drips from the kidnapper’s eyes onto the altar. Statues of ancient kings watch solemnly and silently from the four sides until their last heir breaks through one of them.

She doesn’t know speech yet. So, like any baby, she screams and cries.

And although she doesn’t understand her, she understands the not-dad. Pain is also the only language he speaks. Burning now through every overstretched nerve of his mutated body.
The difference is merely that others usually scream instead of him.
The difference is merely that instead of tears he laughs.

She doesn’t know fear yet. Ceasing to sob, she looks at the metal giant with puzzled curiosity: he sparks so beautifully.

He has no idea how to use her abilities, despite coveting it like never before after such a demonstration. Negotiations with an infant are even more difficult than with her stubborn father.

Who hardly can hold a gun in his weakening grip, so pitiful in comparison with terrifying steel armaments, but still rushes between them. Even if he has to fight with his bare hands, even if he has to beg the ruthless lord on his knees, like hell he will simply wait for him to decide.

"I might forgive you. Because you’re my beloved son. Finish him off. And we will be a happy family again," Miranda promises softly.

Lies.

He doesn’t know love yet. But some things are fairly obvious.

A truly loving heart wouldn’t take children away from their real parents — just like this innocent tiny kid, too — and turn them into monsters with years of humiliation and experiments.
A truly loving heart is ready to protect his daughter even in the face of imminent horrible death...

...Whose iron scythe, once sicced on the outsider on Mother’s command, turns right around and charges back at her with a thunderous furious roar.

Someone here really shouldn’t have mentioned fate in vain.

Chapter Text

Ethan Winters had already looked death straight in the eyes.

He was expecting anything behind the round dark glass — from hellish glow to empty black void — but they turned out to be much more chilling than that: human. And full of unmistakably human hatred.

Hatred towards literally everything: his fate, his captor, her naive worshippers, her surviving experiments... and himself among them.
Towards the outsider, too — for being a part of the free world, coveted but forbidden and unreachable, and reminding that it wants nothing to do with him.
For loving Rose so deeply and protectively like no one ever loved him, taken from his family, deprived of childhood.
For torturing him with the worst torment: hope.

No, no, all these feelings should have different names. Envy? Jealousy? Resentment? Despair? Or something else, as new and incomprehensible as why the girl’s father was so offended by the suggestion to use her hidden potential as their chief weapon? Perhaps. But Lord Heisenberg didn’t know any others.

And they were only good for vindictively bringing pain and demise to everything in his way — even to the one whom he would like to ally with.

Alas, Ethan rejected the human, and only the monster remained.

...Now, lying almost powerless on the thin snow, shivering with cold and horror, all that was left for Winters was to close his eyes and wait for the serrated edge of the circular saw. Praying that the bones of his body would withstand it. Empty hopes: he had already seen it cutting through obstacles like a knife through butter and beheading hordes of Miranda’s lycans in one sweep. Fragile flesh had not a single chance.

"I’ve let you go, dammit. I wouldn’t have allowed such a luxury to anyone who insulted me and destroyed my best creations. But you leave me no choice. What a lucky man you are to die quickly."

Clanging, growling voice of pure vicious rage that has finally revealed its true face. Driven by nothing but insatiable thirst for blood and vengeance.

"Not today!" Ethan shouted, turning over and firing the last of his ammo. Bullets ricocheted off metal; the mutant only laughed. Chains, wire and cables were already entangling him, pulling towards the grinding blades...

"No fucking way, Winters. How long have you been running around like this, I wonder?" Heisenberg stopped, seeing him closely. "How the hell do you still live with no heart?!"

"I was just going to... ask you... the same..."

His consciousness was plummeting into icy emptiness.

...different, different names.

Scientific curiosity? It was always hatred, too: it served the fulfillment of my revenge.
The delight of creativity? Same thing.
Brilliance and rightful pride, defying death itself? Guess.

She took and corrupted even the best in me. But if I rip it back from her dead hands and finally use what’s mine for something other than her...

...wouldn’t it be an equally glorious rebellion?

Chapter Text

Rosemary. After Ophelia’s flowers. "For remembrance."

Except it’s definitely not Shakespeare now, but a fairytale about a girl lost in a dark forest full of monsters. A sad and scary one. Despite how sweet is the illustration where the little heroine reaches out to pet the majestic Iron Steed...

"Who hurt you?" she whispers, tracing a long scar on a lifeless face.

Sensors flash. Staff members hurriedly lead the child away. But she continues to watch with her hands pressed against the bulletproof glass.

She imagines herself lying just like this, a beautiful dead princess inside the transparent walls of a crystal coffin. She fits this role much better, after all. And a gallant knight, resembling her dad, would come for her on a magical horse, resembling that one from the book...

"...out of regenerational stasis," she hears, as inscrutable as some mysterious spell. "Step up security..."

Hands in polymeric restraints slowly clench into fists.

From her earliest childhood Rose has to languish in laboratories. Strangers test and study her and never explain anything. They let her go home only after compiling yet another heap of encrypted papers. So she fights boredom and discomfort on her own. Observing the nervous fuss isn’t particularly interesting, but with something that she remembers as a formless fusion of metal and flesh coming to life again, this will do.

Especially when she notices that she is being watched in return. By weirdly colourless eyes, indifferent and bitter. Like ashes after a raging fire. Like a burnt-out empty shell on display at a military museum, only good now for curious kids to stare at.

"Not afraid of me at all, huh?" he smirks. Somewhat powerlessly too, not reaching the desired effect. "Just like your father..."

Rose wants to ask how he knows her dad, but they raise an impenetrable electromagnetic shielding behind the glass.

Chapter Text

There is no sincerity in their smiles.

"Where are we going? And where is uncle Chris?" little Rose asks.

"He’s not here today."

They keep smiling at her. But not at each other.

So many cameras, access card slots and complex locks. So many doors, all of them so massive. The last one closes behind Rose with a heavy sound and a brief bleep of the sealing system.

Nobody went in together with her.

There is only one man in this room. Too busy to welcome guests. Today he was given a broken smartphone; for good behaviour, almost like throwing a marrow bone to a caged tiger. So now he is spending hours investigating the tantalizingly unfamiliar piece of technology. And reassembling it. And taking it apart again. And again. A demiurge of the perpetual circle of order and chaos, creation and destruction... or simply a prisoner drowning in boredom and anger, maniacally clinging to his usual consolation.

"I remember you," the girl beams.

Distracted, he straightens his back; broad shoulders tense up warily under the shirt. He doesn’t respond, sizing her up with both interest and irritation. Recognition slowly puts a pleased grin on his scarred face, revealing alarmingly sharp teeth and making her step away.

"Just going to stand there all day? Take a seat," he taps his lap, leaning back in the chair. Not so much relaxed as lying in wait.

She climbs on, reassured by a non-hostile tone and some sudden intriguing familiarity that she can’t quite place.

"What a good girl," he looks in a totally different direction. "Unlike some."

Rose follows his gaze: one of the walls is transparent, and the whole staff is watching them from the other side. With anxiety or with cold curiosity, but all with patient anticipation. Behind opened laptops like sentinels behind barricades.

"Why are they staring at us?" Rose whispers. Their attention makes her feel uncomfortable, but even through sullen apathy he radiates such indomitable confidence and power that it’s clear that there’s nothing to fear in his presence. Apart from him.

"Waiting for a show," the man grins wider, narrowing his vaguely eerie eyes in undisguised contempt.

He takes a deep breath.

"...Well, well, ladies and gentlemen, are your binoculars and popcorn ready?" His roar makes her flinch. "What a spectacle! Pit two mutants against each other and see what happens! Place your bets!"

People in headphones almost jump out of their skin.

"...Will adorable little Rosemary Winters demonstrate her hidden abilities when in danger? Will terrible Karl Heisenberg be heartless enough to provide necessary conditions? Sure, he dreamed of getting her power... if only he knew how. And you want to know too, don’t you?" He switches from sarcastic declamation to a furious hiss. "How easy and satisfying it is to consider yourself better than a monster... but it was your idea to throw an innocent child at one’s mercy, bastards."

Those of them who still have conscience are probably trying to convince themselves that this is for her own good, and for everyone’s. Like Mother told him. Like she claimed that she loved him while mutilating his body and mind. Like she faked being condescendingly offended when he cursed that life. It never was anything more than disappointment with an experiment — just like what starts to be seen in their reaction. They hoped for something different, no matter what — just like it never mattered to the one who hypocritically called him her son.

"Is that a compass?" Rose dares to ask, pointing at the alluring collection of trinkets on his chest.

He nods, smugly amused by her evident inner conflict of burning interest and wise caution.

"But it must point north. I’ve read it in a book. And this one spins in all directions by itself," she muses. "Is it enchanted?"

"We’re magical, buttercup. So fucking magical that they have to keep us both here."

She glances at the attentive faces.

"Look," he purrs venomously. "They’re afraid of you. All of them. Isn’t it a wonderful feeling?"

Deep inside Rose realizes that he is right.

"But why? I want to make friends," she gets upset.

"The bioorganic weapons are in tactile contact. No signs of aggression against each other."

"Reminds of an instinctive affection of a wild beast towards a cub of its own kind, doesn’t it?" the head of the department crosses his fingers thoughtfully.

He approaches the glass wall with an intercom microphone. And smiles — too bad Rose doesn’t trust it anymore. But the conversation isn’t going to be with her.

"I see you understand our intentions, Mr. Heisenberg. Let’s discuss it as fellow scientists."

"Mister me one more time and you’ll sorely regret it."

"My apologies, Lord Heisenberg. If you cooperate, we promise significant privileges..."

"Should I tell you in detail what happened to the last bitch who kept me in captivity?" he snarls impatiently. "Just you wait. I’ll hunt you down and gladly gut you alive."

Rosemary hears everything, and recoils when he turns back to her.

"Shh," Karl looks into her eyes. "I won’t harm you, I swear on my freedom which I owe to you."

In his smile, unlike in all others seen today, there is not even a glimpse of affability. But somehow she believes it infinitely more.

Chapter Text

She likes fairytales, they say. So as a birthday present she gets a splendid edition of the Brothers Grimm. Illustrated, gilded, bilingual with original German.

Rosemary is delighted. But her joy is clouded by overhearing dad and mom’s arguing a few days before.

"Mia, I disapprove of such stories. All of this, you know... Cinderella’s stepsisters cutting off their toes to make the slipper fit... the Queen ordering the huntsman to bring Snow White’s liver as proof of her death... Rumpelstiltskin tearing himself apart... I see why his choice fell on them, but I can’t give it to our daughter."

"We must allow. Not so much for her as for him. How else is he supposed to socialize? Every single rejection of his best intentions makes him lose hope in remnants of his own humanity. What about when there’s none left?"

"So now it’s your turn to advocate for him, huh? I thought you were the one who resisted the responsibility the most. Well, aside from Chris."

Mia doesn’t know how to respond. But in silence her husband covers her hand with his, understandingly, and this is what truly matters.

"...We can’t just place him with civilians!"

"That’s the whole point. They aren’t. A former bioterrorist and two other mutants. Much more convenient to monitor them all at once."

"You have no idea. None of you have seen what I’ve seen. One of them is a small child, and you want to let that maniac near her!"

"Don’t overdramatize, Redfield. Forced detention seems to be the main cause that provokes his aggression. We expect more progress in different conditions. If not, of course we will return him to isolation."

The attic is pleasantly dim: its current lodger can’t stand bright light. Perfect for this kind of tales.

"Can you please read in that other language now?"

"You won’t understand a word then." He lights up a cigar.

"I simply like the way it sounds."

Voice is an instrument, and he’s always nothing less than a master.

Radio, television... Everything is forbidden. Which makes the success of getting a signal so much sweeter. A taste of freedom, a glimpse of the outside world. Even if it’s only movies and shows. But one day, one day... So he imitates actors as best as he can. He will be ready.

Undoubtedly, villains are his forte. Rose shivers in fascination, but instead of being scared away she moves closer, hiding in his shadow.

He’d rather return to work, but it’s irresistibly flattering to have an attentive and grateful audience. And he himself starts rooting for Hansel and Gretel to take brutal revenge on the Witch who captured them.

He stops the spinning blade to lick Mother’s dripping black blood off it, drunk with vengeance. These BSAA soldiers who aim their puny rifles at him will surely have nightmares for the rest of their lives.

"I give you eleven seconds to get out of my way," he growls. "One more because I’m in a generous mood on this happy day."

"I guess now I know," the child’s quiet voice interrupts his memories. "I’m not a princess at all. I’m a monster too. Am I?"

She examines the identical tracking bracelets on their wrists, not daring to look up.

"Remember that incident at school?" he lifts her chin.

"Yeah."

"Did you like it?"

"Of course not!" she frowns.

"See, you’ve answered your question yourself."

Rose takes a minute to ponder:

"Well... maybe not really. Later, no; but first, yes. I wanted them to feel as bad as me... I wanted to hurt them as much as I was hurt. But not on purpose. I had no idea I could do that..."

Lord Karl Heisenberg is silent for a while, only flicking ash that quickly cools down to the colour of his gray hair.

...hurt them as much as I was hurt...

"I understand. Life is more complicated than fairytales, princess."

Chapter Text

"Wounded!"

Rose was sure that she managed to dodge; then she sees the training replica from the opposite side.

She has agility and speed to compensate for the lack of strength to parry, but he definitely doesn’t intend to go easy on her.

"Dead!"

With his gloves off, every mistake stings with static charge.

"And dead again! Very bad! You don’t have a spare set of vital organs, buttercup!"

"You never fight fair! I’m one of the best at martial arts classes!" she protests.

Karl laughs, but with no joy:

"And who, intending to exploit you, is going to be fair? When I was even younger than you, do you suppose I got a fancy invitation instead of having been dragged to the operating table on a chain?"

At her age Rose already understands: these quick-tempered taunts are born of undisguised distrust of the ruthless world which is waiting for a moment to take away the living cause of his hard-won freedom, deprive her of her own and turn her into a weapon or, likewise, a test subject. But she still wants to be able to retaliate:

"Just like you treated my dad, huh?"

Silence becomes so palpable that it almost can be drowned in. The reminiscence of the hated past turns his gaze, already severe, to ice. However, Karl doesn’t say anything, taking hands off her shoulders as though any touch could only hurt her.

"So he has broken the promise not to tell you, after all," he deduces aloud at last. "Ethan, you bastard..."

Of course making him a new mechanical heart would never be enough. Forever a threat, forever unforgiven –

"He didn’t say anything. I just know."

She puts it so innocently and sincerely that anyone else would simply smile condescendingly and try to change the subject, leaving it to the father. But Heisenberg’s inhuman hypersensitive pupils rapidly shrink to slits, betraying that he understands what she means.

"Hell, they all will be after you if they find out that you carry the megamycete’s legacy and memory..." he whispers hoarsely, staring past her. "And you still barely can defend yourself..."

"Don’t worry, I can. I just don’t want Chris or mom and dad to get in trouble because of me," Rose answers quietly. "Or you. They ascribed every accident to you when I was small, right? And I haven’t even apologized for that yet. You’re not angry with me, are you?.."

For a perfect deadly bioweapon, her look is too sweet and too blue-eyed.

Karl chuckles darkly:

"Do you really think someone like me deserves apologies, kid? Besides, there’s always a sure way to tell if I hold a grudge: if nobody is impaled on iron rods, then not."

Chortling, she hugs him, glad that her concerns weren’t confirmed. He immediately tenses up, caught off guard.

Each of the countless scars was a lesson: every touch is pain. Nothing but pain. Scalpels and shackles, step-sister’s tantrums, step-Mother’s gilded claws... He absorbed it with his whole being. And reflected it back, because it was unbearable to endure on his own. Onto anyone who happened to be nearby, and Ethan was no exception.

There is a pale trace around her neck, too: the child’s body was crystallized when Miranda tore it apart, but as he runs his calloused fingers along it, he feels like screaming instead of her. The only vengeful consolation is a vivid memory of cutting Mother herself into pieces with his saw-hands – but it’s the same that makes him withdraw from the delicate throat, and stops him from embracing Rose back.

"Actually, dad did tell me something. That you shielded him and me in the final battle," she says.

He cackles with an awful metallic creak of something forever stuck in his lungs:

"How naive. I simply didn’t want to let Miranda use your power first. Or to allow anyone to kill him before me."

"And also he warned me not to believe a word from you when you laugh like this."

Heisenberg coughs with an unreadable expression.

"Winters... "