Chapter Text
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It was late into the night- or quite possibly the blackened out hours of the morning- that in a very dark house, in a very dark hallway, in a very dark room the slow eerie sounds of the night clicked and clanked together.
Click, click, clank.
The sounds of grinding gears and cogs churning and moving together wailed into the night. Slowly an arm rose, shuttering and flexing, stretching the metallic muscles back and forth. Then one eye popped open, then the other, each with its own clonk as they blinked until it was effortless to open them. Each part of the body stretched and moved, as if evaluating each part was working in its proper functionality. Peter smiled. He was finally complete, or he had thought he was.
He thought back to just the day before, when his papa had been working on him. Berwald used his torch, melting pieces together, then nailing and screwing in some bits, and finally pushing all exposed wires into their proper places in Peter's arm socket.
"Are you almost done?" He whined impatiently as the torch heated up to solidify the arm's place on Peter.
All he got in response from the man was, "Mm, " as he continued to work.
Peter was snapped back to reality with the fact that his father wasn't there. Normally around this time of night, he would come to wake Peter and get set to work, however, he hadn't seen his papa once today.
Worried and anxious, he pushed up from his sitting position and onto the ground. He stumbled, grasping back onto his bench for support as he took his first step forward. Then another. And another. And then finally he could balance his weight and walk properly.
The last time he had tried to walk, he had shattered his newly complete leg, lying desperately in pain- or what the small robo A.I. thought was pain- awaiting the return of his dear papa. This time was different though, Peter had no reason to fear, for he was a complete and real boy now! He did a little loop around the room as a little confirmation as he smiled again. His papa would be proud.
Then he remembered. Peter was sure he would be delighted to see his son on his feet once he was found, making the search for his father all the more important. He made his way to the door excitedly, each step he took making a loud bonk and clonk as his gears and parts buzzed with eagerness, echoed by the hollow emptiness of the room. He poked his head through the doorway first, looking left, then looking right. The hall was a dead-end that way, so left it was. He took a step, jumping at the noise of a creaky floorboard, he had never been out of his room before, but he was certain that this house seemed a little empty...
He took another step, ignoring the protesting groans of the worn-out wooden planks beneath him as he ran to look at the many fantastical items lining the walls. There were medals, awards, a diploma of some kind, and lots of framed photos. There were things Peter had heard about from his papa and things that he had read about and even things he didn't know anything about! Then there was this photograph...
It was of his papa and a man he had never seen before. They seemed close, and something about the man clicked inside of Peter. But Peter didn't ponder on it too much as he was too distracted by the next new thing to catch his shiny eyes. The longest he started at something was at the diploma.
"Dr.Oxenstierna..." Peter read aloud proudly.
That was his last name, he knew that. Did that mean papa a doctor? Only doctors have nice fancy framed diplomas, right? He buzzed with joy at the thought of his papa saving people like a superhero.
Suddenly he heard a loud crash. It wasn't uncommon for him to hear these noises at this time of night, but it still was startling nonetheless. Peter crept, hugging close to the wall with each heavy step he took. He couldn't tell what was his own feet touching the floor and what was the loud mysteries lying on the other side of the door. He pushed the door open, and with a heavy moan, it revealed a room of tattered memories and disorder. Tallies lined the walls, broken chairs, glass, and other unidentifiable items littered the dark floor.
In the center, hunched over in a ball was a large, large man. Peter registered his fear as confusion and shivered at the sight of his unhappy father. He took another step, reached forward, and with a voice he had hoped to be a shout called out into the beckoning darkness; "Papa?"
His cry was unheard, however, and with a determined mindset, he slowly inched across the blacked-out room. He called out again, arm still outreach towards the man that was his father, but with no avail, he slowly continued. He tried to ignore all the scary things lining the room, but he couldn't help but notice the striking similarities to his own room. There were tools in this room too, just like his, but instead, they were either rusted and dust-covered, wasting away against the wall, or broken and dismantled, scattered across the checkered floor.
Peter jumped again at the sound of him stepping on a small mechanical item, there were so many broken friends here, it seemed like a graveyard. He looked back up, "I'm only a few feet away!" He thought, quickly shuffling over.
He called out one last time, tapping Berwald on the shoulder, "Papa?"
Berwald snapped out of what he was doing, turning around quickly to see his small metallic son standing there, "Peter?" He asked, hugging him close to his chest. "H'w did y'u get 'ut?"
"I can walk now, Papa!" He boasted, hugging him back.
Berwald smiled, picking up Peter with a grunt as he began to ramble about the possibilities, so much for Peter to learn, so much for them to do together, so many days with the new company of his son. Peter didn't listen all too much, though, he still had a thought. As his papa carried him away, he began to forget the room, as if his memory was fading, the last place he looked was to the place his father had been hunched over. In that place lay a single item, a portrait of the man from the hallway. That image didn't stay in his mind for long though, because as soon as they stepped out of that room his memory had vanished.
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