Chapter Text
For a moment, as he viewed the growing mushroom cloud from the observation point, Doc felt as though time itself had stopped. Even through his protective eyewear, the light was blinding, and yet, he couldn’t order his body to do anything—shield his eyes, look away… anything.
In fact, Doc wasn’t sure that his heart hadn’t stopped beating in that moment. Sounds had become muffled, as though he had suddenly been transported underwater—he couldn’t breathe, either. …Actually, he wasn’t even sure that his brain hadn't been shocked into just forgetting to breathe.
Colors now mixed and swirled before his eyes—was he really seeing this, or was his brain now hallucinating from the lack of oxygen? He still wasn’t sure that he had breathed.
He felt his body suddenly plummet—had the ground opened up beneath him!? No… it was his own knees giving out and buckling under him; now he was on the ground, still staring, still in a state of absolute shock.
Someone slapped him on the back, causing him to gasp for air at last. Time restarted, and so did his vitals, it seemed—he was now all too aware of his heart palpitating much too fast as he struggled to catch his breath.
He was now aware the murmurs of awe and pride all around him, now that he could hear his surroundings again. But no such sound escaped his lips—just more struggles to breathe, and what little air that had made it into his lungs escaping in staggered sobs. He still wasn’t aware of the tears slipping down his cheeks.
What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me!? his mind screamed. Why was he having a panic attack, of all things, when the experiment had just proven to be a success? Now they had leverage to coax a surrender—they’d show the footage of this test and flex the new muscle.
And that would end it.
…That… would be the end, right? They wouldn’t actually use it…?
The bolt of terror shooting down his spine warned him otherwise, and now, only one thought echoed in Doc’s mind—
…What have we done…?
“…Doctor Brown?”
Someone was calling to him, but Doc was too lost in his thoughts to respond, his brain now changing his previous thought to one full of guilt.
…What have I done…?
“Doc… tor…?”
What have I done!?
“Doc…!”
Visions of newspaper headlines from the following month swam in front of his eyes, detailing the destruction that had ensued from two additional explosions…
WHAT HAVE I DONE!?
“Doc! Doc, please, snap out of it!”
Another gasp for breath escaped him, and, suddenly, Doc was no longer a twenty-something in New Mexico, but a sixty-something in California—in a tiny garage that had been home for the last two decades, staring into the very worried face of his young apprentice, who looked absolutely mortified as he stood there with his US History textbook, having innocently asked if Doc had remembered anything about working on the Manhattan Project.
Clearly, he did remember—all too well.