Ichor And Steel

Chapter Forty-One; Physical Dad

Escape was easy; if they remained vigilant and bristled like stalking cats, their path remained untroubled. Whatever trance had hazed up Chris's mind seemingly waned, and his feet finally felt flat on the ground again, which assisted Ethan greatly. Heisenberg lurked ahead, having crept out in case the tunnels needed clearing. Lady Dimitrescu had a delayed reaction, sweeping into the dungeons, and cried, stretching her long red lips, and shrieking in a flurry of rage.

The tunnels wept beneath her stomps and pitiful daughter's coos and the four fled quickly to their checkpoint, Moreau posed for attack but wavered at the mere sight of the hilt of a weapon. Thankfully, it was Heisenberg, who went to upbraid yet decided otherwise. In the factory's abode, Chris sneered around, the metal man gruffly warning him not to prick his little fingers before switching his personality to soothing when Rose worried about a bruise on Chris's eye.

"So, did they suck your blood or something better, Winters? Why in hell are you still alive?" Chris sniggered at Ethan, who shook his head.

"That's a story for another time. Did they do anything to you?" he asked, his concern shy compared to Rose's. Chris could stand and move easily, maybe complaining of a mild soreness in his forearms. "Look at them! They're fucking concrete pillars; of course, they're sore!"

The men of the room, excluding the fish and including the silver haired menace, laughed...more in a self-conscious tone on Heisenberg's behalf. The agent wasted little time explaining his being here and simply gestured sharply to Rose, said sharpness dwindling at her guilty expression. Their eyes held a forgiving stare, Ethan's intruding between and his heart grew cold, noting that a blood father could mean nothing against a physical father. Heisenberg too felt the chill, as though emotionally linked to Ethan's beliefs, and slid a comforting touch along his back, rubbing between his shoulder blades.

"Thank you for looking after Angie," Donna said, breaking whatever ice had formed between the mortal and Lord. Chris regarded her with a nod and Angie's eyes slipped to his with a hint of contempt. He expressed the feeling was mutual. "In return, I'd be happy to help you find your team."

Chris glowered. "My team? What would you know about my team?"

Heisenberg, impelled by brotherly discern, moved his body in front of Donna and the redness of Chris's face shriveled into his creases. "Kar, it's fine," Ethan muttered, nudging the back of his elbow.

Donna peered around Heisenberg's arm, unphased. "Yes, down near the reservoir. I think I saw a camp."

This response inspired a plan in the agent's eyes and instantly, he suggested arrangements, "I need to find my team before we consort this Miranda you've been speaking of...?"

"Heisenberg," the bearded man nodded, relaxing his fieriness. They gripped wrists, villain, and hero, united and a pulse thrilled through the bond. "Miranda will not waver at another bomb; you'll need something a little stronger than that."

"Like?" Rose piped, elbowing her way to the center. "You had a plan, right?"

Ethan and Heisenberg shared a scowl but not of spite, more of panic. The father faltered first, ducking his head and rubbed his neck, fingers briefly touching a deep, purple mark engraved by canine teeth and the curved edge of a licking piercing. He quickly brushed his hair over it and pinched his collar shut, foolishly unaware of any other lingering kisses. There was some love in this decision now, an intervening force pressing uncomfortable against morals; what was the right thing to say and what wasn't? Fortunately, Donna read their dilemma like a poem and ushered the conversation elsewhere.

"What would your plan be?" she asked Chris, struggling to meet his eye; so lost and firm, gaze having nowhere to comfortably rest. He almost shrugged, hands sliding down the side of his thighs and hips until coming across a bump; something Dimitrescu had missed. Alas, it was but a pack of tissues.