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Heisenberg’s Guide to Revolutions, Kidnapping, and Adoption

Summary:

An AU fix-it where Karl Heisenberg discovers Miranda's secret laboratory while she's away catfishing Ethan. He learns about Rose and her supposed power, and hatches a plan to steal her away under everyone's noses to use against Miranda. But, just like the rest of his devious plans, things start to go awry when Heisenberg finds himself actually holding the cute little infant for the first time...

Chapter 1: Prologue

Summary:

EDIT: It's May 2023 and I'm going through all the chapters and editing them. If you're a second-time reader, then you might notice I've changed the summary to be less wordy. I'm not changing the plot, just grammar and some questionable narration choices.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

There is no greater suffering than the loss of a child.

This is a universal truth.

Miranda had wailed by her daughter’s grave for days - weeks even - but she could see no end to her grief. Life was so cruel. To take what she had brought into the world with her blood, sweat, and tears. The girl she had nurtured to be wonderful and who had nurtured her in turn. She had barely sampled the pleasures of living before death’s cold hands had stolen her away in the night.

In her unwavering faith, Miranda had believed Eva would overcome the disease. Had she not been a devout Christian all her life? Loved God and worshipped him? What merciful God made her beautiful Eva cry, gasping for breath in her last waking moments. What loving God had made her lie to her daughter, with a smile so forced it looked heartbroken in her glassy eyes. And her heart surely had broken. Ripped and stretched until she could not bear the feeling. Until she could not bear to live, and if there was any good left in the world please God let me take her place.

Miranda held Eva's tiny blue hands in hers as she passed away.

She had not said anything at the funeral, for there was no point. She did not go home that evening, choosing to sit by her grave as the moon sullied the sky, for there was no point. Far beyond when the feeling in her fingers and toes had died, she got up and wandered away from the village. Legs shook from her grief-stricken fast, but she stumbled through the forest and up the base of a mountain. The wind ripped her shawl away from her shoulders. She did not notice.

Soon, a cave opened in the side of the rocky hill and Miranda staggered inside. The light of day peaked over the tree line and through cracks above her where the rock did not seamlessly meet. It made the cave's interior otherworldly. She collapsed and smacked her head on the stone floor, but her body was so numb she did not feel the impact. Face against the ground, she observed the lines and curves of the rock face. It was a lovely pattern and something only as wonderful and terrible as nature could create.

Oh, how she longed to die.

As she looked, the more the lines and curves spasmed out of control into thick black tendrils. These dynamic veins were pulsing, moving even as she watched them. An outstretched hand brushed them before she gave the order.

All at once, information assaulted her senses. She was no longer in a cave, but a golden field! Her hands were brown and cracked and holding a pitchfork. She called out to another farmer, but the voice was alien to her. Then, a crowd surrounded her. They were singing with drink sloshing over the rims of their cups. Next, a blizzard surrounded her and cut her skin with blistering cold. Again, and again, these scenes changed, and Miranda could not breathe - could not grasp what was happening to her. She screamed until a familiar sight silenced her. Now she sat on a tree stump, patchwork dress dancing about in the wind. In her little hands, she played with a doll. Its embroidered face was well worn, and its hair was yellow wool. Miranda knew, if she could turn the doll over, a blue ribbon would grace its blonde locks. She knew because she had spent a pretty penny on the perfect fabric to make it. Eva had been buried with this doll.

At once the vision ended and the mother was back lying in the cave. Strength returned to her legs and she pressed further, searching the cavern. Walls, floor, ceiling - the dark substance covered everything. It congealed at the back of the cave where roots and branches of the stuff reached to suspend a large organism. Almost foetal.

Miranda knew what she had seen. Her dear Eva, her daughter's essence was here, waiting to be found. In her darkest moments, it seemed she had found her only hope. Within this black god was her child and at that moment she knew she would do anything to bring her back again. To join her in death was not enough. Miranda could endure grief. She could endure unbearable loneliness until the end of time. And she would if it meant her wonderful Eva would smile at her once more.

***

70 years later, in the Romanian mountains, a little boy sat next to a well. An empty bucket lay next to him as he fiddled with his tools and scrap metals.

Karl Heisenberg was ten years old with two scraped knees and a missing tooth. His current project was a copper pipe glued to a block of wood. Karl plugged one end with glue and a melted lump of plastic he had found somewhere. Then he drilled a hole through the pipe and stuck a piece of string through it. Out of his little toolbox, he produced a wad of cotton wool. He doused it with petrol, before stuffing it down the pipe with little muddy fingers. The boy was writing “cannon” on the wooden base with a red crayon when he heard someone walking through the trees. The tell-tale crunching of leaves disturbed his play.

“Son,” his father greeted him, leaning against the well. “Your mother’s still waiting for that water.” He was a big man who suited the harsh winters and wild landscape here. Someone as strong as the mountains were still. Grey hair fell about him like snow and the smoke from his cigar was the earthly mist of the valley.

“I’m too busy for chores.” Karl explained. “I’m making home defences.”

His father smiled. “For wolves?”

“No.” He stuck a ball into the other end of the pipe. “For Russians. If they bomb us, I’ll shoot this at them. It’s only the first - the next’ll be much bigger.”

His father hummed and stroked his beard. The boy struck a match and lit the makeshift fuse. It did not light. He doused the string with petrol and lit it again, but when the flame reached the pipe nothing happened.

“That won’t stop any Russians,” his father noted.

The boy’s face screwed up in annoyance as he emptied the contents of the copper pipe.

“I’ll use sand instead.”

“The cotton wool isn’t the problem.”

“Yeah, your attitude’s the problem.” The father sat next to his son and picked the cannon up, inspecting his craftsmanship. Cigar smoke encircled them.

“There’s no oxygen in the pipe,” he explained, “because the flame burns it up immediately. Then it dies. Should use gunpowder. It burns without oxygen.”

The boy took his cannon back and stuck his eye down the barrel. “Did you know the Americans put a giant camera in space? Lucien said it’s called Hubble and it takes pictures of stars.”

His father took a drag of smoke and gazed out over the scenery. The well was perched on a hill surrounded by forest, but here there was a gap in the trees. It showed the valley below and beyond in all its splendour.

“I’m gonna go to America when I’m older,” Karl said, “and I’ll send postcards so mama isn’t sad.”

“Oh, I see,” his father said grinning. “You’ve got the urge." He scooted closer to the boy. "All young men do. To leave and make a life for himself. Just don’t forget where you came from, son.” He lifted a gnarled finger and pointed to the faded structures in the distance. “See the castle, Karl? The waterfall and windmills too. That land belonged to the old kings of this valley. And where those chimneys are - yeah, where the smoke is - that all belonged us.”

“I know papa,” Karl whined. “You always talk about it when your friends are over. I know about our ancestors and the Heisenbergs. I still don’t want to stay.”

“I know, son,” his father said. “I know. A boy needs to become his own man one day. To take his destiny into his own hands. You know, I wanted to leave for France when I was younger too." He extinguished his cigar on the ground. "I did for a bit, but I came back.”

The boy tugged on his father’s coat. “But why, papa?”

“Why, your mother of course!” He laughed, ruffling Karl’s hair. “I got a letter one day saying she’s expecting, so I flew back and married her. Funny thing, really. My destiny wasn’t in France at all.” Then he picked up his boy with a smile and swung him around in a circle. And he did not stop until Karl's eyes were alight with mirth and he was breathless from laughter.

Notes:

Bear with me this is my first. I’m guessing Heisenberg is around 40 during re8 so here he grows up during the Cold War. Romania was on the side of the Allies. Eva died in 1919 so that explains the time gap between the two flashbacks. Please please please give me feedback.