Chapter 1: The Hag and The Liar
Summary:
Karl isn't stupid. He knows who she really is, he knows the purpose of the crows that stay even in winter. He knows her games, even if he has to stay complicit in them, for now.
Notes:
tws for this chapter:
-stabbing
-Its the meet the Heisenberg scene. Self explanatory.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
There's an old woman who wanders the village.
Karl has seen her several times over the years, and she's always dressed the same way. Raggedy black cloak, equally raggedy and beaded hair, carrying this god awful stick. The stick itself is probably a walking stick, but it's covered in things that are obvious references to him and his siblings. Two human skulls, a horseshoe, a little bag with three coins above it, a string of beads.
Needless to say, she freaks him out.
Karl isn't stupid. He knows who she really is, he knows the purpose of the crows that stay even in winter. He knows her games, even if he has to stay complicit in them, for now.
He knows what game she's playing right now too. Karl clips the end of a cigar as he watches her speak to Ethan Winters. The security cameras he has spread around the village are useful but old. The mics don't work so he can't hear her, but he can imagine what she's doing. Sending the father to his death, probably.
Ethan is none the wiser. If his grainy expression is anything to go by, he's hanging on the hag's every word.
"Real kind of you to manipulate a grieving father, Miranda," He says out loud.
Karl chews on the end of his cigar as the hag points in the direction of the castle. So she is sending Ethan Winters to his death! Lovely. Send the man to the castle the villagers describe as, "nothing but blood and death." That's not a cheap kill at all. For a woman who likes blood on her hands, she sure has a habit of passing the murder duties to her kids.
His sister has a blood cellar, for fuck's sake. If Alcina doesn't kill Ethan, the blood cellar will traumatize him for life.
He doesn't know what he expected, honestly. From the moment Karl first saw him enter the village, he knew Ethan was a goner. He's a bit surprised, actually, that Ethan survived that Lycan raid, lacking two fingers nonetheless. Most people would've carked it by now, but Ethan doesn't seem like most people. Hell, the man ripped an arrow out of his thigh like it was a fucking splinter!
There's something special about that man. Karl just isn't sure what.
The hag is walking away now, Ethan chasing after her. They're nearly out of view and Karl has to squint to see them, but it looks like the hag is ignoring Ethan. Good. The less the bitch talks to him, the better.
The gate closes behind her. Ethan turns, and runs a hand through his hair, mouth agape in what Karl imagines is either a swear or a frustrated scream.
Karl is close to swearing himself. Of course the bitch would point Ethan in the direction of the castle, where his sister turned men into literal flesh scarecrows. Smart, he supposes, a guaranteed death, but still a dick move.
Then again, it's Miranda. Every move is a dick move.
Karl sighs, tossing his legs up on the desk. The noises of the factory carry even to here, a room on the topmost level. The constant groaning and screeching of metal has become a comforting white noise to him, one that spoke of safety. Something rare in this shithole village.
He watches as Ethan carries on up the path. He's a very scatterbrained man, stopping to inspect every last goddamn thing and go through every house for some reason. He's getting closer and closer to Luisa's as well, and Karl can't tell if that's a good or bad thing. At this rate, he'll be at the castle by midnight.
At this rate he'll be at the castle by midnight.
Holy shit.
Karl has to stop himself from laughing out loud. Fate must be on his side today, dropping opportunities into his lap. If he hurries, he can beat Winters to the gate into the castle.
The plan? Beat Ethan to the castle gate in the graveyard, intercept him, report him to Miranda, convince her to let him keep Ethan, and keep Ethan on his side. Then, kill the Bitch Supreme.
Foolproof and genius.
Karl spares one more glance to the TVs as Ethan examines the graveyard goat cart. The reliefs to open the castle gate should still be hidden, so he has some time to get there.
Actually, given how much Ethan likes to explore every nook and cranny, maybe Karl should leave now.
He pulls the top half of his hair back into a ponytail, grabs his coat and hat, takes a quick swig of his flask of whiskey, and heads out into the cold morning air.
-----
Unsurprisingly, Ethan takes forever. (Well, like an hour. He's impatient.) Karl is starting to question if he's somehow died in the past hour, and the smoke rising into the sky isn't encouraging. He thinks it might be Luisa's house. A shame, really. He'd been rooting for them.
"Safehouse no more," He mutters.
Eventually, Karl spots the man of the hour walking towards the bridge. He looks oddly defeated, shoulders slumped, pausing to shoot a crow for some unknown reason. Fun, maybe. Stress outlet. Waste of a good bullet, either way.
Suddenly, Ethan glances towards the hallway. Shit.
Karl melts away into the darkness, hoping he wasn't spotted. Ethan seems to be a very vocal man, though, so if he had been spotted, he'd know.
Now that Ethan's here, Karl realizes he doesn't exactly have a clear plan.
Not that it's uncommon for him to do things on impulse, but maybe he should've thought this through. It's already clear Ethan is dangerous, if his little trek through lycan hell was any indication. So a safe distance would be smart, even if Karl could easily overpower him. Safe distance, and maybe a little show of power to intimidate him.
Christ, he really didn't think this through.
He slips behind a door nearly hidden by barrels, and waits to sense Ethan's footsteps. Just as an extra precaution, he slides the lock on the door shut. A tingle runs through his hands as he stretches his abilities, tracking Winters via his pistol. Cheating, maybe, but this isn't a game, so who cares?
Ethan's taking his sweet-ass time. Karl fights the urge to roll his eyes. It's a goddamn storage room, anything interesting would be out in the open.
He waits just until Ethan's about to pull the lever before making his appearance, the door swinging open with a soft creak. Somehow, Ethan doesn't hear him until he says, "Well, well."
The blonde whips around, guns blazing, mouth agape. His dinky little pistol is aimed directly at Karl's face, and he nearly scoffs.
Up close (well, closer), Karl can't help but note he's...kind of hot. In an average-Joe sort of way. Messy blond hair, brown eyes, a smattering of freckles. There's the beginnings of a bruise on his cheekbone, face covered in dirt and blood. It's easier to see detail in person than on a shitty black and white camera, and Karl can say he's thoroughly impressed.
Back on topic, though.
Karl carries on with his speech, trying to act like he hasn't been trailing Ethan this whole time.
He lifts the nearby scrap metal with a flick of the hand, mostly for theatrics. "I didn't think anyone was left! You must be pretty tough, huh?"
Ethan scrutinizes him for a moment, surprisingly unresponsive to the large amount of levitating metal. "Who the fuck are you?"
Oh. So the hag didn't tell him about us. A good and bad thing, he supposes.
"Oh, you're not local! Even better," Is what he says instead.
Before Ethan can say "what the fuck", Karl flicks his wrist towards him. Admittedly, the intent was just to knock Ethan over, maybe unconscious, but it's a little too late for that, as a copper bar plunges into Ethan's chest.
Ethan screams. Karl cringes. It's not pleasant for either of them, it seems. Blood pours onto the bar, dripping into the floor. Ethan's shaking.
Well shit. Nice job Karl.
The tips of his fingers tingle with electricity as he guides the rest of the not sharp metal to cover Ethan's body, more to incapacitate than harm. Frankly, he has no idea what he's going to do with the man, but he's sure Miranda would want him supervised somewhere, rather than burning the goddamn village down.
He chuckles, stepping over to the now laying down Ethan. The man's eyes are wide with fear and pain, pinprick pupils, old tear tracks freshened by new ones.
Karl ignores the guilt pooling in his chest. "Mother Miranda is going to love you."
Ethan closes his eyes just as Karl slams the last piece down over his face.
------
Okay. Maybe he did a lot more damage than he thought he did.
It's been twenty minutes. Ethan is still dead to the world. Miranda is going to kill him if she finds out he damaged the goods.
Ethan groans. Karl has to hold his shoulder down with a gloved hand to keep him from rolling off the tiny twin bed.
He'd dragged Ethan Winters into a nearby house to call Miranda. Well. Less dragged and more levitated. There's a nice little trail of blood leading through the graveyard to this house, that he's sure the lycans are lapping up like the canine fucks they are.
He'd dialed the phone as sure as he got Ethan situated and found some first aid stuff. And, well, if he cleans up Ethan's wounds a bit while they talk, that's none of Miranda's business.
It's a little foolish, honestly. To see Ethan as some hail-Mary. The chances that he actually survives and they escape this hellhole are slim to none, and the odds that he doesn't just murder Karl outright are pretty much zero. The most Karl can do is show him a little kindness, even if he knows his siblings won't.
Actually, it's more than a little foolish. Its goddamned stupid. Naïve, even.
Karl huffs, pressing the phone to his ear with his shoulder. His hands are preoccupied with a bottle of vodka, a washcloth, and some wistful dreams of freedom.
"Lord Heisenberg. Are you listening to me?"
Shit. "Apologies, Mother. I was distracted."
He can hear Miranda sigh through the phone. "I said, bring the man to our meeting site by three. I shall arrange a meeting with the other Lords, and we shall decide what to do with him then."
Fuck's sake. Of course he has to carry a passed out lump all the way back to the spot where he'd found him. Fan-fucking-tastic.
He carefully keeps all traces of annoyance out of his voice. "Yes, Mother. I won't let you down."
"Good. I trust that you won't."
Miranda doesn't say goodbye, just leaves him with the hang-up tone. She never says bye, or uses any formalities really, leaving as abruptly as she does in person. Not caring to be near the people she called her children longer than she has to.
Bitch.
Karl doesn't bother to put the phone down properly, just letting it drop onto the bed. Chances are the homeowners are dead or lycans by now anyways. He's sure they won't mind.
Ethan is out cold. If it wasn't for the slow rise and fall of his chest, Karl would've thought he was dead.
Fuck. He really hopes Ethan doesn't wake up, because this'd be really hard to explain. The guy who stabbed you, suddenly cleaning up your wounds? If Karl were in that situation, he'd probably attempt murder. (And get away with it.)
He sets the bottle and cloth down on the bedside table, and turns to the sleeping man. It's a pain, but he manages to wrestle Ethan's shirt up high enough he can see the wound. Except there's no wound there.
Instead of a bleeding puncture wound like Karl had expected, there's a circle of fresh, pink skin, like nothing had ever happened.
He blinks. "What the hell?"
No way. Karl had seen the metal impale him, yanked it out and dealt with the gushing blood, felt it on his gloves as he set Ethan on the bed. No fucking way he healed that fast.
The only people he knew who could heal like that were Alcina and Miranda, both of whom are not entirely human anymore.
Karl leans back, crossing his arms over his chest, something of a Cheshire grin spreading across his lips. "Well I'll be damned, Winters. You really are special."
He has half a mind to call Miranda and report this. Then again, he doesn't particularly want to explain why he had his hands up the baby Rose's father's shirt, even if it's completely innocent. Miranda would interpret it as "compassion for the enemy" or some bullshit like that, and he'd get bitched at, and maybe even punished, if she's in a bad mood.
Not to mention he'd stabbed her little plaything.
God. He'd really rather not deal with her fucking experiments today.
So he doesn't tell her. Instead, he tugs Ethan's shirt back down, and pulls a cigar out of his coat pocket. Lights it. Exhales smoke into the frigidly cold air.
The clock across the room says it's only 1:35. He has about an hour to let Ethan rest, and to mentally prepare himself for the ordeal that is a family meeting.
Karl sighs and takes a drag of his cigar, leaning his head back against the wall. Ethan mutters something in his sleep.
A crow caws outside.
Notes:
heisenberg: i am a very smart man
also heisenberg: stabs a guy by accidentthank you for reading! feel free to leave a comment or kudo. if youd like, yell at me on my resident evil tumblr @resident-nice, or my main, @lambda-cored!
Chapter 2: Poor Choices Are Made
Summary:
The man mutters something, and Ethan feels a heavy hand on his shoulder push him back down onto the bed. Fuck. There goes plan A. Plan B is to find something sharp and hopefully attack before Magnet Man knows what's hit him.
Notes:
TWs for this chapter:
-fighting
-choking
-stabbing
-very light ment of suicidal ideation (its like one paragraph)im so sorry for the copious use of italics here. and the fact that heisenberg is known as "the man" for most of this.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Ethan's made a lot of poor choices in his life.
Sure, most of them were dumb things like getting busted drunk driving in college or skipping a day of work. Nothing all that harmful in the long run. But there's been a couple bad choices that have royally fucked him over.
Going to save Mia himself instead of calling the FBI was probably the worst decision he's ever made in his thirty-seven years of living.
And now, it's led to here. This shithole village where people keep fucking dying.
Ethan's kinda thinking about doing that himself. But that's the coward's way out, and he has a daughter to save. God, he really hopes Rose is alright, wherever she is. He doesn't know what he'd do with himself if she wasn't.
His captor is distracted with a phone. The man hasn't noticed he's awake, thank fuck. Ever since the Baker Incident and the subsequent hospital visits, Ethan's gotten really good at pretending he's asleep. Scarily good, actually. It's a little concerning.
He goes to roll over, and notes his hands aren't bound. He can't open his eyes, or risk the man realizing he's awake, so he's going off feeling alone. Which never goes well, but it's fine. Probably.
The man mutters something, and Ethan feels a heavy hand on his shoulder push him back down onto the bed. Fuck. There goes plan A. Plan B is to find something sharp and hopefully attack before Magnet Man knows what's hit him.
And then the man speaks. "Apologies, Mother. I was distracted."
Mother. As in his actual mother, or whoever that Mother Miranda lady everyone keeps mentioning is? Ethan hears the sound of a bottle dumping something liquid, and chances a quick glance.
They're in an old, drafty house. Ethan's on a bed, and his captor is practically sitting on his calves. He's on one of those antique rotary-dial phones (similar to the ones from the Bakers), pressing it between his shoulder and his cheek.
Ethan closes his eyes just as he turns, and slows his breathing to mimic sleep.
Y'know. The fact that he can manipulate his breathing is also a little concerning.
"Yes, Mother. I won't let you down." The man says through gritted teeth.
The phone is dropped on the bed with a thump and the man growls under his breath. The sound of a bottle being set down follows, but it's what happens after that sends a pang of panic through Ethan's chest.
He feels a gloved hand lift his shirt up, occasionally brushing his skin. It makes his skin crawl. Ethan is this close to opening his eyes and punching the skeevy bastard, when he feels him lean back. "What the hell?" The man says.
Ethan's heart is pounding in his chest.
What. The actual fuck.
Ethan wants to run, jump out of a window. He'll take the lycans, it's fine. Better than being assaulted. But then again, Knockoff Magneto here would just catch him again. Trapped, like a rat in a cage. Fuck.
The man is silent for a long moment. Ethan doesn't like it. Suddenly, he speaks, and his voice is almost amused. "Well I'll be damned, Winters. You really are special."
One, that's not creepy at all. Two, how the fuck does he know his name?
Ethan doesn't risk moving. The man touches him again, and he has to swallow down the urge to hurl. His shirt is dragged back down, which is a relief, but it doesn't fix much.
He hears the flick of a lighter, smells cigar smoke. This fucker is smoking a cigar? Now? A crow caws outside, as if agreeing with Ethan's thoughts.
He wants to kick this guy in the dick, so badly.
A few minutes pass in silence. The man doesn't pull anything else, just smoking. For some reason, this pisses Ethan off. Or maybe he's just pissed in general. Either way, he's sick of hostage situations. And he's always been good at escaping those.
He smiles, just a little, before surging upwards and tackling the man.
The man shouts something in Romanian that sounds like a curse, and the two of them go flying to the floor. The man's shitty little circle glasses go flying on impact, and Ethan can see his eyes go wide in surprise. "Rahatule!"
Translation: You little shit!
Ethan has the man's hands pinned to the floor, straddling his hips. "Who the fuck are you and where the fuck is my daughter?"
"I don't know where your fucking daughter is!" The man shouts.
Ethan sees his fingers twitch before it happens.
A fork comes flying out of a nearby drawer, straight for his hand. He jumps back, and at the same time, the man bucks his hips and rolls over.
Ethan lands on his back with an oof. There's a loud clang and then his hands are pinned above his head. Cold, sharp metal presses against his wrists, and he hisses. Of fucking course he cuffed him to the floor. Goddamn it.
The man is sitting on his hips, a triumphant grin spreading across his lips. Ethan notes the extremely sharp canine teeth. "Didn't go as you planned, hm?"
"Fuck you."
"I'd watch my mouth if I were you." The man says it nonchalantly, like a joke, but Ethan senses the threat behind it.
"I just want my kid back." He snaps, hands straining at the metal shoved into the floor. It bites into his wrists enough to draw blood. "I don't know what this village's fucking problem is, but I'm here to get my kid and leave."
The man rolls his eyes. They're a strange color, like they don't know what color they want to be. A sort of amberish brownish green. Weird.
He still hasn't moved off Ethan's hips. Ethan kicks his knees up as hard as he can, jamming them into the man's lower back. It doesn't seem to hurt him so much as surprise him and knock him forward.
Okay, bad move. Their faces are close together now.
Actually, on second thought. Good move.
Their foreheads slam together with a disgusting crack. Both men swear, one in German, the other in English. The metal holding Ethan's wrists down lightens just enough that he can free his hands, only to find a hand on his throat.
The man looks downright feral, a bruise already forming on his forehead and teeth bared like a fucking dog. Ethan swallows. The man's hand tightens, not enough to choke, but just enough that he knows he's going to have an insane bruise later on.
"You don't want to test me, Winters," The man snarls. His chin-length hair brushes the sides of Ethan's face. "I'll kill you before you can even think of seeing your little runt again."
Okay.
Now he's kind of scared.
All the brash confidence from earlier melts away as the gravity of the situation actually sets in. He's being choked by a man who can manipulate metal, for fuck's sake. Ethan, learn to think things through.
He doesn't move. Doesn't breathe, either, which is something he'll examine later if he has the time and mental willpower.
The man above him seems satisfied and leans back. He doesn't take his hand off Ethan's throat, though, just loosens his grip. "You're something special, aren't you?"
Ethan takes a painful breath before speaking. "What the fuck are you talking about?"
The man raises an eyebrow. "You haven't noticed? How did you, an ordinary man, heal up a stab wound to the sternum?"
Oh god. He just voiced a question Ethan himself has been avoiding. Great.
"I don't have to tell you shit. I don't even know your name," Ethan snaps.
The hand around his throat tightens again. Idiot. "Ah, and you were so cooperative just now!" The man says. "The name is Lord Heisenberg, by the way."
Lord Heisenberg. As in nobility. How the fuck is there still nobility in Europe in 2021? He thought that had all been abolished following the second World War, but then again, this village doesn't seem to keep with the times.
Ethan goes silent. He doesn't have to tell this Lord Heisenberg anything, and Heisenberg himself doesn't seem too keen on killing him. After all, he easily could've by now. Or at least knocked him out.
He really hates this guy. His urge to kick him in the dick from earlier returns in full force.
The sharp metal that had pinned his hands down is just within reach.
Heisenberg glances at the clock, breaking their little staring contest. His hand loosens even more, and Ethan takes his opportunity.
It happens in seconds.
He grabs the bent butter knife and jams it between Heisenberg's ribs. Heisenberg screams, and Ethan bucks him up and off. He rushes to a standing position as Heisenberg yanks the knife out of his flesh with a meaty squelch.
"You fucking stabbed me with a butter knife?" Heisenberg shouts.
"Payback," Ethan bites back, lunging for the window and praying he still has his weapons.
Hands wrap around his waist. Ethan screeches as he goes down, hands grasping at the already tattered lace curtains and bringing them down too.
Heisenberg has him pinned. Again. This time, the rage in his eyes is real, and Ethan has the overwhelming feeling he's fucked up big time.
Won't be the first time, and certainly not the last.
Heisenberg grips his jaw harshly. He growls, low in his throat, and if this wasn't a fight Ethan would've found it hot. "Oh, you are going to regret that."
Before he can respond, Heisenberg slams his head into the floor with a loud thud. Pain explodes behind his eyelids, and the world goes black for a third time today.
------
Ethan wakes up to the sound of chains, the agonizing feeling of road burn, and the same weighted feeling he had when Heisenberg Metal Coffin-ed him. He has to blink several times for the world to come into view. There's a headache pounding behind his eyes now, too. Christ. Okay. So mistakes were made.
He groans as he's dragged along stony ground on his stomach. The trench coat wearing asshole is pulling him along by the chain attached to his wrists, and seems to be struggling with his weight.
Why isn't Heisenberg just making him levitate? Wouldn't that be easier than dragging him through a tunnel?
Maybe this is payback for stabbing him in the ribs. That's fair, actually. He'll take this over torture, which doesn't seem below Heisenberg.
Heisenberg drags him a little too quickly over a sharper spot, and Ethan cries out in pain. He turns his head to look over his shoulder, that irritating wolfish grin back in full force. Ethan wants to slap him. "Quit your whining, we're almost there!"
I'll quit my whining when you're fucking dead.
Heisenberg chuckles. "Feisty, I like it. Save it for Miranda."
Oh goddamn it. Ethan has half a mind to slam his head on the ground to pass out again, just so he doesn't have to deal with this shit.
Apparently his brain gets the memo. He's hit with a sudden wave of dizziness and the world goes spinning. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck, please let me stay awake.
His brain does not cooperate. It never does.
Ethan passes out.
Notes:
homoerotic fighting. that is all.
ethan says fuck a lot in the games? its like his main swear in re7. sir. why.this chapter was so fun to write. feel free to correct me if that romanian is wrong, i used google translate. this posting schedule probably wont keep up, i was just bored tonight tbh
as usual, feel free to leave a comment or kudo, and yell at me on tumblr at either @lambda-cored or @resident-nice!
Chapter 3: Meet The Family
Summary:
Mother Miranda tilts her head and Ethan senses he's made a very, very big mistake. But you know what, he's dug this grave, he's going to lie in it. He's tired of losing his agency. He's just a father, looking for his daughter, and these fucking people aren't helping.
"And what makes you think you can question my decision?" Mother Miranda asks, tone flat.
Notes:
tws for this chapter:
-emeto, kinda. ethan gets panic nausea a lot.
-blood, cuts
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"The man is of no real use to anyone else. And my daughters do so love...entertaining foreigners."
Ethan groans. He feels like he's been hit by the proverbial bus, his head pounding and body aching in places he didn't even know could hurt. Someone's giggling, and it's like nails on a chalkboard. Someone else is speaking, a woman with a slow, elegant voice like refined crystal.
"Furthermore, if you should entrust the mortal to House Dimitrescu, my daughters and I shall deliver to you the finest cups of his slaughtered blood."
Cups of his slaughtered blood- what?
He blinks his eyes open to a doll giggling in his face.
There's a doll giggling in his face.
Something else comes into view, a hunched-over monstrosity of what might've been a human, at one point. It wears a crown of bones, some of which look suspiciously human. Its smile is grotesque, but quickly falls when the doll stands and shoves it.
The doll shouts. "Get out of the way, ugly! I want to see!"
The thing moans.
Ethan screams.
The room goes silent. Oh shit.
There's four people in the room. One extremely tall woman sits in an equally large chair, one of those fancy cigarette holders balanced between gloved fingers. Heisenberg is sitting opposite her, an atrocious hammer beside him. He gives Ethan an amused look. The thing that'd been in Ethan's face alongside the doll shambles to stand behind Heisenberg.
Actually, there's five people. Ethan hadn't noticed her before, but a petite woman sits in a chair off to the side, dressed in a Victorian mourning dress and a mourning veil.
At the front of the room stands a Catholic wet dream of a woman, with an absolutely massive gold halo adorned with roses and an eye. Her robes look like a bastardization of a priest's, complete with a black and gold stole. Ethan can't make out her face because of a golden, birdlike mask she's wearing, but she looks...oddly familiar. He's seen her somewhere before, but he can't place where.
The thing moans. The creepy ass doll bounces on her feet in a comical happy dance. "He's awake!"
"Both of you shut the fuck up!" Heisenberg snaps. The doll makes a little "oh" noise, and runs over to the woman in mourning clothes. "As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, you'll screw around with him in private, where's the fun in that? Give him to me, and I'll put on a show everybody can enjoy."
"Ugh, so gauche. What do we care for bread and circuses? The man-thing's suffering is assured, regardless." The very tall woman gives Ethan a pointed look.
So he's the man-thing who's suffering is assured. Fantastic.
God, he hates this village. It's really sad that this isn't the first time he's stumbled into a family of nutjobs.
The halo-ed woman at the front of the room is unsettling, her gaze not leaving him once. It's then that the recognition clicks, a mental puzzle piece falling into place. Didn't he see her choke Iulian to death earlier? And walk away laughing, dropping him like a toy? Isn't it her face scattered across the cultish paintings around the village?
Oh fuck. So this is Mother Miranda, who happens to be a lot scarier in person than in the portraits.
"Yack yack, and if the man-thing's dick is cut off in the castle, blah blah blah!" Heisenberg retorts. The hunched-over thing titters.
Ethan glances down at his cuffed hands. It just looks like metal looped into metal, no keys or anything, so that's not an option.
Fuck Heisenberg, fuck Mother Miranda, fuck this hellhole village.
Mother Miranda speaks. "I've heard all your arguments. Some of you were less persuasive than others, but I've made my decision."
She points at Heisenberg. Ethan feels the blood drain from his face. "Heisenberg. The man's fate is in your hands."
Heisenberg tips his hat.
Oh fuck no, I am not getting stuck with him again.
"Shouldn't I have a say in this?" Ethan shouts without thinking. The whole room of freaks turns to him. Bad move, Ethan, bad move. "I don't know what sick medieval shit this is, but I just want my baby back. Leave me alone."
Heisenberg raises an eyebrow, jaw dropped, as the Tall Lady makes an incredulous noise.
Mother Miranda tilts her head and Ethan senses he's made a very, very big mistake. But you know what, he's dug this grave, he's going to lie in it. He's tired of losing his agency. He's just a father, looking for his daughter, and these fucking people aren't helping.
"And what makes you think you can question my decision?" Mother Miranda asks, tone flat.
"The fact that I'm sick of this shit." Ethan snaps. Not his best line, but it's fine. This is fine. He definitely isn't signing up for his own death right now. "Let me go, you bitch."
"Got a mouth on you, Winters," Heisenberg whistles.
The doll gasps, and then giggles.
"Why, the audacity!" Tall Lady remarks, taking a drag of her cigarette. "Mother, why don't we just string him up here and kill him now?"
Ethan's considering calling the Tall Lady a bitch as well, but all words die in his throat as Mother Miranda steps down towards him. She stops only once she's towering above him, close enough Ethan can make out her bright blue eyes, gaze scathing. "Ethan Winters, perhaps you're worth more time than I thought you were."
He blinks. Before he can ask what that's supposed to mean or how she knows his name, she grabs his wrist and yanks it up towards her. "Lady Dimitrescu. Come here."
"Yes Mother," The tall woman says. She obeys and comes to stand next to Mother Miranda, towering over her as well. The woman has to be nine feet tall, at least.
Heisenberg also stands, but doesn't come any closer.
Ethan has a sinking feeling in his gut as Mother Miranda pushes his left sleeve down, exposing the pale skin of his forearm. She points to a spot on his arm with a gold-adorned finger. "Cut him. Right here, deep enough to draw blood, but not to seriously injure."
"Yes, Mother."
"What- no! Wait-"
Lady Dimitrescu flicks her hand. Suddenly, claws that definitely weren't there before appear, and they look like something Ethan does not want near his skin. Or near his body in general. But when does he ever get what he wants?
He hisses in pain as she slices his arm open. Hot blood drips onto his jeans, and the cut stings.
Mother Miranda wipes away the dark blood with her thumb, exposing the wound. One long, clean cut stretches across his inner forearm. She watches with an intense look as the bleeding slows to a stop, and the skin regrows itself. Within a minute, he isn't even left with a scar.
"Fascinating," She breathes.
Ethan looks anywhere but his arm. He doesn't want to see it, doesn't want to acknowledge what he knows is true.
He'd never been given the serum back in Louisiana. There'd only been enough to kill Jack and give Mia, leaving him and Zoe still infected. Even then, the serum hadn't cured Mia, and she remained on a strict medicine routine to keep the mold infection at bay. Part of him had always wondered what happened to his infection, but he repressed it. Shove it into a mental box, stick it in a closet, pretend it doesn't exist. He'd always been good at compartmentalizing, much to the chagrin of his therapist.
Now that he's here in this fucking hell village, he can't deny he's still infected with the e-001 mold. He's watched and felt wounds that would otherwise be fatal knit themselves closed in minutes. He's survived lycan bites with no effects, despite the villagers succumbing to them quickly. Hell, he's willing to bet that if he took off the bandage, there'd be fresh skin where his fingers weren't.
Mother Miranda seems to read his mind, hands drifting to the bloodied bandage. He winces as she unwraps it, and wants to vomit when she runs a finger over the wound.
Or where a wound should be, anyways.
It's completely healed. A bit jagged in spots where bone didn't properly mend, but otherwise it looks fine. His intact wedding band shines in the dim light.
He can't breathe.
Fuck.
Mother Miranda smiles, for a split second. It's an unsettling expression on such a stoic woman. It sends an unpleasant chill down his spine."Upon second thought, Heisenberg. Find the man a suitable home in the village. I think he's going to be staying here a while."
"What?" All four Lords (plus Ethan) say in unison. It's almost comical.
"Mother Miranda, why on Earth would we keep this outsider in the village? With the havoc he's wrought?" Lady Dimitrescu demands. Heisenberg looks as shocked as she is, gripping the handle of his hammer like a lifeline.
Mother Miranda claps her hands in front of her. "Now, I believe Ethan has shown he is a strong man. I think he would make for a fine Lord of the Village."
"What?" Ethan shouts.
He's gotta say. Being offered a lordship by a Catholic bastardization and four freaks is not how he thought his day would go.
Him? A Lord? Lord of what? The village is gone, he watched the last people alive die in front of him (and because of him). This woman is fucking nuts. No way in hell.
He might actually throw up. He can taste the bile in the back of his throat.
"Mother Miranda, I must protest! This man-thing is an outsider, and a foolish one at that! He has brought nothing but bloodshed to our village!" Lady Dimitrescu glances at Heisenberg. "He even overpowered Lord Heisenberg!"
Oh right. He did do that. Heisenberg gives him a pointed look, and Ethan can see the patch of blood on his shirt. Oops.
He can also see the gears turning in Heisenberg's head, his expression shifting from shocked to contemplative to confident.
"Yeah, he did. And y'know what?" Heisenberg says, turning to the Lady. "I think that's a reason in itself for him to be a Lord. No one else has gotten a hit on me like that."
"Oh, don't be so cocksure." Lady Dimitrescu rolls her eyes.
"That's rich, coming from you."
"Don't I have a say in this?" Ethan asks.
He's ignored, of course. He grimaces.
"Silence!" Mother Miranda's voice booms through the hall, as six sets of wings Ethan hadn't noticed flare behind her. Christ. "My decision is final. There will be no argument. The father is to be shown to a suitable home, provided clothing and aid, and shown the customs of the village. Lord Winters is to be treated with respect."
Lord Winters. If only Mia could see him now, Lord of nothing.
Maybe he can use this to his advantage. The Lordship might grant him access to places he'd otherwise have to break into, and make it easier to find Rose. Might being keyword. Something feels off about this, a gut feeling that he's being manipulated. If he is, there's not much he can do about it, and Mother Miranda doesn't seem above blackmail.
So he's stuck here. Great.
With a clink, his handcuffs fall off. Ethan rubs his aching wrists, glancing over at Heisenberg, who's still got that obnoxious fucking grin.
Mother Miranda speaks again, with a tone that says don't argue, or you'll regret it. "Lady Beneviento, please secure a new wardrobe for Mr. Winters. Lady Dimitrescu, I trust you will provide him with a housewarming gift. Lord Moreau, when you have the time, get a sample of his blood for me."
A what?
The thing, apparently named Lord Moreau, nods. "Anything for you, Mother," He says in a deep but warbly voice.
Lady Dimitrescu looks like she's just sucked on a lemon. The creepy doll claps her hands.
Mother Miranda nods to Heisenberg. "Lord Heisenberg, give him a tour of the village, and find him a suitable home to stay in. And do keep your lycans away from him."
"Of course," Heisenberg replies, boots clanking on the stone floors as he walks over to Ethan and holds out a hand. Reluctantly, Ethan takes it, and is yanked to standing. "Welcome to the family, Lord Winters."
Notes:
the plot has Thickened. i was going to make this chapter longer, but im gonna shove all the ethan getting used to the village stuff in one chapter, so next chapter is probably gonna take me a bit.
as always, feel free to leave a comment or kudo, and you can reach me on tungleblr at @lambda-cored or @resident-nice !
Chapter 4: Ethan Winters, Homestealer Deluxe
Summary:
Ethan huffs, sitting down on the old leather couch. His feet ache like a motherfucker. Absently, he wonder's whose home he's stolen. Was it one of the villagers at Luisa's home? Could this be Anton's? Or Iulian's? Or is the owner a lycan now, faceless and feral? Could he have killed the owner, lycan or not, and now he's stolen their home?
Ethan isn't sure which is better. Death, or being stripped of everything that makes you human.
Notes:
tws for this chapter:
-mentions of pregnancy
-ethan has a small breakdown
trans ethan moments in the house today! to clarify bc i havent put it in the tags, ethan and mia were t4t, rose is still their biological kid. ethans the one who had rose, not mia. AND NO MIA SLANDER IN THIS HOUSE. WE LOVE AND RESPECT MIA WINTERS HERE
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Heisenberg guides Ethan through the tunnels, Ethan eyeing the spikes on the ceilings warily. It definitely seems like something Heisenberg would make, if Ethan's got as good of a gauge on him as he thinks he does. The human skeletons on the ground certainly don't ease his fear either.
Ethan doesn't even want to think about how many people have died here.
He sighs, rubbing his sore wrists. They're red and inflamed, imprints left from those rusty-ass handcuffs. He's going to need a tetanus shot as soon as he's out of here.
Heisenberg, meanwhile, is whistling like he just won the damn lottery.
Ethan raises an eyebrow. "What made you so happy?"
"Oh, nothing," Heisenberg responds.
If Ethan's eyebrows could raise any higher, he'd look like a cartoon character. He doesn't say anything, just letting the man in front of him guide his way through the tunnels. Surprisingly, there's light bulbs here, when nowhere else in the village had really had electricity. Ethan swears he's seen oil lamps in the houses. "How does this have power but the village doesn't?"
Heisenberg hums. "Hooked it to my factory. It's not the only place in this shithole with power, but it's one of the few. Everyone else uses generators."
"Oh." Vaguely, Ethan remembers seeing smokestacks at the top of the mountain near the village. So that's what that was. "That makes sense."
"I would hope so," Heisenberg responds. "Oh look, we're here!"
Ethan squints as his eyes readjust from the dark to bright. They're back in the graveyard. It's snowing again, and frigidly cold. He shivers as a crow caws, Heisenberg glaring at it with disdain as he lights another cigar.
"What's your problem with the crows?" Ethan asks casually. He really doesn't want to get on Heisenberg's bad side, given what happened earlier. He'd like a few minutes not fighting for his life, thank you very much.
Heisenberg gives him an indecipherable look over his sunglasses. "I'll tell you later."
Okay, so no small talk. Fuck you too, I guess.
They walk in silence. Every now and then Heisenberg will walk up to a house, and open the door, stare into it for a moment, and then close it. Ethan doesn't do much in the way of housepicking- he really doesn't like the fact that he's going to be stealing dead people's homes at all, or staying here longer than he needs to. He just wants to get Rose back and get the hell out of Dodge.
God, he hopes Rose is okay, wherever she is. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if she wasn't. What's the statistic again? Most missing person's cases are solved within 24 hours, past 72 is when the chances of finding them drastically drop? Something like that?
It's nearly midday. He's been searching since the sun came up.
Fuck.
"Winters. Ethan!"
Ethan blinks, realizing he's been hyperventilating and stopped walking. Heisenberg is staring at him with a weird, almost concerned look."You doing alright there, papa? You just stopped walking."
"What? Yeah I just...got lost in thought." Ethan pauses. "Don't call me papa."
Heisenberg snorts. "Would you prefer daddy?"
"I'd prefer neither, asshole."
Heisenberg laughs. Ethan just rolls his eyes, fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie.
Oh shit. Memories from the fight in the house resurface, and Ethan nearly winces. Did Heisenberg see his top surgery scars? Was his shirt high enough for that? Wouldn't he have said something by now if he did? Did he even know what the scars were?
Whatever. It's fine. Probably. He has no clue if the people in backwater Romania are accepting, and frankly he could give less of a shit. He's not here to make friends.
It takes a moment for him to realize he recognizes this place. They're in the Eastern side of the village. Ethan's pretty sure he arrived here (and immediately got sieged by lycans), and the house Heisenberg is practically speed walking towards is familiar. Maybe somewhere he hid?
Heisenberg practically drags him inside. "Would you look at that! It's perfectly intact! A bit messy, but I'm sure you'll be fine. And, there's chickens!"
Sure enough, Ethan hears the cluck of a chicken come from the backyard. Alright, that's a small plus. Not that he's going to be staying here long. "It works, I guess."
"Good, because you're staying here. Take a minute to get used to the house, I'll go chop firewood for the woodstove." Heisenberg tips his hat and leaves Ethan alone.
First things first. Wound inventory.
He yanks his hoodie off in the safety of the bedroom. Unsurprisingly, any new scars are completely healed over. He pokes at the fresh scar just under his breastbone. The skin of his left hand is pink and shiny, brand new and baby smooth. He hates it. His wedding ring thankfully stayed unharmed but chances are it won't later. Hm. He'll need a chain for that.
He tugs off the ring and runs his finger along the date on the inside. 5/29/11. God. Married for almost a decade, and he's only gotten to spend seven years of it with Mia. And now she's gone, bled out and pumped full of lead by the one person they thought they could trust.
He tugs his hoodie back on. He can hear Heisenberg swearing in a colorful mix of English, German, and Romanian outside, and the rhythmic thwack of an axe.
Ethan huffs, sitting down on the old leather couch. His feet ache like a motherfucker. Absently, he wonder's whose home he's stolen. Was it one of the villagers at Luisa's home? Could this be Anton's? Or Iulian's? Or is the owner a lycan now, faceless and feral? Could he have killed the owner, lycan or not, and now he's stolen their home?
Ethan isn't sure which is better. Death, or being stripped of everything that makes you human.
He squeezes his eyes shut. He hates this.
He wants to go home. Except, he doesn't really have one now. He doubts he'd be able to escape the village, nonetheless get back to his house. And then he'd have to live with the permanent reminders of Mia and Rose. Of the guilt, never saving Rose, instead running tail between his legs like a coward.
Heisenberg groans from the doorway. Ethan hadn't heard the door open. "Well, the woodstove's running, should be warming up in a bit. You'll have to keep it going, those things burn wood like you wouldn't believe."
Ethan just nods, eyes still closed. Heisenberg clears his throat before speaking again. "Well, this is your new home. Casa del Winters. You like it?"
"I'm sure it was lovely when it belonged to the proper owners." Ethan opens his eyes, pointedly looking only at the ceiling. He watches Heisenberg scrub a gloved hand over his face in his peripheral vision.
"Jesus Christ, Ethan, you could at least appreciate what you've got."
"Don't fucking call me that."
"Call you what? Your name?"
Ethan glares at him. Heisenberg took off his sunglasses at some point, and his amber gaze doesn't leave Ethan. He wants to slap that concerned look off his face.
He doesn't want Heisenberg's concern. Frankly, he doesn't even want to see him, but he doesn't particularly want to test Heisenberg's temper. It's practically a Sisyphean task to keep himself from shoving Hobo Magneto out of his stolen house.
"Yes, Lord Heisenberg. We aren't on a first name basis."
Heisenberg raises an eyebrow. "Would you rather me call you Lord Winters?"
Ethan shudders. Christ. Is that really his title now? If there were any villagers left, is that what they'd call him?
If only Mia could see me now. Fake nobility, in an abandoned cult village. Not even a ceremony or anything.
"No. Just...fine. Call me Ethan or Winters or something. Just not that."
Heisenberg scoffs. "Alright, Ethan. Neither of us are happy with this, but might as well make do, huh?"
For some reason, that makes heat flare behind Ethan's ribs. "Make do? Who are you to tell me to make do when my wife is dead, my child's been kidnapped, and every fucking person is dying on me!"
He digs his nails into his knees, leaning forward. Tears blur his vision as everything from the past day comes crashing down. A tsunami of death and blood and- fuck. It's the Bakers all over again, isn't it? Losing his family, fighting alone surrounded by a family of wackjobs that want him to join them, hell, even the fucking hand damage. He wants to break something, shatter glass. Something to match the whirlwind in his mind right now.
Mia had once said that Ethan could be remarkably calm under pressure. They'd been talking about the pregnancy, just after the test came back positive. Mia was a lot more nervous than he was for some reason, despite Ethan being the one carrying Rose.
Ethan had just snorted in response, and pulled her closer. Mia had smiled and laughed, and they were happy for once.
He'll never be able to do that again. Never be able to hold Mia in his arms, never be able to hug her from behind in the mornings and kiss her cheek before he left for work. Never get a text from her with a picture of Rose in a silly outfit, never come home to the sound of her cooking, never hear a "welcome home, baby!" again.
It hurts. It feels like there's a piece of him gone.
How has he lost her twice?
Mia had always been so clever. So silly, too. She'd had the idea to take the baby photos as if she'd had Rose, so Ethan's unaccepting family wouldn't be pissed their son had been the one carrying the baby and so Mia wouldn't be outed to his family. It had been a hell of a fight to get the doctors to lend her a gown and fake IVs, but she was stubborn and won. She'd always been so thoughtful, too, even if the trauma from the Bakers made her distant more often than not.
Ethan misses her so much it physically hurts.
"Ethan? You're uh, you're crying."
"Shut. The fuck up." Ethan snaps, voice a low growl he didn't even know he was capable of. "I am so sick and tired of being other people's puppets. I'm so fucking tired of being hunted down like some fucking playtoy. I'm tired of my life constantly falling apart."
Heisenberg looks surprised when Ethan meets his eyes, mouth agape. He's finally silent for once.
"So no. I'm not going to fucking make do. I'm going to find my baby, I'm going to kill that bitch, and I'm going to leave this goddamn town forever. And if you get in my way, I will not hesitate to snap your neck like a fucking stick."
He meets Heisenberg's eyes. Heisenberg blinks, eyebrows practically in his hairline. He looks more put off than when Ethan had straight up jumped him, and for some reason Ethan takes a bit of pride in that. Good.
Heisenberg coughs, awkwardly, and Ethan notices his face is pink in the dim light. "Duly noted. I'm going to...go do something. Somewhere. Donna should be over later, so be ready for the creepy ass doll."
Ethan doesn't say anything, just watches him leave. He waits until he can't hear Heisenberg's footsteps crunching in the snow, and lets himself break down in peace, alone, in silence.
-----
Ethan spends the next two hours cleaning and planning. The house is a mess, and he's not sure how he feels about using someone else's things when they're probably dead. He's stripping the small twin bed and mentally preparing himself for spending the night on a shitty spring mattress with no bedding when he hears the knock at the door.
He sighs and tosses the bedding in the corner he's denoted the Laundry Corner, heading to answer the door.
He opens the door to see the woman in the mourning veil (Donna?), the doll in her arms. The doll is holding a basket with various sewing supplies in it, and it looks comically large in her tiny arms. "Oh, hey. Uh, Donna, right?"
Donna nods. The doll speaks instead of her. "And I'm Angie! Can we come in, it's cold!"
Ethan just nods. Somewhere in the back of his post-breakdown muddled mind, he finds it funny that he's being bossed around by a sentient doll. Only he would be in this situation.
Donna gently sets Angie down on the couch, taking the basket from her and setting it on the dining table. When she speaks, her voice is soft and scratchy from disuse. "A-Angie might be a bit loud...my apologies."
Angie cackles at that, almost in response. Now that he's near the doll beyond her dancing in his face, he realizes she's just...kind of a child. A sassy one, but a child. He can handle that.
He smiles softly. "It's fine. You're here for clothes, right?"
Donna nods, gently picking up the tape measure from the basket and handing Angie a pen and paper. "Mother wants...She wants me to make you um, new clothes."
"I appreciate it."
Donna's shoulders, which have been tense this whole time, relax a little bit at that. She fidgets with the tape in her hands. "It's n-no problem at all. Um, put your arms up, please?"
Ethan obeys. Angie watches him curiously the whole time. It takes a minute for him to realize she's writing down the measurements Donna is passing on to her. The whole affair is a bit...uncomfortable. Ethan flinches when Donna gets near his chest, and she backs away like a frightened cat. "I-I'm so sorry, I didn't hurt you, did I?"
Oh shit. Way to go Ethan, make the one kind person in this village sad. "No! No, it's fine I just um...Don't like people near my chest. Or hands."
Donna is silent for a long moment. Ethan's almost scared she's going to be upset, until he sees her hands flap gently at her sides. "Tha-that's fine! I um... I just need the...the measurements."
Ethan likes this woman a lot, she's probably the kindest person he's met here so far, albeit kind of quiet and skittish. "Do you mind if I borrow your tape measure and do it myself?"
She shakes her head and hands him the tape. Ethan makes quick work of the measurements and repeats them to Donna, who nods at Angie to write them down. He hands the tape back to Donna, who sets it gently in the basket. "Thank you so much, Donna."
Angie's glass eyes glance at Ethan's hands. "Donna! The gloves!"
"O-oh!" Donna turns to Angie, and then back to Ethan frantically. "I um...I was going to make you gloves. Since it's so cold. C-Can I get your hand measurements, too?"
"Oh. Um, yeah."
Donna hands the tape back to him, and he quickly measures his hands following her instructions. He hopes she doesn't see how his hands shake as he measures his stump fingers, or how he curls in on himself a little once he's written the measurements down. "Thank you for this, Donna."
Donna nods, picking up Angie. Angie giggles and gives Ethan a weird look, if dolls can give people weird looks. How a porcelain monstrosity of a doll can be so expressive, he doesn't know.
"Bye-bye, papa!" Angie calls as Donna leaves the house.
Ethan freezes at the moniker. It was...different, when Heisenberg said it, because he knew Heisenberg was either flirting or trying to get a rise out of him, or both. But Angie...she was too childlike. It stings in a way it shouldn't, and he has to take a few deep breaths after he shuts the door.
He needs Rose back.
No more fooling around. He has to find her, and soon, before something happens. (If something hasn't already happened, that little voice in his head that sounds too much like Eveline whispers.)
He rakes his fingers through his hair, sinking down to the floor. "I'm going to find you, baby girl. Where are you, Rose?" He says to no one.
The response is cold, dead silence.
Notes:
donna is a sweetheart. i think ethan and donna should have an adhd/autism type friendship. thank you
as usual, kudos and comments are so very much appreciated and fuel me to update as often as i do. feel free to send me an ask on tungles on @resident-nice !
ALSO I MADE A REF OF WHAT ETHANS OUTFIT IS GOING TO LOOK LIKE
https://project-suvi.tumblr.com/post/657282493413752832/a-ref-for-lord-ethan-winters-from-my-fic-runs-in
Chapter 5: Three Flavored Mititei and Strawberry Clătite
Summary:
Now, they have a routine where once a week, Heisenberg will bring her food, and they just sit and talk. He's learned a lot about her in the past month or so. About the Dulvey incident, for one. About her favorite colors, her favorite foods, her favorite memory of walking on the beach in Galveston with her husband and baby daughter. Mia's sweet, and he's not going to let her starve to death, mold or not.
Notes:
tws for this chapter:
-choking, briefly in a flashback
-ments of experiments
-the mia trapped in mirandas lab thingheisenberger chapter! for pacing! its mostly fluff but also exposition. next chapter things will start to get messy i prommy
SO ive made the executive choice to make this fic mithanberg because im tired of this fandom shoving mia aside. thank you
during ethans bit of the chapter i was looping "sweet hibiscus tea" by penelope scott so that might add to the chapter if you read and listen to music like me.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The next morning it storms. Karl sits and watches the rain from the garage entrance to the factory, fidgeting with his dog tag. Running his fingers over the name on it over and over again, feeling the indentations he's already memorized. Paul Heisenberg. Birth Date 2/25/1917. Blood type A-.
Kind of ironic, isn't it? His father still having to go off and fight the incoming fascists, nobility meaning almost nothing in an age where royals had outgrown their stay, only to die at the hands of a crazed bitch from his own home?
"Papa! Papa!" He screamed, trapped in Mother Miranda's arms. His lanky, disease ridden 17 year old body did nothing to push her away. The feathers of her wings brushed his face, but did nothing to wipe away the tears. "Please, please, leave them alone! I'll go with you!"
Miranda ignored him, smiling behind her golden crow's mask. Laughed, even, with a hand tight around his father's neck. His father's struggling noises slow to a stop, and eventually, so does his breathing. Karl sobbed and buried his face in Miranda's arms, anything to avoid seeing the remains of his family.
She smelled like mildew and blood.
He sighs and shoves the dog tag back in his shirt, opting to fidget with the hook necklace instead. He'd rather not think about his family today, thank you very much brain. He wonders how Ethan's holding up, if Alcina had visited last night and brought him some of that godawful wine like Miranda had asked, how it went with Donna.
That little display of anger last night was...admittedly, kind of hot. Probably not the best thing to find the baby Rose's father attractive, but when does he ever make good choices? He'd learned to ignore his foolish heart ages ago, when Miranda killed Andrei and Maricela for "fraternizing with him".
Hell of a way to find out Miranda was both a homophobe and uncomfortable with polyamory.
Focus, Karl. You're in the now, not 20 years ago.
Yesterday Ethan kept saying his wife was murdered, which Karl would've processed had he not been a little shocked, concerned, and a tad hot n' bothered all at once. Now that he's gone through what happened, it clicks. Miranda going MIA (pun not intended) for a month, the woman showing up in her lab...If Karl's hunch is right and the Mia Winters in Miranda's lab is Ethan's wife, then Ethan saw Miranda die, not Mia.
Well. Miranda didn't die. But he would've thought Mia did.
Shit. How the hell was he supposed to break that to him? Hey, your wife is actually alive, and whatever happened at your house wasn't actually Mia it was Mother Miranda trying to steal your baby? Fuck no. He'll figure out how to eventually, because it would be shit of him not to tell Ethan, but for now...it's fine. It'll be fine. Hopefully.
He hopes Mia's doing alright down in Miranda's lab.
"Shit!" Karl jolts up from the barrel he'd been sitting on and nearly hits his head on a shelf. "I forgot to bring her lunch today!"
He rushes back into his factory, the sound of rain on a tin roof fading as he goes. He nearly slides into the elevator, frantically pressing the B2 and B1 buttons at the same time.
He has this little routine, and has since he first met Mia in Miranda's lab. Technically he was just there to pick something up (read: steal from the Bitch Supreme) for a new Soldat idea, but something moving in the normally unoccupied cell was...concerning, to say the least. He'd walked over to it curiously, noting the broken bar at the bottom. Before he could get a word in, the brunette inside raked the sharp end of the broken bar down his face.
Karl seems to have a habit of getting attacked by people he finds attractive, apparently.
Once she realized Karl wasn't there to kill her, his attacker softened a little and told him her name. Karl asked if Mia had eaten anything recently, and when she shook her head no, immediately told her to "hold on" and brought food back from his factory.
Now, they have a routine where once a week, Karl will bring her food, and they just sit and talk. He's learned a lot about her in the past month or so. About the Dulvey incident, for one. About her favorite colors, her favorite foods, her favorite memory of walking on the beach in Galveston with her husband and baby daughter. Mia's sweet, and he's not going to let her starve to death, mold or not.
He has no idea how she'll react to the Ethan/Rose news, though.
-----
Karl is absolutely soaked by the time he reaches Miranda's lab. Going from his factory all the way to the western side of the village is a pain in the ass, to say the least. In a downpour it's about 20 times worse. The snow has turned into icy sludge, and the dirt paths are slippery. He's half considering finding a metal sheet and levitating on it, but that usually goes poorly, and he doesn't want to deal with another sprained ankle, not this close to the ceremony. He might regenerate faster than normal, but not nearly as fast as his sister does.
Miranda's lab is hidden deep underground. Karl is really the only Lord who knows where it is, thanks to being Miranda's golden child.
(Isn't it almost poetic? The golden child, plotting the death of the mother?)
He gently shoves open the metal door, cringing when the hinges squeak. He pauses, waiting for a response, but when none comes, he slips inside.
It's silent in the tiny little lab. Images and x-rays hang from the ceiling, pinned on clotheslines, and pictures are scattered around the room. Once, he'd recognized Mia in one and showed it to her.
"That's Eveline," Mia said, pointing to a little girl with dark hair. "I was her caretaker, and Alan was her bodyguard. She's the one who infected me and the Bakers."
Karl frowned, squinting at the picture in the dim light. It's hard to believe that a 10 year old girl could've caused the deaths of more than twenty people. It's not hard to believe that Miranda created her, though. Miranda's hand was on Eveline's shoulder in the picture, almost protectively. "Goddamn. That's horrible, Mia."
Mia shrugged. "It's what I get for working with a bioterrorist organization."
"That doesn't mean you deserved to be infected with a 10 year old girl's mold," Karl replied, placing a hand on her knee.
Mia snorts. "Why would you phrase it like that?"
"To make you smile, mostly."
He knocks in a five-tone rhythm on the table, and gets five knocks back. They have a system where Karl will knock five times and Mia knocks back, a subtle way of announcing their presence. Mia can be quite skittish sometimes, which is fair honestly. Miranda's a bitch.
Mia's face appears at the rusty cell door, smiling softly. There's bags under her green eyes, like she hasn't slept for days. "Karl. You almost forgot about me?"
"Shut up or you don't get your food," Karl grumbles, but he's smiling in spite of it.
Mia snorts. "Bullshit, you like it when I harass you."
"Only because you're pretty," Karl replies, and Mia just rolls her eyes. She sounds more tired than usual, and it's a little worrisome.
What's Miranda doing to you?
He opens the lock with a flick of his fingers. Mia watches him enter, moving to sit on the tiny little bed. It's so dark in her cell...if he could give her a light without raising Miranda's suspicion, he would. A nice little handmade lamp, maybe. Or a flashlight with nice detailing.
He hands Mia the paper bag of food and the water bottle. "Your food, milady. Three flavor mititei, made by yours truly."
"Milady," She parrots, taking the bag and water. "What is this, 1910?"
"I'll take the food back, don't you test me Winters."
Mia laughs around the sausage already in her mouth. If Karl didn't know Miranda doesn't feed her, he'd think she'd never eaten a day in her life. He sighs, leaning against the cell wall and contemplating how the fuck he's supposed to tell Mia about Ethan.
Instead, he asks the question he always asks. "Has she done anything to you?"
Mia chews thoughtfully. "Nothing with the cadou, if that's what you're asking. She took some blood samples the other day."
"Good, good. If the bitch tries to put the cadou in you, tell me. I'll kill her." He exhales and leans his head against the brick wall.
"You'll kill her anyways," Mia replies in a tone that says I know, I will.
They're both silent for a long moment, the only noise being Mia eating. Karl doesn't like silence, never has. Silence is the sound of Miranda's operating room, the sound of being left alone and pumped full of anesthesia while she picks which sharp little toy to play with. Silence is the sound of death, of pain, of broken hearts and shattered dreams.
Maybe he's waxing on a little too poetically.
In any case, Mia breaks the silence. Her voice is rough, and Karl fights the urge to hug her. "Is...Be honest with me. I heard her. Where is Rose?"
Karl hesitates. Mia narrows her eyes. "Karl Heisenberg, where the fuck is my baby?"
"With Miranda. Unharmed, as of now."
Mia slumps. "I knew it. I heard her cry the last time Miranda was here."
"You recognized her by her crying?" Karl asks incredulously. He's heard of mother's instinct being strong, but not that strong.
"All mother's know their baby's cry," Mia responds plainly, like it's the most common fact in the world. Karl isn't sure how to respond to that. He's never been much of a family guy, honestly. Miranda ruined that.
"Oh. Well, uh, that's not the only new development," He says. Mia stares at him. Here goes nothing. "Your little moldy husband is here too."
Mia either doesn't notice the moldy comment or the shock overbears it. She stands, mouth agape in a little o. Karl can practically see her working things out in her head, and her only words are, "Fucking shit."
He chuckles drily. "Eloquently put. It gets better- Bitch Supreme made him a lord."
"She fucking what?" Mia snaps. "Karl if you're fucking with me I'm going to stab you."
"Your husband already did, with a fucking butter knife!" Karl raises his hands in a placating gesture. The wound hasn't fully healed, but it'll be fine by tonight. "Look, this can be a good thing! I'm keeping an eye on him, and I'll see about getting him to work with me. Either way, he wants to murder Miranda as much as I do."
Mia sighs, sitting back down on the bed and pulling her knees to her chest. Karl sits beside her and opens his arms, a little pleased when she leans in and rests her head on his shoulder. He wraps his arms around her, almost protectively.
"Don't let him get hurt, Karl. I don't want to lose him," She mumbles. Karl closes his eyes and rests his head against hers.
"I won't, Mia. I promise."
-----
Next stop? Ethan's place.
It's all the way across the village, and frankly he's not sure why he's going. His excuse to himself is that he's just going to check in and make sure Ethan's taking care of himself and not having one long mental breakdown. Honestly? He's not optimistic.
He kinda wishes he'd brought more mititei as a show of...hell if he knows. Trust? Kindness? Not being a complete dickhead?
Whatever, it's too late now. Maybe he'll make something at Ethan's with whatever the previous owners left.
He unlocks the handle with a flick of a finger and opens the door with his shoulder. Before he can go "Oh, papa!" like he was planning to, he's slammed into a wall at a concerning speed.
Karl lets out a loud grunt, pain blooming in his back. Motherfucker.
Jesus H. Tap Dancing Christ. Of course Ethan jumped him again. Why didn't he expect this?
Ethan's standing over him with a knife in his hand, poised to strike. Karl half realizes he's shirtless, very scarred chest on full display. "How the fuck are you in my house?"
The knife goes flying and embeds itself into the wall across from them. Ethan gapes at it for a moment before Karl shoves him off, not caring to savor being pinned by a shirtless man today. "Metal powers, dumbass, and I'd like not to get stabbed today."
Ethan narrows those brown eyes. Karl notes him making a beeline for the knife, and embeds it to the hilt in the wall. "Ah-ah-ah! No, we are not doing that shit again."
Ethan huffs and flips him the bird. Karl just raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms.
"Why are you here?" Ethan asks.
Karl watches him tug a cream colored sweater on, half noting the muscle. Ethan doesn't look like it, but he's strong. He has a nice body, for a dad. Kinda makes him insecure about his beer gut. Before he can explore that thought train though, Ethan speaks again. "I talked to a guy earlier today. Called himself the Duke. He said you tend to stay in your factory, so what's so interesting about me?"
Oh great. The Duke has made himself known. Karl only hopes the merchant decided to keep his capitalist nose where it should be.
"I mean, a father on a mission who can somehow heal wounds almost as fast as my bitch of a sister?" Karl sits on the couch and tosses his hat beside him. Ethan scrunches his nose when he pulls out a cigar. "What's not to like?"
Ethan raises an eyebrow, leaning on the kitchen counter behind him. "Gee, thanks. That clarifies things."
Ah, that dry sarcasm. Karl can't tell if it annoys him or if he finds it amusing. "I came here to check on you, by the way. Make sure you're settling in and all that shit."
Ethan makes a weird face at that. Distant, is what Karl supposes he'd call it. "I don't need you to check on me."
"Have you eaten today?"
Ethan's silence is his answer.
Karl smirks. "Exactly."
"Fuck you," Ethan grumbles.
Karl snorts and pushes himself to stand. "You wish you could. Now move, I'm making you breakfast."
Ethan makes an offended noise, and Karl grins at how his face flushes. He hadn't noticed earlier, but Ethan has freckles. That's...cute, actually. Ethan quickly recovers from the shock of Karl's little jab and walks away, probably rolling his eyes. Karl digs through Ethan's cabinets for literally anything to make decent food.
He finds an unopened box of clătite mix, a thing of cinnamon, and some strawberry jam. Alright, that works. Cinnamon strawberry clătite doesn't sound half bad for a rainy ass day like today.
The house is remarkably clean. Ethan must be a neat freak, because he swears even the floors are dusted. He did the dishes as well, and neatly arranged them in one of the cabinets. Karl finds a stovetop griddle, a metal bowl, and a whisk, and gets to work.
He hears the cha-chink of a shotgun cocking behind him. He whips around to see Ethan sitting on the couch inspecting it. "I swear to god, you better just be cleaning that."
Ethan gives him a dry look and gestures at the cloth and bottle of gun oil next to him. Where the hell did he even find the oil? The merchant? "What do you think?"
Karl sticks his tongue out like a child. Okay, maybe he understands where Alcina's jabs come from.
Neither speak. Ethan cleans his gun and Karl makes a decent amount of clătite (that smell fucking fantastic, by the way) and tosses them on a plate. He spreads the jam on them and rolls them up, just like his mama used to, and grabs a fork from the silverware drawer.
He sets them on the coffee table. "Breakfast is served."
Ethan looks up for a moment, surprised. "You can cook?"
"What, am I supposed to starve?"
"Fair enough." Ethan wipes his hands off on the rag and picks up the plate, and then just stares at it. He doesn't even pick up the fork.
"You alright?" Karl asks, gently. Given how Ethan blew up at him last time, he's expecting something of equal magnitude, but instead he just gets sad brown eyes. Ethan looks so tired, and so miserable, and so small.
"Heisenberg...Do you know where Rose is?" He asks. His voice is barely above a whisper. "I don't...even know where to look."
Fuck. Ethan's miserable, and Karl doesn't know why he cares. Maybe it's the stories Mia told him making him soft. Whatever. He's not going to be a douche to a grieving father. He's not Miranda. "She's with Miranda. Safe, for now."
Ethan paws at his face, and Karl realizes his eyes are shiny with tears. Oh hell, what did he do? "As long as she's safe. Sorry I just...I don't know. Thanks for breakfast."
"Don't apologize for that. Now eat up, I made those for you," Karl nods at the plate.
Ethan takes a bite, and Karl swears he sees him smile.
Notes:
heisenberg cooking for people is one of his love languages i think. he doesnt do it often but the greasy man should be able to cook
as per usual, comments and kudos are appreciated! yell at me on tumblr on @resident-nice !
Chapter 6: Bloody Rosé
Summary:
Alcina turns and waltzes out of the room. The daughters follow, Daniela picking up the handkerchief and making it a show of sniffing it, twirling it and taking it with her. Her moan turns into a laugh, and its positively awful.
This was a colossally bad idea. And now he's trapped in a Gothic nightmare of a castle.
Good going, Ethan.
Notes:
tws for this chapter:
-bugs
-blood sucking thing
-cuts, particularly on the wrist
-ethan getting hook stabbedIts Lady D time, but not after some good old Wintersberg arguing! And banter! Woo!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Ethan pushes the last of the clătite around on his plate, anxiety settling in his gut like a rock. Heisenberg is humming something soft as he does the dishes, and Ethan realizes it's the only time he's ever seen him with his sleeves rolled up and his gloves off. Scars scatter his forearms, and it's unsurprising that he's kinda hairy. Not that it's a bad thing, it's just kind of a funny observation.
Actually, wait. The sharp teeth, the weird amount of body hair, the almost yellow eyes…"Heisenberg. Two questions."
Heisenberg pauses his humming, setting a dish down on the towel beside him. "Shoot."
"One, what's your first name? Two, are you a lycan?"
Heisenberg whirls around, eyebrows raised in surprise. Apparently the questions were out of left field, because Heisenberg chuckles awkwardly. "Those are two completely different questions."
"Yeah," Ethan replies, tilting his head. "Are you gonna answer them?"
"Maybe. Maybe not." Heisenberg dries his hands off on his pants and leans back against the counter. "Why's it matter?"
"Because I want to know your first name, and you're kinda hairy."
Heisenberg snorts. "One, fuck you, two, wouldn't you like to know, mold man? Aren't you the one who said we aren't on a first name basis, what? Yesterday?"
Oh yeah, he did say that. Well...fuck. "You know my first name, why can't I know yours?"
"Fair enough. It's Karl."
"Karl? Just Karl?"
Heisenberg shifts how he's standing, crossing his legs at the ankles. He's got that stupid smirk again. "What's wrong with Karl? Karl Heisenberg sounds cooler than Ethan Winters."
Ethan can't help but laugh. "I don't know, man! I was expecting like...a supervillain-y name. It's so...normal."
"Well, glad at least something about me is normal." Heisenberg- Karl, replies, turning back to the dishes. He's already turned on the water when Ethan realizes he didn't answer the other question.
"Hey! Are you a lycan, or not?"
Karl scoffs, furiously rubbing at the griddle with a washcloth, probably hard enough to take the anti stick coating off it. "Again, why's it matter?"
Ethan shrugs, not that Karl can see it. "It doesn't, I'm just curious."
"Well, curiosity killed the cat," Karl grumbles. Clearly Ethan's hit a nerve, and he's very tempted to keep digging, but at the same time he doesn't really want to get pinned via metal again. So he keeps his mouth shut for once, abandoning his now empty plate and moving to clean the LEMI.
Part of him wonders why Karl is so defensive about it. So what if he's a lycan, it's not as weird as Ethan's mold regeneration shit.
Wait. Mold man. "How do you know about the mold?"
Karl doesn't look at him, but he sees his shoulders tense. Gotcha. "A little moldy birdy told me."
"Oh, thanks, that helps," He responds drily, racking the slide of the LEMI. It moves so much smoother and quicker now- Jesus, did the old man never clean it? Isn't that like one of the first things about gun ownership, making sure you clean it periodically?
"You're welcome," Karl shuts off the sink and sits next to Ethan on the couch, tossing his feet onto the coffee table. Somehow he manages to manspread without spreading his legs, and Ethan gives him a dirty look. "Say, what are you even cleaning these for anyways?"
"Just because," He spits out, a little too quickly.
Karl raises an eyebrow, taking off his stupid sunglasses and setting them in his lap. "Ethan Winters, you're going to do something stupid, aren't you."
"Maybe."
Karl places a heavy hand on his shoulder, (somewhat) gently yanking to make Ethan look at him. "What are you planning on doing, Ethan," He says sternly, eyes narrowed.
They're kinda close. Ethan isn't sure how he feels about it.
He shrugs Karl's hand off. Karl rubs at his hand, grimacing, but glares at him before he can change the subject and ask why. "Ethan. Answer the fucking question."
"I'm going to the Castle. Duke said Rose might be there."
Well. Not in those exact words. When Ethan first met the towering man in the carriage, he'd said, "Although, the castle raises suspicion." Ethan had responded with "yeah, so do you," in typical Ethan Winters fashion, before buying several bottles of first aid med and some bullets.
He has to admit, charging into Castle Dimitrescu armed to the teeth and hoping to get an audience with the lady of the Castle isn't the best plan, but it's his only plan. He'd like to do this without violence, but if shit goes sour like it normally does, he's sure as hell going to have a fully loaded shotgun on him.
"What? Are you fucking nuts?" Karl stares at him, eyes wide. "Alcina will eat you alive. Maybe literally!"
"Rose could be there, Karl. It's a risk I'm willing to take," He replies, shoving shells into the barrel of the shotgun with a shck noise. "And I just want to talk to her."
"Alcina doesn't do just talk. Believe me, I know. The queen bitch misandrist doesn't let men in her castle without express notice."
"What am I supposed to do, Karl?" Ethan barks. Karl's arguments are like sandpaper to his ears, voicing his worst fears. "Send her a letter by fucking carrier pigeon? I don't have time to fuck around! I need my baby back!"
"I don't know Ethan, think this through?" Karl snaps with a flash of sharp teeth. He's still rubbing at the palms of his hands. "Do you really think Miranda would let Rose out of her sight?"
"It's the only lead I have, alright? What's wrong with your hand?"
"Don't change the subject, Winters. You're going to get yourself killed." Karl's voice is almost worried, and Ethan despises it. He doesn't want this asshole's pity. They might've had a decent couple conversations, and he might've helped Ethan a little, and he might be kinda hot, but in the end he's still just another prick standing in his way.
"Wouldn't be the first time I do something stupidly dangerous," He mutters, shoving several boxes of handgun ammo into a leather messenger bag he'd bought from the Duke earlier. "You're not going to stop me."
Karl pinches the bridge of his nose. "Could you maybe get your head out of your fatherly ass and listen for once? There's smarter ways to go about this."
"The longer I wait, the longer Rose has to get hurt! I won't lose my fucking family again because some dickhead like you keeps getting in my way!" Ethan shouts. He stands, moving towards the door, only to be yanked back by a hand on his wrist. "Let go of me."
Karl looks positively furious, red climbing up his neck into his cheeks. "You're fucking nuts if you think I'm going to let you kill yourself trying to find this fucking baby. At the very least, wait until I can figure out a smarter plan."
"I. Don't. Have. Time." Ethan growls, yanking his hand out of Karl's grip. "I'm leaving now. Don't get in my way."
"Fine," Karl snarls. "Go kill yourself. Fuck if I care."
"Fine by me!" Ethan shouts back, tugging his new coat on. Donna added deep pockets, and he shoves the LEMI into his right one, the pistol fitting snugly inside. He goes to open the door, and finds that the handle won't budge. It's vibrating just slightly, and that's what tips him off. "Karl Heisenberg, open this fucking door right now before I gut you like a fish."
"Winters. Fucking listen to me. What good is it going to do your little runt if you get yourself killed by being a stubborn fuckhead?"
Fuck. For once, Karl's right.
Ethan presses his forehead to the door, glancing over to Karl out of the corner of his eye. He's standing arms crossed, tapping one gloved finger on his arm. "What do you want me to do? I just...I need my baby back. Please."
"Let me go with you." Karl says. "I want you to get your kid back as much as you do. Two are better than one, right?"
Ethan pauses for a moment. Would it be better to have Karl with him? Just in case things go wrong?
He inhales sharply, exhales slowly. "Fine. Let's do this, then."
Karl grins.
-----
The castle is tall, and terrifying. It looms above them as Ethan buys one more box of handgun ammo from the Duke, ignoring the glares Karl tosses Duke's way. "Thank you, Duke," He says as the box is dropped into his hands.
"Of course, Ethan. Do stay safe?" Duke says. Karl rolls his eyes, and Ethan nearly steps on his foot.
"I'll try." Ethan sticks the ammo in his bag and turns to Karl, taking a steeling breath. God, Rose, I hope you're in there. "Are you ready?"
Karl rolls his shoulders back nonchalantly, hammer slung across his back like it's nothing. Ethan hasn't tried to pick it up, but he's sure it weighs a lot (if it's not just a souped up push mower like he suspects). "Shouldn't I be asking you that, daddy-o?"
"What's with you and the dad nicknames?" Ethan asks, shoving the giant wooden doors open with a shoulder. "You have a daddy kink or something?"
Karl laughs, a genuine laugh not his malicious one, and it's...really nice. Actually. Deep and smooth and...Ethan's face is warm and he really hopes Karl isn't looking at him. Get it together Winters, you're not here to be gay for the asshole who tried to kill you only a day ago.
Luckily, Karl doesn't say anything, making a beeline for a book sitting on a table. They're in a dimly lit room, a painting of three girls in late 1800s clothing taking up most of it. There's a plaque below it, and Ethan runs his fingers over it, reading the inscription aloud. "The three daughters- Bela, Daniela, and Cassandra. Oh, so those are the daughters she mentioned?"
Karl makes an mhm noise, scrawling something in the book with a pen. A guest book, probably. "I'm sure you'll meet them. Lovely girls, much better than their witch of a mother."
"What's your problem with Lady Domi...Dimi- how do you say her name?" Ethan asks, following behind Karl as he goes through the door next to the guest book table. Ethan notes the gunpowder container in a glass cabinet nearby, hoping he remembers it on his way out.
"Al-chi-na Dimi-tresku. She's just a bitch," Karl says, pulling another one of his signature cigars out of his pocket. He leaves the clipped end on the floor. "Sucks up to Miranda like you wouldn't believe. Plus, she gave me the scar on my cheek. Ruined such a handsome face."
"I wouldn't say ruined."
Karl gives him a weird look, opening the next door with his hip. "You're a strange one, Ethan Winters."
"Coming from you, that means nothing," Ethan replies. The door opens up from the cramped hallway to an absolutely giant hall, complete with dark wood trim on the ceiling. On the other end of the room is a door with a plaque, four golden braziers above it. The tile floors are shined to a near mirror brightness. "Holy shit."
"A bit too prissy for my tastes."
"You dress like a hobo, I'm sure it is." Ethan makes a beeline for the door. He tilts his head. "Mask the angel's blinded gaze, only then you will be saved." What the fuck kind of riddle is that? It sounds like something he would've heard at the Baker's house of horrors, for Christ's sakes. A fly crawls across the door, and then another, and then another, and Ethan whips around as someone speaks.
"Looking for Rose?" A woman's voice says, followed by laughter.
"What the-?" Three clouds of buzzing flies gather, and Ethan watches, terrified, as they turn into...three girls? A blond, a redhead, and a brunette, all three wearing dark dresses with lacy hoods and carrying scythes. What the actual fuck? Are these the Dimitrescu daughters?
He's seen a lot of impossible things, but girls made of bugs is not one he wanted to.
Karl, however, seems totally unfazed. "Way to make an entrance, girls."
"Uncle!" The blond shouts, a smile on her bloody lips. Jesus Christ, that's nasty. Ethan grimaces. "We weren't expecting you!"
"Yeah, I would've called but Lord Winters here was being a stick in the mud." Karl gives Ethan a pointed look, and Ethan flips him off. One of the girls scoffs.
"I doubt Mother will be pleased you dropped by unannounced," The brunette crosses her arms. Ethan glances warily at the scythe. "She's in the bedchambers right now."
"Can you take us to her?" Ethan asks.
"There's no need!" A merlot-smooth voice says. The lady of the castle emerges from one of the doorways, bending over to fit before towering over everyone in the room. She's in what appears to be her nightclothes, a lacy white robe tied at her waist. Her makeup is as immaculate as it was when they met, as with her hair, done up in a 1930s-esque hairstyle. "Well, well, Lord Ethan Winters. Heisenberg. To what do I owe the pleasure of you two oafs barging into my home?"
Karl opens his mouth, but Ethan holds up a hand to silence him. "I want to talk about my daughter. Please."
Lady Dimitrescu raises an eyebrow skeptically. "The child? And what makes you think I know anything about her whereabouts?"
Shit. What's he supposed to say to that? An old lady and a merchant told him? "A hunch."
"Hm. Daughters, take him to the bedchambers. I will speak to him there. Without Lord Heisenberg."
"Alcina-"
"Heisenberg. I don't want to hear it from you. I'd like to speak to Lord Winters privately." Lady Dimitrescu narrows her eyes at her brother, and Ethan has the overwhelming feeling there's something he's missed.
It takes a moment of tense glaring, but eventually Karl mutters, "Fine."
"Good." Alcina turns on her heel and walks up the stairs into what looks like a main hall, with a giant chandelier. Holy hell, she really is old blood. Ethan's gotten himself neck deep in something he shouldn't be, once again. This is a very disturbing habit of his.
The blonde daughter beckons with a hand. "Come, Lord Winters."
Ethan gives Karl a desperate look as he's whisked away by the blonde and the redhead, down the hall. Oh fuck. I did not think this through.
------
He's sitting on a very comfy chair next to a fire, but it does nothing to keep his stomach from knotting with nerves. He wants to vomit. Fucking anxiety nausea. This was such a bad idea. He doesn't even have a plan for what to say! What if she just kills him and leaves it at that?
Actually, given her demeanor and Karl's comments, that doesn't seem too unlikely.
The redhead is eyeing him hungrily, biting the tip of her glove. He squirms and looks away.
The door opens with a squeak, and the woman of the hour approaches, carrying a red bottle and a wine glass. He watches her warily as she takes a seat across from him and sets the bottle of rosé on the table. Mia's favorite.
"Fancy a drink, Lord Winters?" Alcina asks, pouring him a glass anyways. "I do hope you tried what I delivered yesterday."
He had, actually, and immediately spit it out. It had tasted overwhelmingly of iron, and he'd decided if he ever wanted to drink himself silly in this hellhole village he'd stick to the vodka he found in the cabinets. "I um, yeah. It was nice."
"Good! It's a family recipe," She replies, passing the glass to Ethan. The glass has an expensive looking pattern on the stem with a flower and two swords, and he once again feels out of his depth. "Now, to business. What exactly makes you think you can barge into my castle unannounced, with my fool of a brother no less, and accuse me of having your child?"
It's subtle, but both girls straighten, passing a look between them. Ethan himself straightens, fear coiling in his stomach. Jesus, she's intimidating. "S-sorry, I just...didn't have the time, and he offered to come."
"Hm. May I offer you some advice, Lord Winters?"
"Sure?"
Alcina leans forward, golden eyes narrow and harsh. "Stay away from Heisenberg. He is nothing but bad news, and whatever he told you is likely a lie."
"Huh?" Ethan blinks, taking a sip of the wine to cover his surprise. He has to fight the urge to scrunch his nose at the iron taste. What the fuck does she put in this stuff?
"Heisenberg is a fool at best, a coward at worst. He will use you up and drop you like a broken plaything." Alcina swirls her wine around, taking a deep sniff of it like a wine taster. "But we aren't here to talk about my insolent brother. Whatever 'hunch' you had that your daughter was in my castle is sorely mistaken."
Ethan's heart sinks into his stomach. God. He'd hoped...prayed...fuck. Of course she's not here. Nothing can go easily for him, can it? Always just another rat in a maze, searching for something unattainable? He wants to cry, but instead sets the wine down and moves to stand. "I'm so sorry, ma'am. I'll just leave, and take Heisenberg with me."
Suddenly, Alcina smiles, and it's such an ominous thing to see on blood red lips. "Oh, don't leave quite yet, Mr. Winters! Say, do you know what the secret ingredient in our wine is?"
Secret ingredient?
One of the daughters moves, and Ethan sees a flash of metal. Oh shit. Nonono. What secret ingredient?
The iron taste. "Finest cups of his slaughtered blood."
Oh fuck.
"Bela, take his hand. Daniela, knife, please?" Alcina's smile only grows. The blonde one, Bela, tugs his leather glove off and tosses it to the floor, exposing the wrist of his left hand. Her grin is downright feral.
"Hey, wait, what are you doing?" Can he not get involved with crazy witches for five seconds please?
The redhead, Daniela, hands the knife to her mother. Ethan clenches his arm, blood racing in his ears as the blade presses to his wrist and slices, hard. He cries out in pain, and it only makes Alcina's smile widen. Fuck, he hates it here.
"I wonder what vintage you'll make," She says, before pressing her lips the wound and sucking. It makes an already painful cut worse, multiplying the sting as she scrapes her tongue against it. The noises she makes are awful, and now Ethan really wants to throw up. She gives his wrist one more good, stinging lap before pursing her lips and throwing his hand down. "Hm. Starting to go a bit stale."
He cradles his cut hand to his chest, hyperventilating. What in the gothic horror Dracula fuck? In all his life, he never thought he'd have his blood sucked by a nine foot tall vampire lady. Today is a day for firsts, apparently.
Bela and Daniela start bickering. "Then let's devour his man-flesh quickly, mother!"
"But what about Lord Heisenberg?" Daniela replies, handing her mother a tissue.
Alcina pats at the corners of her lips, and then tosses the handkerchief to the floor. "Now, now, daughters, first I must inform Mother Miranda. But later, well," She steps closer to him, clasping her hands in front of her. "There will be enough for everyone."
A chill runs down Ethan's spine, and not the pleasant kind. This is bad. This is really, really bad. It's a good thing he planned ahead, because he's pretty sure he's going to have to fight his way out of here.
He can't believe it, but he's really hoping Karl comes bursting through the door right about now.
"String him up!" Alcina says.
Stri-huh? "Hey, wh-wait," He stammers, and then screams, as Bela plunges a hook into his hand. Daniela follows soon after with his other hand, and Ethan thinks he's going to black out as he's hoisted upwards. Both girls titter. "H-hey! Let me down!"
"Oh, careful what you wish for, Ethan Winters," Alcina says with a flick of the hand. "I don't know what Mother sees in you."
His feet dangle in the air uselessly, vision going black around the edges. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. Heisenberg, where the hell are you? "Hey, w-wait, wh-what are you doing?" He wheezes.
Alcina turns and waltzes out of the room. The daughters follow, Daniela picking up the handkerchief and making it a show of sniffing it, twirling it and taking it with her. Her moan turns into a laugh, and its positively awful.
This was a colossally bad idea. And now he's trapped in a Gothic nightmare of a castle.
Good going, Ethan.
Notes:
this is a lot longer than the other chapters, over 1k words longer in fact, so it took me forever. next chapter will take even longer probably. BUT WERE MAKING PLOT PROGRESS NOW BOYS!
i did rewrite this fic and changed some minor details (ethan has top surgery now bc i got some *really* weird questions about that) so that added to this taking forever.
this is what lady ds current outfit is, by the way. this cosplayer is wonderful
as always, kudos and comments are so very much appreciated, and you can always drop by my ask box on tumblr, @resident-nice ! i will also accept fanart, if anyones considering that.
Chapter 7: Ain't A Family
Summary:
It's a gamble he has to take, but not one he wants to. At all. Somehow, he can tell that he's going to be making a lot of poor choices in the next few days.
Notes:
tws for this chapter:
-kinda ish strangling? karl yanks alcinas necklace hard enough to choke her
-ments of wrist cuts. the one alcina did last chapter
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Karl paces when he's stressed.
The soles of his boots (and socks) are all worn in the heels from the repetitive circles. Pair that with his lip biting habit, and you've got some certified, grade A anxious habits. And right now, he is doing both.
Cassandra watches him pace outside the bedchamber hall door, Karl gnawing on his lip with a canine tooth. He tastes iron. It's been several minutes since Alcina went in with a bottle of wine in her hands, Ethan should be out here by now. What the fuck is taking them so long? Is she getting him fucking drunk? "Cassandra."
"Yes, Uncle?" Cassandra looks up from her perch on the main hall steps.
"Why was Mother Miranda here?"
Cassandra blinks. "I have no idea. She wanted to talk to Mother, I think?"
"Of fucking course," Karl grumbles, taking his hat off to rake a hand through his grey-streaked hair. He knew the minute he saw Miranda's name in the guest book (dated yesterday) that something was fishy. His hypothesis is turning out to be correct, and he's this close to breaking into Alcina's little meeting room and pulling Ethan's dumb ass out of here by the earlobe.
Ethan's a fucking moron. Karl's just as dumb. Karl's really, really hoping he didn't walk him straight into a trap.
"Is something wrong?" Cassandra asks, leaning forward and crossing her arms over her knees. "You seem awfully protective of an outsider that showed up only two days ago."
"And you seem awfully nosy for being my favorite niece."
Cassandra laughs. "Don't let Bela and Daniela hear you say that!"
Karl just makes a hm noise in response. What the hell is Alcina doing in there? Having a leisurely chat? "Are you positive you don't know what Miranda was here for?"
Cassandra shakes her head. "Nope. I think it was something about the ceremony? Or maybe Lord Winters? We weren't allowed in the library while she was here."
"So nothing? Fuck." Karl steps over a slight indentation in the floor and nearly trips.
That's when it clicks.
How did he miss it?
Castle Dimitrescu has always been a maze of medieval puzzles, many of which involve reading ridiculous riddles and sticking a thing into another thing. Normally, Alcina leaves them solved for ease (and to make it quicker to find the poor maids she wants to torture). But the four creepy ass angel statues that are usually in this hall are not present, and the braziers aren't lit either.
"Uncle? What are you doing?" His niece stands, watching as Karl makes a mad dash for the bronze door. He slams into it with his shoulder and grunts. "Uncle?"
It doesn't budge.
"Fuck!" He shouts, slamming his hand on the door. Mask the angel's blinded gaze, only then you will be saved.
It's a test. Its a fucking test.
He should've known Miranda would convince Alcina to use her castle as an experiment. If Ethan had come alone, he'd be stuck, only to have to figure out the maze of the castle himself. If he survived, he's strong enough to be part of the bullshit family cult- if he dies, well, free pest control. Karl isn't sure which fate is worse; Cadou, or death? The million dollar question.
Miranda's plotting something, and now Karl's gotten involved and messed it all up.
Actually, that's a good thing. He's always happy to ruin Miranda's fucked-up plans.
"Cassandra. Take me to your mother right fucking now."
"No need, brother of mine," comes the exact voice Karl both wanted and loathed to hear.
Karl turns on his heel, glowering at the Mega Bitch. Alcina stands just outside the hall door, hands on her hips and smiling instead of her typical scowl. It's extremely disconcerting- Alcina only smiles if she's being sadistic.
Not that Karl's much better with the sadism, but at least his toys are dead.
Daniela and Bela follow their mother in, the two sisters also grinning. Ethan is conspicuously absent.
"Alcina. Where is Ethan?" He demands.
She doesn't answer, waving a gloved hand. "Cassandra, escort Lord Heisenberg out of my castle."
He gives Cassandra a warning look, and she flinches. Karl follows his sister into the main hall, both of their heels clicking on the wooden stairs. "What did Miranda put you up to this time, oh dear sister?"
Alcina glances down at him with vibrant yellow eyes. Unless it's a trick of the chandelier light, there's a dark smear of red at the corner of her lips. Didn't Miranda teach her to eat neatly? "What makes you think Mother put me up to anything?"
"I'm not a child, Alcina."
"Could've fooled me."
"Ha, ha. The statues? I'm guessing you hid all the door keys, too. Trying to find new ways to outdo Moreau at grovelling?"
Alcina whirls around, robe flaring as she does. Karl nearly gets a faceful of lace. "What do you care? Have you gotten attached? Might I remind you what happened to the last ones?" She points at the small coin necklace around his neck.
Andrei looks at him shyly as Maricela smiles encouragingly. "I made you something. It's just a Lei coin on a chain but...it's the one you gave me when we met."
"It was my idea," Maricela says, sapphire eyes warm in the setting sunlight. They're in the fields outside his factory, and Maricela's straw colored hair almost blends with the grass.
Karl smiles and runs a thumb over the Lei, heart bursting with more love than he thought was possible. The coin sparkles in the setting sun. "God, I could kiss you both right now."
Andrei quirks an eyebrow, smiling that beautiful mischievous smile. "What's stopping you?"
A flare of rage makes his chest and face hot. How fucking dare she? "Oh, throwing the dead's name around now, are we? I thought you royals had better manners."
"And I thought you had learned your lesson already. Clearly, I was mistaken."
Karl clenches his fists. A nearby fork on a table rattles. "I'm not going to ask again. Where is Ethan?"
"Lord Winters is...preoccupied," Alcina responds tartly.
The hot ball of rage in Karl's chest is only getting hotter. This always happens, doesn't it? The two of them at each other's throats?
"Listen. I don't give a fuck about whatever demented fantasies you're playing out in this gaudy shithole. Grovel all you want, Miranda doesn't give a rat's ass about you."
Alcina curls her lip, clenching her fists. He's hit a nerve! Good!
"What'd she promise this time? Approval? More girls to make your fucked up little experiments? Oh wait, she killed everyone. Oopsie."
"You'd best not speak about Mother Miranda that way!" She barks. A door opens somewhere behind them, but Karl's vision is too red for him to care. "Daughters! Escort this filthy rat out of my castle!"
Alcina goes to walk away, but stops short as the golden pendant of her necklace yanks backwards, nearly choking her. She gags, glaring at him like he just kicked her puppy. Karl's sure his expression is one of feral rage, of shit eating grins and narrowed lycan-like eyes. Just for emphasis, he tugs her down further.
"Or what? You'll slice me to ribbons or whatever the fuck bullshit threat you wanna use today?" He growls.
"Let go of me, you insolent brat! You're lucky Miranda still sees a use for you, you pathetic excuse for a Lord!"
"I think you and I both know that Miranda's going to ditch us the minute she gets her hands on her baby." He pauses, tipping his glasses down his nose with a finger. "So put on your big girl panties and stop sucking up to the bitch who could give less of a shit about us!"
With that, he releases her necklace. Alcina rubs at her throat, and Karl just grins.
Alcina fucking snarls like a cat. She kind of looks like one right now, a lioness bathed in gold and lace, hackles raised and teeth bared. There's blood on her teeth too. "Karl Heisenberg, you'd best shut your mouth and exit my castle before I slice those useless vocal cords out of your throat. You are not to let your feelings get in the way of the ceremony, lest you wish to regret it!"
Karl rolls his shoulders back, staring back at her. As much as eye contact pains him, he makes as much as possible, if for nothing more than to piss her off more. "Or what? No matter how hard you and Miranda try, this ain't a fucking family."
Alcina harrumphs and continues up the stairs, off to her wine room.
"Damn, and I thought we were just getting somewhere!" He shouts after her.
"Silence, vermin! I have had enough of you!" She barks back, slamming the wine room door behind her.
Karl watches the door for a moment, letting the overflowing pot of anger in his torso simmer to a boil. He gently touches the coin necklace. Andrei had always said he had a temper, but loved him despite it. Maricela had matched his temper with her own. How dare you use their names as a weapon, when you were the one who got them killed.
He takes a deep breath before turning and being met with three pairs of wide golden eyes.
Daniela whistles. She speaks quietly. "Holy shit. She's going to be angry about that for ages."
"Good," Karl smirks, craning his neck to see into the Hall of Four. The four statues rose from the floor at some point during their screaming match, and he can see someone peeking out from behind a tucked away door. Ethan? "Excuse me girls."
"Mother wants you out of the castle!" Bela chirps. Karl waves her off and makes a beeline for the door.
"I guess you three will just have to keep me a secret, then?" He says with a wink. He doesn't hear the response before he's jerked into the room by his sleeve.
Ethan's wide brown eyes look positively petrified. He's clutching Karl's biceps like a lifeline and it kind of hurts. "K-Karl. We need to get out of here. Rose isn't here, Lady Dimitrescu, she-"
Ethan takes a shaking breath that's more like a gasp, running shaking hands through blond hair. "Rose isn't here, this was a waste, ow-" He stammers.
Ow? "Ethan. Breathe for me, okay? I can't understand what you're saying."
Ethan just nods and crumbles to the floor, head between his knees. Karl goes down with him and places a hand on his back. Ethan flinches.
"Sorry." Karl leans forwards on his knees, waiting a moment for Ethan's breathing to even out. Is this the right thing to do? He's never had to comfort someone else. Never been comforted either. Do you just sit and wait it out, or?
Ethan whimpers. Fucking whimpers. Even when Karl stabbed him, Ethan didn't whimper.
What the hell did Alcina tell him that has him like this?
After what feels like an eternity, Ethan speaks. "Your sister's a bitch."
"No shit, Ethan," Karl sighs. There's no real bite to his words. Ethan combs his hands through his hair again and- wait? Is that-?
"What did she do?" Karl snaps, grabbing Ethan's hands in his. Ethan's nice leather gloves are gone, replaced by two jagged lines in his hands. They've already healed to dirty-looking scabs, but Karl can guess what happened just by the cuts. Alcina's always had a strange love of hooks. Before he can muse on that, he spots a cut on Ethan's left wrist, and shoves his sleeve up.
There's a neat line across his wrist. Alcina picked a good spot, right above the delicate veins of the wrist bone, the spot most people would bleed out from. "She fucking tasted you?"
Ethan nods. "It was horrible."
He's going to fucking murder Alcina, and then Miranda, and then dance on their fucking graves.
Mia's going to kill him.
He digs in his pockets and pulls out a wadded up bandage. Ethan hands him a bottle of antiseptic from his little man-purse, Karl dumping it over the bandage before gesturing for Ethan to give him his hands once more. Ethan keeps giving him weird looks as he dabs the antiseptic on the wounds, and Karl does his best to ignore the way his stomach flips.
"Might I remind you what happened to the last ones?"
Fucking bitch.
He watches, silent, as Ethan's skin weaves itself back together, leaving nothing but fresh baby-smooth skin. God, he'd love to get this man in his factory, record some observations. Nothing invasive, though. He has some ethics.
"What happened out there?" Ethan asks. His voice is a low murmur. "I heard you two yelling."
"It doesn't matter," Karl spits, maybe a little too defensively. "What matters is us getting out of here. Those angels are the key."
"Mask the angel's blinded gaze, only then you will be saved," Ethan furrows his eyebrows in his classic thinking face. "The masks must be spread around the castle."
Karl nods. "Bingo. You're smarter than you look, Winters. I can remember where a few are. Ones in the library, and one's on the roof, on these godawful statues."
"I read some of the inscriptions. The angel of pleasure best appreciates art kept behind a gilded door."
"Alcina loves her riddles. It's probably behind one of her fucking decorated doors. Absolutely useless and a waste of fine metal."
Ethan raises an eyebrow, rubbing at his newly healed palms with curious eyes. "It's an old castle, Karl. It's going to be fancy."
"Still a waste." He grumbles, and Ethan snorts. "Anyways, I think the last mask is probably in the dungeons."
"Hm. Wanna split up?"
Karl stares at Ethan like he's grown a second head. "Are you out of your mind? Alcina's got a lot worse up her ginormous sleeves than this."
"Karl, I handled myself fine on my own in the Baker's escape room house from hell. This isn't my first rodeo. Besides, we'll cover more ground if we split up." Ethan digs in his pockets and pulls the brown gloves back out. Karl watches him put them on, eyeing him skeptically.
He's right, and Karl knows he is. But something about leaving Ethan alone just...doesn't sit right. He made a promise to Mia, and he'll do his damndest to keep it. "Ethan…"
Fuck. There's no real other way than to split up. If they split up, Alcina will have two people to go for instead of one. Maybe he can draw her away from him? It's a gamble he has to take, but not one he wants to. At all. Somehow, he can tell that he's going to be making a lot of poor choices in the next few days.
"Alright. Fine. But!" He starts, before Ethan can interrupt. "We meet here. Check in once you've got the masks, if either of us take over a half hour to return go search for them. Deal?"
Ethan doesn't hesitate, holding out a hand like a fucking buisnessman. "Deal."
Their hands clap together as Karl takes Ethan's. Ethan smiles, a tense but hopeful one, and the expression almost pains him.
The Winters family is going to be the death of him, he just knows it.
Notes:
THIS CHAPTER WAS A BITCH. AUGHHH
we have *hopefully* one more chapter left of castle dimitrescu. i might slow down on writing because i can feel the impending burnout, so please be patient with me.you guys know the drill! i really appreciate the comments and kudos, they give me motivation to write this fic. as always, come yell at me on tumblr at @resident-nice ! im also making a re8 discord so if that interests you ill be posting that on my tumblr when its done
Chapter 8: Mask Chase Part One
Summary:
"Please!" He raises his hands above his head as best he can. "I'll leave you and your sisters alone. I only came here to find my baby."
Bela leans back, and it occurs to him that this is the second time he's been pinned to the floor by homicidal people who tried to kill him in the past week. Yet another disturbing new trend.
Notes:
tws for this chapter:
-ments of torture and torture devices. none actually happens.
-lots of blood ments. its castle dimitrescu you know how it is.
-fighting
-insects
-bites
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Karl is the first to open the door and leave the room. Ethan, however, stays behind for a moment, still sitting on the floor. He knows he needs to move, to hurry up and get out of this place, but he just can't. Fuck. He's so tired of ridiculous riddles, of searching for items to stick into other items. Why the hell does every deranged bioweapon have an escape room for a house? What logical sense does any of that make?
He groans and rubs a hand over his face. It had to be vampires, of all things. He'd very much so like one day of weird horror movie creatures not intervening with his life, thank you.
A scream rings from somewhere in the castle. Ethan's heart jumps into his throat, hand flying for his LEMI. That's...not encouraging.
For a moment, he's scared it was Karl's scream, but it sounded too feminine to be. And besides, Karl's not his friend, no matter how hard he sucks up to Ethan. The metal bending asshole can handle himself (he hopes. Fuck, he really hopes so).
He takes the scream as a signal break time's over and tentatively opens the safe room door, anticipating the sound of heavy footsteps or insect wings.
Nothing.
He breathes a sigh of relief. Step One complete. Step Two, figure out where the hell that dungeon is. Step Three, not die.
Every step he takes echoes through the hall. It's nerve wracking and he hates it, doing his best to rush through and somehow not be noisy at the same time. The large door at the end of the main hall is locked, so there goes his first lead. Second lead, somehow there's a way to the dungeon up the stairs in this apparent maze of a castle. The silence is...unnerving. Silence at the Bakers meant Jack was lying in wait somewhere like a cat waiting for the mouse, and he has the feeling he's the cowardly mouse again.
He purposely avoids the wine room for now, instead heading straight to the right. The first door he sees is highly unpleasant, adorned with a woman with wide eyes holding two screaming babies. What Ethan hopes is red paint but is probably blood drips down her cheeks like tears. One of the eyes contains a familiar looking red jewel, the other socket empty.
Oh hell, one of those insert-the-object puzzles? For a giant blood-sucking woman, Lady Dimitrescu is lacking in the creative puzzle department.
Where have I seen- oh. The ring from the chimney hall!
Ethan digs in his pockets and pulls out a small, marble sized gem, the same color as the woman's eye. He shoves it in the other eye, and the door clicks open to a tiny, cramped corridor.
He's barely five steps into the hall when the first fly appears, and then within seconds a whole swarm is charging at his face.
Ethan nearly shrieks, windmilling and flailing to get the things off. At the same time, he makes a mad dash out of the hall. The bugs dissipate the minute he steps into the balcony-type hall. He watches as they coalesce into one cloud in a disgusting display of coordination.
One of the daughter's voices comes from the cloud, giggling. "I haven't cut open a man in a while!"
Oh fuck no. Of course this wasn't going to be that easy.
Ethan doesn't respond, heart pounding as he slams into the crying woman's door and into the small hallway. Probably not the best choice considering how cramped it is, but Ethan's never been good at making smart choices while running for his life. I.e. the bitten fingers.
The daughter- Bela? keeps talking. "Let me string you up, slice your jugular, and just watch. Taken alive, dead, which would you prefer?"
The door decorated with a flower and swords doesn't open when Ethan jiggles the handle, and he can hear the flies getting closer. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots another door, and sprints for it. This one thankfully opens.
To another dead end.
"Fuck!" He shouts, backing against the far wall as the fly cloud enters the room. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. He can practically hear Jack's taunting voice. "No way out, boy!"
"You will look wonderful mounted in our hall!" Bela says with a laugh.
Ethan can't breathe, taking painfully quick breaths. Come on, there's bound to be a way out- there! He almost sobs when he sees the boarded up hole in the wall. Hiding in tight areas is a disturbing new trend in his life apparently. He kicks the boards down just as the flies approach, and clambers inside.
The only way out now he can see is a hole in the floor, boarded up. No way but down.
He takes a deep breath, counting down. Three...two...one, fuck it!
He jumps.
Ethan screams on the way down, and lands flat on his ass on the stone floor. Aaaand add a broken tailbone to the list of injuries, fucking fantastic. At least the bug girl seems to have stopped chasing him. He'll take it.
He doesn't bother to explore the room he's in, aside from pocketing a pile of notes from a maid to read later. He can't let himself get distracted or he'll forget what he's supposed to be looking for, and end up in this hellhole a lot longer than he wants to be.
Ethan makes his way through a short, candlelit corridor, before coming to another crawl space hole. Great, more crawling on his stomach, anything else the universe would like to shit on him with?
Apparently the universe is listening, because halfway through the crawl space, he hears classical music and loud footsteps. He sees her white dress a moment later. Ethan's breathing freezes in his chest as Lady Dimitrescu inspects a bottle of wine. Fuckity fuck fuck shit.
By some miracle, she doesn't see him. Lady Dimitrescu turns and exits through a red door. She must've changed at some point between their first encounter, because she's wearing that white dress and giant hat she had at the family meeting.
The door clicks locked behind her. He holds his breath until she's gone, and lets it all out in one long exhale. "That was too fucking close," He mutters.
He doesn't linger long in case she decides she wants a different wine, grabbing a box of handgun ammo off a shelf and making a beeline for another stone corridor. He definitely ignores the hand sticking out of a barrel and definitely doesn't cringe when he sees the painted nails on said hand.
The stone corridor takes him to a giant circular room, walls covered in a carving of a magnificent battle. There's a lit brazier in the middle, two unlit ones on the side of the room. "Another fucking puzzle?"
Occam's razor, the obvious answer is the most logical one. Ethan inspects the walls, looking for a lever or switch or even a divot to stick something in. Instead, he finds the words "trust in light" scrawled on the wall in what he really hopes isn't someone's blood.
The fuck is that supposed to mean? Trust in light?
He watches his shadow flicker on the wall for a moment, attempting to parse out whatever the fuck "trust in light" means.
Holy shit. The brazier!
It's hot to the touch as he shoves the hanging one as high as possible and lets it swing. Gravity takes control, the brazier lighting the two stationary ones in one swoop. Ethan hears a click and then a groan, as the walls slide around him, exposing a doorway. Who the hell do these people hire for their architects? And why?
Whatever, he's not here to ponder shitty baroque architectural choices. The next hall is dark and reeks of mildew, and Ethan has to squint to see as his eyes adjust.
Its a fucking dungeon that reeks of death and rot and mildew. Ethan gags at the stench, reloading his pistol just in case. This place feels too much like the Baker's basement, to the extent that he's half expecting a Molded to jump out from behind a corner. The silence is deafening and puts him on alert.
He pointedly ignores the torture devices lying around the dungeon, and the way it makes his skin crawl. Weird surgical things he can handle, torture however, he cannot. He can't say he's surprised by them being here, but its still not a pleasant sight, and he has a feeling he's going to have nightmares about them. The death stench only gets worse the further into the dungeon he goes, and the close to the daylight he gets.
He's breaking one of those supply crates when he hears the high pitched sound of metal dragging on stone, the low groaning.
He turns around just as the thing makes itself known in the darkness. Correction, things. There's multiple. They're nothing but pale skin and bone, faces hidden by fabric scraps. Their weapons drag along the ground as they shamble towards him.
Ethan's heart jumps into his throat as he fires the first shot. It hits the first one in the head and it screeches. Instead of going down, it charges with a scythe raised.
"Shit!" Ethan shrieks, ducking and running. He nearly trips on the table covered with barrels beside him. Barrels. Barrels! He can keep the things at a distance with these!
He takes two down rather quickly with a few well aimed headshots. Two of three.
He doesn't notice it until he feels the hand on his shoulder, and then the teeth.
Ethan whirls around, the fucking thing's jaws throughly locked. He can feel the hot blood seeping into his nice sweater and coat, and screams as the thing bites down harder. For a moment he has no clue what to do, but as it always does, instinct takes over.
He slams the thing into the nearby wall and it detaches from his shoulder with an ear splitting screech. The screech is followed by a gunshot, and it falls to the ground, crystallizing.
"What the actual fuck," He mutters, leaning on the table. The shoulder bite hurts like a bitch now, aching and burning at the same time. He hisses through his teeth. It's probably not bad enough to warrant a first aid med, and it'll heal eventually. Is infection still a problem when you're infected by a mold bioweapon?
Fucking vampires. Of all things.
He hates this. He wants to go home, even if his home now is a stolen one. This was such a bad idea, and he hates to admit it, but Karl was right. He was fucking right.
No point in dwelling on things you can't fix, and he has a kid to find, so he keeps moving. There's more of those things in an area with a roof exposed to the natural light. He skirts around them and takes one down with a shotgun, ignoring the other two in favor of taking the stairs into yet another dungeon! This time with candlelight! Goody!
He groans. Onwards and upwards, to what will probably be his death. He's starting to wish for it.
There's a door marked with a strange golden insignia. He pushes it, only for it to be locked. Okay, come back to later. Fuck you too.
He stops to break a box in a nearby cell. As he grabs the handgun ammo inside, he swats a fly off, and her voice follows. "I can't believe Cassandra caused all this mess."
"Oh shit!"
Bela snorts, now fully formed behind him. She's holding one of those scythes, sharpened to a point that glimmers in the light. "My, you are as vulgar as Mother says! I hope your blood is sweeter than your language!"
He runs, blindly, waving off bugs that bite and swarm into his vision. This is painfully similar to Margeurite's mosquitos. Just run and wave, Ethan, ignore the bloodsucking bugs! Good luck with the newfound entomophobia!
Bela laughs behind him. "God, you're so annoying. Which tools would you prefer? I hear the spiked chairs are the most painful."
A cool breeze hits him at the top of the stairs he didn't even know he was climbing. A doorway is boarded off, and he can see an actual non-torture room behind it. With windows. And not torture devices and blood! He could cry.
He yanks the boards off frantically, silently thanking Donna for the leather gloves. The boards are on tight and in his panicked state its double the effort. He manages to get one board off and starts on the next one before-
"Where are you going, little one?"
Nonono. No. Fuck no. Every adjective for Nope.
Bela grabs his bitten shoulder and turns him around, grinning wickedly. She giggles and Ethan's blood runs cold. Suddenly, he goes flying, shoved straight to the floor through the boards. His pistol skitters across the floor, shotgun pinned under his back as Bela tackles him and licks her lips. A sharp stab of pain flares through his shoulder making him grunt.
"Say, shall I take a bite now? It appears the Moroaica already got to you!"
He's defenseless. He can't shoot her, even if he wanted to.
An idea blooms. He really hopes she's open to a bargain.
"W-wait! Please! I just want my daughter back!" He manages to choke out. "I don't want to hurt you. I want out of here, please just leave me alone."
Bela tilts her head. "Are you begging for your life? How pathetic."
"Please!" He raises his hands above his head as best he can. "I'll leave you and your sisters alone. I only came here to find my baby."
Bela leans back, and it occurs to him that this is the second time he's been pinned to the floor by homicidal people who tried to kill him in the past week. Yet another disturbing new trend.
She raises an eyebrow. "You expect me to trust you on that?"
"I haven't hurt any of you since I've been here."
"You haven't had an opportunity to, unless you've stumbled upon my sisters before me." Bela points out.
Yeah, okay, fair. But he didn't really have the intention of hurting them in the first place. He likes to think he's fairly nonconfrontational and all the recent fighting he's done has been self defense. "Look, I'm a father. I get wanting to protect your child and I'm not going to willingly hurt another parent's kids. Plus, your mother is one scary bitch."
Bela laughs at that. Ethan squirms.
Her yellow eyes narrow for a moment, before she stands and moves besides a bookshelf, scythe in hand. Ethan gasps and rolls over, pushing himself to standing as well. His shoulder burns. "Fine. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. Just don't hurt my sisters, or I will turn your man-flesh into filet mignon. I'm only doing this because Uncle Karl likes you."
"I...Don't doubt that. Wait, what's that last bit?"
Bela flashes one of those awful grins and ignores his question. "Good."
"Um...can I ask you a question?" Ethan does his best not to glance at his pistol on the ground, lest she take it as a sign of hostility. He does whiteknuckle the strap of his shotgun though. He would rather not see her come through on her filet mignon threat.
Bela nods. "About what?"
Here goes nothing. "Do you know where the sorrow mask is?"
Notes:
IM SO SORRY THIS CHAPTER IS SO LATE ive been consumed by another au and procrastinating. but its here now! im so sorry castle dimitrescu is taking so long, at this rate theyll have more screen time than lady d did all game.
yall know the routine. kudos and comments give me fuel, and you can reach me on my tumblr, @resident-nice !