Hello, beautiful people. This little story here is partly my headcanon, partly character study of my own. If you enjoy reading this first chapter, please review, follow, or fav the story so I know others are interested. Thanks!

Booker DeWitt jerked his head off his desk, his eyes trying to adjust to the darkness of the room. He let out a soft groan, moving his stiff neck to loosen the muscles. He had to stop falling asleep at his desk like this. Reaching for the bottle next to his head, he peered inside, hoping to see some contents swill around. Instead, he had an empty bottle. "Great." He set it back down, leaning back in his chair. His fingers ran over his face to calm him, stopping at his mouth in contemplation.

Even after nineteen years and a change of scenery in his daily dealings, the nightmares still plagued him. Distorted and disjointed, he couldn't make out much of what was happening or understand why certain things occurred in those dreams, but he did know one thing. Whatever he was dreaming felt far more real than any dream he had ever had before. He could feel the movement of the buildings as they floated in the sky, see the detail of the banners advertising the newest wares at a souvenir shop. Those parts in his dreams were pleasant enough, but it was usually what came after that turned them into a hellish experience. The familiar feel of a strange-looking weapon in his hands as he twisted a man's neck completely around or the way he took out a group of policemen with a bolt of lightning launching from his fingertips. It alarmed him since he couldn't figure out why he was dreaming such things in the first place. He had no control over what he did in the dreams; the events occurred the same way every time. Booker believed he had put most of his old ways behind him permanently; call it intuition, but he realized that his lifestyle back when he was nineteen was no place for a young girl. And so, he had adapted. He still struggled from time to time but he genuinely was trying his best to raise his daughter in the best way he knew how. It was for that very reason that the dreams wore Booker out, filling his gut with guilt.

No, not dreams he thought bitterly, standing up and crossing the room to the fridge, pulling it open to grab another bottle of sorrow. He popped the lid and let the cool liquid slide down his throat to comfort him. Somewhere deep down inside himself, he realized that the dreams weren't just dreams. They were too real, too personal, and too raw for his mind to have created them out of nothing. It was like looking at a past he had experienced before but hadn't actually been a part of. His mind told him the dreams were just that but his heart persisted in its course to reveal some hidden truth. He sighed, gripping the bottle tighter, leaning on the fridge for support. Booker was glad his daughter wasn't a light sleeper nor a rule breaker; he didn't need her seeing him at his weakest moments, turning to a bottle to erase the nightmares. Despite all he gave to improve himself, he still couldn't be the father his daughter deserved.

"I see nothing has changed. He still rather enjoys his self-destructive tendencies."

"Although his sense of taste has gotten quite better."

"Only if you believe a few sparse pieces of furniture brighten a dank room, brother."

Startled, the bottle nearly slipped through his fingers. He knew those voices, had heard them a few times in his nightmarish dreams, always remarking on his circumstance or cryptically babbling about something related to science. He never expected those voices to leave his dreams, though. Turning around, he was met with the undeniable proof that the twins were standing by the front door, the woman poised and prim and the man with his hands hidden politely behind his back. "You…" He kept his voice low enough not to disturb his resting daughter down the hallway. She didn't need to be involved with whatever was happening to him at the moment. But, how had the pair slipped inside? He hadn't heard the door open, let alone heard them unlock it.

The female was the first to react to his simple statement, hands clasped in front of her stomach in her usual pose, a look of slight astonishment decorating her features. "It appears that he remembers us."

The male did not move even as he responded. "Although the possibility was quite low, I hadn't considered he'd recognize who we are."

"Or were," his twin supplied.

"Of course I know who the hell you are," Booker grated out in a tone barely below normal speaking range, pushing himself away from the appliance to face the pair, bottle still in hand. "I've seen you in my dreams before."

"Dreams-"

"- or reality?"

"You'll find perception is easily changed."

He could see the backside of a young girl in a white top and blue skirt running ahead of him, a spring in her step and tied-back hair bobbing lightly. They were at the beach, people standing around and chatting with each other or lying on the sand to relax. The girl stopped as she approached a male and a female both dressed in similar colors and fashion on the boardwalk. Both were holding a decorative pillow with a beautiful box resting on top of it. A cameo was inside each. A flicker of unease and annoyance rose up in him.

"Bird?"

"Or the cage?"

"Or perhaps the bird?"

"Nothing beats the cage."

"These two again," he murmured derisively to himself. "How do-"

CRASH!

The bottle rested at his feet, splintered into a handful of sharp edges of glass. He took a step back unconsciously, his eyes staring down at the mess in confusion. "W-what was that? Who was…?" His voice rose to barely a whisper. He had seen that girl a handful of times, had seen this scene play out a few times. She, always full of mirth and always stopping to pick a cameo.

"I can't imagine what it is he saw," the female responded, her face perfectly set into an expression of mild curiosity.

"Although from his reaction, I can suspect that it was fairly uncomfortable for him," her twin amended.

"He is bleeding."

"From an overlap of memories present?"

"Hm."

Booker reached up to his nose, feeling liquid running from it. Bringing his fingers away, he glanced down. A dark substance stared back up at him. "I don't…"

"You do remember, whether those memories are locked up or not." At this, the female Lutece took a step forward. "I don't mean to be so forward with you, but the reason we came to you is not one of visitation."

"I-I don't understand." Booker stumbled over to his desk and chair, sitting down in the latter, his thoughts racing. The woman was implying something he had figured out a bit for himself but which still came to a surprise. "You're…"

"Lutece will suffice," the female replied.

"The reason we have come is that we have a favor to ask of you."

"You have come to ask him a favor, brother."

The male Lutece grimaced but did not let his sister's words linger in the air. "Mr. DeWitt, the circle is yet unbroken. The debt you paid has been returned."

"Debt? What debt? I paid off all my debts. It was hell doing so but I did it. I made a better life for my daughter." Booker was on his feet again, anger sprawling across his face. It took most of his energy to keep himself from shouting the words. "You can't just come into my house and demand more payment." He motioned toward the door behind them. "Leave and don't ever come back."

"Oh dear. You've upset him now, brother. I doubt he will listen to more." The female's expression did not change.

"Please, Mr. DeWitt." The man stepped forward, holding his hands up in the sign of surrender. "The debt I speak of is not of monetary value. We have need of your assistance."

"My assistance?" Booker scoffed, gesturing to his room. "Look, pal, I don't know what you're after, but it sure as hell ain't here."

The male Lutece sighed, shaking his head minutely. "It seems being straightforward in talking with you was not the correct choice. I was hoping we need not choose the other option."

"He was always a thick-headed one."

"Hey, if you're going to insult m-" He paused. In just a blink of an eye, an image had come into view, blocking off a part of the wall. It was hazy and monochrome like an old-time film that had seen better days. "What the-" Booker walked the length of his desk, unable to tear his eyes away. "What the hell is that?"

The woman turned, her sharp eyes locking onto his own. "It is a tear, Mr. DeWitt. A tear you will look into to see for yourself why my brother requires your aid, although I can't imagine why he feels so strongly about it."

"And why would I do that? This is ridiculous." He couldn't explain away the phenomenon happening in his office, but he sure as hell wasn't going to walk up to a… tear thing he hadn't ever seen before. Something in his gut told him that while it seemed impossible, there was a perfectly rational explanation just waiting to be uncovered. That didn't mean he'd blindly follow whatever the pair before him had planned.

"You will see for yourself the truths you want answered," the male Lutece piped up. "After all, if the mind can manufacture memories, why can it not also suppress them?"

"A valid point, brother, even though it is a highly simplified explanation."

"Listen." Booker shook his head, stifling the urge to push the pair out the door without hesitation. "I don't quite understand what it is you are looking me to do, but there ain't a chance I'm going to just… step closer to that… tear. I don't even know wha-"

He could see a young woman standing in front of a window, reaching over to pick up a rose. The edges of the window shimmered as though fluid and alive, and for a moment, he was sure they were standing in an elevator and not a room. The young woman half-turned toward him, her face not fully in view. "It's like a-a… window. A window to another world. Most of the time they're dull as dishwater: a different-colored towel or tea instead of coffee. But sometimes? Sometimes I see something amazing. And I pull it through." She plucked the rose from its spot, her head turning to—

Booker tried to regain his balance, his vision attempting to correct itself. Again, another scene. Were these memories he couldn't remember but were still present somewhere in his mind? That's what the two familiar strangers were suggesting, as crazy as it sounded. He looked toward the tear, weighing his options. These nightmares, they had to be related to these visions he was suddenly getting. That girl, he knew her; he swore he knew her, the way her hair rested against her back, the warm dulcet tones in her voice…

"Mr. DeWitt, time is of the essence."

Hissing through his teeth, he rubbed a hand down his face once again. "If I look through this… this tear, will I finally understand what you're talking about and what, exactly, these visions and nightmares mean?"

"All in good time," the man responded, gesturing politely toward the tear. "Now, if I may suggest…" He trailed off, giving a soft smile.

Sighing, he shook his head. If he got himself killed because he listened to these two, he wouldn't be able to forgive himself, let alone ask for forgiveness from Anna. It was a blessing she hadn't heard all the commotion and come running. He would not involve her in any of this. "If I do this, can you guarantee my daughter remains safe no matter what?"

"No harm shall befall her."

A scoff. "Alright." And with that, Booker walked up to the portal. A blinding white light blurred reality, and for a moment the detective was afraid something was wrong. A bubbling feeling of light-headedness overtook him, and he attempted to correct it by stepping sideways. It seemed to help, albeit slightly. The seconds trickled by before his vision cleared and he could see clearly what lay behind the portal's mouth.

He was looking down an alleyway, rain pelting the ground. Ahead, he could make out the male twin standing next to the brick wall with a portal that oddly seemed like the one he was looking through, the female standing on the other side. She was saying something but he couldn't quite make it out. Glancing to his side, he could still see the twins standing in his office. He opened his mouth to declare an answer to the many questions buzzing around his mind, but the male merely shook his head and pointed toward the tear again. Gritting his teeth, Booker looked again, his eyes locking onto an older-looking man who was holding a baby girl. The baby looked extremely familiar. "No… this… I…"

He watched as a different him ran forward, grabbing the man by the arm in an attempt to wrestle Anna out of his grip. Shouts of "Give me back my daughter!" echoed down the alleyway. The struggle continued even as the other man crossed over to the other side of the portal, but where he could only hear the female Lutece before shouting, someone else's voice joined the struggle.

"You're hurting her! She's not your child."

That voice. It was the voice of the young girl, the one he had seen racing down the boardwalk and the one who had plucked the rose as she explained what a tear was to him. He moved toward the other side of the tear in his office, attempting to get a better view of the other side of the portal inside. There. Her hair was cut shorter and she was wearing a blue dress. Her eyes were jaded and haunted as though she had endured great travesties in such a short span of time, but it was still her. She was…

… Elizabeth.

"I remember…" he breathed, overcome with emotion. Elizabeth, his grown-up daughter who was raised in a different universe by a different version of him who reigned over a city in the sky called Columbia. Comstock. But… this was wrong. Elizabeth had ensured that all Comstocks were wiped out of existence. She had smothered him in his crib, before he could decide to accept the baptism. His head felt like it was on fire, thousands of different images and thoughts flooding into his mind. He grunted, holding his head with one hand as he tried to continue to pay attention to the scene before him.

"Shut it down. Shut down the machine!" Comstock barked out, still in a tug of war over the baby. It was a struggle Booker had a hard time watching but knew he had to. The Luteces had opened this tear for him here to watch this universe for a specific reason, and he would make sure he knew damn well why.

Elizabeth was in a state of panic, he could tell. While she didn't reach out to grab Comstock and force him to let go of the baby, her eyes rang out with a wide range of emotions from righteous fury to a look of fear. He didn't remember her here though. She hadn't been there. Why was she here?

"Oh, no, no, look out!"

Booker knew the portal was closing, could tell things were not going to be okay. This was different, foreign, a universe he didn't remember. He held his breath as he watched the portal closing, but it wasn't Anna's pinky finger that was being chopped off. He shut his eyes, overwhelmed by the scene, choking back a cry. The next moment he opened his eyes, he was sitting on the floor of his office, the two Luteces looking down at him with a mixture of pity and sorrow, the tear gone.

"It seems that got your message across in a rather stinging fashion."

"But he still doesn't know the full story."

"One must be properly educated before one can understand the entirety of a story and the part one plays in it."

"Stop." The word was weak and flimsy, but it was all Booker could afford to say. It was like losing his daughter all over again, the pain and regret of nearly twenty years crashing into him. He had sold his daughter in many realities, had sold her to a version of himself he loathed with every fiber of his being. The nightmares that awoke him night after night were memories of other Bookers fighting to retrieve Elizabeth and prevent a world-wide conflict. It all made sense now.

"Mr. DeWitt, we came here to ask for your assistance. While revealing all the facts can be helpful in most situations, understandably we must limit the knowledge we pass to you."

"One cannot undertake a mission with all the aces in hand."

Booker had to stop himself from finding an object to throw at them. They were as insufferable as ever, talking over his head like he wasn't even there. "Why did you show me that? What was the purpose of it?" He could feel anger beginning to run through his veins, tinged with a pain he wanted to keep buried. Why was he forced to remember everything? No person should be forced through such extremes. He hadn't sold his Anna, hadn't doomed her to a painful existence.

The Luteces shared a look before the female spoke first. "It is my brother's understanding that you were the result of a paradox righted by the universe. It has taken quite a while to find you."

"And why were you trying to find me?"

"The girl's actions have caused an… imbalance," the male hesitantly responded. It sounded to Booker like they were treading ice here, worried about giving too much away to him. "You could say it has created a rather unorthodox paradox. In attempting to break the circle with two different methods, one method has created a new set of realities that do little for her cause."

"You aren't answering my questions. What you just showed me-" Lifting himself back onto his feet, he loosened his shoulders. A glance toward the door behind him showed that Anna was still sleeping soundly in her room. "—brings up more questions than it answers."

"The purpose of showing was to ensure you could remember what you had previously done, or will do."

"The DeWitt you saw lost his daughter completely. With your previous history, one can assume he will not suffer silently. It creates a variable wherein there are two choices presented to him: he can either decide to end the torment or choose to change it. Change, as you are already familiar with, can lead to an unfavorable outcome."

"Comstock," Booker murmured, arriving at the same conclusion. "But Elizabeth wiped out all the Comstocks."

"You are correct-"

"—but entirely wrong."

"She had created a constant out of a variable, preventing any Comstock from Comstock universes existing. What she did not do was prevent any DeWitts from existing. All it takes is a loss of family to spark the beginnings of a madman."

"Wait." Booker leaned back against his desk, folding his arms across his chest as he tried to sift through the information. "If Elizabeth prevented any Comstock from existing, then how could that reality even exist? And what does that still have to do with me?" All this talk of multiple realities was making his head hurt, but he knew he needed to understand it, for the sake of his daughter, both as Elizabeth and Anna. He wondered briefly what had become of Elizabeth. Did she still live, or had she been transported back in time as he had? Did his daughter remember any of what happened? He prayed she didn't.

"Time is an ocean, not a river, as most conceive. What happened in that alley happened before, during, and after her other action. However, it appears that the universe doesn't quite know what to make of itself and has allowed both actions to remain. The Comstock you saw fled into a different reality, becoming a part of that reality instead of his original one, thereby escaping."

"Leaving the DeWitt of that universe to live with his regret and hate," added Robert. "Comstock's actions resulted in that world being spared, but it did not get spared out of kindness. In desperation, he searched for a way to hunt down the man who killed his daughter. I'm sure you can fill in some of the blanks."

"If his mind hasn't reached his optimal potential," Rosalind slyly commented.

"Wait, wait," Booker interjected, holding up a hand to stop the Luteces' banter. "Are you telling me that a Comstock is running free as well as another me who is acting just like Comstock? You've got to be kidding."

"We tell nothing but the truth." Rosalind could not hide the abrupt flame in her eyes. "Lies are told by lesser men, Mr. DeWitt."

"It does seem rather difficult to understand, but I assure you, we have our good intentions. What we merely need you to do is to return to the point of time before the girl takes action and stop her from potentially undoing all her hard work in a single stroke of irrationality."

"Really?" Booker scoffed. "And how do I do that?"

"By entering." Another tear appeared behind them, this one a brighter and more focused pallet of colors showing one lighthouse in front with other lighthouses that stretched for miles beyond the mouth of the tear. "We do advise you do not tarry there. Our actions could have vast consequences should the slightest calculation go wrong."

Sighing, Booker nodded. "I don't know why I'm agreeing to do this, but if it means righting whatever wrong is happening and keeping my daughter safe, I'll do it." He closed his eyes to take a deep breath. "How will I know when to…" Opening his eyes, he saw the Luteces had disappeared. "Every damn time." His eyes moved to focus on the tear. "Okay, Booker. You've gone through these things before without major problems. There's no harm in doing it one more time." Steeling himself, he decided running into it was a better option than walking into it. "You can do this."

Booker launched into a quick dash, watching the portal's environment expand as he entered the other reality. A small blossom of panic suddenly flared to life, causing him to turn his head in apprehension. As the world started to turn into splotches of white as his mind tried to adapt to the new enviornment, he swore he saw a flash of brown hair follow after him.