I walk along the bridge, flicking between worlds, sometimes it feels like I'm walking on air. I wonder briefly if this is what it felt like for the other me when he took my son. I muse over the inevitable end that Peter will face, a sacrifice I agreed to long before he disappeared. I knew it to be necessary. The destruction of this place seems an essential result, no matter what the cost, this place, where each person is filled with such malice; they are capable of such things. I had never allowed him to mean much to me or my wife, he was just collateral damage, a puppet for the greater good. It didn't stop the anger boiling when I figured out just who had taken him. I let him stay there until he was older, so it would hurt them all that much more when I snatch him back and destroy him while they watch, pathetically helpless. Unstoppable.
The bridge begins to feel more solid, my son's expression becomes more confused. He is more like the other Walter's pet than a son, limp, idly following the demands of a madman, who tortured everyone he should care about, including the woman who waits for him back by the grass, pointing a gun across the river. I grin, watching his face contort. The federal agent who was remaining next to him is vaporised by the collision between worlds. The door is nearly open, the end is coming. My son fights it, but the realisation is inevitable. The clever boy, the son of a genius, understands his origins. He looks shocked toward me, no one but him can see me yet. I stride ever closer, confidence with each step.
Peter fumbles with the computer, desperately trying to stop me, but it won't work. It can't work. His destiny awaits him, whether he knows it yet or not. Stoicism runs through him, hiding his thoughts with distractions. My lips curve, his part slightly, aghast. I half expect him to turn and run, but he stays still. He seems to have grown a lot since I knew him, in mind as well as body. He is pained, being slowly stabbed by the understanding. Enough time for games now, he has to be brought back. Perhaps knowing what he now knows will make him more willing. It might be nice to have to use less force for once. A new plan is forming, he'll volunteer to destroy them, want to hurt them as badly as they've hurt him. I laugh as he is pushed backward, my puppet, smashed against a van, unconscious. But I'm flickering away? The computer has found the correct frequency? I thought it impossible, but the madman and his pet have thwarted me. This time. Next time they won't have each other, and I'll make sure that that's a permanent amendment to the shortening fuses left as their lives.
Just a little one shot that came into my head. I hope you like it.