Summary: He's like broken glass; beautiful but with edges so sharp and jagged that you could bleed trying to pick up the pieces. There are those willing to try and piece him back together… People like his father, Peter Bishop. A Henry Au story.
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xFumblingThroughTheGray
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Fallen Apple from the Family Tree
A Fringe Fanfiction
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Author's note: This takes place directly after season four. Enjoy and if you want me to continue, please take the time to review. Let me know you're interested!
One man's dream...is another man's nightmare.
-Unknown
Chapter One: Dreaming of Nightmares
The lush green grass spread out below him coating the hills with all its gloriousness. Birds echoed off in the distance, a beautiful melody for such a majestic day. Taking in the peaceful surroundings as the sun smothered him with warmth and a gentle breeze brushed his face, Peter didn't realize he wasn't alone.
"Daddy!" exclaimed the little girl with long blonde locks pulled back in pigtails. His lips curl up into an ear-to-ear grin at her as he kneels down to her level, extending his arms in preparation. She raced forward, the small pitter patter of childhood scrunching the grass as she bridged the distance between them. His arms quickly took hold of the bubbly blonde holding her in his embrace as he climbed back to his feet.
"Henrietta," he beamed, enjoying the joy radiating from his daughter, equally happy to see her. The child's tiny arms wrapped tightly around her daddy's neck before leaning forward and lightly kissing the tip of his nose.
"Henrietta?" questioned a voice from behind, causing the father to spin towards it, his grip adjusted on the small girl in a protective manner. Across the park leaning against the tree trunk is a boy of twenty with an air reminiscent to that of James Dean- Defiant. Daring. Dashing. Dangerous… a lethal combination.
Baffled by why a total stranger could stare at him with such distain, he responded with a dumbfounded, "Excuse me?"
"Erasing one kid and replacing it with another," he responds before scoffing to display his disapproval. "Don't you think that kind of makes you a, oh I don't know, a dick."
"Who are you?" he questions setting down the child and moving closer to the intruder.
"I'll give you three guesses," the boy says gently pushing himself off the tree and sauntered towards Peter, hands cast behind his back and a small smirk traipsing across his lips. They stood face to face and before Peter could even begin to guess, the boy patted him on the shoulder leaning forward and saying in a lower, less playful tone, "and the first two don't count, dad."
No one has invented words for a moment like this. Not one sound that can articulate his affection. Excruciating pain. Not one movement that can act out his guilt. Nights spent wondering who he'd be. Not one sentiment that can express his regret. Infinite remorse. There's a coldness, a cruelty to Henry's stance. Like he snuck into the lair of his enemy fully loaded to battle his nemesis. But, when had they become adversaries? He wants to take him into his arms and tell him they are on the same side. They are family. But he finds herself frozen by the iciness of his stare.
Instead, he barely chokes out, "Henry?"
"Yeah," he whispers.
It was then that Peter saw past the shiny veneer and saw what the boy truly was, broken glass with edges so sharp that he knew exactly how to cut right through you. He wanted to piece the boy back together into the beautiful mosaic that he knew he could be... that he should be but as he reached out to the boy, Henry smacks his hand out of the way then reaches forward grasping onto his neck in a cybernetic vice grip. It seemed someone had physically pieced the broken boy together, Peter realized as he stared at the shredded faux skin with heavy cybernetic gear peeking out beneath. Seeing the way Peter looks at his modification- brow furrowed and horror dancing in his eyes- Henry scoffed before adding, "Well what's left of him anyways."
Peter Bishop felt brittle beneath his fingertips and the adrenaline pulsating through his veins begged for it. He listened to Peter's gasps beneath his hold, felt his fingers clawing at his arm, the slight kick of flailing feet and knew it would be easy to kill him. It'd be easy to erase the bastard like he'd almost done to him.
xXx
Lazily gorgeous green emerges from beneath lids heavy with sleep vaguely registering the unfamiliarity of clammy flesh against hers. Lifting her head from the preliminary source of heat, she realizes that it's Peter, the slight fidgets his body makes in the grasp of the nightmare must've woken her up; she also realizes he looks terribly peaked. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and sheets clung to his trembling body. Concern crosses her features as she sits upright and nudges him gently calling his name.
"Peter," she whispers, the base in her voice raising as he doesn't respond. "Peter. Peter! Wake up."
As if jolted, his torso jerked into the upright position calling out the name Henry in a strangled breath. An immediate head rush sends a hand to his forehead in an attempt to steady himself. His attempt is aided by soft hands cooling against his flesh, one on his chest and the other on his back to steady him. As he took breaths to calm himself, his hand went up and cupped her hand the held firm on his chest over his heart.
"I- uh- I'm sorry," he stammers lying back down slowly. "Bad dream s'all."
A conflict emerged within the blonde as she lay back down with him, her hand never leaving his chest. Henry? The name bounces around in her head ricocheting off of every memory stashed in her eidetic brain but only comes up with the taxi-driver on the other side but there was no connection. Once her search comes up empty, she can't help but ask, "Who's Henry?"
xXx
From the depths of another man's nightmare, he emerged jolted back into reality by a connection severed. Immediately he reaches for comfort, the fingers on his left hand lacing between the long, slender ones of the beautiful girl beside him with her head rested on his chest; the cybernetic fingers on his right combed through the brunette's lush chocolate locks. Seeing how she could sleep so soundly, causes the edge of his lip to curl up into a smile but it doesn't last. Images from his father's dream that'd become his nightmare squeezed his soul, sinking through him like a cold marble- workin its way down into the pit of his stomach where it left a dull sickness relentless in its nature. Removing his hand from hers- slipping out from his role as her pillow- and getting a handful of the sheet, Henry pulled it from his lean muscled form before kicking his feet over the edge of the bed. A long, deep breath gets pushed out past slightly parted lips as a shaking hand take hold of his ash blond mane in an attempt to gather some semblance of control over the questions that ran wild in his head.
Why'd a man he never actually met have such a powerful hold on him?
What was he even never doing in Peter's dreams in the first place?
What if Peter didn't just write it off as a bad dream?
Thoughts of Peter Bishop consumed him swirling the ashes within and creating a phoenix of what could've been, of a life he could've lived. All his life he'd tried to portray Peter Bishop as nothing more than a technicality that resulted in his existence- at best the sperm donor- but seeing him with that girl awoken a realm of possibilities… using the two most damning words in the world. What if?
The answers weren't definite and a million different scenarios to ponder on.
And as he prepared to leap into the abyss that is what if, a delicate hand reaches out to draw him away from the ledge, the softness of her hand traipsing across his chest and resting on his abdomen. Letting out a thankful sigh, Henry rests his hand atop hers and a small smile grows on his lips as soft lips caress briskly tanned flesh trailing from his shoulder blade, up his collar bone, and stops to place one last kiss on the crook of his neck before resting her chin gently there waiting patiently for him to tell her what was on his mind.
"Peter Bishop didn't know I existed and it didn't matter because he didn't exist. Then suddenly he did and I had to open Pandora's box; he'd plagued my mind for years and I wondered if I even crossed his," he admits stopping a moment to make sure his anger was in check before continuing, "And I suppose I did because Olivia's pregnant and he wants to name it Henrietta if it's a girl."
"Please, tell me you didn't—"
"Go all Freddy Krueger on Peter Bishop," Henry says, a dry, humorless laugh slipping past his lips, "Yeah, I did. I mean, it's one thing to get erased but, to be replaced… but it doesn't matter. I should've controlled myself because if he finds out I exist—"
He can't bear to voice the damnation that would unravel if Peter knew he was alive… because if he knew then so would they.
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