Atlas wasn't sure how long they stayed like that.

Sitting in silence, listening to the steady dripping as Rapture leaked. Occasionally Atlas looked over to Delta but the big daddy was so still it was impossible to know if he was awake or not. If he was napping then Atlas did not want to wake him and so remained quiet. It helped that he too, wanted a moment of rest. Leaning against Delta's solid form and just trying to breathe for a moment.

His body was still sore from the unintended trip he'd taken across Rapture and the memories he didn't need to hunt for anymore.

Even now the teleport plasmid sat ever so happily in his bag. Glowing a steady blue and, Atlas thought with no small level of paranoia, just begging him to inject it. He absolutely refused. After that disaster he was in no rush to shoot up with the stuff.

And yet, he'd kept it.

Felt like almost a waste to toss it, a plasmid like that had to be useful for something. He just didn't know what quite yet.

Insurance maybe. Better to have it handy than wish he had it later.

However, it had nearly knocked his brains out tossing him around like that and Atlas wasn't feeling terrible thankful towards it. Even if it had played a heavy hand in bringing him to where he was now. No longer confused and oblivious. That too he was less than grateful for.

He tried to rest. To let his thoughts fall away and offer some blissful mental silence. He was so tired, it should have been the easiest thing in the world to sleep alongside Delta. But despite his fatigue and the sensation of being so close to slumber - Atlas couldn't seem to shut his mind off.

Too many thoughts he had to grow familiar with again, bouncing around in his mind. Eventually Atlas couldn't ignore the situation anymore.

Eyes tiredly opening up again, shaking off the light dozing, not realising he'd been so close to nodding off until he tried to stand. It was sluggish but gradually Atlas was back on his feet.

Glancing over his shoulder and down, he saw that Delta remained where he'd left him. A steady motion as he continued to breathe, but now Atlas was sure he had to be sleeping. Giving him a bit more time to try and arrange his thoughts in private.

And he certainly needed that time.

To come to terms with the things he'd more or less lied to himself about.

It was… a lot.

Knowing that Patrick and Moira had never existed, some a small part of him was relieved. Relieved to know he hadn't allowed his family to be killed by Ryan. Well, that wasn't entirely true either. The people that did exist when he was still Fontaine were just as dead.

There was a morbid thought that had Atlas wondering if Fontaine had written the Atlas script with his own dead in mind.

Fontaine...now that was the crux of it all.

Because, despite it all, he still did not feel like he was Fontaine.

The memories were there, but the emotions attached to them were muted. The memories felt less like recollections of things he had done and more as if he were watching someone else carry out the actions.

Having a history recounted to him that was not his own but belonged to him nonetheless.

To say he forgot didn't wash him of blame...and yet Atlas still couldn't make himself connect with his own memories. He just...couldn't think of himself as Fontaine.

Yet, no matter what he thought of it, he most certainly was.

The only thing that helped to ease these pains was, strangely enough, the thought that somewhere in his head there was that ghost of Fontaine. The version of him that wholeheartedly embraced those memories and returned to what he'd always been.

Atlas didn't feel those needs. He had the memories of a rise and fall, remembered the plans that he had made, the choices that he carried out. And yet, once he remembered, the desire to continue hadn't return to him.

He did not want to be Fontaine.

But 'Atlas' wasn't real to begin with. The whole thing was a horrid mess and he was struggling to make peace with it all.

Well, Atlas thought to himself wearily, what do I want?

If he were to make any sort of headway, knowing what he did now, what was it he wanted to do with himself? Perhaps if he had an end goal, he would feel more secure in himself.

Regardless of what he did from here, Atlas knew one thing without a shred of doubt. Not a soul could know about what had happened.

Looking back at Delta, he knew in no uncertain terms that if he were to share his truths with any of the group - he'd be damned immediately.

Tenenbaum seemed to be putting him through tests.

No doubt she sent him up to that old office to see if he would come back as Atlas or Fontaine and he honestly couldn't say who he was now. But he'd lie to her, put on a performance if he could and act oblivious. Better that than run the risk of being ousted.

Then there was Sinclair…then there was Sinclair.

Despite himself, the thought of the man summoned a violent sense of loathing that did not belong to him. Along with a dozen hatred filled memories that both were and were not his own.

It made sense to him now. His natural distrust and tendency to snap and snarl at Augustus. He didn't much fancy sounding like a shrink, but there were definitely some unresolved anger issues there.

As to if that level of resentment was fair to Sinclair was up for debate.

An awful lot of terrible things had happened between he and Fontaine.

Sinclair's hands almost as dirty as his own. Atlas already knew they shared a list of casualties between them, but now he had to add Fontaine's casualties onto that. There were fewer, as so many died during his 'revolution', but it did sour those attributed to Atlas even further.

Sinclair blamed him - blamed Fontaine - and in return Frank seemed to hold him accountable in some way. Or, more likely, it wasn't accountability so much as Fontaine simply throwing his hatred and frustration onto the closest bastard he could find.

First Ryan, then Sinclair… Anyone else would do. Anyone to take the blame instead of himself. Heaven forbid he feel something akin to guilt for even a moment.

Again, Atlas reassessed himself.

Sorted through his memories more carefully and tried to come to his own conclusions. He wanted to be himself, not an echo of Fontaine's feelings and crimes.

What he found in the place of Fontaine's loathing was his own interactions with Sinclair.

The ones that had been strictly between the two of them. And then, as an additional effort to distance himself from Fontaine, he focused on the few good times Sinclair had shared with the rotten bastard before Rapture's fall.

Back when things were strained but still amicable. When they could stand in the same room without shouted words or the desire to pull a gun on the other. When they would talk business in equal measure to their personal lives - guarded as those exchanges might have been.

How quickly they'd turned on each other at the end…

But what Atlas found in himself, was some small semblance of hope. He told Sinclair he did not want to get chummy, to be friends, and yet there was an urge to spite Fontaine by doing just that.

Once upon a time, in a far off memory that god himself probably had trouble recalling, they'd nearly been friends. But Fontaine wasn't known to partake in the practice and Sinclair seemed to have warmed to it too late.

If Sinclair found him out now he'd no doubt turn on him again and thus, Atlas swore to keep it a secret from the man above all else.

And among those memories and plans of keeping his secret, Atlas recalled the greatest secret Fontaine had ever kept. This one would likely prove to be the most difficult to handle.

Slowly, Atlas reached into his pocket and fished out the picture he'd picked up the last time he was here at Fontaine Futuristics. When he was down in the belly of the labs that, at the time, he hadn't recognised.

Yet, he had found his way to Fontaine's office seemingly by luck while running blindly. Muscle memory he supposed.

Looking at the faded photograph now, Atlas had no trouble identifying little baby Jack.

He'd probably taken this too out of some kind of subconscious need.

Fontaine was not as clear cut as Atlas had initially thought, and had left him with a laundry list of tricks and behaviours because of that. Much to his chagrin.

He remembered the times Fontaine had gone to visit the kid. Wondered if those muted feelings were genuine or if Atlas was now projecting the feelings he wanted to feel.

Sighing Atlas smoothed over the image with his thumb. The kid would never see him now. Jack knew the truth of who he was, he'd probably shoot him on sight if he were to show his face.

So where did he go from here?

The idea before had been to reach the surface and then reach Jack. To rejoin his only friend left in hell. Now he knew that wasn't going to happen. Knowing all that he did now, what point was there in getting to the surface?

Should he perhaps just rot away down here along with the rest of Rapture's mistakes? It was a grim prospect, but one Atlas thought was somewhat poetic. Seemed like justice if he died down here.

Didn't mean he was mighty keen on dying.

While he was losing himself in thoughts of self destruction, his radio slowly came to life.

The familiar pop and crack of it powering up caught his attention. Half expecting Tenenbaum to speak and tell him the lie was pointless or Sinclair to come furiously cursing at him.

Indeed it was Sinclair, but his voice was hushed and steady. Guess he knew Delta was taking a quick rest.

"Hey, Atlas?" He called and the man that currently went by Atlas answered with a heavy sigh.

"Yeah, 'm here."

It felt strange to be talking to Sinclair. Thinking about how differently they'd once spoken to each other. How Sinclair would lambast him if he knew exactly who he spoke to now.

For a moment Sinclair was quiet. As if to gather himself and it struck Atlas as odd that Sinclair appeared almost as out of sorts as himself. "Kid still dozing?" He asked and Atlas only tossed a fleeting look at Delta before confirming. "Good...needs it I'd wager."

"Don't we all." Atlas replied, very much longing for a place to just lay his head down and rest. He could sleep forever at this point. "What happened here, Sinclair? I just found him...screaming on the floor. Barely bloody coherent."

As he asked for clarification Atlas stepped out into the backstage area. It was darker here, the lights of the theater pooling around his legs through the open door. He leant against the railing of the stairs, radio in one hand and the other hand pressing fingers to his temple. He had a near constant headache it seemed and for once listening to Sinclair did not increase that headache.

"You both ran us a bit ragged there for a moment." Sinclair admitted and Atlas had no doubt of that. "Ever heard of a Demo Daddy?"

Yes.

"Can't say I 'ave." Atlas lied easily.

It was unsettling how convincing he sounded when lying. Like it was as simple as breathing. No hesitation or damning inflection in his tone. Had he not been the one speaking, he'd have believed himself without question.

And he continued to lie with ease as he went on to add. "Thought we had enough big daddies running around."

"If only." Sinclair muttered. "I'm going to level with you here, Atlas."

He wished Sinclair wouldn't. Felt like more trust he was abusing.

"Alex set that beasty on Delta, bad enough it nearly killed the kid, but what got him was that Alex showed him things. Showed him...showed him the creation process I suppose you could say. The person that got stuck in that suit."

Closing his eyes Atlas had to take a deep breath to steady his nerves.

There was a part of his mind that simply acknowledged how effective a tool Alex had utilised against Delta. Almost delighted in the tactic Fontaine himself had used in the past. Atlas on the other hand only felt ill.

"Let me take a wild guess." Atlas replied, tone biting. "Friend of his?"

"...yeah."

"Fuck."

Briefly the conversation fell silent and Atlas was itching for a smoke. He'd start raiding corpses at this rate.

Again he sorted through his memories. Fontaine hadn't a great deal of interest in Johnny when he came around, but he did have a slight interest in Lamb and the two had seemingly been intertwined long before Johnny got in that suit. Though, it was still Eleanor that tied them.

If he stretched his memory, he recalled the near exact date that this friend of Johnny's would have been snatched. Because under the guise of 'Atlas' he'd found the man's little brother hunched over and weeping while in the carefully hands of one of his boys, Edmund. Babbling about how the outsider had to be the cause of this. Ryan had to be responsible and they'd taken his brother away because of it.

He'd been right of course and despite Eddie's best efforts, he was inconsolable. No one came back once Ryan made them disappear.

The name Eddie brought a new wave of memories, as if a file had been opened up.

Eddie, Jaclyn's right hand man and most trusted friend at the end. He was a rough sort, Fontaine had tortured people in front of him and Edmund had endured the gruesome sights in silence. Choosing his own life and what he no doubt considered justice over the life of a monster.

In hindsight, Eddie had allowed many atrocities to happen in the name of loyalty and justice. He hadn't always been right, but his heart had been in a better place than Fontaine's had ever been.

Which was why it was completely unsurprising he ended up on Atlas's crew once Fontaine was dead and gone.

He'd more or less passed from Fontaine's employment right into Atlas's without realising he had never truly changed hands.

Fontaine knew him well from his days at the fisheries and working under Jaclyn. He was a perfect sucker for this revolution bullshit.

By that virtue, Fontaine had been unsurprised to find him comforting Walter's brother, Lewis, after the artist had been nabbed. He knew little of the artist. Knew his name from Jaclyn's visits to see his works and the fact Ryan greatly disliked the man and his work. Both good things in his mind but nothing that caught his interest beyond the passing of his name.

And now he also knew him as the artist of the painting he had gotten for Delta.

As 'Atlas' he couldn't make out the artists scrawl like signature but with Fontaine's ghost in his mind the writing was easily decipherable. Fontaine put the strangest things into his character. It was a touch insulting that he'd decided to make him unable to read cursive.

Regardless, Fontaine, under the guise of Atlas, had acted the part of the sympathiser.

Joining Eddie in comforting Walter's brother. Lacing every word with little hooks to draw the man in. Get him to loath Ryan as strongly as the rest of them and seek his head on a platter for what he'd done.

At the time, Eddie had protested somewhat. Perhaps it was a rare moment when he saw Atlas for what he was. He never did fully trust him. Always held his doubts for Atlas's good intentions.

Edmund had been a good sort even if a little rough around the edges.

And Atlas remembered very clearly the day he had killed him.

Rather violently trying to push that memory away, wishing to destroy it and never reflect on it again, Atlas pretended to himself not to remember why he'd shot Eddie. He could only take so much self disgust in one sitting.

All this passed through his mind very quickly and without sharing any of his thoughts with Sinclair, he simply said, "I'm going to take another guess here." He began, knowing that guesses had nothing to do with it. "The artist right? The one that made that painting. Can't think of why else the picture would catch his eye."

Rather than give Atlas a straight answer, Sinclair seemed to show a bit more weakness.

"Paintings have names you know. Titles, that sort of thing…" Sinclair spoke softly.

Atlas recognised that tone, one of quiet resignation. A guilt hanging heavy from every word and that too he understood too well. For the sake of that understanding, he stayed silent.

Allowing Sinclair to speak the name of the painting that he'd helped Delta save.

"Topside."

A beat of silence and then quieter still Sinclair murmured. "He named it 'Topside'…"

And there was nothing Atlas could say to comfort Sinclair now.

Nothing that would not give him away and reveal every memory he had. Because they both knew that Sinclair's hands were not clean and Atlas knew that Walter's ghost would be weighing heavy on his mind as well.

Ryan might have signed people's death warrants, but Sinclair was the one that took them and handed them on over to Alexander and the big daddy program. Over to Fontaine as well. Which meant...every step that Sinclair helped guide Delta through, was another step he lead a man he'd all but handed off onto deaths doorstep.

With Fontaine in the back of his thoughts, Atlas understood what that was like. Fontaine never felt the guilt that came with the practice, but Atlas did and despite everything - he empathised with Sinclair.

Hated him a little maybe. But he was in no position to throw stones at him in this glass house. He'd destroyed Jack's life as much as he'd help make it, and Sinclair had done something almost the same to Delta.

Atlas could nearly find it humorous, the parallels that ran between them.

There was nothing he could offer Sinclair in that moment to support him, and so Atlas opted to look forward. "We're not going to split up again." He decided flatly. "Not worth all of this."

"For once, you have my full support." Sinclair replied with a tired huff. Trying to return to his usual jovial mood but clearly finding it difficult to remove himself from all of the ghosts he'd gotten buried among.

"You feeling up for a chat with the good doctor?" He asked finally and Atlas groaned. Mercifully Sinclair laughed at that and did not push the subject. "Alright, alright - I'm sure she isn't eager to be chatting with you either."

Sinclair paused for a moment and then said something that truly took Atlas off guard. "Although, them girls are asking after you."

"They're what?" Atlas asked, disbelieving. "No they aren't."

"Oh they most certainly are. Can't tell me you're really that shocked by that. Last they saw you, you'd put yourself between them and Delta on the fritz."

"Yeah but… me?"

"Yes, you."

That didn't sound right at all.

Atlas's heart clenched rather violently when he thought of the little sisters now.

As Atlas, he'd done awful things to those girls in the name of the people. As Fontaine he'd made them and he'd made profit off of them. He did not want to be near any children now. Atlas knew he'd do nothing to hurt them - but the fact he had so much blood to his name already made the thought of being close to them now abhorrent.

He was about to tell Sinclair that he didn't have time for the brats when the man cut across him. "Don't leave me with this, Atlas. They'll drive me to my wits end."

Ah. Sinclair felt that same discomfort. Of course he did.

Atlas couldn't say he was surprised. He knew damn well Sinclair didn't want to think of those little girls as human. It was easier to ignore the horrible things done to them if they were not real little girls.

Once again he empathised with Sinclair and groaned in dismay. "Aye, fine. What do they want?"

"You won't believe this."

"Oh lord have mercy, what?"

"Girls want ya to say goodnight." Sinclair was right. He did not, in fact, believe him.

It was so ludicrous. So absolutely ridiculous that he was sure Sinclair had to be tugging his chain. But then again...they were still just children.

"For fucks- alright, alright fine." Atlas cursed under his breath and then in the same breath agreed. "Let's just get this over with. Put the damn radio on over to them."

He could not believe this. It was beyond unreasonable. Even as Atlas he was not the most cuddly or affectionate sort. The thought that any one of those kids wanted to hear from him just didn't check out.

But perhaps he should have known better when he heard Sinclair entering the end train cart and telling the girls they had to get to sleep soon and over the radio waves he heard little Beatrice calling out. Demanding he hand the radio on over. Distantly he thought he heard Sinclair laugh and then the radio was in Beatrice's little hands.

"Atlas?" She asked, almost confused. As though she didn't trust the weird, clunky device she was holding to actually pass her voice along.

Despite himself Atlas huffed in amusement. "I hear ya, kiddo." He sighed and pretended he did not hear how she gasped in delight.

Then immediately dove head first into a bunch of questions. "Where are you? What are you doing? Is it dangerous? Are you scared? Is Daddy with you? Are you going to be back soon?"

"Hey, hey. Easy there, kiddo. Slow down." Atlas needed to try and stop the near constant stream of questions.

And tried to ignore how that also tugged at his chest. Beatrice reminded him of a different kid he'd known. Two different kids at that. Honestly, why were they so inquisitive at this age?

"Didn't Augustus tell you to get your butt to bed?" He asked, faintly amused by the kid's antics.

It was nice in a way. Beatrice wasn't much like them - all the adults around her were so weighed down by the sins they'd accumulated over the years. Even after the trials the little sisters had face, they were still just happy little girls in there somewhere.

"Yeah but…" And now she sulks.

Clicking his tongue Atlas went about chiding her. He might not really have biological kids of his own, but Fontaine had been so kind as to write his character as a good father at some point. "None of that now. Don't be giving Sinclair a hard time."

The sulking devolved into little grumbles of dissent and Atlas smiled more earnestly.

"Go on. Off to bed with ya." Still Beatrice grumbled but he was fairly sure she was doing just that.

Then she repeated one of the many questions she'd hurled his way. "When will you be back?" Atlas could not give her an exact answer. He wasn't even sure if they'd make it back, or if he'd risk returning even if he could.

But her voice was so small.

Fragile even.

She couldn't be more than eight years old or so, she was no doubt terrified even if the girls managed to keep one another's spirits up. And if she was looking to him for some form of comfort it would be cruel of him to deny her that.

"I don't know, darlin'." He answered honestly. His tone gentle for a change while biting back a sigh for her sake. "But we'll be back just as soon as we're able, yeah? Just be good till then."

"...okay." Still her voice was so tiny and Atlas felt all the worse for it.

"You just keep those adults in line till I'm back, ya hear?"

This, at the very least, seemed to perk her up some. "I am!" She asserted and Atlas did try not to laugh. Beyond Beatrice he could faintly hear another of the girls speaking up. Asking if she was done or not. Tired he'd guess.

"Alright, bed time. You tell the girls I said goodnight and Delta says goodnight as well." You know, as best he could.

He heard Beatrice repeat the sentiment to a distant, but resounding, 'night!' in return.

Ha, kids…they were certainly something else.

"Night, Beatrice."

"Bea." She corrected him sternly and this time he did laugh.

"Aye, I got it. Goodnight Bea. We'll be home soon." That may have been a lie, but it came to him too easily and it was exactly what the girl wanted to hear anyway.

"Hand me back on over to Sinclair for a tick now would you-" Atlas all but choked on the word and corrected himself. "-please."

For once he wasn't met with any push back and soon enough Sinclair was back on the line.

"Guess you're a bit better at handling them than I am. You should be back here instead of little ol' me." He lamented, likely returning to his own train cart to give the girls some shut eye.

"Want to swap places?" Atlas remarked with a grin. "I bet you last no more than three minutes out here without Delta."

"Not like you have a stunnin' record on staying alive either."

"Harsh, but fair." Atlas conceded, turning just in time to see Delta beginning to gather himself back up. Guess the time of rest was over. "Right. While you slumber away, we're going to get back to it."

"As if I have any time to sleep with you two rushing head first into danger every other minute."

Again, fair.

"...keep an eye on the kid, Atlas." He added more quietly.

"Yeah...I got it." He muttered back. Knowing that despite Delta being the stronger between them and the most likely to protect him - the kid had to be fairly shaking. Hurtin'. Atlas wasn't sure a soft soul like his would be handling that with much grace.

So, despite who he turned out to be, he'd have to be the one making sure Delta didn't break down.

Conversation over for the time being Atlas latched the radio back to his hip and returned to Delta, who seemed to be shaking his head as a way to clear it.

"Get a bit of shut eye?" Atlas asked as he rejoined the big daddy.

Slowly Delta nodded and Atlas recognised that as fatigue. Physically, emotional, just all encompassing exhaustion. He understood that just fine.

Atlas didn't breathe a word about what Sinclair had told him. Delta was no doubt not ready for that conversation, one sided as it would have been.

Delta had napped with Eleanor's audio dairy at his side and Atlas was careful when he picked it back up and put it away safely in his bag. He debated, briefly, if he should keep quiet about what he'd seen in the mess that the teleport plasmid had tossing him through.

But it was not damning to show Delta the plasmid. There was no evidence of what it had done to him.

So with the bag open he took out the glowing bottle to show Delta. "I found this up at Fontaine's office." Even saying that made him want to cringe.

"Teleport plasmid. Had a bit of a mishap with it I guess. Unstable or somethin', tossed me a few places in Rapture." Fortunately, nowhere underwater, that would have killed him right fast. "And I think...well I think I saw your girl."

That had Delta's attention snapping to him. Truly focused now where before he'd only been listening with mild curiosity over the new plasmid.

Atlas offered him a slight smile, a little uneasy but attempting to give Delta something good to hold onto. "She seemed alright. Asleep in a kid's room."

Then to further drive home the optimism he was offering Delta, he reached out to clap him on the shoulder. Which was admittedly a bit high up for him.

"We're going to get her back safe and sound, Delta."

He nearly tacked on an 'I promise' but thought better of it. This was still solid support without getting into the dangerous waters of promises.

And it seemed enough. Delta's hand came to rest over his own in silent thanks.

The moment of rest had ended.

Now Atlas dearly wanted to go and give Alex a run for his money.

He certainly remembered the man now and he was than a little livid. If he had all these crimes on his shoulders, he might as well start atoning for a few by killing off the other monsters.

It was the least he could do.