The holophone had been ringing all day and Doctor Tenma had quickly gone to near-religious lengths to pretend that he couldn't hear it. He knew what they wanted from him: questions answered. The story had been all over the news, just about the only thing that anyone was talking about. That was how Tenma had found out about it — his son, still locked in his room as he had been for the past two days, had yet to utter a word. (A part of Tenma wanted to be stung, but he knew Astro didn't owe him anything and it felt like he didn't have the right to be hurt by the rejection.)
But something had to be said eventually. The longer that Tenma waited, the wilder the accusations leveled at Astro became, and the more frenzied the protesters grew and the longer the list of demands leveled at the Ministry of Science got.
They plastered the gruesome photos of the crime scene all over the news and played back a witness's testimony until the woman's delirious ramblings were seared into Tenma's mind. He could hear them all, every second of every day, no matter how alone he was: the shrill recount of how his son had killed someone, the calls for Astro to be dismantled, the insults that they flung at him and Tenma both.
Monster.
The word filled Tenma with a sort of weariness. If murder made someone a monster, then they had all vastly underestimated what humans were capable of.
Or maybe Tenma was wrong and something didn't need a gun or a knife or a plasma blaster powered by the energy of a star core to be a monster. He wasn't often wrong, but Tenma was willing to entertain the idea for once.
At the very least, he knew which definition of "monster" Astro would rather hear.
Running a hand over his tired eyes, Tenma walked over to the large windows of the penthouse living area. They stretched from floor to ceiling, taking up nearly the entire wall, and had a lovely view of most of Metro City. Doctor Tenma's home was very near the Ministry and, through the cracks between buildings, he caught glimpses of the sea of protestors gathered in front of the Ministry. More still were gathered in front of City Hall. Some had tried to protest outside of the penthouse directly but, it being privately owned, they were labeled as trespassers and quickly handled by the city's police.
Tenma didn't need to have the protestors outside of his home to know what they were saying, though. The television projector behind him was on, with live coverage of the steps of the Ministry. He couldn't pick out the individual words of anyone. It all just blurred into one angry, insistent chatter.
He knew what the problem was: these people understood nothing, and expected a robot programmed to save them when, in fact, there had only been a child protecting himself with power that he didn't even want. But Tenma knew without trying that an answer like that wouldn't go over well. Robots can't think for themselves, they would argue. They can't break the Laws of Robotics, they would insist, the idiots that they were, ignoring that Astro had done exactly that. If he hadn't killed someone, then they wouldn't want him decommissioned. If he had failed to protect an innocent, then they would want him decommissioned. It was vexing. Tenma always hated those sorts of scenarios: you're damned if you do, and damned if you don't.
The truth was that the people were scared. They were scared and reactionary and panicking, and nothing that Tenma said was going to soothe them because they didn't want the truth. None of them did. They just wanted to hear what would make them feel better.
Watching them all, little pricks the size of ants in the distance, Tenma sneered. He couldn't help the disgust surging in his chest. Astro deserved better than these people, as ungrateful as they clearly were.
But he took a deep breath and calmed himself. Getting self-righteous on his son's behalf wouldn't solve anything. Speaking of Tenma's son…
As important as talking to the media was before the situation got any worse, Tenma couldn't soothe any of their worries if he didn't know what had happened. He had seen the photos. It had been a brutal kill, but Tenma couldn't believe that any child would do something like that on purpose, especially not one as gentle as Astro.
He needed the truth. And if Astro wasn't going to offer, then Tenma would have to ask.
Pulling away from the window, Tenma turned the television projector off. Without it, the penthouse was unnaturally quiet. He climbed the stairs slowly, knowing that Astro could hear his footsteps. If nothing else, Tenma wanted to give his son a few extra seconds to collect himself and figure out what he wanted to say.
Tenma didn't quite know what to say, either. But he had a vague idea of what he wanted to know and he thought that it was better to let Astro lead the conversation as he was comfortable, anyway.
In front of Astro's door, Tenma hesitated. As difficult as it had been the last few months since the PeaceKeeper's rampage, never before had the chasm between them felt as uncrossable as it did then. It wasn't that Tenma thought Astro was a monster for what he had done. It was more that he was worried that Astro considered himself a monster. He didn't know how to undo psychological damage like that. It had taken two months for Astro to stop flinching when Tenma moved too quickly and he still tensed up when Tenma had to open his chest compartment for routine check-ups.
Raising his hand took more effort than it ever had before, but making the decision was the hardest part. Tenma heard himself knock before he had even realized he'd done it. The world snapped back into place. Instead of a canyon between him and his son, there was only an ordinary door.
"Astro?" He tried softly. "I know you're upset about this, and you have every right to be, but we need to talk." Tenma paused. "Please. Let me in. We don't have to do anything that you aren't comfortable with."
He was met with silence. Astro hadn't even told him to go away, he was just ignoring Tenma. Which, in all honesty, was one of the better ways he could have reacted.
Tenma wasn't sure if the door was locked or not, but he didn't test it to find out. It wasn't his place. He had reached out his hand, so it could only be Astro's decision if he took it or not. Considering what Doctor Tenma was asking of him, a refusal was more than fair.
"That's alright, too," Tenma said, trying to be gentle — so, so gentle. "I can wait until you're ready, no matter how long that takes." He could hold back the press and the politicians and the protesters. None of them were as important as Astro.
Still, no response. Tenma strained to hear through the door and there was nothing, not even a shuffle. He couldn't pretend that it wasn't disheartening, but Astro had made his choice, so Tenma would honor it. He turned to leave.
The door slid open with the nearly silent whir of motors. Doctor Tenma froze. Carefully, he turned back around.
Astro was standing there. Tenma wasn't sure why he had expected someone else. The pants and hoodie that Astro wore were completely normal, like something he would wear if it was any other day. The look on his face was what set him apart. It was clear that Astro was exhausted and bottling his emotions in as tightly as he could. His face was drawn into a pinched frown and he wouldn't look at Tenma directly. He leaned his shoulder against the doorway, hunched in on himself.
It didn't take a kinesiologist to understand — the door was open, but Astro was not. He didn't want to talk, yet he was forcing himself to because he knew it would only get more difficult the longer that he put it off.
"Astro…" Tenma reached for him and paused. Would hugging him help or make things worse? Was he supposed to apologize? Asking what was wrong seemed counterproductive when Tenma already knew exactly what the problem was.
He remembered coming home to the sink running and Astro standing over it with a red-tinted rag, blood splattered on his cheek where he had missed a spot and an empty look in his eyes. Tenma had been horrified — not to discover the blood and, thanks to the news, the gruesome body. He had been floored to see his son looking so defeated.
Predictably, Astro shrank away from him, averting his gaze. "I'm…" He thought for a moment. "I'm fine, dad," he lied, because nothing else seemed appropriate. The silence between them was so thick that it made it hard to breathe. Astro's eyes flickered toward him before peeling away again. "Did you need something?"
Never having been one for beating around the bush, Tenma nodded. He took a step forward, keeping his hands to himself that time. There was still enough space for Astro to shut the door if he wanted to, but Tenma's intention was clear: he wanted to be let in. "Yes," he said seriously. "Everyone seems to have a different version of what happened that night. I need you to tell me what really happened, Astro. Please. Talk to me," Tenma begged. The only other thing left for him to do was clasp his hands and get on his knees.
As soon as he'd said "that night," Astro's face had shut down. The tiredness and misery were gone. Tenma would have preferred it, because anything was better than that emotionless, detached look in Astro's eyes. It was as though he wasn't even activated, still lying as an empty shell on Tenma's workbench. A look like that didn't suit him at all.
Astro set a hand near his door's sensor, prepared to close it. "I killed someone," he said flatly, and fuck, even his voice had turned robotic. "What else do you need to know?"
Tenma bit down a surge of frustration. It took constant effort to keep back his old habits, his old methods of parenting, but he couldn't give in to impatience. If he grew angry again, especially at that moment, Astro was going to shut his door and Tenma doubted that it would ever open again.
(Or, worse, that vacant look would fade and Astro would stare at Tenma with fear again. As though his dad had only come to shut him down and not to comfort him.)
So he closed his eyes briefly and collected himself. Moving slowly, so as not to startle, Tenma got down on one knee. When Astro only blinked at him, uncertainty bringing emotion back to his barren eyes, Tenma reached out. Astro let him set a hand on his shoulder and they both ignored the way that he flinched at Tenma's touch, shuddering. But was it the contact that upset Astro or the kindness?
"I know what they've been saying about you," Tenma whispered. He wanted to hug Astro, but he hoped that the small touch and his soft words were enough — enough for Astro to understand how intimate this moment was and that anything he said would be their secret. "I don't believe a word of it, Astro. You aren't a murderer. You're not a monster and you don't need to be decommissioned. You're still a child. And I know that you wouldn't have hurt that man if he hadn't made you feel threatened."
Something that Tenma said must have been right because Astro's eyes widened. He searched Tenma's face for a long, thoughtful moment. In the end, he must have found what he was looking for, because he sighed. In doing so, he hunched forward, and his face seemed to lose a decade of age. "I didn't mean to," he whispered, an admission.
Instinctively, Tenma pulled his son closer, and Astro tucked himself against Tenma's chest, under his chin. "We should sit down," he suggested. Astro nodded in agreement but made no attempt to move.
Hiding a fond smile, Doctor Tenma adjusted his grip on Astro so that he could lift his son off of the ground. Astro wrapped his arms around Tenma's neck, like he was five and had scraped his knee and was crying for his daddy to bandage it.
The smile vanished when Tenma remembered that he hadn't been there when Toby had fallen down. His wife had been there, and then later, Orrin had been. Tenma had been working. He forced himself to accept it. The past was unchangeable. Astro wasn't Toby, and Astro didn't need someone to protect him from cuts and bumps and bruises. Tenma couldn't wrap his wounds. At least, not the physical ones.
Sitting on the edge of Astro's bed, Tenma kept his arms where they were and let his son get comfortable. Astro ended up sitting on the bed next to him, pressed against Tenma's side and glaring at the wall with watery eyes.
After a moment's hesitation, he lifted his hand and Tenma ran his fingers through Astro's hair. The fake strands parted for Tenma's touch and melded back together once his fingers had passed, keeping Astro's hair perfectly styled despite the manhandling. "You know it's not your fault," Tenma offered once the quiet had become too much for him. He was self-conscious of his own breathing and heartbeat when Astro had neither. "You're tearing yourself up over something that you never meant to do, Astro. You can't keep all of this guilt bottled up. You're only making yourself miserable."
Silence resumed. Tenma thought that Astro wasn't going to say anything at all, that he was content to stay in his dad's arms until one of them got sick of it, but he couldn't have been more wrong.
"John Goulding," Astro said suddenly.
Tenma stared. He thought that maybe he had misheard but, somehow, he doubted that it was the case. To be safe, he asked, "What was that?"
"I said, Johnathan Goulding!" Astro snapped, yanking himself out of Tenma's arms. "That was his name, dad! He had a wife and two kids and a rap sheet as long as my arm, and I—" He faltered, losing his anger as soon as it had come. Astro slumped, his forehead bumping Tenma's arm. "...and I killed him. You can't justify what I did by pretending that it was anything other than murder."
"I'm not," Tenma protested, setting his hands in his lap as a reminder to give Astro his space. "These aren't justifications, Astro. But there are always explanations and more to the story than one person can tell. That's why our justice system doesn't punish those who were acting in self-defense." He paused. "Was it self-defense, Astro?"
His son couldn't make eye contact, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. Astro scowled in frustration. "It wasn't really self-defense. He had a gun, but I would have been fine. Maybe a little dented, but…" His expression darkened. "But he pointed the gun at that woman, and I didn't— I didn't even think about it, then suddenly I was pointing my arm cannon at him and firing and I—" Astro cut himself off, pressing a hand over his mouth to muffle an undignified noise as he swallowed a sob. "And the next thing I knew, he was dead. I blew his head off. What kind of person does that?"
Tenma hummed softly, looking down. "He did."
There was a sniffle and Astro cleared his throat, wiping his eyes before risking looking over at Tenma. "What?" He asked, lost.
"He did," Doctor Tenma repeated. He forced himself to meet Astro's gaze. "That man was undoubtedly a person, but he was still going to hurt you. He was going to kill that woman you saved and then attempt to do the same to you. But you don't see anyone claiming that he's less than human," he pointed out.
Astro opened his mouth, then closed it with a scowl. He thought for a moment, then said heatedly, "That doesn't mean that what I did was right."
"I'm not saying that it was," Tenma placated — although, truthfully, he would much rather have an attempted murderer lying dead in the street than his son. "My point is just that maybe you, as well as the entire media, should rethink the definition of "monster." Killing each other is something that humans have always done and something we will always do. And so far, no robot is capable of it." He tried to manage a reassuring smile. "If anything, this only makes you more human."
With a frustrated shout, Astro lurched to his feet. "Well, then maybe I don't want to be human!" He snapped. "I'm so angry with myself, dad! I'm supposed to be a hero! Does anything about those photos look heroic to you? I haven't been able to sleep because I can't relax, but pacing just works me up even more until I feel like I'm going to explode. I'm so ashamed of what I did. I don't care if people label me as a monster or more human than ever, I just—!" He lost his steam as he whimpered, wiping at his eyes. Astro's shoulders trembled as he sobbed softly and something inside of Tenma broke at the sight. "I never wanted to hurt anyone. No matter what they did or might have done, I wanted to be better than that." He held his hands up in front of his face as if there was still blood oozing down his fingers. "But I'm no better than any other killer."
"Don't say that!" Tenma stood suddenly, crossing the distance between them in a few steps. A part of him said that Astro still needed space, but a bigger part of Tenma wanted to grab Astro by the shoulders and shake some self-respect into him. He compromised and set his hands calmly on his son's shoulders. "There is nuance to situations like this," Tenma said firmly. "Your motives were completely different than any other killers', Astro. You wanted to protect someone. How can you stand there and punish yourself for helping innocent people? What's more heroic than that?"
Hands hanging limply at his sounds, Astro blinked away tears and looked away. "I don't know…" He muttered. "Criminals are supposed to go to jail, so we can find out if there's nuance to their situations, too. I'll never know this man's story. Dead people don't talk. Maybe he was hurt as a kid and was confused and lashing out, so there was still a chance for him to improve himself. Maybe he was drugged or being blackmailed. Maybe that woman did something horrible to him and she's just as guilty as he is." Astro sniffled, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "I silenced him. No one should have the right to just do that to someone."
Tenma swallowed a groan. He knew already that he was stuck in a circular argument with Astro, as stubborn as he was when it came to his morals. But he wasn't there to get angry at Astro for not listening to him or to debate the ethics of killing.
"If you're going to resent someone, resent me." Tenma turned Astro's head toward him, a hand on his son's cheek as their gazes locked. "I designed you, Astro. I implemented you with those defense mechanisms and I gave them an automatic activation trigger, too. But after I lost Toby, I realized that I would rather risk a stranger's death than yours. Call me selfish." He squeezed his eyes shut, hands beginning to shake as Tenma fought away tears of his own. "Say that I lack empathy and compassion, scream at me, hit me— I don't care what you do to me, Astro, but you need to stop blaming yourself. The idea that this could be your fault at all is absurdly laughable."
And Tenma might have laughed, but all he could get out was a wheezing chuckle. If he tried to laugh, he was going to cry and he wasn't sure if he would be able to make himself stop.
It was quiet after that. Astro stared at him, not expressionless, but his emotions unreadable all the same. Whatever was running through his mind, Tenma wasn't sure he wanted to know. He felt like he was growing delirious.
"Well?" Tenma prompted once the silence had become too much. "Aren't you going to say anything? You have every right to be mad at me, Astro. I forced you to do something that you didn't want to do, I made you compromise your morals. Aren't you furious? Don't you hate me for this?"
He could handle that, as long as Astro stopped hating himself.
There wasn't an answer. Astro froze for a moment, stuck in his own indecision. When Tenma felt like he was a second away from screaming, Astro lurched into motion. He didn't storm out of the room or push Tenma away or fly off. Tenma was so surprised to feel his son's arms wrapped around his midsection that he didn't make any move to return the hug.
"No." Astro buried his face in Tenma's chest, sobbing quietly. "No, I don't hate you, dad."
Tenma just about collapsed, but Astro accommodated his weight without so much as staggering when Tenma lopped his arms around Astro's chest and pulled him closer.
"You can't live like this, Astro," Tenma said eventually, his voice thick with unshed tears. "Trust me. Guilt and self-hatred will eat you from the inside out until all you are is angry and miserable and you don't remember being able to feel anything else. You deserve so much better than that."
Astro nodded minutely. He squirmed as though trying to get closer, a physical impossibility, and Tenma set a hand on his head to steady him. "I'll try," he promised, a whisper. "I… And I want you to remove the self-defense feature from my programming. I don't want to let something like this happen again."
The urge to refuse was strong, but Tenma took a shuddering breath and choked down his pride. He could admit that he had been wrong. He wanted Astro to make his own decisions to make himself happier, even if they sometimes compromised his safety. It was Astro's right to choose that tradeoff.
"Okay," Tenma agreed. He ran a hand through Astro's hair and pressed his damp cheek to the top of his son's head. "Okay."
They didn't speak after that, and they didn't pull away for a long time.
A/N: I took Tenma's view on this issue from what he says in PLUTO, how he comments several times that Atom is a failure because he's incapable of the intense love and hatred and sorrow that can push a human to kill someone. I'm not sure why Tenma would want his son to be a killer, but it's an interesting argument nonetheless, and one that I think about often. So I thought it would be fun to touch on those ideas in this fic.
In other news, I've been thinking of opening a P atreon or Ko-fi account and doing writing commissions. What do you guys think?