-Author's Note-
(There won't be many of these.) I haven't written a fanfiction in a LONG time and couldn't even remember my account details for my old, old, OLD account from, like… 2010 maybe? I don't know. Anyway, I've been playing a lot of Bioshock, doing some actual (publishable) writing and have decided to delve back into my heathanistic ways by creating this monstrosity. Of course, it's a premise you've all seen plenty of times in regards to almost every intellectual property in the book, but I'm writing it out of need for catharsis. I won't claim to be an amazing writer because I am very much just average, but I love to do it. That's all that really matters. Anyway, enjoy my madness.
…
"Don't leave me like this…" He is certain he'd said something to that effect what now seemed like a lifetime ago- though it might have actually been mere minutes… maybe an hour, yet here he was, lain flat on the inside of the pod barreling skywards through fathoms of sapphire water. Testing twitches tell him that he is very much in control of his faculties, but control isn't his most intense concern. No, it is not by a generous margin. Though he is in control, his body doesn't do much within the obedient persuasion due to the horrible aching and exhaustion each and every extremity bleeds. Oh, how much worse it gets when the pod suddenly breaks the surface and flies up upwards off of the top some ways before slamming back down and settling into a gradually calming bob. He flies up in the freefall to be dropped unceremoniously back to the floor. All he can do in response to the soreness is groan.
In time, he regains himself enough to sense another human being to his left, one who takes him by the shoulder and attempts to get him upright only to get him partially there and then lower him back down. They do not possess the strength to lift him- suit and all- minus aid. He wishes he could force his muscles to exert even the bare minimum, but he fails himself rather spectacularly in that regard. Still, whoever they are, they try again and get him a bit farther up. They fail again, of course, but it is a valiant effort, nonetheless. He could appreciate the attempt. He feels them step around him after this and hears the distinct swish of new, fresh air rushing the pressurized inner sanctum of the pod... Real, fresh air... God, does he wish to feel it… On his face… his hands… his feet… He'd strip naked and embrace whoever is there to watch could he only... A lot stands between he and that fantasy, however…
He is ripped from his thoughts rather abruptly when larger, stronger hands find the small of his back and actually manage to set him upright. They falter partially, but do not drop him. Finally sitting on his rump, he feels the downward rush of blood from his skull. It's like all the fluids in his body were lumped into his head and only now were they able to run back to their homes across his morphed span. His eyes start to clear and a blurry shape sets itself against a backdrop of pinks, blues and greys. It's familiar. What has to be a hand (looking more like a horrific spider in the haze) reaches over his upper body and starts to fiddle with sturdy locks about his chest and shoulder blades, locks that give way so quickly like the hands that took hold of them are intimately familiar with their very making.
He feels the next rush of air. It's cool and salty, but fresh all the same… Manna from heaven. The massive, metal helmet comes off and falls to his side like dead, worthless weight. It finally allows him to focus with all his vision, including the peripheral and thus allows his eyes to really, truly settle themselves. The creature before him is, in fact, familiar. He's burly, broad-shouldered and tall with skin of waterproof weave and a face like a porthole that is framed with brass rivets… The man he'd told to kill him… The man who didn't listen, for whatever reason. He hopes it's a reason hand delivered from God himself or else he'll be more than a little irate.
There is something new to Delta's figure- the way his chest heaves and hands shake... He is weak… or as week as he's ever been, which still affords the goliath of a man some generous measure of strength, but not near as much as he should have. It's concerning, to say the least. A second figure joins Delta to his left, leaning into his vision with a warm, youthful smile. "Augustus," she begins tenderly. "You made it." Eleanor Lamb. Sinclair gasps his understanding since his attempt at speaking only gives him a jolt of agony in his chest. At the reminder that said pain exists, the memories begin to rewind.
Delta had been trying with all his heart to subdue Augustus via non-lethal means. Said means included blunt attacks to deliberate points on the other's body… pressure points. One hit, however, was not on a pressure point and was entirely a measure to get Sinclair off of his feet… an unintentionally authoritative blow to the abdomen. Under his suit, Augustus knows he has a horrid bruise. Delta reaffirms his grip on Sinclair's suited back and then takes ahold of his left bicep. With a concerning effort, the larger man gets him upright… That is, until the smaller's left leg gives out and he nearly takes Delta down with him. The Big Daddy resets his footing and manages to catch Sinclair with but a lean before adjusting his lift to accommodate the other's poor balance.
Augustus keeps the toe of his left foot down for balance but focuses all his weight onto his right and, subsequently, Delta who doesn't at all seem to mind. He takes it in stride, as a matter of fact, and gradually hobbles the two of them from the sanctum to the grated walkway along the outside… to the open air, the glittering breakers… the near-blinding sunlight that painted the clouds in pastels… It is almost too quick. He clamps his eyes shut to prevent from going blind and the light shines right through them. One of Delta's shaking hands moves up to Augustus's shoulder and braces in reassurance, like he's telling him that it's okay to look… it's not going to hurt him. In that, he chances the shock. His eyes creep open and manage to familiarize his brain with the almost new sensation of sunlight. Oh, how he'd forgotten…
Sinclair lowers himself gracelessly onto the grating and Delta lets him, only sliding his grip along the other's arm before releasing entirely once he's sure the man won't fall over the edge. "It's incredible," Eleanor breathes. Sinclair agrees with a grunt and Delta with a nearly imperceptible lowering of his head. In that moment, it seems as though the horrible helm of his attire is getting too heavy for him to bare. It's noticed by the girl, as well. She presses a gentle, yet firm, hand to her "father's" chest, indicating that she wants him to sit. He does so without fuss and shakes the craft just slightly with the force of his slump. "You're very weak, father. I'm surprised that you're alive at all; though I'm glad, I'm not sure how long you'll stay this way. You and Sinclair need doctors… People who can reverse what's been done to you… Both of you." She looks to Augustus who scoots himself from the edge of the walkway when he starts to wobble.
The older man braves a collection of deep breaths before forcing strangled, agonizing words from his mouth. Without his usual control, his accent goes wild. "Who… Out there… would know how'ta... how'ta get these… suits off?"
Eleanor pauses, crouched at Delta's side. "I've read of people who've managed to leave Rapture in the past… Some were scientists and doctors… One or two worked on Big Daddies, at least a little. I don't know how we'd find them or if they'd even have a clue, but… We have a chance and I want to try."
"Well, honey… I want'cha to… to promise me somethin'... If ya can't fix me, then I want… I want'cha to… kill me…. I don't wanna live like… like this... " The words are heavy, even coming with conviction from his own mouth. Saying them feels like slinging stones and the look Eleanor gives in return is adequately painful. She looks like she wants to oppose the request, but nods in agreement anyway. "Thank ya, sugar... " At least the kinder terms of endearment still flow easily. It isn't but a moment of respite before the patter of tiny feet clank their way over to the trio with clamor like a kindergarten class on a field trip. There are at least ten of the tiny girls that skip up to Delta and Eleanore like they've known the two intimately their entire lives. Obviously, they pay Augustus no mind, which works just fine for him. He's never been great with kids.
A few sit on Delta's lap, some hang onto his shoulders and arms and one seems content with being held by her "big sister." Despite his weakened state, Delta humors the children and affords them all the gentleness he can muster with quaking appendages, lifting them up to let them climb on his armor or bouncing them without rhythm on his knee. One could say whatever they please about Big Daddies, but any dig about them being mere brutes without soul was ignorant at best. What he sees when he looks at that Alpha playing with those girls… is anything but.
Oddly enough, when Eleanore puts down the girl she'd been holding to step back inside the pod, she takes one look at the hectic scene about Delta and chooses almost instantly to wander over to Augustus, something he hasn't the time to prepare to object to. At least this child is of the quiet, reserved sort as she just sits against his bent knee and watches the group from a distance. It had to have been the suit, right? They were conditioned to equate the suit to safety… to care. Delta manages to turn the yellow window- that Sinclair had since started to call his "face"- towards the other. What the older man wouldn't give to see the expression held within. Perhaps it is but a watchful eye, making sure that all of the children were accounted for. Just as the girls had been taught to find security in the Big Daddies, the Big Daddies were made to keep a hawk's gaze trained on their charges. No, maybe his terminology should be more tender than that. It wasn't a hawk's eye. It was a parent's. Part of Sinclair wondered if Delta had been this accommodating to young ones in his previous life or if this tolerant disposition was merely the effect of his mental augmentation.
When Augustus watches one of the girls climb atop his head and tap idly on the screen of his visor without any move to scold her, Sinclair confirms the latter. No man alive- no matter how loving- is that patient. Eleanor soon returns with something in hand, stopping to remove the girl from her "father's" head with a mirthful admonish. Upon a little adjustment on his position, Augustus realizes it's a flare gun. Its use in this situation is fairly clear. "Gonna… signal a… passing ship or plane… Right?"
Eleanor nods. "That is the plan. I have three flairs. Someone is bound to come for us eventually."
"Hn... How long… do ya think he… he has… If he's still… ya know…?" The older man is mindful of the children caught in between. The girl's shoulders slump, a horrible show of worry or some emotion similar.
"I don't know. All we can do is hope… and rest. It's not much, but I think we can sleep inside if we get tired enough."
"Honey, after… after sleepin' in Rapture... Anyplace can be… can be a comfy bed... Heh... " He can keep himself upright no longer and flops onto his back, arms splayed as far outwards as possible. God, this is the worst he's ever felt (physically, anyway). The girls laugh before Eleanore ushers them back inside, beckoning Delta as well. He's slow to his feet, but gets up enough to shuffle through the door and pull it partially closed behind him. The eldest girl, however, stays on the walk with the flare gun and her crossed legs just barely hanging over the side. Augustus isn't able to move on his own, but doesn't mind the basking. He's sure Delta will do his best to bring him in when the need arises. "Ya know, it's a… A solid plan save for… for the fact that... " He takes a few deep breaths in a pause as he tries to familiarize his body with the gradually ebbing ache across his midsection. "... For the fact that people know this… this area is notorious for… disappearances… Like… A lot of… them." In response, the girl nods solemnly.
"More than unfortunate... " The tone is a wistful breath, barely audible over the lapping of the water against the pod's metal frame. It's gone in an instant, however. Eleanor's expression and tone morph into those of determination. "...But it's all we can do." Sinclair sighs.
"Let's hope it happens… soon. We don't have… the stuff to feed… everyone." Finally, by some miracle of will, Augustus's left arm lifts at his command and slowly and quiveringly crosses his abdomen to grip his suit over where the pain is most acute. Testingly, he manages to also turn his ankles and bend at least his right knee all the way back so his heel touches his rear. It hurts like hellfire, but he can move some and that is enough for him. As hours wear on, he regains more and more strength in other areas of his body and tries his limits in weird scoots here and there. By the time he can actually sit up enough to hang onto a handrail, the sun has dipped far below the distant waterline and a moonless night bathes the world in a somber glow that feels sickeningly similar to a time when glass domes created shafts of artificial light above their heads.
"Maybe nightfall will make spotting ships easier," Eleanor had suggested not long before the darkness entirely consumed them and it was partially true. A ships lights in this type of darkness were far easier to spot as well as the light of their flare, but night time also brought another pot of horrors, more so on the ocean than anyone could ever imagine; not to mention the fact that the children probably wouldn't sleep in the dark and on a cold, metal floor. Delta could only comfort them so much within the confines of his unforgiving, industrial prison. Speaking of Delta, the Alpha steps out of the chamber with a slightly steadier set to his movements, though his subtle limp is a clear sign of continued weakness. In silence, Sinclair hopes the other isn't still actually dying, but it's a baseless, fruitless wish spawned from a desperate desire for positivity in the current circumstance. He knows the facts, how Delta was designed. The Alpha's time is limited and chances of him even making it to shore are slim.
"Are the girl's alright, Father?" Delta answers by pointing to Eleanor and then to the open chamber. "Are they asking for me?" He nods. The girl stands, legs needing a moment to regain blood flow prior to her handing off the flare gun to her "father" and stepping inside; in this, Delta takes to his new- albeit temporary- position with boundless diligence. He sits upon the edge of the platform and scans the horizon on a swivel.
"Hmm... How ya…. How ya feelin', chief?" Augustus's strength has nearly doubled since they reached the surface and he finds speaking to be a far easier task. Either he's grown used to the pain enough to tolerate it or it's actually going away to an extent. Delta gives but a single, heavy nod. "Mm. Don't go dyin' on us now, ya hear? You're with me until we get out of here and we ain't really out of Rapture until it's far behind us." The glowing porthole of the Big Daddy's helmet considers him in a tensionless quiet before returning to the water. "Can't you… Take that off?" He reaches a quaking finger out to poke the side of the metal dome and the action occurs far more slowly than he would've liked. He was sure Delta got the point long before his hand made contact, yet he humored the smaller man. Once gain, Delta gives but a nod. "Why don'cha?" This time, it is a shrug, but a subtle one. He could've blinked and missed it.
"Well, come on, kid. I ain't gonna make fun… I promise." Sinclair tries his absolute best to sound completely genuine without a hint of ill-meaning subtext. Still, Delta hesitates, right thumb tracing the butt of the gun in his hand almost nervously. Augustus scoots his way over to him with a gentle nudge to his shoulder. The action earns him a look, at least. "Gotta admit that I'm curious, chief. Just a peek? You can put it back on right after." When the silence stretches onward, he continues. "It would make me feel a little better." Damn him to hell for being a little manipulative, but a part of him fancies the idea of leaving all remnants of Rapture far in the past wherever possible- Delta's archaic helmet being one of those stepping stones. He doesn't think he himself would feel sentimental about what amounts to a collar in his eyes, but he isn't Delta... He's not even close.
Despite the previous hesitation, however, a single hand slips from the flare gun to one of the locks on the dome, a motion that shoots a spike of near excitement through Sinclair. He remembers vaguely what that "Johnny Topside" had looked like, but Subject Delta wasn't much of that man anymore… And surely the hell he'd been through changed him, right?
...The hell Augustus put him through…
Just as tentative fingers reach the metal lock, a hand grabs the Big Daddy's wrist, pulling it gently away with an ashamed downturn to Sinclair's face. The visor looks him over. "On… On second thought, I... Nevermind, kid." Delta's head tilts to the right, hand caught mid-air between Sinclair and his own dome. Of course it takes confusing him to arouse anything akin to an expression. "I'm sorry." He slips his hand from Delta's. It hits his lap dully as he dead-weights it. Even when the smaller man looks away, Delta continues to stare with a lopsided set to his head, something Augustus does his best to ignore. "Don't look back. Don't look back... "
Metal feet clanking against the walk give Sinclair a much appreciated reprieve from what had to have been her "father's" scrutinizing glare. Eleanor softly slips the gun from Delta's hand and nudges him towards the door. "Go rest, father. Preserve your strength." She doesn't need to hassle him. Delta heads back to the children with less fuss than a well-trained hound. She reclaims her spot on the walk and Sinclair distances himself from where the larger man had been sitting moments ago- not without a curious glance from Eleanor first, of course.
That glance is long gone by the time the girl gets to her feet and says something that barely reaches the comprehension of the man. He looks at her and furrows his brows in a silent question which then prompts her to repeat herself. "I see lights!" Augustus manages to roll onto his side. Sure enough, in the distance among the glittering reflections of stars there were lights in stark contrast to the rest, tinted more like fire than of the gaseous bodies above. Swiftly, Eleanor aims the gun upwards and fires. A streak of smoke winds its way up high above their heads, following an orb of red that fans out into multiple orbs as it makes its way back down. It's so bright that the stars vanish for bit a second. When the scarlet tinge fades from the world around them, the lights refocus on the horizon. They watch them, two sets of eyes incredibly intent. The vessel, whatever it is, shows no signs of seeing them.
Quickly, almost fumbling, Eleanor loads a second flare into the gun and fires again. It behaves the same as before… and it fades… and the lights remain on their steady course. Slowly, Eleanor sits down on the platform, her feet dipping into the water. She holds the last flare in one hand, rubbing it between her fingers. In haste, she's wasted two flares... She's thinking… her face is scrunched and posture riged. "What do you think?" she finally asks, looking to Sinclair.
Augustus sighs. "Let's just wait. It might be a bigger ship. Maybe it takes them longer to turn."
"Right. Right." She sets the flare gun aside and crosses both of her fingers, setting the heels of her hands against her stomach. Even in the darkness, the man can see her mouthing what has to be a desperate plea.
"'Sides… they'd see the lighthouse." Sinclair tilts his head towards the stone monolith, something Eleanor doesn't directly acknowledge. She merely nods, biting her lower lip. Augustus lets out a long, aching huff. "Why didn't he kill me?" She doesn't have to ask. He knows she knows who he's referring to.
"I don't know. We aren't connected anymore, but we'll fix this. Even if we can't save… him… We can get that suit off you." He sure hopes so. Perhaps the girl's sheer conviction will bring the solution into existence. If only it were as simple as believing hard enough. Perhaps then Rapture wouldn't have been a pipe dream spat into the middle of the Atlantic.
"I sure hope so, sweetheart… I really do... I might have a second chance and there's a lot I need to make up for... "
"Don't worry about what you did down there," Eleanor says this so assuredly, like she believes any guilt on his conscience was preposterous. What does she know? She might be mature for her age, but Eleanor is still but a child, still unaware of how utterly terrible he'd been, not only to Delta, but to hundreds of needy and vulnerable people. "We are going to put Rapture behind us. All of us."
"Easier said than done."
"I don't care what it takes. All of this is going to be but a chapter in our lives."
"Hm. Sweetie, Rapture has been just about my entire book. Livin' well for the few years I got left won't redeem my character."
"Not with that attitude." Sinclair goes to retort before a bulky, gloved hand gently taps his cheek, drawing him rather abruptly from his focus with a start. Delta had come out onto the walk without either of them hearing somehow, despite his weight and lumbering gait. Seeing that glowing, intense visor staring down at him has always made him feel far smaller than he really was. Augustus imagines that, behind that screen, there's a disapproving glare… a face that calls him a fool. "Father, you should be resting." The Alpha stretches his arm to extend a figure towards the lights on the horizon. "We signaled them, yes. Only time will tell if they respond." The hand drops and Delta remains almost as still as stone upon the platform.
"Kid, you really do need to rest. Usin' unnecessary energy could be disastrous," the smaller man chimes, shoving at the Big Daddy's knee. In rebuttal, the larger man hooks an arm around Augustus's waist and hoists him to his feet (or foot rather as the left was still almost inoperable.) This startles the other enough to draw a sharp, stinging gasp from his chapped lips and cause one hand to grasp Delta's shoulder hurriedly. "Woah, big hoss!"
In pure amused delight, Eleanor barks a laugh. "I think he wants you to rest, too."
"Not like I can say no!" Delta lifts him into the chamber and seals the door shut behind them. Inside, the children are in various states of occupation, some trying to sleep on patches of floor covered by scratchy, spare blankets from the storage crate and others are going about in their own games of either chase or pretend. All of that stops when Delta presents himself. Those that were awake stop their own activities and run to hulking man, but they are far more gentle after Eleanor's warnings some time previously. They don't cling to him or grab him. Instead, they press gentle hands to his legs and look up expectantly, waiting for free hands to interact in some way. Delta lowers Sinclair to the floor with the same soft hands that he then uses to pick up a couple of the children. He walks said children to about the middle of the pod and sits. It is with some doing that the Alpha gets the remaining children to settle upon the cots and only a short time longer to get them to sleep. What surprises Sinclair most, though, is how Delta manages to do it. Big Daddies were altered severely - even the earlier ones - to an extent that prevented most forms of communication. This included talking. That said, some small noises were possible with enough effort, even if forming real words wasn't.
Through what has to be agonizing effort on an already injured Delta, the suited behemoth gathers his strength… and hums. It isn't harmonious by any means. There are stops for heavy breaths and he is fairly out of tune, but it's there… it's recognizable… Silent Night. Though it is by no means pleasant, Augustus smiles. He listens with a head leaned gently against the back of the pod and the collar of his suit. 'Mm... Maybe he would sound decent with working vocal cords... ' the smaller man muses in his head. The children like it, however. They like everything their lumbering protector does. It is in that where Sinclair reasons that Big Daddies were these girls' means of behavioral learning. What Daddy does has to be good. Be it murdering and smashing or humming lullabies, what Daddy does has to be good. Rapture really was-
Before he can finish the thought, he's pulled from himself to a small grip on his limp left arm. It's far too small to be either Delta's or Eleanor's. Glancing over, he finds the hand of the very same girl that had approached him earlier. Her face is blank and her movements are very cautious, but she settles herself into Augustus's side with his forearm as her pillow. He looks to Delta for help, but the quick, careless glance he tosses back speaks volumes. 'You're on your own.' The older man grumbles. He turns to the little girl who rests against him with her eyes open, half-lidded and watching the others sleep. "What's your name, darlin'?" he asks as gently as he is able. She slowly moves her head to face him. Her eyes are wide, lively orbs of emerald green.
"Odette."
"Yeah? That's real pretty. I'm Augustus." Odette sits herself up some so she can better look at the older man.
"August. "
"No, it's…" He stops for a moment. "...Well… Yeah, sure. August." Damn him if he isn't terrible around children. At least his resignation gives the previously blank child a weak smile. Still, in comparison to the others, Odette is an oddity. She seems almost sickly. The concept didn't surprise Sinclair as he, too, felt out of sorts in light of recent events. Perhaps a soft bed and stable housing will do them all some good. Right now, however, Augustus can sleep anywhere. In fact, he finds himself drifting off against the metal sheeting of the pod in spite of the pain, the worry and the twisting of his gut. In this moment, the sea is calm, the air is quiet… It's as close to bliss as he's been in a long time.