Work Text:
Julian hummed as he worked on the body of his newest creation, the familiarity of its shape comforting. He could almost imagine it actually was his son, simply resting as he completed repairs.
He wondered how Zane’s body was holding up with no one to help him.
He’d decided after a long morose night of ranking each miserable aspect of his current life that that may be the worst part of it all. Having to live with regrets, some he’d never even had an opportunity to formulate in his first life.
The loneliness was a close second.
And being forced to make war machines that were no doubt contributing to suffering at this very moment.
He thought it was kind of funny the memories of dying barely ranked.
And as horrible as the consequences were, he was doing what he loved. Making machines.
He continued to hum his little tune, a half remembered song he’d made his own at some stage of his life with Zane. His son had loved it, and often whistled it to his falcon friend. (Appropriately named Falcon, The memory of Zane trying to ask what the little robot wanted to be called made him laugh, a sign of the sweet, earnest heart at the centre of his son's code).
It was silly to think the chassis in front of him would appreciate the familiar tune, given there was nothing going on between the ears as the saying went. The Skulkin’s understanding of robotics and artificial intelligence was abysmal and Julian wasn’t exactly going to volunteer a 101 course to get them up to speed. He shuddered to think about the damage they could do with intelligent machines at their beck and call. He was lucky they’d only grabbed one half completed processor when they ransacked his lab (and completely ignored his son, luck so magical it got Julian praying again). Julian had promptly torn it apart when he’d been thrown into the lighthouse, only to anxiously salvage it for his little tea friend once he’d realised the mind-crushing nature of true isolation.
Oh how he worried for his son. He could only hope he’d managed to find his way to one of the Birchwood settlements when he awoke.
Julian stared at the completed clock mechanism, his satisfaction at completing the finicky mechanism defeated by the emptiness of knowing he’d never see his son again.
“What am I doing?” He whispered to himself as he put down his tools. “You’ll never be him, you can’t be.”
He placed a hand on the machine's cheek. “You’re just an echo.”
He sighed and then groaned as he got up from the worktable. He was honestly surprised he’d lasted these past few years, and didn’t want to think about whatever dark magic was keeping his body alive to suffer these conditions.
He walked over to his larger tools, then turned back to the body. And stared.
He knew he should destroy it. Even without a ‘brain’ the machine would still be dangerous in the hands of the skullkin.
But the very thought made him ache. He couldn’t do that to his son. Or, he reminded himself, the thing that looked very much like his son.
He sighed again and moved the body to one of his hiding places. And before he locked the door, feeling very silly, he hugged the machine and closed his eyes very tightly.
“I’m so sorry Zane.” He said. “I love you very much.”
Julian locked the cupboard door and swiped away the moisture at his eyes before it could form into tears. Walking up the stairs he completely missed the whir-tick that started up as a deep purple light flashed within the cupboard.