Fix Your Fucking Attitude : Karl Heisenberg

Doubt

Fix Your Fucking Attitude
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Tw: Blood, Gore, Discussing Trauma (Includes: Kidnapping, unethical experiments, murder, death)

You and Karl sat in his kitchen dressing wounds. You were hopped up on the counter while he kept his distance at the table. He was smoking a cigar.

Let's say after you said "him and his question can go fuck themselves" you both proceeded to beat the living hell out of each other.

You wrapped bandages firmly around your left knuckles, they were bruised and bloody; from his blood and yours.

You hissed when you got to your dominant hand. You were sure some knuckles were severely dislocated. Your hand shook at you tried to push them back into place.

You nearly blacked out from the pain. You were about to try again when Karl spoke up.

You looked over at him. He looked like a wild animal had attacked him. He had a black eye and the right side of his face was bruised badly from you repeatedly punching him. His lip was also busted. That was payback from you.

"They are dislocated and most likely also broken. You won't be able to push them in by yourself."

You sighed, he was right. Your fingers were already turning purple. You couldn't feel your finger tips anymore.

You heard him shuffle over and take a deep inhale of his cigar before setting it on the edge of the sink. The ashes fell slowly into the water making grey streaks.

He stepped closer to you and gestured for your hand. You shakily moved your hand into his.

His hands were much bigger than yours. His hand completely enveloped yours. They had tiny white scars scattered all over them no doubt from work accidents. His hands were calloused but smooth. He seemed to take great care of his nails as they were clean, short and surprising in great shape.

His eyes flicked to yours, you stared into them. They were a soft amber color. Not like the searing yellow they were earlier.

"Don't look at your hand, it will hurt more if you tense up."

You continued to stare. His eyes were mesmerizing. They were unlike anything you had seen before.

You realized you were staring a little too intensely and looked away at a distant wall. You felt him massage your pinky finger back into place. You nearly screamed as it popped back into the joint.

You tried to pull you hand away, he didn't allow you to. You glared at him.

"Let go."

He rolled his eyes, "Sorry buttercup can't do that, if we leave this now you won't be able to pop them back in and they will swell and permanently do nerve damage and we wouldn't wanna ruin your beautiful little hand now would we?

You stopped resisting against him and tried to relax. You couldn't stand the silence and anticipation. It just made you tense up at every moment you though he was about to move your fingers back into place.

He noticed this.

"Look at me, talk to me."

You raised an eyebrow, "What shall we talk about?"

He grinned.

"Your powers. That is a rare ability and I want to know how you got it."

You sighed, of course he wanted to know about that of all things. You didn't blame him though you were just as curious about his abilities as well.

"I inherited them from my father. He was exposed to a rare element in an accident. He honestly should've died but he didn't. He lived to meet my mother. They fell in love and here I am.

You paused. Your voice got softer.

"He died soon after I was born, Yes he lived after the accident but it was just because his death was going to be long and painful. Every time he used his abilities it would slowly kill him. Eventually he went to far and abruptly died. After that my mother struggled to provide for me. The company my father worked for offered her support in exchange to study me. She didn't realize that that meant they were going to experiment on me with the leftover elements from my father's accident. I was only a child. The only reason I'm alive is because my fathers genes saved me from his fate.

You glanced up. Karl was staring at you. His eyes were strangely soft. Compassion leaked into his gaze. You blinked rapidly and looked away.

"Why about you metal man? How did you end up this way?"

He remained silent for a moment, he don't even look up from your hand as he spoke.

"I wasn't born this way, I started out as a average human. Mother Miranda kidnapped me and used me in her experiments. Like you I was only just a boy. I got lucky as I had the most affinity to these.... "experiments". When she was done I could move and bend metal to my will."

You let your voice go soft, "What about your family?"

He sneered, "She killed them, She did this so I would only have ties to her. Having attachments other than her is a threat. She does this but she truly doesn't love any of her "children". We are only her servants and lab rats.

You furrowed your brows, "how do your powers work I mean ..." you trailed off and looked him up and down.

He chuckled, "My powers are hard to explain but I have electric organs similar to a electric ray. This allows me to control magnetic fields and move metallic objects.

You drank in his words, "Yours are similar to mine; complementary even. I wonder if they would work in tandem..."

He smiled, "Interesting theory. Maybe we could test it if we don't kill each other before then."

You scoffed and rolled your eyes.

You hadn't realized he had popped all of your fingers in, cleaned the blood away and bandaged them.

He was right. The conversation did distract you from the pain.

You glanced up to him setting in a chair with a dirty mirror, trying to fix his broken nose.

You felt bad all the sudden. Without thinking you moved over to him got in his face and helped him fix his nose. You gently pushed in back into place. He grunted but didn't move.

Blood seeped from his nose. You suddenly got sad. You didn't like hurting people even if they did deserve it. You used your sleeve and wiped the blood away softly.

He was staring at you but you pretended not to notice. "Don't move let me get a rag."

You quickly came back to find him smoking his cigar. Still there. You smiled.

You got in his space again, you dipped the rag in disinfectant slowly and make sure to be gentle. You wiped his face, you cut him up pretty bad. He said nothing as you cleaned him up.

There was on wound on his jaw that was crusted in blood. You furrowed your brow as the blood wouldn't lift from his skin.

You put your hand on his other cheek for support and scrubbed it gently until the blood came off.

You hadn't even realized that you had stepped between his legs and were practically leaning on him. You glanced down at him. His cigar had burned out, ash had practically consumed the whole thing. He was clutching his hands to the side of the chair. He had his eyes closed and he was as stiff as a oak tree.

You stepped away quickly; embarrassed. You mumbled a quick apology before excusing yourself to your room.

As you shut the door behind you you clutched your burning face for a moment.

You sighed and dragged your feet to your bed. You flopped down on your back. You looked at your hand.

Why was he so gentle? Why did he help me?

Then you noticed the small smear of blood at the end of your sleeve.

Why did I feel bad? Why did I help him? Why did I care if I invaded his space by accident?

Am I going soft for the enemy?