His father was never a father to him, but he vowed to be one. He and Rosie had dreamed of having children together, and he committed to being a better, more worthy father. Although this child is not his by blood, he would love them as if they were.
Yet, despite his quest for redemption—for both himself and this precious bundle—he remains haunted by the shadows of his past.
Otto lay in the empty bed, the space where his wife once slept feeling cold and hollow. Instead of her presence, four mechanical arms hovered protectively around him, sensing the horrors swirling in his mind.
He writhed under the sheets, his face contorted in pain. Deep, guttural grunts escaped his lips as he flinched, trapped in a nightmare he could not escape. The mechanical limbs slithered closer, their movements almost tender, as if wishing to soothe him from within his torment.
A soft squeak broke through the tension, and the tentacles instantly reacted, their jaws snapping open, ready to defend against any threat as Otto’s distress intensified.
The door creaked open, revealing Peter.
The arms halted their aggressive stance, recognizing the small trespassing figure as a child.
Peter’s wide eyes reflected concern as he stepped into the room, taking in the sight of his papa thrashing in bed, clutching his teddy bear tightly. The mechanical arms gently surrounded Peter, almost cocooning him, as if he were their own precious little sun.
“Papa?” Peter’s voice trembled, a mixture of worry and innocence.
Otto groaned in response, lost in his nightmare, while the tentacles emitted soft mechanical chitters, trying to comfort him. Peter, feeling a surge of bravery, moved closer, his small hands reaching out to touch one of Otto’s sweaty arms.
“Papa, wake up!” he urged, shaking the arm gently. The tentacles responded by enveloping them both, creating a warm embrace that shielded Peter from the darkness.
“Daddy, please!” he pleaded, his voice a whisper filled with fear and love.
Otto remained ensnared in his torment, but Peter’s gentle presence seemed to break through the fog.
“Daddy, it’s okay. I’m here,” he whispered, his innocence shining through the shadows of the room.
Otto jolted awake with a sharp gasp, his eyes snapping open as if struck by lightning. At the same time, his four mechanical arms reacted instinctively, lurching upward in defense.
Peter gasped, stepping back in surprise, but the hesitation lasted only a moment. Instead of fear, concern pushed him forward again.
“Daddy?” he called softly, his small hand reaching up to stroke Otto’s damp cheek.
Otto didn’t respond at first. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths as he stared blankly into the darkness, his mind still caught between the nightmare and reality. Then, slowly, his gaze settled on the little boy before him. “Pet…Peter?” His voice was hoarse, uncertain.
The mechanical arms relaxed, sensing their master’s calm, and Peter bounced slightly on his feet, his worry melting into relief.
“Daddy!”
Otto’s heart clenched at the sight of him—his precious little sun amidst the lingering shadows of his mind. Meeting those warm brown eyes, the fear that had gripped him—the ghosts of his past—began to fade. A weak but content smile curved his lips.
“My little lad.”
Peter giggled, the soft sound bright and full of warmth, before launching himself into Otto’s arms. The moment their bodies met, Otto felt it—that small, comforting presence soothing him in ways nothing else could. The lingering heat of his distress cooled under the gentle weight of his son’s embrace.
Otto let out a quiet chuckle as his mechanical arms curled protectively around them. Their movements were no longer defensive but tender, like the folding wings of a guardian shielding them both from almost the world. They chittered softly, as if celebrating Peter’s success in pulling their master from the nightmare’s grasp.
With a silent command, one of the arms moved, slithering around Peter’s tiny waist. Its metal jaws carefully encircled him—not squeezing, never harming—just holding. Peter let out a giggle, completely unfazed, and the arm lifted him effortlessly into the air.
Otto opened his arms, and the tentacle obeyed, gently lowering the boy into his waiting embrace. As Peter settled on his lap, the other arms hovered close, their tiny clawed appendages delicately brushing back his curls.
Peter giggled again, squirming at the light touch, and Otto couldn’t help but smile at the sight.
“What is my precious sun doing out of bed at this hour?” he asked, his voice low and affectionate.
Peter’s face scrunched with concern. “You had a scary dream again, Daddy. I worried. I love you.”
Otto’s chest tightened. He forced a smile, trying to bury the flicker of guilt behind his usual composure. “Oh, Peter, did I wake you?”
Peter shook his head. “Don’t feel bad. Be brave, Daddy.” His tiny hands clutched at Otto’s shirt, holding on with quiet determination. “I be brave like you. I be brave for you.”
Otto stilled, struck by the weight of such innocent yet powerful words.
This child, this boy he had brought into his darkened world, was his one true light—his hope, his reason to be more than what he once was.
With a quiet chuckle, he pulled Peter closer, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. The mechanical arms curled around them both, forming a cocoon of warmth and protection. The child leaned in, resting his head against Otto’s chest, feeling the heartbeat that had once raced frantically but now pulsed with a steady, soothing rhythm.
Otto closed his eyes, listening to the same steady rhythm of Peter’s breathing. For now, the nightmares were gone.
And in their place was that one word.
Just love.
And soon it was silent.
The arms slowly curled around them, their movements gentle and deliberate, before settling onto the bed.
The room fell into a deep, undisturbed silence, wrapped in stillness and warmth.
They were all safe.