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Michael has never been much of a heavy sleeper. He wakes up easily to any noise he thinks he hears- whether or not it's real is generally unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Creaking in the halls he mistakes for footsteps, William's car pulling up the long gravel driveway outside, rain against the windows and wind in the trees, just about anything can and will wake Michael up. He's pretty much used to it, and as long as he can have his eyes shut before they adjust to the dark he can go back to sleep anyways.
So it's not surprising that he's woken up by the footsteps approaching his room.
(What's surprising is when they're real.)
His eyes shoot open as they begin to grow louder, but whatever their source is doesn't carry much weight, so not really by much. For a second, just a split second, hope rises in his chest. Elizabeth?
He presses the thought down almost immediately, berating himself for the childish thought. Goddamn idiot. She wouldn't be back, and even if she was, she wouldn't come to see you. How stupid can you be? She's not coming back.
...Fuck.
Even with his hope dampened, he feels a twang of disappointment when his crybaby little brother Cassidy opens the door, tears streaked down his freckled cheeks because when is that not the case, curly brown hair everywhere. In his arms is that dumb stuffed Fredbear he takes everywhere that's almost a third as big as he is, the speaker on its chest reflecting the dim purple light from the lava lamp on Michael's dresser, and the red light from his alarm clock which informs him that it's currently 2:09AM.
"...Micha?" Cassidy chokes out.
"I told you not to call me that," Michael shoots back. "What do you want? It's two in the fuckin' morning."
Cassidy's response is nearly unintelligible. Generally speaking that isn't a surprise, but this time it's not just because he's always quiet, but rather that he's buried his head in his stuffie as if he's embarrassed to answer.
"What?"
"I have to go to the bathroom," He says, no longer meeting Michael's gaze.
Michael blinks.
"Okay? Then go. You know where it is. You're not a baby, Cassidy. You can use the bathroom by yourself."
"I don't want to go on my own," Cassidy says. "I'm afraid of the dark."
"I'm not taking you to go to the bathroom. I'm too damn tired, and you're not a baby anymore. You'll live."
Cassidy whimpers. "I'm afraid of the dark," He repeats. "And Dad will get... m-mad... at me... if I turn on the lights..." He hiccups, barely holding back a sob and looking like he's ready to burst into tears again.
(Michael has to wonder what on earth he was even crying about in the first place.)
Fucking crybaby... Michael covers his face and groans loudly. "For the love of..."
He sits up with a jolt and yanks open his nightstand drawer, rummaging through photos of him and his friends, empty boxes and wrappers of bubblegum, and crumpled up dollar bills until he finally finds what he's looking for and holds it up for Cassidy to see.
"Flashlight."
He gets off his bed, storms over to his stupid baby brother who's already crying again, and shoves it into his bruised arms. (It's a struggle not to visibly falter at the bruises.) "Here. You can use the damn light, and then leave me alone and let me sleep. Just don't forget to give it back later, 'kay?"
Cassidy nods. "Thanks," He mumbles.
"Yeah, whatever," Michael retorts, too tired to pay any mind to making an attempt at being any more or less of a dick. "Wash your face while you're at it, too- you're getting snot everywhere."
Without another word, Cassidy scurries off, and Michael- for once glad to be as exhausted as he is, or he'd never get back to sleep- trudges back across the room and flops down onto his bed.
It figures that only a minute or two later, he's once again awoken by Cassidy at the door. This time, though, he doesn't just wait there- he approaches the side of Michael's nightstand, aiming the flashlight at the carpet. It's not enough light to hurt Michael's eyes, but it illuminates the area around him. As his eyes flutter open, he can see that Cassidy's round face and small hands are damp and a little reddened, and they smell distinctly of soap. It's not a strong scent, but it's enough of a change for Michael to notice.
The comment about washing his face had mostly just been a jab at him crying all the time, but he supposes Cassidy's never been one to pick up too well on when people are being serious or not.
"What are you doing?" Michael asks, shooting a glare at his brother for waking him up again.
Cassidy sets the flashlight down on Michael's nightstand and turns it off, and Michael takes the sudden dive into darkness as an opportunity to close his eyes- and turn over to bury his face in a pillow- before he adjusts to the dark again.
"...Thank you," He says finally. He didn't mean for Cassidy to bring it back now, but... he did exactly what was asked of him, so Michael supposes he can't be mad.
Cassidy hums in response. "Yeah, whatever," He replies, but there's no malice behind the words. He's just parroting what Michael had said.
Michael lets out a chuckle and waits to hear his brother's footsteps retreat.
After a moment of not hearing that, he finally turns his head to face him. "What do you want now?"
It comes out more sincere than he'd wanted it to. As his eyes adjust to the dark again- there goes any capability of sleeping anymore- he can't feel any bitterness toward the kid. Cassidy's brown eyes reflect a feeling of fear and loneliness, and all Michael can feel is sympathy.
His eyes redirect to the bruises on his wrists, exposed by his short sleeved pajamas.
For as much of a snot-nosed, whiny brat as Cassidy may be, he's also only seven years old, fresh out of first grade, less than four feet tall and just shy of 45 pounds. His skinny arms are covered in scrapes and bruises, never given respite or time to heal. As much of a stupid crybaby as he is, he really does deserve better than all this.
Jesus, I'm not getting enough sleep, he thinks offhandedly. Something's gotta be off if I'm not being such an asshole.
"I don't want to be alone," Cassidy admits. "I'm... too scared."
"What a surprise," Michael scoffs.
He doesn't mean it.
"...Do you want to take the flashlight back to your room?"
Cassidy shakes his head.
"Do you want me to take you back to your room? Since I'm up already."
Cassidy shakes his head again.
Michael is seconds away from saying then I can't help you, go away and bother Elizabeth, before he realizes the flaw in his thought process. Elizabeth is gone. She's been missing for over a month. There is no Elizabeth to go away and bother, not anymore.
His expression softens, and his bitter thoughts do too, as he looks at his baby brother again.
He doesn't hate Cassidy. He doesn't hate Cassidy, he really doesn't. All he wants is to love him, and protect him, and be like a real big brother should. He doesn't hate Cassidy, not at all. He hates their situation. He hates the feeling of distrust. The cynical exhaustion and the way he always feels so detached. How he views the sound of Cassidy's crying as grating and obnoxious and not something to worry about. He hates missing Mom and Elizabeth. He hates feeling like he can't call William a father. He hates feeling forced to compete with Cassidy for William's love. He hates everything but Cassidy, and it's not fair. Cassidy deserves better. Cassidy deserves so much better.
He lets out a resigned sigh, closing his eyes again so Cassidy can't see the tears starting to form in them as all of his conflicted feelings swirl around in his head. Who's the crybaby now, huh?
"You want to sleep in here with me, don't you?" He asks finally.
Cassidy nods.
He knows in the back of his mind he would normally say no, hell no, you're not a baby anymore, but...
"Fine. Whatever. Just don't expect me to let you do this again, alright?"
The bite he'd expected the words to have isn't there.
Cassidy nods, crawling into Michael's bed. Neither one of them speaks, and in just a moment of silence, Cassidy already seems to be out like a light. Michael envies that.
In one last futile attempt to be bitter, Michael grumbles something he doesn't mean about how Cassidy really is a baby. Cassidy, clearly too zonked out to process what he'd said, mumbles something Michael can't make out in response and cuddles closer to Michael.
It catches Michael off guard, Cassidy's small hands right up against his own. He's not used to being given any kind of affection.
He doesn't have the heart to push the boy away, even though he figures it'll hinder his own ability to sleep.
(Not when his baby brother looks so comfortable.)